Episode 83

Igon didn’t release me from his embrace.

Though it was uncomfortable, the thought of pulling away didn’t even cross my mind. Igon clung to me with such desperation, as though letting go might shatter him entirely.

But more than that, I couldn’t forget the look on his face.

Joy. Pure, unfiltered joy.

I had never seen such a raw and overwhelming emotion from him before. It was almost terrifying—an intensity so powerful it seemed as though it might make a person explode.

Unable to leave without a proper farewell, I glanced toward Rosalind, who was talking with Kenneth.

Noticing my gaze, she lifted a hand in a small wave.

“I’ll come find you once everything is sorted,” she said.

Her brusque tone confirmed it was truly her.

The lingering doubts I had melted away.

Thank goodness.

I closed and opened my eyes, trying to erase the image of Ash screaming in Rosalind’s body.

What would have happened if I hadn’t trusted Igon and stepped onto the magic circle?

If I had accidentally crossed that boundary?

The thought alone was horrifying.

Rosalind’s neck bore the red imprint of Igon’s hand. It looked like it might bruise later.

Noticing my concerned gaze, Rosalind smiled faintly.

“Don’t worry about me. Just drag the Duke back home as quickly as you can,” she said, waving her hand dismissively before turning away.

Kenneth, who had been standing beside her, gave me a small, amused smile.

I bowed slightly in farewell, and he turned to leave without hesitation.

After the chaotic aftermath was finally addressed, I boarded the carriage with Igon.

Without warning, he pulled me onto his lap, positioning me so we were seated face-to-face.

He rested his head against me, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist.

His shoulders trembled.

As the carriage began to move, rattling slightly with each bump in the road, I turned my gaze to the window.

The capital’s night unfolded outside, slipping away into the distance.

* * *

I wasn’t sure how we made it back to the Duke’s manor.

The journey felt fragmented, a series of disjointed memories flashing through my mind.

Even after we arrived, Igon didn’t let go of me.

He carried me up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his room.

The staff we passed along the way cast uneasy glances, their expressions betraying their discomfort. It was likely their first time seeing Igon like this.

Upon reaching the room, Igon pushed the door shut with his back after stepping inside.

Then, as if his strength gave out all at once, he collapsed to his knees right by the door.

Though I was still in his arms and spared the impact, I couldn’t help but think his knees must have hit the floor hard.

Yet, not a sound escaped him—not a groan, not a sigh.

Cradled tightly in his arms, I turned my head to look at his face.

Something wasn’t right.

The overwhelming emotions from earlier had vanished, replaced by a vacant expression, as though he were a marionette with its strings cut.

Concerned, I gently pulled away from his arms and helped him to his feet.

He followed without resistance, as though he were sleepwalking.

This wasn’t normal.

I pushed against the bookcase, glancing at him for help, but he remained motionless.

Grunting with effort, I managed to slide it aside, revealing the handle of a hidden door.

There was no sense of accomplishment; I had already discovered the door when Igon wasn’t around.

Yes, it’s visible.

I placed my hand on the handle and turned it with a faint click.

In that instant, Igon’s head fell onto my shoulder from behind.

I instinctively froze, but before I could look back, his arm wrapped around me.

I could hear his uneven breathing, feel his breaths grow more rapid.

That’s when it hit me—Igon was crying.

The realization sent a shock through me, freezing me in place.

I didn’t have the courage to turn around.

Igon, crying?

It was absurd, impossible.

Yet, the dampness soaking through my shoulder was unmistakably real.

The thought crossed my mind that it was a blessing I couldn’t speak. I wouldn’t have known what to say to comfort him.

I didn’t know the exact reason for his tears, but an inexplicable guilt began to weigh on me. It felt as though his sorrow was my fault.

“…You,” he whispered, his voice low and trembling.

“…It’s you.”

His arms tightened around me, and I could feel his heart pounding rapidly.

A stifled sob broke free, more like a suppressed wail.

“I was wrong.”

About what?

I couldn’t see his face to gauge his emotions, nor could I ask him what he meant.

“I was wrong,” he repeated, his voice heavy with regret.

Should I console him?

But my hands refused to move.

My fingers trembled as I lowered my head.

“Even if you find your freedom…”

He paused, his words hanging in the air.

His voice trembled at the end.

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

The anxiety in his words was so vivid, I could almost see it.

As if mirroring Igon’s tears, my own began to fall, starting at the corners of my eyes and streaming down my face. Embarrassingly, we sat there for a long time, crying together.

The sobs shook us both, our emotions uncontrollably raw.

When I finally regained my composure, I found myself in Igon’s room. I was lying on his bed, cradled sideways in his embrace.

Behind me, his steady breathing told me he had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.

While he slept, I took in the faint scent of him, inhaling his unique, floral-like fragrance.

As I blinked, my gaze wandered to the disheveled bookshelf and the torn wallpaper in the room.

For a moment, I wondered, ‘Why does it look like that?’

This place had clearly been neglected, left untouched as though frozen in time.

It reminded me of Igon’s study the day I first arrived at the manor—chaotic and abandoned. But this room was in even worse condition.

It seemed the only thing properly maintained was the bedding.

