TPWTL 105

Chapter 105. Didn’t I Come Back?

Tyson didn’t forget the order to give the princess a warning.

Of course, in his usual fashion, he tossed aside intricacy and subtlety, opting for something simple—but undeniably effective.

Naturally, in a plan without a real plan, the only part he left out was “Greta being taken hostage in a dangerous situation.”

But the result? There was no room for doubt.

If a tent twice the size and weight of those used by diplomats came crashing down on Olivia, the outcome was obvious.

As warnings went, it was so excessive it might as well have been crossing a line. But both Greta, who gave the order, and Tyson, who carried it out, thought the same: as long as Olivia didn’t die, it was fine.

In fact, they probably thought it might be better if she did die right then and there.

Even fools like them understood that the chaos of a collapsing empire could only be accelerated and intensified by the death of the next emperor.

Of course, Bonita of the long-standing Heinder family—a marquis of the empire—would never have agreed with that. She was far too busy handling the ominous reports rising from the princess’s palace, and the matters being pushed down from the imperial palace under the grand pretext of “peace.”

And so, this warning—born of two men with no brains but plenty of strength—was about to crash down on Olivia as she stepped out of the tent…

But someone noticed the cracks forming in the most important pillar.

—Crack.

Cryer, who had blocked Greta’s path and allowed Tyson to escape, heard the faint sound of something breaking against his ear.

He thought it was the sound of his patience shattering.

Enduring Greta’s shameless whispers, eyes dripping with raw desire she didn’t even bother to hide—his patience was about to reach its breaking point.

—Craack.

As the faint sound grew sharper, Cryer’s gaze drifted unconsciously to Olivia.

Because he wanted to leave this all behind and “return” right now.

He had done his part in this pitiful, nauseating play in exchange for hearing about his past. His role for the day was done…

—Crraaack!

Before Cryer could even finish his thought, he was already kicking off the ground.

“…Sir Ior?”

In the blink of an eye, the figure that had stood before Greta shot forward like lightning, and the ground he had pushed off cracked apart in a way no human could have left behind.

And then, in the next moment—

Before the hunting festival had even properly begun, the terrible but anticlimactic incident struck, leaving a gap in time.

The diplomats, who had only just come to their senses, froze mid-sentence, mouths hanging open in unison.

—Craaaash!

“Huh?”

“I’m talking here, where are you looking—huh?”

“What’s that sound…?”

The noise only Cryer had heard became a roar everyone else could hear, as the princess’s tent collapsed entirely.

“Uwaaagh!”

“Your Highness! Princess Olivia!”

“Why is it collapsing?!”

Some, still dazed, finally regained their senses and shouted with spittle flying.

No one could tear their eyes away from the princess’s tent as it caved in.

No one—except Greta. She alone kept her gaze fixed on Cryer.

Again. Again he had left her side.

The time he spent near her was always painfully short, and once he departed, he never looked back.

In the end, it would only be the two of them left. She knew this. And for that, she would endure, again and again.

But the reason he had left her side now was so clear that Greta’s eyes glistened with rage.

“…The princess’s knight.”

Her teeth ground audibly as the words slipped through, coated with undisguised—undisguisable—murderous jealousy.

If only, when he had briefly returned to her side, he hadn’t told her not to purify herself because he still had use for her.

Grinding her teeth hard, Greta finally turned and vanished, but no one spared a glance for her retreat.

Just then, Olivia felt the unpleasant pressure clinging to her cheek fall away, and she looked up at the figure standing before her.

The man who had stopped the collapsing pillar of the tent with his back.

“…Cryer.”

“Are you hurt?”

“You’re asking me that? Why didn’t you just cut it down like before—why take it on with your back?”

Clicking her tongue, Olivia quickly scanned him, then let out a sigh.

“You don’t look injured. Honestly, your body’s ridiculously tough.”

Despite the sharpness of her tone, her words were filled with genuine worry. And Cryer couldn’t help but laugh.

Maybe it was because the tent cut them off from the outside world, but right now, it felt as if they were the only two people left alive.

If he ever voiced that out loud, she’d probably jump up and tell him to stop spouting nonsense.

But just as she had grown used to him, he too had grown used to her.

If she wasn’t where she always was, if she wasn’t the place he always returned to—it was unbearable.

