Chapter 41 – Y…You’re Laughing?

But Olivia simply brushed off his answer as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, skipping any need for further explanation, and instead asked bluntly:

“Tell me. What did the wizard do? Huh? That lunatic, what did he—huh? Huh…?”

Olivia trailed off, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She had lashed out instinctively, but in reality, there was nothing she could actually do to a wizard. Now she truly began to regret it. She should’ve at least yanked Greta’s hair when that woman dared to act all arrogant, even as a mere guide.

Cryer, who gently closed her gaping mouth with his hand, shook his head.

“Nothing happened. Nothing could’ve happened.”

Puzzled by his cryptic words, Olivia grabbed his hand off her chin and tilted her head.

“What?”

“The wizard is dead.”

“What?”

Though she heard him, Olivia couldn’t immediately grasp what he meant, prompting Cryer to calmly repeat himself.

“The wizard is dead.”

“Whaaat?!”

Now fully understanding his words, Olivia shot up like a spring. Or at least, she tried to. —Ssslip.

“Uh? Ahh—!”

Perhaps it was fitting for a room prepared for the highest-ranking guests in the royal palace—too soft and silky. As Olivia sprang to her feet, the smooth blanket tangled around her ankles, sending her tumbling forward.

Well, almost. She fell straight into Cryer’s arms.

“Sigh.”

With a soft sigh, Cryer looked down at Olivia, who lay motionless in his embrace.

“You alright?”

But Olivia couldn’t even groan; she was too busy groaning internally from the pain to respond.

“Your Highness?”

A faint trace of concern flickered in Cryer’s blood-red eyes as he called to her again, but Olivia didn’t see it. Her nose hurt too much—she was seeing stars. Finally managing to pull her face away from his chest, Olivia groped blindly at his torso.

“What’s with your chest? Are you wearing armor or something?”

She was grateful, of course—he had caught her before she crashed face-first into the floor—but honestly, maybe hitting the ground would’ve hurt less…

Olivia’s train of thought was abruptly derailed by Cryer’s blunt response.

“It’s a bit ticklish. But no, no armor.”

Unlike his casual words, Olivia’s delayed realization of where her hands had wandered triggered an explosive reaction.

“Waaaah!”

Like a startled cat, she threw both hands up in the air and instinctively tried to pull away from him. But with his arm still around her waist, she couldn’t escape. Twisting her body as far back as possible, Olivia gave him a panicked apology.

“Sorry!”

Her nose still throbbed, but the embarrassment drowned out any other sensation. She couldn’t even bring herself to meet Cryer’s gaze and let her eyes roll around aimlessly.

Cryer, who had been silently observing the now bright-red Olivia, let out a soft chuckle. Just moments ago—maybe even the moment she greeted him with a casual “You’re back”—the suffocating mud-like misery that had engulfed him from feet to throat whenever he was with Greta had been swept away.

Why did he come back? Why did he return to Olivia? He still didn’t know.

But one thing was clear…
This unbelievably stubborn, daring, and now even desperate princess, who once clung to his pant leg just to survive—he had gotten used to being by her side.

So much so that he couldn’t bear to leave her… and couldn’t stand the idea of her leaving him.

Perhaps Olivia was the only one who made this reborn, memory-less, enslaved version of Cryer feel like he was actually living in the present. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t let go. Or maybe the reason didn’t matter anymore.

His blood-red eyes sank deep with unfathomable emotion—but reflected only one thing.

Olivia.

At last, he flicked the tip of her hair with a gentle tug, causing her to jump.

“It’s fine. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Mm. Sorry. I’ll keep my eyes open next time.”

Pouting, Olivia apologized. Cryer then curved his lips into a rare, playful—yes, genuinely playful—smile and asked:

“You mean you’ll grope me with your eyes wide open next time?”

“What?! I never said anything about groping—!”

“Ha!”

The next moment, Olivia’s eyes widened to their absolute limit. That loud, clear, echoing laughter—so sharp it practically drilled into her ears…

“You… you’re laughing?”

It came from Cryer.

