To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 155

As Irel walked toward the camp, hand in hand with Varkan, she made a silent vow to herself. Now that she knew there was a traitor, she was determined to find out who it was with her own eyes.

However, when they arrived, her resolve wavered. This wasn’t the calm situation where she could leisurely search for a traitor.

‘This is a mess! Much worse than expected!’

The first thing she saw was the Western soldiers locked in fierce battle with the barbarians.

“Kill them all! Leave none alive!”
“Wipe them out!”

The Western soldiers, led by Erich, fought valiantly, blocking the barbarians’ advance. But the barbarians were holding their own, refusing to give ground.

“Do you see it?” Varkan commented casually, as if watching a spectacle.

“Their movements are trained, albeit awkward. These are not wild, untrained barbarians.”

The air was filled with the deafening clash of steel and the roars of battle. But that wasn’t the most shocking sight.

“Oh, look, there’s one of our traitor candidates.”

Varkan pointed, and Irel’s eyes widened. Lieutenant Harty lay crushed beneath a large stone wall, groaning in pain, his lower half trapped under the rubble.

“My God!”

Irel gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Seeing Harty in that state made her wonder—could Erich really be the traitor?

But it was too soon to jump to conclusions. Her attention was suddenly drawn to a flash of light, and there she saw a familiar face.

‘Drakal?’

The figure with the long bangs and grim expression was unmistakable. It was Drakal Ha Mash, the Masaka of Light who had once guarded Archbishop Ramon in the caves.

To her surprise, Drakal was battling none other than Erich.

“It’s pointless!” Erich shouted, blocking Drakal’s light with a high stone wall.

“I don’t know what your intentions are, but this is the West! Leave now and return to the capital!”

In that moment, Erich seemed completely on their side, and Irel felt even more confused.

If the barbarians were truly the royal forces in disguise, then Drakal and the traitor should be working together. Yet here Erich was, locked in fierce combat with Drakal.

There was only one way to find out the truth.

“Varkan, we need to capture that man—”

Before Irel could finish, an explosion of flames burst out. Drakal’s body was flung forward as if he’d been hit directly by a powder keg.

“Urgh!!”

Drakal, who clearly wasn’t accustomed to physical exercise, landed headfirst on the rocky ground, knocking himself unconscious in the process.

‘Oh dear. Is he dead?’

Irel stared at Drakal’s motionless body in shock. At the same moment, Erich, finally noticing her, extended his hand in a gesture of warning, his face filled with suspicion.

“Stop! Don’t come any closer.”

“What’s wrong, Erich? It’s us.”

Do you want to get blown up too? Irel quickly reassured him that they were on the same side, but Erich’s expression remained tense. The doubts he had harbored seemed to have reached a boiling point.

“It’s been strange from the start. Tell me the truth! Why were you sent here?”

What’s he talking about? Irel blinked in confusion, and then it hit her—Erich was suspicious of them, thinking they were also sent by the king.

‘He… he’s on our side!’

A wave of relief washed over her. The fact that Erich wasn’t the traitor filled her with joy. She was about to explain everything with a smile when—

“So what if we were sent by the king? What would you do then?”

Varkan cut in abruptly, ruining the moment.

‘Not again!’

It seemed Varkan wanted to keep stirring things up. The sly grin on his face told Irel he knew exactly what was going on, and he was enjoying every second of it.

“I knew it,” Erich said, shaking his head. His expression darkened as he pointed his sword at them.

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Pretending to chase the barbarians, only to ally with them and throw the Western border into chaos. You want to frame Lord Varel and remove him, replacing him with someone the king can control!”

Ah, so that’s what Erich had been suspecting all along. Irel thought back to their first encounter—he’d always been polite but subtly hostile. Now it made sense. He was serious about his duty to protect the Western border and clearly respected Tarik Varel. So when Varkan suddenly appeared with a group of Masakas, it was only natural for Erich to be wary.

If only she could explain the misunderstanding…

“Wow. You’ve figured it out this far? You’re sharper than I thought.”

…or not. Irel was left speechless by Varkan’s blatantly antagonistic response.

“Well, now that you’ve caught on, I guess we’ll have to deal with you here.”

Varkan’s tone dripped with amusement as he spoke, clearly enjoying himself. Irel, unable to hold back any longer, pinched his side hard.

“Ow, ow!” Varkan feigned pain, while Irel took the opportunity to explain to Erich.

“You’ve got it wrong, Erich. Yes, we were sent by the king, but we’re not loyal to the royal family.”