The sight stirred a strange feeling in me.

Tears, which I thought had stopped, began to well up again.

I reached out and slowly stroked the back of Igon’s hand, which rested on me.

His hand wasn’t soft. Scars marred his skin, remnants of past wounds.

And yet, despite their rough appearance, those large hands had never felt harsh to me.

Even when he pushed me to my limits, I had never found his touch unkind.

As I absentmindedly traced his fingers, Igon’s hand shifted, his fingers interlacing with mine.

Leaning into his chest, I turned my head slightly, letting his familiar scent envelop me.

It deepened, like a blooming flower, offering a sense of comfort.

Suddenly, my world flipped.

Before I realized it, I was lying on my back, staring up at the canopy above the bed instead of the bookshelf.

The soft bedding replaced the warmth of his body behind me.

Igon loomed over me, pressing gentle kisses on my forehead, then the tip of my nose.

His half-lidded eyes still carried the haze of sleep, their warmth tinted with something more.

Lowering his gaze further, his lips brushed against mine.

I felt my breath catch, the rising anticipation betraying my growing expectation.

The rhythm of my chest quickened, rising and falling as my breaths turned shallow.

Igon was skilled at everything—even this.

‘I had a feeling it would turn out like this,’ I thought.

But I had so much I wanted to ask him, so much unresolved between us.

I needed to stop him before I lost the will to resist.

Raising my hand, I pressed my palm against his lips.

He paused, then kissed my palm, his intense gaze locked on mine.

Startled, I tried to push against his chest with my other hand, but as I did, his body leaned further into mine.

Instead of creating distance, my resistance seemed to invite him closer.

From up close, his eyes gleamed darker, richer, their depth intoxicating.

I realized, belatedly, that my actions had inadvertently provoked him.

I twisted my wrist to free it from his grasp, but his other hand brushed down my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat.

As his hand wandered to my waist, I urgently mouthed the words, ‘Wait.’

“I don’t think I can…”

His voice was lower, lazier than usual, still tinged with the remnants of sleep.

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to the sensitive hollow between my neck and collarbone.

My body trembled, responding instinctively to his touch.

“I really can’t wait,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with longing.

For a moment, I glanced down at him. His disheveled hair framed his face, making his already striking features even more beautiful.

His clear eyes were clouded, like a lake on a rainy day.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

‘No. This can’t happen. I have to stop.’

If I didn’t, I feared I would lose myself entirely.

Igon cupped my face, tilting it toward him.

“What will you give me if I wait?” he asked, his tone teasing yet filled with intent.

It was a proposition.

The slight retreat in his demeanor made me cautiously open my eyes, only to find a strange intensity hiding behind his gentle smile.

“Well?” he prompted.

I nodded, realizing I needed to find a way to navigate this moment.

Igon immediately listed off options, his words shocking me with their brazenness.

My jaw dropped in disbelief.

‘Where did he even learn such things?’ I wondered.

Meanwhile, his expression remained perfectly composed, as if he were merely discussing something mundane.

Under his insistent gaze, I hastily chose one of the less scandalous options.

Finally, he released my wrist, though he left a lingering kiss on the back of my hand as if reluctant to let me go.

He helped me sit up, his movements gentle but deliberate.

In that fleeting moment, I couldn’t help but worry about my future with him.

* * *

Igon regained his memories fully in this life on the battlefield.

Before that, everything had been vague, like shadows in the fog, but now it was as if a bright light had pierced through.

He had sensed something was strange for a while.

A dream he once had became reality, and he found himself inexplicably drawn to a child he had never met before.

He sliced through the monstrous creature in front of him, its long body severed in a single strike.

The nauseating stench of its foul blood splattered across his face, drenching him from head to toe as if he had been caught in a fountain of gore.

Droplets clung to the ends of his hair, dripping onto the ground.

Then, his mind went blank.

Memories surged back as though someone had struck him forcefully on the back of his head.

His vision blurred and flashed, and a searing pressure pressed against his skull, as if his eyes were about to burst from their sockets.

The pain lasted for minutes, followed by a wave of excruciating dizziness.

The world seemed to tilt and sway so violently he could barely remain conscious.

The ground lurched beneath him like the deck of a storm-tossed ship.

Even though he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, his stomach churned, threatening to empty itself.

The only solace was that the battle had just ended, with the creature he had cut down marking its conclusion.

He stumbled a few steps before his knees gave out.

Planting his sword into the ground for support, he barely managed to keep himself from collapsing ungracefully.

“Young Master Igon!”

Someone called out to him, rushing to his side.

A few knights grabbed hold of him, helping him to his feet.

His still-developing body trembled violently, shaking like a leaf.

The onlookers assumed he was overcome with exhilaration from the fight.

But that wasn’t it.

Not even close.

He was far beyond feeling exhilarated by mere combat.

Igon had long become a warrior so familiar with cutting down enemies that the act had grown sickeningly mundane.

His understanding of life and death differed from that of ordinary people.

And now, in the span of mere minutes, he had transformed into someone entirely different from the boy he had been before the battle.

The convictions he once held as a youth had morphed into something entirely unrecognizable.

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