Chapter 307

Chapter 307

“I—not.”

Schlieffen said. Adeshan’s eyes locked with his, and he stiffened like a statue. The storm that had been swirling around the pale castle had dissipated.

It meant that the fierce battle had finally come to a head. Adeshan, who had remained stoic ever since his persona was switched, showed embarrassment for the first time.

“You’re really going against the archbishops—!”

Instead of answering, Schlieffen made a gesture of throwing something. Poof. A sphere flew in a parabolic arc and landed at Adeshan’s feet. It was the skull of the last Archbishop Letancier he’d killed.

The cut was clean. The beautiful face was set in a mixture of anger and disbelief. The Savior behind him murmured in a voice of admiration.

“I recognize this face.”

Letancier, a witch infamous for centuries. She was one of the three most powerful Archbishops of Nebula Clasier. Adeshan swallowed hard and continued.

“—You really killed them all. Five of them.”

She couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t been there, but she had gotten a sense of the energy that had been emanating from the top of the tower. Empowered by the starlight, the five archbishops were clearly individually more powerful than Schlieffen.

It was nothing short of a miracle. The color of Schlieffen’s rags, which had become a walking rag through the blood, testified to the horror of the battle. Breathing heavily, he held out his hand to Adeshan.

“Give me that or—.”

Schlieffen’s gaze lingered on the vial of the Savior’s blood. Adeshan, barely regaining his composure, shook his head resolutely.

“No, no, no. We need to heal the wound first.”

“The amount of erythryl—will not harm anyone.”

“That’s true, but right now you’d die if you were touched.”

Adeshan snapped. From what she could tell, Schlieffen’s condition was very serious right now, and it wouldn’t be surprising if he collapsed and died.

I had to force him to rest. Adeshan was about to take control of her mind. Shriek! A strong gust of wind from behind her blew the bottle from her hand.

“Ouch!”

The bottle flew in a straight line and landed precisely in Schlieffen’s grasp, a wind of his own power. Tucking the bottle into his pocket, Schlieffen opened his mouth.

“Trust me—trust me.”

“Stubbornness is—! Once you get within a certain range, you’ll surely become a fool like everyone else. Lulled into a false happiness that you’ll never have.”

“—No, it’s not, I can assure you of that.”

Adeshan frowned at the incomprehension. Instead of explaining why, Schlieffen turned his gaze back to Iril.

“Go away, don’t come near—!”

She was still slicing her oncoming pursuers to death. Her fluttering silver-white hair was beautiful. Schlieffen smiled weakly as he stared at Iril.

“Because I’m already—happy enough.”

“—What?”

Adeshan laughed in vain. It was absurd. But Schlieffen’s eyes blazed with a determination he’d never seen before.

She was stunned for a moment. With a bang, Schlieffen took advantage of the gap, turned her back, and kicked the ground.

“Now, wait!”

Adeshan reached out in a panic, but it was too late. She clicked her tongue as she watched Schlieffen’s rapidly retreating form.

“Damn.”

Now he couldn’t stop her even if he wanted to. Adeshan anxiously measured the distance between him and Iril. A thousand paces–seven hundred paces.

“What?”

Adeshan’s eyes widened as he gauged the distance. Schlieffen didn’t stop even as he stepped into range of Iril’s ability.

He was enduring a hallucination that neither Jaifa, Lorhon, nor Orse could overcome. In a flash, he was near Iriel and froze in place. Terrified, Iriel pointed the tip of his sword at him.

“Who else is here?! Why do you keep bothering us—?”

“—Ms. Eileen.”

He looked like a frightened cat. Schlieffen took another step forward. Iriel’s arm disappeared from view, and a storm of strikes swept around him.

“Schlieffen!”

“—Ms. Irene. You need to come to your senses.”

Schlieffen said firmly. The gap between them had closed completely. Iril was writhing in a dream right in front of him.

“Don’t— interfere with my happiness.”

Iril muttered, gripping the hilt of his sword. She knew what she was seeing without explanation. The happy visions of her brainwashing overlaid the hardships she’d suffered.

“What you’re seeing right now is–kool-aid, it’s all a lie. As hard as it is–you have to see the truth.”

“No—I’m not—I’m going to take my kids—over here on the NimButton—.”

Iril muttered to himself. It was painful, but she had to wake him. Slowly, he pulled out the vial Schlieffen had strapped to his waist.

“Now, put your mouth on—.”

The Savior’s blood was glistening in the clear glass vial. He held the vial to Iril’s mouth with the careful gesture of a jeweler.

“I hate— hate—.”

Iriel shook his head. The hand gripping the hilt of her sword looked like it might shoot out at any moment. Schlieffen parted her lips in a natural, unforced motion.

“—Oh my God.”

Adeshan’s eyes squeezed shut and then opened. His entire body radiated with an intensity of life that would have caused a normal human to faint or go insane.

Cold sweat trickled down my cheeks. He was so nervous he could barely see. If Iril’s judgment twisted even slightly now, Schlieffen would be a cold corpse.

Then Schlieffen tipped the vial in his hand carefully, and the Savior’s blood, slipping down the neck of the bottle, entered Iril’s mouth. She gulped. She swallowed a tentative sip and began coughing furiously.

“Kolok! Ka-ak! Kaaaak!”

“Yi, Yiil Yang—!”

Panic crossed Schlieffen’s face. A deep, gut-wrenching cough, and he forgot about his own predicament as he supported Iril. A few seconds passed that seemed like an eternity.

“—ah?”

Coughing, Iril looked up. Nimberton and the children were still in her blurry vision. She rubbed her eyes a couple times and her shoulders slumped.

“Schuh, Schlieffen—?!”

A familiar face was in front of me. The memories were fragmented. Behind Schlieffen’s scarred shoulder was a completely different landscape.

“Do, what the hell happened—?”

The luxurious room had been transformed into a bloody, smoldering battlefield. Schlieffen couldn’t remember anything after the strange tiara was placed on her head, and then a single tear rolled down her clenched teeth and down her cheek.

“Why, are you okay, the tears are—.”

“—Ugh.”

Instead of answering, Schlieffen dabbed at the corner of his eye with his sleeve. The droplets of water dissolved the trapped blood. He glanced at Iril once more, and then opened his mouth.

“Thank goodness....”

When she awoke, there was not a single wound on her body, the pain she had suffered since the moment she had been kidnapped subsiding. Memories of her vow to Ronan to protect her at all costs flashed through her mind.

Her spirit, pushed to the limit, was crumbling. Schlieffen, wiping away the last of his tears, clasped Iril’s hands in his own. Through his parted lips, the main voice spoke.

“I love you—.”

“——neh?!”

Iriel’s eyes widened, her panic evident, but Schlieffen still hadn’t let go of her hand. The blood that had drained from his veins to the point of delirium was helping him to say what he’d been holding back all this time.

“With my life–with my life–with my life–with my life–I will defend you.”

“Well, what do you mean all of a sudden—I’m a commoner, and you, Mr. Schlieffen—no, I’m more wounded than that!”

Iriel’s face turned red. It wasn’t a story she wanted to tell, at least not in this place and under these circumstances. She was as dazed as he was, but she could tell that the Schlieffen in front of her was not normal.

Iriel, barely able to pull his hand away, tended to Schlieffen’s wound. Taking another step forward, he collapsed into her arms. Just as strongly.

“Ah—.”

Iril’s eyes widened. Warmth radiated from their embrace. In a world muffled by all sounds but his own heartbeat, Schlieffen whispered, “I’m sorry.

“Please—marry me.”