To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 178

“No,” Irel replied after a brief pause.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

How could she leave now, after all this, with this ticking time bomb of a man beside her? She could feel his face pressed against her shoulder, his shaky breath betraying the depth of his anxiety.

‘He was really worried,’ she thought, her hand instinctively moving to gently stroke the back of his neck and shoulder, as if soothing a tense wildcat.

“Do you remember? You promised to treat my family as if they were your own.”

Varkan didn’t respond with words, only giving a small nod. He never made empty promises to her.

“Then let’s work together to fix this. After all, it’s our family now, isn’t it?”

Varkan inhaled deeply, like someone who had finally allowed themselves to breathe after holding it in for too long.

“Gladly.”

When he lifted his head, he was smiling again. His lips were soft, and his golden eyes gleamed like sunshine.

“I’m glad to hear that too,” Irel said, matching his smile. But she hadn’t forgotten the task that lay ahead.

“Ul Bathol, right? That artists’ village.”

“Yes,” Varkan confirmed. They’d reach it in half a day, he said. That prompted Irel to voice a question that had been on her mind for some time.

“What do you think Lamon is doing there?”

“Probably the same thing we are,” Varkan replied.

Tracking down the ‘Breath,’ no doubt. That made sense. After all, both sides had been vying for control of it.

‘Bubble, where are you?’ Irel thought with growing unease. Could it be that Bubble would only reappear once the whole ordeal with Abishan’s revival was finished?

“Varkan,” she called out.

“Tell me.”

“What if we never find the Breath?”

Without it, they couldn’t expose the royal family’s secrets or sway public opinion. Irel was deeply worried, but Varkan remained unfazed.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“It may take longer, but we’ll still reach the same destination.”

Was he just saying that to reassure her? Irel gave him a searching look, and Varkan met her gaze and spoke again.

“I’m serious.”

In truth, he had already made most of the necessary preparations. His forces had effectively gained control of the capital, and their military strength exceeded that of King Phenosos’ army. They even held sway over the royal army’s supplies. In essence, they had the upper hand.

If Varkan wished, taking the throne wouldn’t be difficult. The real challenge would come after.

Most people mistakenly believed that a rebellion ended once the king was overthrown. But in reality, that was only the beginning of a new regime.

People naturally resist drastic changes, even when those changes are necessary. If they resisted something as simple as a new farming tool or a shift in daily habits, how much more would they resist a change in leadership?

Such resistance would be like a protruding nail—irritating and persistent. Whether through persuasion or force, it had to be dealt with, or they would face constant opposition while trying to uproot the old order and replace the existing power structures.

That’s where a tool like the ‘Breath’ would come in handy, providing legitimacy and justification for the new rule. Varkan had been waiting patiently to secure it for this reason.

Of course, the Breath would make things easier, but it wasn’t essential. If worst came to worst, he could seize power first and find his justification later, even if it meant sorting through the ruins of the royal palace for some token of legitimacy.

“…Well, that’s a relief,” Irel said, exhaling a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realized the Breath wasn’t absolutely necessary, and she felt some of her worries ease.

“You’re such a nervous person, and yet you became my woman,” Varkan teased, playfully tilting her chin.

“And you’re the one who became my man, remember? You followed me around like a lovesick puppy.”

“I can’t win against you, can I?” Varkan chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. His lips were as hot as fire and sweeter than chocolate.

***

Ul Bathol, the village of the Yum, a small Northern tribe.

It lay in the high plains, far up a narrow northwest trail in the Ricador Mountains, like a picture-perfect settlement on a plateau.

This meant that Irel had to disembark from the carriage. Though the path wasn’t too narrow, it was steep and rugged, impossible for the carriage to continue.

‘At least we can ride horses,’ she thought, relieved.

Varkan, ever thorough, had planned ahead. He couldn’t bear the thought of Irel struggling up the mountain path on her tiny feet, so he had prepared a donkey for her. Though not as majestic as a horse, the sturdy mountain donkeys with their short, muscular legs were perfect for climbing steep paths, even with an adult woman on their backs. Thanks to this, Irel could sit comfortably and enjoy the scenic view as they ascended.

‘I feel a bit guilty riding while everyone else walks,’ she thought, glancing back at the rest of the group. But she quickly realized her concern was unnecessary.

“Ah, this is refreshing!” exclaimed Yan Louis, who was soaring through the air on the northern wind, looking as carefree as a white eagle. He appeared completely at ease.

And Phaesus? He was half-reclined on a long chair like a Persian king. His loyal puppets moved the chair, their stiff joints clicking as they carried him along the path like a line of ants transporting breadcrumbs.

