To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 179

Bang!

Irel slammed the door of the inn shut with such force that it rattled in its frame. She hastily locked it and, as if that wasn’t enough, rushed to the window to make sure it was securely closed, drawing the curtains tightly.

Outside, she could see the Risevra women lingering, glancing longingly toward them. It was clear they had their sights set on Varkan, the strongest and most radiant presence among them.

‘What kind of place is this?!’

Irel trembled with a mix of anger and protectiveness, like a mother bird fiercely guarding her chick. She was practically seething. Then, from behind, two arms gently wrapped around her waist and shoulders, pulling her into a soft embrace.

“My love, honestly…”

Varkan sighed dramatically as he followed her into the room, half-dragged by her. He had been struggling to contain his laughter the entire time since they arrived at the village.

“Are you really jealous?”

“Of course I am!” Irel cried, hugging him tightly in return. He’s mine! No one else can have him! Her first impression of Ul Bathol was now completely ruined.

“What kind of place is this?” she grumbled, still fuming.

How could a village have so many Risevra all swarming like that?

“Well, it’s true that there are quite a few Risevra born in Ul Bathol,” Varkan admitted with a chuckle.

Though there were only about ten of them, given the small population of the village, that was an unusually high percentage.

“But why are they so obsessed with Masakas?” Irel asked, still confused. “Aren’t Risevra supposed to avoid Masakas because they think we drain their life force?”

“That’s true for the more well-off Risevra,” Varkan explained, smiling wryly.

“But this village is in a harsh, remote area high in the Ricador Mountains. There are no tourists passing through, and the land and climate are too poor for any decent farming. Life here is… difficult.”

For Risevra born in Ul Bathol, life was repetitive and grueling. Every day, they worked in the freezing mornings, planting and tending to crops like wheat, barley, and beans. They stored food and chopped wood to survive the brutal winters. This was exhausting, especially for the naturally delicate Risevra, and leaving the village was nearly impossible. The journey down the mountain was too dangerous, and there was always the risk of encountering Kitans, which particularly craved the flesh and blood of Risevra.

‘I remember Bubble mentioning that we were created by the goddess’s power,’ Irel thought, recalling what Bubble had said in her dream. The Kitans, born from the corrupted goddess Nashba’s endless suffering, lacked intelligence and souls, existing only to consume. To them, Risevra were irresistible, crafted by the power of a goddess and embodying a taste that must have been akin to a delicacy from their origin.

“Humans are full of desire,” Varkan continued. “In any community, there are always people who long for a better life, whether it’s for status or simply to escape boredom. Here, in this isolated village, they’re desperate for something different. Since they can’t leave on their own, they’ve been waiting for a Masaka to pass through and take them away.”

He said it matter-of-factly, as if this situation was nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t surprising, though—few Masakas ever made their way to Ul Bathol. The village was small and so isolated that most people didn’t even know it existed unless they had learned about it, like Irel had through noble education.

Even if someone knew of Ul Bathol, getting there was another challenge. The journey was fraught with dangers, not least the Kitans that roamed the mountains. Only the strongest Masakas could travel alone, and most didn’t have the cooperation or unity that Varkan’s group shared.

“Oh, right,” Irel suddenly remembered, her brow furrowing. “What about Yan Louis and Phaesus? I got so caught up in protecting you that I forgot about them.”

“You needn’t worry,” Varkan replied, clearly pleased by her protective instinct. It was always thrilling for him to see her world revolving around him.

“Yan Louis has no particular Risevra to worry about, so it might be good to let him have some fun.”

“And Phaesus?”

Varkan simply shrugged. Phaesus, it seemed, would handle it as he saw fit. He was one of Varkan’s strongest fighters, but due to his rivalry with Laine, he often carried a heavy burden of ki, the energy Masakas generated from combat and emotions. Without regular release through Severing—a process of offloading this energy—he could lose control.

‘What’s going to happen with those two?’ Irel sighed, thinking about the strange dynamic between Laine and Phaesus. It wasn’t something she wanted to get involved in, so she pushed the thought aside.

“I just hope our grand entrance here wasn’t too much of a spectacle,” she said, glancing out the window again. After all, Lamon could be hiding somewhere in this village, and the commotion caused by the Risevra surely made their arrival well-known.