As his laughter rang through the room, Olivia stared at him like she was witnessing an earthquake. Did nothing really happen? Well, the wizard died, which was a big deal—but wasn’t that a good thing?

Then why was Cryer laughing?

He was laughing, right?

That was a laugh. Cryer—the Cryer—was actually laughing out loud?

Did he hit his head?

Wait, no. He wasn’t the type to get hit… More like, he’d kill anyone who tried. Olivia’s face grew paler by the second as her mind was consumed by wild thoughts.

Soon Cryer stopped laughing and shook his head at her.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen something horrific?”

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh. I mean, I’ve seen you smile, but never laugh out loud. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

Looking genuinely concerned, Olivia peered at him. Cryer chuckled again, more quietly this time.

“I don’t go around getting hit, you know.”

His words matched Olivia’s internal monologue perfectly. With a casual shrug, he added,

“Far as I recall, that’s probably the first time I’ve ever laughed out loud. Anyway—”

“Anyway?! No way! You just laughed out loud—what could possibly top that?!”

Cryer replied without skipping a beat.

“Greta said she purified the wizard.”

“Huh? Purified? You mean… oh…”

Olivia grimaced as she recalled what “purification” meant to them—wiping out entire populations. So the wizard was killed by his own daughter.

She didn’t feel even a shred of sympathy, but it was still grim.

“Wait, if the wizard’s dead… then what about your brand?”

Olivia instinctively glanced at Cryer’s collarbone. And in that moment, despite the searing pain flaring from the branded spot, Cryer didn’t even blink.

“No change.”

Olivia just stared at him.

She didn’t step closer, but she didn’t back away either.

She didn’t know what to say, or what she even could say. She’d been killed by him four times and still came back—if that wasn’t misfortune, what was?

But even then, she couldn’t fully grasp the depth of Cryer’s despair or pain. It wasn’t like comfort always required empathy, but somehow… she couldn’t offer even that.

Silence settled between them.

After a while, Olivia quietly tugged at Cryer’s sleeve. The awkward yet oddly natural gesture made Cryer’s lips tremble ever so slightly downward.

Such a small motion, too trivial to carry meaning. Too weak to pull him away from the edge.

And then, in a whisper so soft it was barely audible, she asked:

“Aren’t you hungry?”

Nothing about it was dramatic. In fact, it was the kind of trivial everyday moment he’d experienced since meeting her in the Empire.

But that tiny, insignificant moment…

Was enough to pull Cryer—who had been crawling through the depths of a bottomless swamp—upward. And higher still.

He closed his eyes, opened them again, and answered calmly.

“Shall we go eat something?”

Later that night, the first day of the state funeral passed without any gain except the confirmation that the wizard had died.

While the somber ceremony proceeded, Olivia stood at the very front, rubbing at her solar plexus.

The night before, she and Cryer had snuck out to find food. Sure, calling the servants would’ve been easier, but with how lifeless they looked—like corpses—she’d rather not.

‘Hmph. No pre-made food, huh?’

Peeking around the kitchen, Olivia lit up when she saw the bread and cheese Cryer had fetched. She hadn’t even realized she was really hungry until they left the room together.

As she munched noisily on the food, Cryer had offered a quiet warning.

“It’s best if you avoid Greta.”

He didn’t explain why, and Olivia didn’t bother asking. After all, Greta was the one who “purified” the wizard. A complete lunatic. Olivia shivered at the thought.

Right. Best to avoid crazy people. That’s just survival instinct.

Cryer had added another comment:

“That woman asked if the princess was getting on her nerves.”

There was only one “princess” she could’ve meant. Olivia shivered again, this time rubbing her arms as if brushing away goosebumps.

After the funeral, foreign dignitaries swarmed around her like clouds. Being the Empire’s only princess and future Empress, everyone wanted a word.

Though the atmosphere was all surface-level diplomacy, someone suddenly brought up a curious topic:

“The theme of the last council session…”

As expected, no one paid him much attention—it was already over, after all.

But Olivia immediately seized upon it.

“The theme, you say?”

And just like that, everyone jumped at the chance to talk to her.

Because she was the person to know. The next ruler of the continent’s greatest Empire.