To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 157

Was it just his imagination? Varkan’s arm, where Irel had grabbed him, felt unbearably hot. But the heat in his chest, the turmoil simmering just beneath his eyes, was far greater than any physical discomfort.

“…Don’t,” he muttered, scarcely managing to speak. There was no need for Sevring right now. He shook his head, though his voice, laden with pain, only seemed to sharpen Irel’s awareness.

“I’m fine. Come here… I hate it more when you’re in pain,” Irel whispered, her voice soft but resolute. She reached out with both hands and gently cupped his face. While she couldn’t heal his physical wounds, she could soothe the raging energy that was tearing through his veins.

As her hands touched him, Varkan closed his eyes, feeling her calming presence wash over him. It was like a wild beast being soothed by its handler, nestling into her touch.

Who are you, to make me feel like this? I don’t deserve anything like you.

He had never been ashamed of not being a good man. Survival was all that mattered, and power was directly tied to survival. Concepts like justice or kindness had never granted him any advantage in his harsh life.

His current self was the proof of his tenacity, the outcome of his relentless fight to survive and conquer his enemies. And yet, when he looked at Irel, he couldn’t help but want to be better.

He wanted to be a man worthy of her, not someone others would pity as the poor princess stolen by a villain.

How ridiculous.

“We should head back. Leave the rest to others,” Varkan said, carefully lifting Irel into his arms as he stood. His body still felt like it could shatter at any moment, but thanks to Irel’s calming influence, the worst of the pain had subsided.

What they needed now was time to recover. They had been running too hard, too fast.

***

In the end, everything was resolved. Varkan had successfully captured Drakal and Lieutenant Harty, the two key figures of the enemy forces. Phaesus and his puppet army had skillfully dealt with the remaining “barbarians.”

And that wasn’t all. Lord Varel, who had gone to investigate the barbarian stronghold, had made significant discoveries of his own.

“They had a stockpile of explosives deep inside,” Lord Varel reported gravely. “The plan was to lure us into their base and blow it to bits.”

It seemed the enemy knew how to set traps just as well. If Varkan hadn’t forced the barbarians out by shaking the ground, things could have gone terribly wrong.

Mistaking Varkan’s attack for an earthquake, the barbarians had fled in a panic, leaving behind their heavy stockpile of explosives. Lord Varel had moved swiftly, arriving before they could return and clean up the evidence.

It had exposed everything.

“If we hadn’t searched their base right away, it could have been disastrous. Truly, we were fortunate,” Lord Varel admitted, though his face was filled with worry rather than relief. And for good reason…

“Lieutenant Harty… I never imagined you would be the traitor.”

His dark eyes dropped to the kneeling figure of Harty, bound and gagged, who refused to meet his former lord’s gaze. Harty looked utterly defeated, too ashamed to look anyone in the eye.

“I knew your father… We fought together. I trusted you.”

Varel’s voice simmered with betrayal and bitterness. He had fed and raised the very dog that had bitten him.

“My God…”

Joshua, too, was in shock. He had been anxiously awaiting their return, but the news was overwhelming.

“Lieutenant Harty… He was like a brother to Ruth! And he betrayed him, stabbed him in the back?”

Joshua, whose emotions often ran deep, was quickly overtaken by grief. Varkan stood silently behind them, watching the father and son’s reactions with detached eyes. He had never been one to trust others, so he couldn’t truly empathize with their feelings of betrayal.

But now, he thought he might understand it better. If Irel, with her innocent face, ever betrayed him, he wouldn’t be able to remain calm. He would likely lose control, destroying everything she held dear, just to make her feel the same pain he did.

But he wouldn’t be able to harm her. Not a single finger.

Pathetic.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Irel’s soft voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. She had noticed his gaze and tilted her head in confusion. Varkan, as usual when his mind wandered to dangerous places, covered it with a sweet smile.

“I’m just worried about you,” he said.

“Worried? About me?” she asked, perplexed.

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

Varkan’s gaze lingered on the faint scratch on Irel’s cheek. Thankfully, aside from a few scrapes and bruises from rolling across the stone floor, she was fine. But the worry gnawed at him nonetheless.

“I’m fine. You’re the one I’m worried about,” Irel insisted, her voice soft but firm.

Varkan had sustained both internal and external injuries, but his remarkable recovery had left him almost fully healed in just a single day. By the third day, he was back to his usual self.

Even for a Masaka, it was an astounding recovery rate.

