Chapter 147

She was practically suspended in midair, yet the sense of crisis was no greater than before. The arms and hands that wrapped around her back and waist provided an overwhelming sense of stability. Nearly buried in the searing heat of the man’s body, she caught her breath.

What just happened? She glanced sideways to the right. Beyond her partially obstructed view, she could see the stern.

On deck, sailors were throwing ropes toward the towering dock. Another group rushed forward from the pier, securing the ropes around protruding iron posts. Someone shouted at the top of their lungs.

“Launch the boats!”

“No! The boats will be swept away by the waves in no time. We need to pull the ship closer!”

A familiar voice cut through the wind, shaking Elise to her core.

Barnon…?

Her comrades were right within reach.

Oars jutted out from beneath the hull, slicing through the waves. The ship was slowly being drawn in from the stern. At that moment, the wind shifted, causing the sails to billow, and the vessel inched closer. One by one, sailors clinging to the tightly secured ropes leaped onto the deck.

“Where is Her Highness?!”

“I caught a glimpse of her at the end of the pier, but she disappeared in an instant. Could she have fallen into the sea…?”

“Damn it, Elizabeth! Where are you?!”

Elise could not cry out to let them know she was safe. The man holding her tightly was breathing unevenly.

“Elise.” His heated breath brushed against the nape of her neck, his voice lower than ever before. “Say my name.”

It was an unexpected request. She could feel his pulse pounding madly against her cheek.

“Anything will do, even if it’s not my name.”

Ah, so he simply wanted reassurance. He was the type of man who, in moments of unease, needed to hear her voice—who would force her to speak just to soothe his fears.

Elise raised her head to check his expression—only to realize that the right arm wrapped around her was no longer in the shape she knew.

His massive, claw-like grip, as if meant to ensnare her entire back, burned like fire itself. It was strong and sharp enough to crush her in an instant if he so desired.

From his transformed shoulder down to his fingertips, unstable magical energy swirled like a band of light. It was more potent and concentrated than anything Elise had ever witnessed before.

“…Rezette.”

Splash! A wave crashed over Rezette’s feet, pooling water into the crevices where they stood. A single misstep would send them plummeting to their deaths.

Splash! Another wave struck with unrelenting force. As if the turbulent sea itself was enraged, lightning struck nearby.

The cries of drowning soldiers begging for their lives abruptly ceased. Bodies, charred black by the lightning, surfaced on the water.

Those who witnessed the scene from above—be they Arganians or Van Yelans—fell silent all at once.

“I… I’ve heard of this before.” A knight of Van Yela muttered, his face drained of color. “What happens when you encounter the Grand Duke on the battlefield…”

History told of a time before Argan’s founding, seven hundred years ago, when the Mad Dragon laid waste to Grandel. For thirty-seven days and nights, thunder and lightning ravaged the land without pause. The relentless bolts incinerated nearly all of Grandel’s greenery, reducing every living being—whether human or beast—to ash. That was how Sameshita became known as the Dragon of Thunder.

And it was well documented in ancient records what fate awaited those unfortunate enough to cross paths with a berserk Rezette Kyrstan. If they did not flee immediately, their end was inevitable.

Even Elise, unaware of the horrors unfolding behind and above her, felt an unsettling dread. The swirling black mist of Rezette’s magic crackled, flickering with ominous sparks of light.

Then, at some point, she realized his breathing had gone completely silent.

Panic seized her. No—he hadn’t passed out, had he?

“Rezette? Are you hurt? Stay with me!” Her fear was unfounded, but it had the desired effect. Feeling her struggling in his arms, Rezette slowly lifted his eyelids—not to respond, but for a different reason entirely.

The scent… he thought. A foreign scent clung to Elise, wildly provoking his senses.

Unlike human fingers, his beast-like claws raked over her shoulder blade. As the folds of her robe loosened, the bloodstained fabric underneath was exposed in its entirety. His eyes darkened at the sight of her skirt, tainted with splatters of crimson.

Something inside him shifted. Quietly, dangerously.

“Are you hurt?” Rezette asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

Elise shook her head. “Oh, this isn’t my blood. I’m not injured.”

His expression didn’t ease. “Then whose is it?”

She hesitated. “…What?”

“Who dared to stain you with this filth?” His voice dropped to a dangerous growl.

Crack! Another bolt of lightning struck somewhere along the pier.

In the distance, a panicked voice shouted, “Fire!”

The shock of it sent a jolt through Elise’s body, snapping her out of her daze.

“Rezette!” she yelled.

Magic surged outward in erratic waves. His body, caught between human and beast, was unraveling—losing its grip on reason.

The true form of a demigod—one that only a mage could possibly withstand—was slowly shedding its shell.

“What are you doing? Get a grip and climb up! What if you fall like this?” Elise’s voice wavered between desperation and command.

As if on cue, a thick chain clattered down from above.

