#62. Is It Not Enough?
“Ah, you don’t remember that either? ‘Erased Records’ refers to those who have committed an unforgivable sin on the continent—so grave that their very existence is erased.”
Olivia sneered, the corner of her lips twisting upward.
“If you gain freedom and the slumbering ancient god continues sleeping, then the sorcerer’s daughter will become one of those Erased Records. I’ll make sure of it.”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, about to speak again, but stopped. Cryer looked lost in thought.
Her throat was parched. After spilling out a torrent of words, she stretched her arm toward the teacup, trembling with the effort, but her hand fell just short.
Unable to endure the thirst and frustration, Olivia twisted her body to reach again—
“That’s how you twisted your ankle, moving like that.”
Cryer, as if his distraction had been a lie, handed her the teacup.
“When you put weight on an injured leg, your body instinctively overcompensates with other muscles. That only causes more strain.”
Olivia took the teacup from his hand, drank deeply, and let out a long sigh.
“Fine. I won’t move. I don’t want to hurt more than I already do. I want to heal quickly.”
Apparently satisfied with her surrender, Cryer refilled her cup to the brim and sat on the armrest of the sofa.
“What if—”
“Hm?”
He lowered his gaze, avoiding her eyes.
“What if I am an Erased Record? Wouldn’t it be better not to seek the past?”
It wasn’t like him to speak with such hesitation. Without even a moment’s pause, Olivia denied it.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Her answer was so simple, so decisively firm, that Cryer opened his mouth to respond—only for her to add,
“Because I need you.”
There was not a single shred of falsehood in her voice. Pure truth.
She truly needed him. That was why, for the first time in her life, she had clung desperately to someone else’s leg and begged.
Cryer gazed down at her, half his face swallowed by shadow, speechless. Olivia calmly emptied her cup.
“If it were revealed that I’m an Erased Record, wouldn’t that cause trouble for you?”
After all, an Erased Record was someone whose very existence had been wiped away for committing sins that could never be forgiven. No matter how one interpreted it, this wasn’t something to simply brush off with “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, if it comes to light, you’ll be declared an enemy of the continent, and everyone will come after you.”
Becoming the continent’s enemy was inevitable, yet Olivia truly didn’t care.
“You’ve already been through all that in your past life. Now you have me.”
“So easily said…”
“It is simple. Utterly simple.”
She smiled up at him, gripping tightly the teacup he had filled and she had emptied.
“I need you.”
Otherwise, she would only die the same death in this life as well.
And besides…
“If, by some chance, you are an Erased Record, then there must be a reason for it.”
“There would, of course. Because I must have done something worthy of erasure.”
“No—not that reason. The reason why you had to do it.”
“And what proof do you have to make such a claim?”
Olivia puffed out her chest and struck it with her small fist, answering proudly.
“Because it’s you!”
That single phrase carried within it a boundless trust in him—without basis, without origin, yet absolute.
I trust you.
When she had spoken those words before, pointing to herself, her blue eyes had blazed like lightning and pierced through his chest.
And now—
I need you.
Cryer felt a dull ache spreading in his heart as he asked,
“If I truly am an Erased Record, and that truth spreads across the continent, wouldn’t that make the entire continent our enemy?”
“Then so be it. I may be working myself to the bone to keep the continent from being purified by the ancient god, but if the continent chooses to turn on you, then the continent becomes my enemy as well.”
At her words—her vow to choose him even if it meant opposing the whole world—Cryer’s heart thundered in his chest.
The moment his heart plummeted, the brand seared with fiery pain.
Yet, hidden behind the shadows, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile, as though he welcomed it.
He touched the shoulder Olivia had once bitten fiercely and murmured,
“Didn’t you say you wanted to prevent a continental war?”
“Ah, well, yes, that too. But after dying four times, I decided I should focus on keeping myself alive first.”
Olivia declared her selfishness shamelessly, chin lifted with pride.
“And if the continent so much as shows a hint of trying to brand you as a criminal, I’ll rip it out at the root. I have the ability to do that much.”