The only one who was actually ‘walking’ was Varkan, holding the reins of her donkey. Even after several hours of climbing the steep mountain, he hadn’t broken a sweat or shown any sign of exhaustion.

‘Masakas really are monsters,’ Irel thought with a touch of amazement. Then something odd struck her.

“Wait a minute. Where’s Jin?”

“You’re quick to notice,” Varkan said with a laugh, though his tone was teasing. Irel blushed slightly, realizing he was right—Jin had been missing since they’d left the carriage. She had been too distracted by her first experience riding a donkey to notice.

“Jin stayed behind at Frust La Hill.”

“Why?” she asked.

“He’s quite useful for guarding someone.”

It took Irel a moment to understand, but then it clicked.

‘Because of Father,’ she realized. Varkan never spoke without purpose, and his decisiveness and follow-through were unmatched. The thought that he’d arranged for someone to protect her father left Irel feeling deeply touched.

“Is Jin okay with staying behind?” she asked.

“He was a little disappointed at first,” Varkan admitted.

But what could Jin do? Orders were orders.

After his initial disappointment, Jin had accepted the decision. Though he couldn’t protect Irel directly, guarding her father was just as important.

‘Perhaps it’s more fitting for his role as a bodyguard,’ Irel thought, recalling what Jin had said when he agreed to stay. He had reasoned that with Varkan constantly by her side, it made more sense for him to remain behind. Jin, ever adaptable, had no trouble settling into new surroundings.

“Don’t worry. You’ll see him again soon enough.”

After hearing that, Irel finally felt at ease. After all, her father had mentioned that he’d soon be taking leave and coming to the capital.

“Now, take a look at the scenery. It’s quite beautiful,” Varkan said, gesturing to the landscape.

Indeed, he was right. Irel thought it resembled the Alps or Switzerland.

The early-spring-like chilly plains were covered in sharp green grass. A bright, meandering river, lightly coated with ice, ran through the landscape, with hardy wildflowers blooming along its banks. Behind all this, towering snow-covered peaks loomed, as if watching over them.

The grandeur of nature filled Irel with awe. Even her eyes felt spoiled when, in the distance, she saw the picturesque village of Ul Bathol, the artists’ village.

The village’s quaint houses were all white-walled, likely a reflection of their uniform architectural style. But the roofs were a delightful mix of colors—reds, soft lavender, and deep greens—creating a vibrant mosaic that added richness to the view.

It wasn’t just the roofs with their vibrant colors that caught Irel’s eye, but also the various sculptures and decorations perched atop them. This was indeed the village of artists, and just looking at it made her feel like her creativity was bubbling up. It reminded her of the science exhibition she had visited as a child, filling her with nostalgia.

But there was one thing dampening her enthusiasm.

“Are there no Kitans around here?”

After all, wasn’t the Ricador Mountains known as the origin of the Kitan? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the picturesque scenery began to feel more ominous. The shadows under the trees seemed like they could be hiding something, and she imagined monsters lurking behind the rocky paths.

Seeing her tense up and nervously dart her eyes around, Varkan had to suppress a laugh. The idea that a Kitan would dare approach when there were three Masaka with them was too amusing. Her cautiousness was too cute for him to handle.

“Kitans don’t usually come this high up in the mountains,” he reassured her.

“Really? Why not?”

“They’ve got small heads, haven’t they? When they climb too high, the air pressure makes them bleed from their ears and noses,” he said with a grin.

Irel thought back to the Kitan she had seen in a hat shop once. Its disproportionately small head had indeed been strange, and she nodded, imagining the creature struggling with altitude.

“And even if there were Kitans around here—”

Varkan was about to say more when they were interrupted.

“Oh my, look over there!”

Several young women who had been chatting at the village entrance turned their heads toward them. It was as if they were drawn by some magnetic force.

Could they be staring at our group because we look unusual? Irel wondered, just as one of the women suddenly jumped to her feet and started running towards them at full speed.

“A Masaka!! There are three Masakas!!”

Her shout was like a signal, and soon the other women were rushing toward them too.

“Oh, great Ha Mash, please choose me!”

“No, no, I’m the best among us! I swear it!”

What on earth is happening? Irel’s eyes widened in shock as the women swarmed toward them like a horde of zombies.

“It’s me! I’ve never even severed once—I’m a pure Risevra! Pick me!” one of them shouted, her voice piercing through the clamor.

The word Risevra triggered something in Irel’s mind, like a flash of insight from the memories stored in her body.

—The highland areas of the northern Yum tribe have unique characteristics. Due to the strong presence of yin energy, many Risevra are born there.

No way! Irel’s face twisted in frustration as she watched the women swarm around Varkan like bees to honey.