Rezette shifted his hold on her, catching the swaying links with ease. Then, without a running start, he leapt.

There was no warning to hold on. No reassurance about the rough landing.

One moment, she was dangling over the abyss. The next, she was standing atop the pier.

The dock, now completely detached from the harbor, tilted like a seesaw, its incline severe.

It hadn’t been this steep moments ago.

The very man who had overturned the harbor a second time was now the one steadying her.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” Elise shook her head. “That’s not what’s important right now.”

The ruins stretched before them, massive and hollowed out in places, as if scooped away by an enormous hand. Deep ravines carved through the wreckage, making it nearly impossible to distinguish friend from foe at a glance.

At least the battlefield had gone silent—meaning most of the Arganians had likely retreated. The remaining crowd was a chaotic mix: imperial knights, Novella’s security forces, private soldiers from the ducal house, and even Rezette’s own men, all mingled with Van Yelan troops.

And yet, Rezette, a Van Yelan himself, seemed entirely uninterested in the turmoil behind him.

Without a word, he unfastened the brooch securing his cloak.

A knight stepped forward, pushing through the crowd.

“Your Grace, hand over the woman.” His tone carried the weight of an imperial decree. “His Majesty has ordered her transport to the capital for her crimes against the Van Yelan royal family. Left unchecked, she will bring ruin upon the city. Surrender her to us.”

Rezette didn’t respond. He simply removed his cloak. Then, stripping Elise of her own robe—tattered, blood-soaked, and barely holding together—he draped his over her instead.

The thick fabric, still warm from his body heat, settled heavily around her shoulders.

“Who killed Genovia Irrien?”

Elise hesitated, her attention divided between Rezette’s unsettlingly calm voice and the Van Yelans closing in from behind.

“It was… one of the emperor’s knights,” she finally answered. “He mistook her for someone else and struck her down. She was unlucky…”

“Other witnesses?”

She exhaled sharply, frustrated.

“There are none! Why are you even asking that right now? Do you have any idea how many people are watching? There are already over a hundred just at a glance—”

Rezette remained unfazed. “Hundreds, thousands—it makes no difference. Are you saying I should be distracted?”

“Rezette!” Elise hissed, but he didn’t let her pull away.

“My woman is here.” His hand tightened around the brooch, securing the cloak firmly around her. “And my child is here.”

Then, without hesitation, he pulled her against him.

“Where else am I supposed to look?”

His lips crashed onto hers.

It wasn’t a mere silencing tactic—it was far too deep for that.

From behind, Elise’s figure disappeared entirely within his embrace. Yet no one in the crowd could mistake what was happening.

Not a single soul remained oblivious.

“…This is treason.”

Elise’s voice was hoarse when their lips finally parted, her breath frayed at the edges.

“Get a hold of yourself, Rezette.” She swallowed hard, forcing steadiness into her tone. “Letting the Emperor’s men witness this will do you no favors. The only reason I used magic in the first place was to keep you from suffering any consequences. But if you’re the one throwing everything away, then what was the point?”

She knew there was no crime she could commit in Van Yela that would shock anyone. What justification did she need for killing an enemy in enemy territory? All she had to do was board a ship and leave—free of this land forever.

But Rezette was different.

She didn’t want to take anything from him.

“Leave me behind,” she said.

“…Leave you?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

“Go back to where you belong. Protect what’s yours before the Emperor takes it from you. That’s the right choice.” Elise forced herself to meet his gaze. “Rezette, ending our contract means exactly that.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between them.

“Say you knew nothing of the princess’s schemes,” she continued, her voice measured. “Say she was a sorceress—no, not just any sorceress, but one who wielded the Mad Dragon itself. That she was impossible to defeat. Say there was never a child to begin with. That way, you won’t lose Rotiara. You won’t lose anything. Just listen to me, Rezette.”

Another silence.

Then, softly—almost too softly—she whispered, “This is your country.”

Rezette let out a slow, quiet sigh. He pressed his forehead against hers, the warmth of his breath ghosting over her skin.

Was it exasperation? Resignation? Or something far deeper—something that made his cheeks flush with restrained emotion?

“You want to leave without a trace,” he murmured, “without regrets, without anything left between us. Is that it, Elizabeth?”

His voice was unexpectedly gentle.

The moment she let her guard down, his hand moved.

Elise stiffened as his palm pressed firmly against her stomach.

Her breath hitched.

“If that’s what you wanted,” Rezette continued, “you should have fled sooner. Before our child came into existence.”

His words carried a quiet, chilling finality.

His gaze lowered deliberately. Slowly.

His piercing eyes traced every shift in her body, his touch mapping each change, leaving her feeling raw—exposed.

“If you truly wanted to disappear,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “you should have let this child die by my hands. Then there would have been no need for this mess—everything would have ended cleanly, just as you wanted.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Elise cut him off without hesitation.

The moment the child was mentioned, her eyes sharpened—glinting with unmistakable defiance.