‘Are they all like this?’ Irel briefly wondered, but quickly realized that Varkan’s abilities were far beyond the norm. Erich, leaning pale-faced against the wall, listening quietly, was evidence of that.

Erich’s slow recovery was the standard, and Varkan was the outlier—clearly a force beyond ordinary men.

“I can handle a few scratches. But you… please, never get hurt,” Varkan whispered as he tenderly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gentleness of his touch made Irel smile warmly.

She knew just how powerful Varkan was—how he led not only with his own immense strength but also with a host of capable subordinates ready to fight for him. Yet, she also knew, deep in her heart, that if the same situation arose again, she would still throw herself in harm’s way to protect him.

‘Because I don’t want to lose you.’

You are my beloved, my destruction. You must bear responsibility for dragging me into this world—and for making me fall in love with you.

Suppressing those overwhelming feelings, Irel smiled brightly, and Varkan smiled back slowly, thinking that if this angelic smile was false, then there was truly nothing in the world worth trusting.

“Any last words?”

Amid this moment of quiet, Lord Varel’s stern voice broke through. He was interrogating Lieutenant Harty, who remained kneeling and bound. It was clear that if Harty didn’t speak now, he would be dragged away for execution.

Sensing his impending doom, Harty finally began a pitiful defense.

“Lord Varel, I… I was merely being used. I knew a few of the barbarians, families who were facing extermination. Out of pity, I warned them about some of the army’s attacks, hoping to help them survive, nothing more.”

His attempt to play the part of the compassionate soul was revolting. Once he started talking, he seemed to find some courage and kept on spinning his story.

“I swear it’s true! You must believe me. I was as heartbroken over Lord Ruth’s death as anyone. We were like brothers, as Joshua said. If I’d known these barbarians intended to target him, I would’ve done everything in my power to stop them first.”

Lord Varel closed his eyes, not because he believed Harty, but to contain the disgust swelling inside him. Harty’s demeanor made it clear that he had thought Varel was a foolish old man—someone easy to deceive.

“Well then, explain this.”

With a cold smile, Lord Varel tossed something at Harty’s feet—a letter Harty had sent to the so-called “barbarians.”

…Ruth Varel is young and reckless, like a novice wolf defending its territory. A little provocation will send him charging out of the gates. If you set the date, I’ll release one of the Khitan we’ve captured. That should keep at least one of the Masakas busy, making the task much easier…

It was undeniable evidence of an assassination plot. And with the barbarians being nothing more than a cover for the true royal forces, Harty’s entire story fell apart. His betrayal was complete, and there was nothing more to be said.

“Take him away. No food, no water. He’ll be executed at sunrise tomorrow,” Lord Varel declared coldly.

Harty’s face drained of color. He began to thrash, pushing away the soldiers trying to seize him, shouting desperately.

“Please! I made a mistake! I was under too much pressure, and I lost my judgment! I’ve committed a terrible sin, but for the sake of our history together, please spare my life!”

Joshua stood frozen in shock, unable to believe what was happening.

“Perhaps my eldest son begged like that too. And did you spare him?”

Lord Varel’s voice was steady, not as a leader, but as a grieving father. His words hit Lieutenant Harty with a crushing weight, leaving him speechless. For a moment, he stood frozen in silence, unable to find an answer. Taking advantage of his hesitation, the soldiers swiftly dragged him outside.

“Please, spare me! Don’t have me executed!”

Bang!

The sound of the door slamming shut silenced Harty’s desperate pleas, and the room fell into a tense, quiet calm.

“So,” a voice broke the silence. Surprisingly, it was Erich who spoke.

“What should we do now, Lord Varel?”

His words drew Tarik’s gaze downward. Scattered at his feet were the royal military supplies recovered from the so-called “barbarians’” stronghold. Most of the identifying markings had been scratched off, but a few faint imprints remained.

Even without the markings, it was clear where the supplies had come from. These pristine items, without a single scratch, were meant not for real barbarians, but for the soldiers who had been sent to the West.

More specifically, the royal capital’s defense trainees, disguised as “barbarians.”

“This confirms it, doesn’t it? His Majesty has abandoned the West,” Erich said gravely.

Tarik Varel’s face darkened. The truth was undeniable now: the king had used the West as a chessboard for his own schemes, sending the royal defense forces disguised as barbarians to sow chaos and weaken the region. The betrayal from the crown was clear, and the West had been left to fend for itself.

Tarik closed his eyes for a moment, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. The weight of his son’s death, the betrayal of a trusted lieutenant, and the truth behind the king’s abandonment all pressed heavily on him.