It wasn’t arrogance or bluff.
She was the only imperial princess of Bolsheik, the empire that had begun with the continent itself—the sole heir to the throne. She held the power and authority to erase an Erased Record or two.
“All this time I’ve gone on about dying by your hand and my empire losing pitifully in a continental war, but that doesn’t mean my empire is weak or insignificant.”
Cryer nodded in quiet agreement. Everything he had seen and felt while staying in the imperial palace only proved the empire’s might.
Hadn’t she already dragged forward the Continental Assembly—the gathering of all rulers—without so much as warning? And when she pointed at him and chose him to stand by her side, didn’t every nation send their best knights, or potential suitors, in droves?
If she wished, a flick of her hand, a single word, could wipe out a small kingdom.
Cryer reached out, tucking the strands of hair from her cheek behind her ear, and whispered,
“You’re the first to say you’ll protect me.”
“Even though you don’t remember anything.”
The place where his fingertips brushed tingled, so Olivia muttered grumpily on purpose.
“If it’s the first I can remember, then it counts.”
Twining a lock of her red hair lazily around his finger, Cryer murmured,
“Is it not enough?”
It was nothing more than a simple phrase, but perhaps it was his low, velvety tone, or the slow curl of his finger around her hair—
Or maybe it was the overwhelming, dangerous emotion flickering in his dark crimson eyes, an emotion she shouldn’t see, shouldn’t know.
Despite all the tea she had drunk, Olivia’s throat suddenly went dry. Her lips opened and closed soundlessly, but in the end, she couldn’t form a reply.
“Here it is.”
Angbuh lowered her hood just enough to peek around. Isaac quickly tugged it back down.
“I told you, didn’t I?”
“Oh, that I must never take it off? I know, I know. I won’t, so don’t worry.”
“Even lifting it slightly is unacceptable. Even with only your chin and lips showing, anyone can tell you’re someone of high standing.”
The hood covered her nose entirely, leaving only her lips and jawline exposed, yet Angbuh thought he was exaggerating. She was about to argue, but Isaac spoke faster.
“Your skin is too different. No one around here has skin like yours. That’s why I said we should disguise you more.”
“I did put something on to make myself look dirtier, didn’t I?”
“That’s nowhere near enough.”
As they bickered, shady figures began to gather around them. Isaac casually flicked his arm.
—Slash.
With just a light gesture, a thin red line opened across the face of the man who had come closest. Blood poured down his cheek, dripping onto the ground before he even realized what had happened.
The scent of blood spread, making the others flare their nostrils. They stopped in their tracks or stepped back, but none dared scream or charge.
They had survived this long by following pure instinct—and their instincts screamed that the fox-eyed man grinning at them was steeped in the stench of death.
If he wished, none of them would leave alive. They knew this well. And so they scattered like cockroaches before the light.
Angbuh, though hidden, could see everything.
The man with blood streaming down his face staggered away. Now only she and Isaac remained in the blood-spotted street.
“Are you… strong?” she whispered.
“No.”
“You seem strong to me.”
“Well, the definition of strong varies. I’m not exactly in the ‘strong’ category. I just have a knack for little tricks.”
“That was a trick?”
Her eyes widened as she pointed to the bloodstained ground. Isaac gave a dry chuckle.
“Haha… More importantly, shouldn’t we see who’s inside this house first? I sense someone within.”
He glanced toward a curtained window.
“Just one person. Their footsteps are very light—either a child, or a thin adult.”
Angbuh blinked rapidly, impressed.
“How can you tell that?”
“The walls here are thin. Most houses in this area are the same. If a royal knight struck them with a fist, the whole place would collapse.”
“What? It’s not like they’re made of paper.”
“I mean, the houses are that flimsy—and the royal knights are that strong. In any case, since someone’s inside, we shouldn’t just barge in. Shall we knock?”
He lifted his hand, but Angbuh caught his wrist and smiled sweetly.
“Wouldn’t it lower their guard more if I knocked?”
“Wise as ever.”
He stepped back obediently, though inwardly he suspected his own plan would only be delayed.