“…Why are you laughing? If you are, let me laugh too.”

“…Didn’t I come back?”

At that abrupt, almost nonsensical reply, Olivia pressed her lips shut.

Cryer had returned to her side.

It was something she didn’t need to hear to know—but still, hearing it stirred something in her.

When the tent collapsed and her vision went dark, the familiar scent had rushed in through her nose, sweeping through her entire body like a tidal wave.

For a fleeting moment, the electric joy was so sharp her fingertips trembled. She was utterly dazed.

And then—she could only scowl in frustration.

Damn it.

Had she really felt joy, just because he had come back to her—right in the middle of a life-or-death moment?

Damn it all!

After countless brushes with death and regressions, she had set herself only one goal: survival.

Even when she pulled Cryer into her plans, even after countless days had passed, that goal never changed.

This time, I will live.

That goal had never wavered. It was unshakable, unbreakable.

Or so she thought.

“…Cryer.”

His name spilled from her lips almost like a curse, and he slowly met her gaze.

In those deep crimson eyes, she saw relief—and beyond it, a raw, unyielding sincerity directed at her.

In that instant, Olivia knew.

Someday, she might place this man above even her goal of survival.

And without his knowing, she was already sketching out the very future he so desperately longed for.

A future where neither of them could let go of the other.

Inside the fallen tent, until the booming shouts of the knights outside broke the silence, the two of them could only look at each other.

The uproar at the hunting festival ended with the discovery of a laborer’s corpse—broken so badly it made onlookers grimace.

Strictly speaking, the investigation had only just begun. But Olivia had no intention of letting it continue, so it was as good as finished.

After all, she knew exactly who was behind this and why. There was no need to drag trembling, sweating diplomats through an interrogation.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. Not a scratch. I just inhaled a little dust, that’s all.”

Hearing the same exchange repeated several times since the tent collapsed, Olivia’s eyebrow twitched.

“Why are you so persistent? If it were about my body, you’d know immediately if I lied.”

“…Do you have to phrase it like that?”

For once, Cryer trailed off, running a hand over his face.

“Can’t you just think of it as concern?”

“There’s a saying: too much of anything is worse than too little. I know you’re worried, but I’m fine. Look.”

Determined, Olivia puffed out her cheeks, leaned in close, and then spun around in place.

Her skirt flared like a bell, her red hair rippling like a tide, her lips curled into a playful smile.

Every detail burned itself into his sight. For Cryer, even this fleeting moment became a brand that could never fade.

“Well?”

“…Yeah. No injuries.”

The words he truly wanted to speak were something else.

He wanted to praise her.

To tell her how dazzling, how brilliantly radiant she looked to his eyes right now.

To confess how even these fleeting moments, which would normally be forgotten, had taken on new weight and meaning simply because they were with her.

But instead, he buried those thoughts deep under his skin and only nodded.

Finally satisfied, Olivia shrugged and grabbed a document from the table.

“Alright. Time to wrap up this little play.”

Looking down at the paper Greta had sent—her so-called “desired compensation”—Olivia smirked crookedly.

“Impatient, isn’t she? I didn’t even offer any recompense for today’s fiasco, and she’s already sending demands.”

“She probably just sent something she had prepared in advance.”

“I know. Still, so blatant, with no thought for the aftermath… Ah, right. She doesn’t think.”

With a sharp sneer, Olivia tapped the corner of the document.

“She wants to personally select her escort, claiming she feels unsafe after this. Not from among imperial knights, but from the people I brought with me?”

Pulling another stack of documents closer, Olivia flipped through the already-familiar contents.

“There’s no one among those from Norden suitable as an escort, is there?”

“Not from what’s written here.”

At Cryer’s answer, Olivia shoved the stack aside.

“Then she must be hiding something else beyond what’s written. So bold about it… Hah. With no real plan, I suppose we’ll only learn who this ‘escort’ is when the time comes.”

Through this, Olivia finally understood the kind of people they were—those who served the ancient gods and sought to purify the continent through war and bloodshed.

“They wear their heads as ornaments, yet cling to unyielding convictions. And with the power to pursue their twisted goals? What a worthless, troublesome lot.”

Cryer let out a low chuckle, agreeing with her.