“It was intentional,” Varkan reassured her. “No need to worry.”

Varkan thought to himself. He couldn’t know what the suspicious and meticulous Archbishop Ramon was scheming here. Surely, at the moment of their arrival, he would take a pause to assess the outside situation.

“That should buy us some time.”

Let’s see what that slippery eel is up to. Varkan grinned coldly.

He had been suspicious about the origin of the strange liquid Drakal used last time.

“To think he would dare try to control Masaka’s will so recklessly.”

There was only one person audacious enough to attempt such a thing: Ramon, who had long studied Masaka and Risevra, acquiring vast knowledge from the temple’s archives.

On top of that, as the king’s illegitimate child, he had been generously funded. He had to show results of this caliber, at least.

Knock, knock—

At that moment, a knocking sound came from the inn’s door.

“Wait here,” Varkan said as he turned his body, responding to the knock. Irel, who wasn’t particularly stubborn, remained behind as he instructed.

Or rather, she had intended to.

“What is it?”

Varkan asked while half-opening the door, just before a girl with black hair threw herself into his arms.

“There you are, Lord Masaka!”

What the—! Irel’s eyes grew wide as saucers at the sight.

‘I definitely asked the innkeeper to make sure no Risevras could barge in.’

As Irel fumed over the inn’s poor security, Varkan casually pushed the girl away with one hand and asked without expression.

“And who might you be?”

“Oh my, where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself,” the girl responded, still smiling brightly despite being shoved away. She then began rattling off a prepared introduction.

“My name is Ann Rifa. My mother is the owner of this inn, Los Rest. As the great Lord Ha Mash might have already guessed, I am also a Risevra.”

Ah, that explains it. No matter how much you block the entrance, if the innkeeper’s daughter walks in, there’s nothing you can do.

The girl, who had introduced herself as Ann, seemed not to have noticed Irel yet. Well, with such a dazzling man right in front of her, what else could she see? Even if Irel were performing a triple-backflip with a twist in the background, Ann’s gaze would still be glued to Varkan’s face.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, Irel had to acknowledge that Ann embodied the classic beauty of the northern women—her pale skin contrasted by her black hair, full chest, and a charming beauty mark beside her plump lips.

Seeing this, Irel cast a sidelong glance at Varkan’s face, not because she feared he would abandon her. She no longer worried about such foolish things. But if she saw the slightest smirk or sign of interest toward Ann, she wouldn’t let it slide.

Fortunately, Varkan’s gaze was not on Ann’s voluptuous cleavage. From the side, his golden eyes looked as cold and lifeless as those of a cold-blooded creature.

‘Even a lizard would look warmer staring at a fly than that,’ Irel thought to herself, feeling relieved.

However, Ann, who was meeting Varkan for the first time, hadn’t yet sensed anything strange.

“Were you surprised by my sudden visit? I’m not usually like this, but… the moment I saw Lord Masaka from afar, I realized it. If I let this chance slip by, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

She doesn’t seem like a bad person. Irel watched Ann closely, separating her personal feelings from the situation.

Ann was trying hard to present herself as alluring, using a seductive voice and giving Varkan coy smiles while constantly tucking her silky hair behind her ears.

But something about it felt… clumsy. It was less scheming and more innocent, almost endearing in its awkwardness. She must have lived in isolation up in the mountains, rarely meeting outsiders. Her current behavior seemed more like the uncontainable excitement of a girl who had just encountered her dream man.

“Lord Masaka doesn’t know much about me yet, does he? I’m the eldest daughter of one son and three daughters, and my specialty is quilting. My favorite color is red.”

Blushing slightly, Ann stole a glance at Varkan’s hair and continued speaking. Unfortunately, lost in her own innocent infatuation, she failed to notice the atmosphere growing tenser.

“Oh, right! Did I mention my age? I just turned twenty-one this spring—”

“Three.”

“What? My age is not twenty-three, it’s—”

“Two.”

“…!!”

“One.”

Varkan’s voice, filled with icy menace, sent shivers down her spine as he smiled chillingly, like the angel of death.