To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 235

The weather was perfect. Under a clear, cloudless sky, two suns bathed the land in radiant golden light.

It felt as though the eyes of the man ascending the throne reflected that same brilliance.

The man with neatly swept-back red hair stood tall, his forehead smooth and proud. His sharp brows, slightly languid yet captivating eyes, a strong nose, and full lower lip combined to create a face that was both beautiful and striking.

No matter the angle, his appearance was powerful and mesmerizing.

Perhaps that’s why the cheers from the people looking up at him were even louder than the sun’s radiance.

“Wow, he’s really popular, isn’t he?” Jin, dressed in a deep blue uniform, remarked as he looked around in awe. Next to him, Yan Louis, unusually well-groomed for the occasion, grumbled.

“That’s because they don’t know the captain’s true nature. People only see what they want to see.”

As if hearing the comment, Varkan, standing on the platform, glanced briefly in their direction.

“Yikes,” Yan Louis muttered, instinctively shrinking his neck. But Varkan’s gaze wasn’t on him.

His eyes were locked on Irel.

The man who now had the world at his feet beamed foolishly at her, looking utterly thrilled just to see her.

“Oh my,” Irel clasped her hands in front of her chest, feeling touched by the sight. It was almost harmful to her heart how such a man, who seemed so untouchable, could look at her with such affection.

They say there’s nothing sexier than a successful man, and today, Varkan looked like a sun god descended from the heavens.

“The dress suits you beautifully, Lady Irel,” said Florence, standing nearby with his signature bright wings hidden beneath a cloak, offering a polite compliment.

“Thank you. It’s all thanks to you, Florie,” Irel replied, her hands brushing the silver-gray fabric of her dress. The gown had minimal decoration apart from a large diamond brooch at her chest, with a flowing drape design that emphasized elegance.

Though simple, the dress was anything but dull, thanks to Florie’s touch. He had sprinkled it with shimmering powder that made it sparkle in a breathtaking rainbow of colors with every slight movement.

A long purple cloak, fastened with a jeweled brooch at her shoulder, flowed down her back, embroidered with the Elorance family crest in silver thread. It was as regal and extravagant as the rest of her ensemble.

‘Like a queen from some faraway land,’ Irel mused, glancing down at herself.

Though she hadn’t yet married Varkan, she didn’t need to stand with him during the coronation. Instead, he had given her the most honored seat, reserved for the most distinguished guest at the ceremony.

‘And he even crowned me.’

Since her position didn’t call for the royal crown, Irel was wearing the platinum tiara Varkan had given her when he proposed. Dressed in shimmering silver from head to toe, she was a clear statement to the world: Irel Elorance was the only woman who would stand with the new king.

“Behold, the day of glory has arrived. A new sun rises, shining brightly under the blessing of the gods!”

It was Archbishop Merzack who spoke solemnly, beginning the coronation ceremony. He had been the one to visit Varkan’s estate shortly after the second sun had appeared, recognizing him as the rightful king.

Merzack, though part of the High Temple, was known to have no interest in the politics of the secular world. Yet he had received a vision that compelled him to endorse Varkan’s reign.

‘He said he dreamed of a forgotten goddess,’ Irel recalled, noting that Merzack, too, must have been one of the “chosen” who could hear the voice of the divine. And the one who had chosen him as her vessel was none other than Nashiva.

Her return to the divine realm was not yet widely known, and it would take time for the world to accept the truth.

But with Varkan as king, that transition would happen much faster. He had vowed to spread the word of the new goddess as part of his reign.

‘It’s only fair to repay what I owe,’ Varkan had said with a grin, gesturing to the two suns in the sky. He clearly knew the miracle was Nashiva’s doing.

‘He may not know the specifics of the wish, but still,’ Irel thought, smiling to herself. It wasn’t her style to boast about such things, after all.

Standing with perfect poise, Irel smiled gracefully, though to the crowd, she probably still looked like a princess from a fairy tale.

“Our new king, with mercy in your heart, care for your people and spread the prosperity of your reign,” Archbishop Merzack finished the long blessing, bowing his head—a gesture reserved only for the king.

