To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 137

The carriage door, crafted from polished mahogany with a rich, deep red hue, slowly swung open. The intricate gold trimmings along the edges gleamed softly as Irel gracefully lifted the hem of her light, flowing dress to step inside. Her foot landed on the velvet step, and as she entered, a handsome man, already seated inside, greeted her with a radiant smile and extended his hand.

“My love,” he said.

With tanned, smooth skin, a strong, masculine frame, fiery red hair, and eyes that gleamed with a seductive golden hue, Varkan was hard to resist. Irel took his hand and smiled back, thinking to herself, This is the life.

Of course, she wasn’t dismissing the life of Lee Raeyeon back in South Korea. She had worked hard, lived her life diligently, and fought for recognition every step of the way. But when it came to happiness and satisfaction, this life—this moment—was undeniably better. After all, how many times could one date someone who looked like that?

“I heard you bought quite a haul at the market,” Varkan chuckled, helping Irel into her seat beside him. He had wanted to join her on the trip to the market but had been forced to stay behind to handle the final preparations for their departure from Al Los Condes.

“You’ve bought enough supplies to make the trip to Frost La Hill twice over,” he added with a teasing smile, the sound of the items jingling in the back of the carriage providing confirmation. There was a clear, almost musical ring to the noise, and Irel knew exactly why. She couldn’t help but give an amused smile.

Phaesus… He’s surprisingly impulsive when it comes to purchases, she thought.

The man had practically cleared the market of every glass trinket he could find. Jin had been equally impressed, marveling at how generous Phaesus was, and quickly followed suit by buying a mountain of gifts for Bianca. What had started as a practical shopping trip for essential supplies had devolved into a spending spree of ridiculous proportions, with the Masakas throwing money around in the most extravagant ways.

“This might sound a bit presumptuous, but Varkan…” Irel started cautiously.

“I enjoy presumptuous things,” Varkan replied smoothly, his flirtatious tone making her heart skip a beat. He knew exactly how to disarm her, but Irel steeled herself and continued.

“Perhaps it would be wise to freeze your subordinates’ salaries next year,” she suggested gently.

Varkan raised an amused eyebrow, his smile becoming a little more mysterious. “Are you worried about my finances? Thinking I won’t have enough to pay them?”

“No, it’s not that… I just think it might be for the best, considering… well, I saw them nearly wreck the local economy in Al Los Condes today,” she finished, trying to be tactful.

Varkan’s smile widened as if he knew exactly what she meant. He chuckled softly before pulling her into a warm embrace.

“That might be difficult. I, too, enjoy indulging in a bit of luxury,” he said.

As he spoke, she felt something heavy and cold against her hair. Surprised, Irel glanced down and gasped at the sight.

“What… what is this?” she stammered, staring at the massive gemstone now nestled in her hair. It was impossible to ignore the gleaming rose quartz set into an intricately designed hairpin, its size alone enough to take her breath away.

The gemstone was enormous, far larger than anything she had ever seen before. Its soft pink hue was complemented by streaks of gold, while lapis lazuli and dozens of small emeralds framed it, giving the pin an exotic and luxurious feel.

“This is Rosa del Desierto, the Desert Rose,” Varkan explained nonchalantly, as though gifting such an extravagant piece was a trivial matter. “I figured you deserved a keepsake from our time in the desert.”

“A desert rose… just like you,” Irel murmured, her eyes lifting to meet his as sunlight glinted off his long lashes, turning them a glowing shade of gold.

At her words, Varkan playfully wrinkled his nose and grinned. “Do I look like a rose to you?” he teased.

“Well, maybe more like a poppy, if we’re being precise,” Irel replied with a smirk.

Varkan burst into laughter, his deep voice filling the carriage. He laughed heartily, as though her simple comment had been the funniest thing he’d heard in ages.

Was it really that funny? Irel thought, feeling slightly bewildered. But she found she didn’t mind. Watching Varkan laugh so freely was a rare sight—he usually wore smiles that hinted at danger, with someone’s life hanging in the balance. But this was different. This was pure, unrestrained joy.

He’s adorable when he laughs like that, she thought, admiring how carefree and relaxed he seemed in this moment.

As Varkan wiped the moisture from his lashes, he glanced over at Irel, who was laughing along with him, her face filled with innocent joy. She had no idea about the true nature of his dealings, and that, more than anything, made him feel both protective and amused.

She really doesn’t know I’m involved in the poppy trade, he thought with a smirk.

The truth was, acquiring this elaborate hairpin—Rosa del Desierto—had been laughably easy. The village chief of Al Los Condes, fully addicted to the poppies Varkan had provided, had handed over the village’s treasured artifact without hesitation. It was, after all, a simple exchange for him, though Irel would never need to know how it came into his possession.

“I knew from the moment I saw it that it would suit you perfectly,” Varkan said, his eyes admiring the way the vivid colors of the hairpin brought Irel’s soft, light hair to life. The strong contrast between the bright hues of the pin and her pale hair made her look even more vibrant.

