Chapter 20. Because It’s You
“Yeah. If you’re that worried I might go off killing someone, wouldn’t it be better to come with me and make sure?”
“I never said I was that worried.”
Olivia tried to object, but Cryer firmly shook his head.
“You were.”
“I’ve thought this before, but is there no filter in your head or mouth? Even if it’s true, there’s a way to cushion things so the other person doesn’t feel bad.”
It was a completely sensible criticism, yet Cryer simply shrugged.
“I would’ve, if it were necessary.”
“It is necessary—for me!”
“Princess.”
Leaning against the doorframe, Cryer stared straight at Olivia.
“Don’t change the subject. Why aren’t you coming with me?”
“Then why are you so insistent on coming with me?”
When Olivia threw the question back, Cryer smiled.
“Because you really might think I’ll end up killing someone.”
“You said you wouldn’t! Ugh, fine. Let’s just go together. Not now, though—I’ve got something else to do first.”
Olivia briskly approached him.
“You’ve got something else?”
“Yeah. I need to head to the area where the Taren family’s guilds are gathered.”
“Taren?”
“Just remember they’re not a family to be underestimated. I’m going there with their heir to investigate this case.”
“You’re dragging someone else into a case involving ancient gods?”
As Cryer’s brow arched, Olivia shook her head.
“Of course not. The incident occurred in their guild territory, and the family formally appealed to us, so we’re just going to reassure them.”
Olivia frowned as she thought of Angbeu Taren.
“She’s a bit… intense, but we’re just going to gather witness statements anyway. And for that, having her around might actually help—”
Before she could finish, Cryer stepped in and gently rubbed the space between her brows. By now, she was used to his sudden, quiet closeness and didn’t flinch. Pressing the spot he’d just touched, she let out a sigh.
“Just remembering the epic saga Lady Taren spun.”
“Epic saga?”
“Yeah. According to her grand tale, you and I fell in love at first sight, defied social barriers, and nurtured a beautiful romance while enduring everyone’s gossip.”
A wrinkle formed between Cryer’s brows just like hers. Olivia rose on tiptoe and pressed that spot gently.
“See? You make that face naturally.”
Just as she was about to tremble from the stretch, Cryer bent slightly, allowing her to rub his forehead more easily. She continued, more relaxed now.
“Anyway, I said a firm no, and she backed down pretty quickly. She’s eccentric, but not unreasonable.”
Finally, she stepped back and gave his arm a couple of light pats.
“Good luck.”
“Mine? Or my opponent’s?”
Tilting his head with a smirk, Cryer earned a firm reply from Olivia.
“Yours, of course. Though I doubt it’ll happen…”
She paused, then stared him straight in the eye.
“If, during the duel, you’re about to get hurt or… die, don’t hold back on their account.”
It was a different kind of concern than before—but her transparent, pale blue eyes shimmered so vividly with worry, it pierced deep into Cryer’s chest.
“That’s why I’m wishing you luck.”
Smiling softly, Olivia gave him a gentle push. Cryer silently watched her for a moment, then turned to leave. As his hand touched the doorknob—
“Oh, Cryer.”
Olivia called him back like she’d just remembered something.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing major.”
But even now, Cryer didn’t let her off the hook and cut straight to the point.
“Just saying that makes it sound like it is something major.”
This time, Olivia’s smile didn’t waver. She spoke casually, as if it really was nothing.
“Someone from the Kingdom of Norden will be arriving to help with this case.”
The words themselves meant little—just a visitor from another country. But in the next instant—impossibly—an icy aura spiraled around Cryer’s feet like a vortex. His blood-red eyes sank deeper than the darkest abyss.
Crack, snap.
In the tomb-like silence, the only sound was Olivia’s chattering teeth. Her jaw trembled violently. She knew—no, she recognized from experience—that what was emanating from Cryer wasn’t just cold air.
It was killing intent.
Murderous, suffocating, enough to make her feel as if her head might be severed any moment. Even though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, she had to fight not to step back, to keep her shaking knees from buckling.
How long did that eternity of seconds last?
The fury in Cryer’s eyes—blackened by his hatred for the mage who once enslaved him to an ancient god—began to fade. As his vision widened again, Olivia came into focus.
Her face was so pale, it looked devoid of blood. When she was fully in his sight, the suffocating pressure disappeared without a trace.
“Hh-hng…”
Olivia didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath. Gasping, she scratched at her throat, as if reassuring herself that it was still there. Once, twice… even four times, hadn’t she died by his hand?
Scratching her neck was likely instinctual. Cryer carefully took her trembling, icy-cold hands and gently lowered them. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.
He had sworn not to hurt her. And though he hadn’t—he still felt like he had.
Cryer reached for her. Olivia flinched, but then looked up and met his gaze. Her blue eyes burned like flames, melting the shadows writhing in his blood-red eyes.
As if being purified.
He scooped her into his arms, gently setting her on the sofa, then knelt before her.
Like someone approaching a frightened stray cat, Cryer moved slowly, calmingly. Holding her soft, trembling hands in his, he whispered with remorse:
“I’m sorry.”
He said it again and again. No excuses. No grand words. Just sincere, repeated apologies.
Olivia looked down at his silver hair. It wasn’t the first time she’d looked down at him like this. When he’d once made a vow to her, he had knelt without hesitation.
And yet, strangely… even though she’d been the one trembling, the one scared, the one still shivering—
Why did it feel like he was the one crying?
Unable to take it anymore, Olivia spoke.
“I-it’s fine. I know it wasn’t directed at me. I was just… surprised at how strong you are.”
She laughed dryly and shook her head.
“I really should be worried for your sparring partners. Some of them have known me since childhood—”
As she rambled on, Cryer’s gaze drifted to her neck. Even though her nails were short and smooth for paperwork purposes, the harsh scratching had left swollen, reddish marks like a brand.
“…Oh. Did I never tell you? I died by your hand every time.”
Feeling his eyes on her, Olivia awkwardly touched her neck and winced as her fingers brushed the tender skin. Cryer gently lowered her hand again, his gaze still lowered.
Looking at his remorseful face, Olivia cursed herself inwardly. Why bring up the dying thing again, you idiot?!
The silence grew unbearable, so she blurted anything that came to mind.
“I’m not that faint-hearted, you know.”
At that, Cryer slowly raised his head, puzzled.
“Faint-hearted?”
“Oh, I mean—I’m not that much of a coward.”
She’d used a saying from Bolsheik’s history books—“small-livered,” a term for the weak-hearted. Olivia gently pulled her hand from his and used her hair to hide the marks on her neck.
“I don’t start trembling just from a little killing intent.”
“…Right.”
Cryer nodded without protest, but somehow Olivia wasn’t satisfied.
“You know I’ve been through four wars.”
How many had died before her eyes? How many corpses had she walked over? How many rivers of blood had she crossed?
Would she really collapse just from a burst of killing intent?
Cryer nodded again. Olivia sighed deeply and added:
“It’s because it’s you.“
To an outsider, the phrase might sound romantic—because it’s you.
But the past shared by Olivia and Cryer was anything but beautiful. More like soaked in blood.
“So don’t worry. If someone else goes berserk while we’re together, I won’t freeze up like this.”
She patted his arm gruffly, then winced as his gaze fell once more to her bruised neck.
That mark probably wouldn’t disappear anytime soon. She sighed and muttered:
“And don’t worry about the mark either. It’s gonna last a while.”
If he kept staring at it like that the whole time it healed…
Olivia sharply emphasized again:
“Don’t worry.”
It wasn’t a scar that would take forever to heal—but Cryer still asked:
“…A while?”
