Chapter 17

Chapter 17

She wasn’t particularly curious. The aftereffects of the nightmare were too heavy to leave room for wondering about his absence. If anything, she preferred it this way…

“It’s late. Let’s talk later.”

“I just came back from meeting your fiancé.”

“……”

Her breathing faltered, ever so slightly. She tried to smother her belated agitation behind a mask of indifference, but his eyes had already sharpened.

“You’re still not curious?”

“I’d rather not hear it.”

“Why not? You need to know your enemy.”

“What matters to me is enduring the ordeal before me. I don’t want to waste energy on useless things.”

He tilted his lips upward, as if she had just said something amusing.

“So you believe enduring the ordeal alone will be enough? That I’ll take care of everything for you?”

“I only mean that I don’t want to be shaken by anything involving that man.”

“Sounds more like you just don’t want to talk to me.”

Sian didn’t answer. She simply abandoned the blanket she had been holding. She could sleep with just the sheet.

She didn’t want to spar with him like this, least of all over Dion. And truthfully, as he said, she had no desire to talk to him right now.

“Let’s talk again around noon.”

“…I was too harsh.”

At that, Sian turned her eyes to him. It was the first time he had said anything resembling an apology.

“Is that what you wanted to hear me say?”

The moment their eyes met, he tossed the words out like bait. The back of her neck prickled. He smiled coldly at her startled expression.

“We signed and swore to that covenant together.”

“So what? The only thing written there is that you’ll help me annul the engagement if I endure forty-five days of ordeal. There’s no reason for us to have these kinds of conversations.”

“And that’s why I let four whole days pass without doing anything, isn’t it?”

That insufferable bastard.

“I’m not asking you to be grateful, but this attitude isn’t right.”

He really had a way of making words as grating as possible.

“Fine, thank you. I’ve gained four days. But it’s late now, so let’s talk again after sunrise.”

Sian rushed the words out and turned her body away. Her breath trembled with anger, but she restrained herself.

There was no point in fighting with him. He was not someone she could win against. And after all, she wouldn’t have to see him again.  Just forty more days. I only have to endure for forty more days.

She stepped out, leaving the blanket behind.

At least, she thought she had stepped into the corridor.

“…What is this?”

Sian staggered back at the barren sight before her. The place where the temple should have been was utterly empty, nothing but an endless expanse of dirt.

Something’s wrong… I must be seeing this wrong.

Like a child refusing reality, she shut the door. After a few seconds, she opened it again. But nothing had changed. It was still that dry, wide plain of dust.

What the…?

She opened and closed the door again and again, but the sight never shifted.

It’s not reality. It’s an illusion. A dream.

Finally recognizing it, Sian stopped her foolishness. She let go of the doorknob and turned her head toward the culprit behind this.

The light dazzled her.

It had been night just moments ago, but now it was as bright as midday. She blinked several times to bring the scene into focus.

There, in the full brilliance of the sun, stood a quiet garden. Two sofas were placed in the middle of the lawn. He occupied one of them.

“The sun’s up.”

His voice was calm. No, he was shameless.

“Let’s talk.”

He leaned back into the sofa, legs crossed in his usual relaxed posture, and jerked his chin toward the opposite seat.

Because she had declared she would endure nothing but her ordeals, he had simply given her one. All so he could force this conversation.

Exhausted already, Sian sat down on the opposite sofa. Was this really necessary? Does he have divine power to burn, wasting it like this?

“I’ve been in the capital. The Imperial Palace has been clinging too tightly to our people, under the excuse that the Crown Prince is unwell.”

He began speaking unilaterally.

“The details would only bore you, Sister, so I’ll keep it short: the temple’s resources are stretched thin. That’s all you need to know.”

Which was another way of saying that there truly was no one else in the temple who could help her.

Not that she had ever planned to seek help from anyone else. To Sian, it felt like he was emphasizing the point merely to criticize her attitude by urging her to be more cooperative, more pliant.

Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t in her nature. Even cornered, a Princess could not discard her pride. Just like her ingrained habit of speaking down.

“Did you meet Dion at the palace?”

She called the Duke’s name with familiarity, as she always did, and he frowned. Did something about it displease him.

“You claim you’ll annul the engagement, but you still call him by name?”

“It was a slip. Just a habit.”

“You must have liked him a great deal, for it to linger as a habit.”

He was just nitpicking now. Nitpicking something he didn’t like. She had already made it clear she held no lingering feelings.

“Actarachion, if I could, I’d never cross paths with the Duke again for the rest of my life.”

Only then did his expression ease, ever so slightly.

“You said you met the Duke.”

Sian pressed again, this time careful not to slip on the title.

“The Duke is searching for you. He uses love as his excuse. He’s even sent away his mistress, or so he claims.”