He gazed at her, deeply satisfied. Better that she lives in blissful ignorance, he thought. Just like how she didn’t know the origin of the pin.

Concealing his darker thoughts, Varkan smiled gracefully. Irel, still admiring the hairpin, looked up shyly and thanked him.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you so much,” she said, her smile widening.

While she had been slightly envious earlier watching Phaesus and Jin buy gifts for their Lisebura companions, she now felt overjoyed. Varkan hadn’t even been at the market, yet he had managed to surprise her with something so special. She couldn’t help but think of how simple her happiness was, yet the smile on her face refused to fade.

“I also picked up a few wool scarves, just in case. Though we’ll switch to fur once we reach Frost La Hill, they’ll keep you warm until then,” Varkan added with a light smile, ever the thoughtful one. Frost La Hill was far to the north, and he was worried that Irel might catch a cold in the colder climate.

“I’m tougher than I look, you know. Don’t forget, I was born in that region,” Irel replied with a playful shrug. Then, she took the opportunity to ask something that had been nagging at her.

“By the way, while you were wrapping things up in Al Los Condes, did you find anything in the caves?” she asked, still clinging to hope about recovering the Breath. There was a chance that Bubble hadn’t left yet, or perhaps he had left some kind of clue behind.

But Varkan shook his head almost immediately.

“Vlads are notoriously elusive and leave very few traces. I searched thoroughly but found nothing,” he said.

Irel’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. She had been so close to recovering the Breath, only for it to slip through her fingers at the last moment.

I wanted to give something back to him, too, she thought, disheartened.

Varkan, sensing her disappointment, didn’t offer empty reassurances. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her closer. Resting her head against his strong chest, Irel found comfort in his presence, the scent of him—a mixture of cologne and warmth—easing her mood just a bit.

“Why do you think Bubble took the Breath?” she asked quietly.

Varkan’s response surprised her.

“I have a theory,” he began, his tone thoughtful. “When we interrogated Archbishop Ramon, he mentioned something interesting.”

Varkan proceeded to explain a theory he had uncovered, a legend related to the cave murals. There was a possibility that the supposed evil god, Avihushan, might never have existed. Instead, the god might have been a victim of misjudgment, and it was actually his wife, the goddess Nashivail, who was unjustly wronged.

“If that’s true, then the ‘Mother’ the Vlads always speak of…,” Irel murmured, connecting the dots.

“Most likely refers to Nashiva,” Varkan finished for her.

“It’s confusing,” Irel admitted. She had never been a deeply religious person, and the mythology of this world was even harder for her to grasp.

Could this be tied to the quest, “In Search of the Hidden Truth”? she wondered, feeling a headache form as the connections started to pile up.

Seeing the growing confusion on her face, Varkan offered her a simple solution.

“No need to overthink it,” he said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“But it’s so complicated,” she sighed, exasperated.

“Think about it,” Varkan said smoothly. “At this point, what matters is the outcome, not the process.”

It was a pragmatist’s advice. If the legend were true, Nashiva would undoubtedly be an unjustly wronged figure, but there was nothing to be done about it now. After all, her fall into the Abyss, after having her power stripped by her husband, had already led her to darken. The Keatons, born from that darkness, constantly emerged to prey on humanity.

Even if the myth were corrected, what would change? Even if the Breath was indeed the divine relic stolen from Nashiva, what could anyone do? How could they possibly return it to a goddess trapped in the Abyss?

And even if by some miracle they did return it, there was no guarantee that she would revert to the benevolent goddess she once was. For Varkan, the real concern was how to use this information to weaken the royal family and the High Temple.

First, spread rumors about the true nature of the myth and discredit the High Temple’s authority. Then, expose their experiments on civilians. Pair that with evidence of the royal family turning a blind eye and funding the temple’s actions, and public opinion will turn swiftly.

The more unstable the situation, the easier it was to flip everything upside down. Public sentiment was already simmering with anger, and Varkan’s mind calculated the precise way to stoke the flames. A sly, catlike grin curled at his lips.

He found himself almost grateful to Mirrdal for kidnapping commoners and feeding them to the Keatons. The populace had long felt abandoned by the royals and the nobility. The recent incidents had only fueled their growing resentment, and the fire of revolution had been kindled.

All Varkan had to do now was ensure the flames continued to burn. And if there was one thing Varkan knew well, it was how to manipulate fire—both literally and figuratively.

“Irel, my fiancée,” he said, his grin widening.

“Would you be interested in visiting the royal palace?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

“Hmm? The palace?” Irel blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion.

Varkan reached out and gently combed his fingers through her hair, his lips brushing against the strands.

“Before we head to Frost La Hill, let’s stop by the capital and visit the palace. It’s on the way, after all.”

He smiled, the glint in his eyes unmistakable. After all, travel is always more exciting when there’s something new to see along the way.