Varkan, accepting the honor with ease, walked forward on the red carpet and stopped in front of a box. Inside lay the royal scepter used only for coronations, and the golden seal that marked the true king’s authority.

He lifted the scepter in one hand and the seal in the other, turning to face the crowd. With both arms raised high, he stood proudly before the people.

“Waaaah!!!”

“Glory to our new sun!!”

“Glory!!!”

The deafening cheers that erupted seemed to shake the air itself, and the overwhelming sound made Irel’s ears feel as if they were under water, her eardrums muffled by the roar. Though she almost instinctively reached up to cover her ears, she resisted with admirable composure.

Glancing around, Irel noticed that the Masaka, who were known for their keen senses, were openly wincing in discomfort, their faces contorted from the sheer volume.

“Ahem! Ahem!!”

Merzack, the archbishop, waved his hands in an attempt to quiet the crowd when the cheering showed no signs of stopping. Gradually, the cheers subsided, and a calm settled over the square.

With the crowd now attentive, Merzack moved on to the final part of the ceremony.

“We will now proceed with the crowning of Varkan Ha Mash, rightful successor to the throne.”

As soon as those words were spoken, the curtains behind the platform parted gracefully. Irel smiled softly at the sight of the ornate golden crown, encrusted with rubies, resting on a cushion of red velvet.

Varkan had been somewhat reluctant leading up to the coronation, having already given Irel a crown during his proposal. He had hesitated to ask for the royal crown back, too proud to reclaim what he had already offered her.

‘No need for a crown. My face alone is the crown,’ he had said with an amusing amount of confidence.

As much as Irel admired his self-assuredness, she knew a crown was necessary for the legitimacy of a new dynasty, especially when the new king was seen as a usurper.

‘Just take it back for the day. I’ll lend it to you,’ she had teased him, knowing full well how vital it was for the symbolic weight of the coronation. The crown of the old kings would reinforce his claim and make up for his less traditional path to the throne.

Despite her jest, Irel had felt some relief as she handed it back. After all, the crown was a national treasure, and she had been a little burdened by its significance. Besides, she knew Varkan’s attachment to crowns bordered on obsession—he would be far from satisfied unless she wore them regularly.

‘One crown is more than enough,’ Irel thought, absentmindedly touching the small platinum tiara Varkan had given her, content with the simplicity.

As the crown slowly made its way to Varkan, Yan Louis leaned in with a puzzled expression.

“It’s really something, isn’t it?” he remarked.

“What is?” Irel asked, her eyes still on the glittering crown.

“How he got him to deliver the crown,” Yan Louis said, pointing toward the man carrying the cushion.

Astonishingly, the one bringing the crown to Varkan was none other than King Phenosos himself.

The very man who had fought tooth and nail to stay on the throne until the bitter end. The same man who, even now, likely harbored thoughts of stabbing Varkan and fleeing with the crown. Yet here he was, handing over the very symbol of his lost power.

“How did Varkan manage that?” Yan Louis asked, wide-eyed.

Irel smiled knowingly. “You know Varkan’s methods by now.”

She subtly gestured toward the platform’s floorboards. “Wanna see?”

Yan Louis didn’t need much convincing. He bent down, his upper body turning translucent as he phased through the floorboards to take a look.

A few seconds later, he re-emerged, his expression a mixture of awe and horror.

“Wow. He’s a villain. A villain to the core.”

“Surprised?” Irel chuckled, fully expecting his reaction. Beneath the platform, Ramon lay bound tightly, held captive in case King Phenosos refused to comply with the ceremony. If the deposed king attempted to flee, or do anything foolish, Ramon’s life would be forfeit.

Phenosos was forced to deliver the crown himself, knowing full well that if he didn’t, Varkan would execute his son right before his eyes.

“As he said before,” Irel mused, “a father will do anything for his child.”

And so, with no other choice, Phenosos, his heart heavy with resentment, was left to personally crown the man who had stolen everything from him.