“What nonsense…”

Sian laughed hollowly and tipped her head back. Above her stretched a dazzling blue sky. Just moments ago, it had been night. Everything about this was absurd.

“He’s acting.”

“Perhaps.”

This time it was her turn to frown. Perhaps? What’s that supposed to mean?

“He may think it’s an act, but my judgment differs.”

“You’re saying he’s sincere? That he truly regrets what he did?”

“Is that what you want?”

“If he truly regrets it, if he weeps and breaks the engagement immediately and disappears from my life, then I’d want nothing more.”

Actarachion smiled faintly at her words that dripped with hostility.

“Don’t you want him dead?”

It was a weighty remark.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if he simply killed himself?”

A truly ominous one.

Sian couldn’t fathom his intent. And that made it dangerous to answer honestly.

Of course she wanted the Duke dead. After all, he was the one who had murdered her knight.

It would be convenient if he died on his own. But the aftermath terrified her. The Duke was close to the Emperor, with loyal subordinates seeded throughout the palace. If he suddenly died, no matter the cause, suspicion would fall on her and on the Grand Duke’s house.

That was why she couldn’t say it aloud.

If the Duke were to actually die, what she was saying now might as well be a confession.

Is this his plan? To have me incriminate myself? Or is this just another kind of ordeal? He had me practice killing before. Is his intent to put a weapon in my hand and tell me to strike Dion down on my own?

So many thoughts swirled around in her head.

Actarachion was so unpredictable that even the most exaggerated guesses almost felt reasonable.

“Was the question too difficult?”

His voice was like ice.

Startled from her thoughts, Sian looked at him. His expression had tightened again. His dark eyes were deep as an abyss, chilling to behold.

“Don’t you want him dead?”

“Why are we even talking about this?”

“I want to know what you really think of the Duke, Sister.”

“He disgusts me. He makes my skin crawl. I just want to annul the engagement.”

“That much I already know.”

With a sound of irritation, he rubbed his forehead and fell silent. Something about her answer had irked him again. Then, as if recovering his calm, he looked back at her with the faintest smile.

“I asked if you want him dead.”

By now, it was obvious. He was pushing her towards a specific response. He wanted her to declare she wished for Dion’s death.

Sian swallowed dryly. Every part of her body warned her. It’s a trap. 

“Sister.”

He called to her, urging.

All around her, the surreal scenery made it clearer: this was a dream. An ordeal.

Salvation is granted only to those who strive for it.

His words, repeated in dream and reality alike, echoed in her mind.

Salvation. Surely, salvation would not be given to one who wished death upon another without hesitation. Not even if the man was guilty, not even if he deserved death. This was still the temple. And striving could not mean striving to murder.

Sian recalled the temple’s teachings: turn away from hatred, practice forgiveness and mercy. Love life, confess your sins, repent. That was the heart of it.

How could she seek salvation while wishing for her fiancé’s death?

“…Not killing him. I just want the engagement annulled and never to see him again.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kind.”

With that, the dream collapsed.

She found herself back in her room, the darkness still and silent. The clock on the table pointed to 2:30 a.m. The blanket she had left behind was once again pulled over her shoulders.

She had escaped the illusion. She had endured the ordeal.

That must mean she had chosen correctly. His last words, “You’re kind”, had dripped with mocking scorn, but still.

She had faced the dream, and come through it. It hadn’t even been that difficult, despite being her first ordeal in four days.

Maybe I should’ve chosen differently in the nightmare before. I shouldn’t have killed it. I should’ve let myself be killed. Perhaps the right path is always to answer and act in the good, the merciful way.

Perhaps he really is a High Priest after all.

 Sian lay back down with a more relaxed expression. For the first time, she felt she understood the direction she needed to take.

In the end, one had to keep one’s heart pure.

She closed her eyes, resolving to live more carefully, more steadily. That night, she slept more peacefully than she had in days.

* * *

While Sian slept deeply, Actarachion Jerdin still lingered in the other world. His mood was sour, just as it had been the day she killed his double and fainted.

She claims she wants annulment, but she doesn’t want him dead?

That thought looped endlessly.

He loathed Sian Heartperion for never saying she wanted Dion Hertesé dead.

He couldn’t explain why. He only felt it must be hypocrisy.

After all, she had no trouble killing her own likeness. Yes, she had cried and vomited afterward, plagued by aftereffects, but that was her weakness of body and mind.

For her to stop short of condemning Dion to death was unforgivable hypocrisy. It had to be.

“Did you meet Dion at the palace?”

Her voice echoed in his mind, so intimate in the way she called the Duke by name.

A habit, is it?

The other world cracked.

A black fissure ripped through the tranquil meadow. With a thunderous rumble, as though the very world were quaking, something vast shook and trembled without mercy.