“Then why are you here?”

Irel forced an awkward smile, unable to admit the real reason they had been sent—because they were suspected of plotting rebellion and meant to die alongside Ruth Varel.

But then, Erich’s eyes suddenly widened in alarm.

“Lady Irel! Behind you!”

At his urgent cry, Irel quickly turned around. Emerging from beneath the collapsed wall was Lieutenant Harty, looking disheveled and terrifying. His face, twisted in fury, was nothing like the friendly demeanor she had known. With a grimace of rage, he charged toward them, face contorted like a demon.

“Die! You traitors!”

The once approachable Harty now looked like a different person entirely, his sword gleaming as he lunged straight at Varkan.

People often believed that the Masaka were invincible, but they were human too. While an ordinary person couldn’t kill a Khitan, it was possible to kill a Masaka—if you succeeded in beheading them or stabbing them through the heart.

Whoosh!

In an instant, a towering wall of flames erupted between Harty and Varkan. Even those who charge with death in mind hesitate when met with sudden fire.

Harty’s Vlad faltered, his trajectory thrown off by the flames. Varkan seized the opportunity.

Thud—!

With a powerful kick, Varkan struck Harty square in the chest, sending him flying backward. As he landed hard, Varkan delivered a final kick to his head, knocking him out cold. The entire sequence was fluid, precise, and effortless.

Killing Harty would have been easy, but keeping him alive was more advantageous. They needed him to explain everything to Lord Varel later.

“Are you alright?”

Varkan, still looking down at the unconscious Harty, asked Irel.

“Yes,” she nodded, pressing a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. Varkan’s swift, practiced movements impressed her, though something about it also unsettled her.

‘He’s used to this,’ she thought.

It was easy to forget, behind his smiling face, that Varkan constantly faced threats to his life.

“You two were on the same side, weren’t you?”

Erich’s voice, filled with shock, drew their attention. He had witnessed Varkan’s attack on Harty and was utterly confused. Varkan clicked his tongue and replied with a sharp tone.

“Catching on quick, aren’t you? What did you think knocking out Drakal was about?”

“I… I don’t understand any of this,” Erich mumbled, clearly overwhelmed. He finally released his arm, revealing a dagger embedded deep in his side.

“What happened?!” Irel exclaimed, rushing toward him. The wound was serious. His side was soaked with blood, and only the hilt of the dagger remained visible.

“Harty Lieutenant… he stabbed me from behind…” Erich said weakly, pointing at the unconscious lieutenant. “And then another Masaka appeared among the barbarians… said he was from the capital… threatened me with charges of treason if I didn’t open a path for the barbarians.”

Erich had been through shock after shock. Even the way he stumbled over his words was a sign of how much he was struggling. A trusted lieutenant of two years had betrayed him, and a Masaka from the capital had been working alongside the barbarians. It was no wonder he was reeling.

At least Erich had realized one important truth: they weren’t his enemies.

“I’m glad,” Erich murmured with some relief, before collapsing onto the ground from exhaustion.

“Erich!” Irel fretted, anxiously pacing in front of his collapsed form. This wasn’t some supernatural injury caused by a Masaka’s magic—it was a plain, physical wound. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to help.

“It’s just blood loss. He’s a Masaka, so this won’t kill him,” Varkan commented nonchalantly after inspecting Erich’s wound. Even though the situation seemed mostly under control, Varkan’s expression remained tense, as if something still bothered him.

“What’s wrong, Varkan?” Irel asked cautiously. His well-shaped eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

“They’re just… too weak,” he muttered.

“What?”

“They’re all too weak. Every one of them.”

Varkan gestured dismissively toward the unconscious Drakal and Lieutenant Harty, tapping at them with his foot in disdain.

‘He really thinks they’re beneath him,’ Irel thought, noting the almost contemptuous way Varkan regarded them.

But why was their weakness an issue? Shouldn’t that be a good thing? She stared at Varkan’s long leg as it hovered in midair, trying to understand what he was getting at, and he explained further.

“I’ve never seen the dead Seraphine myself, but I’ve heard he was quite strong. And yet, he was supposedly killed by someone like this.”

Perhaps Lieutenant Harty had stabbed Seraphine in the back while he wasn’t paying attention, just as he had tried with Erich. But Varkan still didn’t seem satisfied with that explanation. As a Masaka, he knew better than anyone how resilient their kind was.

“There’s more to this. I’m certain of it.”