To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 236

Finally standing before Varkan, King Phenosos looked utterly defeated, his face ashen and pale. The contrast between the older man and the youthful, imposing Varkan only served to make Phenosos appear more aged and frail.

Boooo—

Jeers erupted from the crowd the moment they recognized Phenosos. It was inevitable.

One of Varkan’s first moves after seizing the capital had been to unearth damning secret documents. These included evidence of the royal support for the High Temple’s inhumane experiments, as well as plans to control the Masaka.

Among the most damning was a guide for deploying the royal Masaka guards in case of civil unrest. Stamped with the king’s seal, the manual instructed them not to intervene in certain impoverished districts, even if the Kitans attacked, unless over 80% of the city’s population had been wiped out.

Varkan had scattered these documents throughout the capital like snow in winter. Those who could read were outraged, and those who heard of it secondhand were even more furious.

And now, the very same King Phenosos stood before them, a mere shadow of his former self. The crowd’s fury swelled, shouts and curses hurled his way, some even ready to throw eggs or worse.

“Today is a glorious day. Please, maintain your dignity. Prove your worthiness to be present by your actions,” Archbishop Merzack sternly interjected, quelling the mob with his commanding tone. There was no need to humiliate the fallen king any further.

The reason Phenosos was here, delivering the crown in person, was purely for pragmatic reasons. By formally receiving the crown from him, Varkan would solidify the legitimacy of his succession, preventing any future claims of illegitimacy.

Merzack saw it necessary to prevent unnecessary scorn. Varkan, however, thought otherwise.

‘This man’s not my type,’ Varkan mused as he watched the archbishop work. He was supposed to collaborate with Merzack in spreading Nashiva’s new religion, but even now, something about the man rubbed him the wrong way.

‘Maybe Nashiva’s not fond of me either—probably sees me as the thief who stole her daughter.’

While Varkan’s thoughts wandered, Phenosos played his role, walking forward with a bitter, resentful expression plastered across his face. His every movement was rigid with disgust.

Varkan, ever the opportunist, lowered his head slightly, not out of respect but simply to allow Phenosos to place the crown on his head due to their height difference.

“…I, Phenosos Alexandros Fernandez Cloden II, hereby officially acknowledge Varkan Ha Mash’s succession, and with goodwill, I present this crown as a symbol of recognition for the new dynasty.”

Though he likely wished to smash the crown over Varkan’s head instead, the deposed king summoned all his restraint and, with great effort, placed the crown on Varkan’s fiery red hair. The crown gleamed in the sunlight, its gold and ruby accents shining brilliantly against Varkan’s striking hair.

The sight was nothing short of breathtaking. The crown’s dark red rubies glowed like a second sun atop Varkan’s head, casting him in an almost divine light. To the people, he seemed more like a demigod than a mere king.

“I never thought this day would come,” Phaesus muttered, uncharacteristically breaking his silence as he watched the ceremony. Having shared the same goal with Varkan for so long, seeing it come to fruition left him deeply moved.

“Indeed,” Chellos agreed, wiping a tear from his eye with a handkerchief. Though he had always carried himself with professional detachment, it was moments like this that revealed his deep emotional attachment.

Varkan, now crowned, stood tall and proud on the platform, beaming as he turned to face the people he would rule.

But something strange happened. Instead of the anticipated applause and cheers, murmurs rippled through the crowd, growing louder by the second.

“Do you see that?”

“My goodness…”

“I can’t believe my eyes.”

Confused by the reaction, Irel glanced around, uncertain of what was happening. Next to her, Chellos, his mouth agape, turned to her in shock.

“Irel, my lady,” he called.

“Yes?” she replied, her brows furrowing.

“Look at the sky.”

Following his gaze, Irel raised her head, expecting rain or perhaps a sudden change in the weather. But what she saw was far more astonishing.

“The sun…!” she gasped.

The two suns in the sky were merging into one. At first, she thought her eyes were deceiving her, but no—it was really happening. The two brilliant orbs in the sky, which had stood apart for so long, were rapidly coming together.

When the two suns fully overlapped, a blinding explosion of light filled the sky, illuminating everything in a radiant glow.

“Ah!”

Irel instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, the intense brightness searing through her eyelids, leaving yellow afterimages behind. Tears welled up from the sheer force of the light.

Once the stinging subsided, she cautiously opened her eyes, blinking away the spots in her vision. What she saw then left her breathless.

Standing alone on the platform was Varkan, draped in his crimson cape, his white ceremonial uniform adorned with golden patterns. The newly placed crown glistened on his head, and the now unified sun bathed him in a celestial light.

Irel stared at him in awe, her heart racing. Who had said it? That a king is not born, but sent by the heavens?

Before her stood Varkan, and in this moment, he truly looked like a king chosen by the gods. The radiant light surrounded him like a halo, making him seem both foreign and magnificent.

And Irel wasn’t the only one who felt this.

“L-Long live the king…!” a voice from the crowd finally cried out, breaking the silence.

A trembling voice from the crowd broke the silence, and as if on cue, the shouts began to build.

“Long live the king!”

“Long live the new king!”

“Blessings from the gods upon us!”

The cheers were even louder than before, but this time, Irel didn’t mind the noise. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, her body was alive with chills of excitement. She stood still, trembling in place, caught in the sheer magnitude of the moment.

Glancing around, she saw Yan Louis, Phaesus, and all of Varkan’s loyal followers, shouting with all their might. In that single moment, every one of them was united, pouring out their passion and joy as they welcomed the dawn of a new era.

The new age had arrived.

Amid the deafening cheers, Varkan Ha Mash raised the royal scepter high above his head. His once stoic expression, untouched by the miracle of the merging suns, now broke into a radiant smile—a smile as brilliant as the reign he was about to usher in.

***

On a high, windy hill, a woman stood alone, her hair whipping around her face as she gazed down at the distant capital below. The man on the coronation stage was tiny from her vantage point, but his presence was unmistakable, as if the sun itself followed him wherever he went.

“Is that what it means to be chosen?” she muttered under her breath, brushing her unruly hair behind her ear. Her left eye, a stunning green like a precious gem, was in stark contrast to the other, which was covered by a black eyepatch.

The wound that had torn through her cornea had mostly healed, but the healer had warned her that she might never regain her sight. It didn’t matter, though. She had gotten what she wanted most.

“Isn’t that right, Philip?” she whispered softly, glancing down at the man in the wheelchair she was pushing. The figure in the chair gave no response.

Since his awakening, Philip had been devastated by the sight of his broken body—his legs and one arm completely useless. Once living as a prince in all but name within the palace, his fall from grace had shattered him. He couldn’t bear the reality that he had become a crippled shadow of his former self.

As a Masaka, his once-strong body had been broken beyond repair, part of the punishment for being spared with his life. His limbs were useless, and without someone to care for him, he couldn’t even perform basic tasks on his own. His Masaka abilities, capable of neutralizing others, were useless in everyday life.

Realizing his fate, Philip had raged, cried, and eventually given up, slipping into a fugue state where he scarcely acknowledged the world around him. It was a form of escape, a decision to remain trapped in a fantasy rather than face his cruel reality.

‘Are you really going to leave with him?’ Irel had asked the day before they left the capital. She had been wary, knowing what taking Philip along would entail. He was no longer a prince or a captain of the royal guard, but a broken man who couldn’t take care of himself.

‘I’ll take him with me,’ had been her calm response.

Seria smiled now as she remembered that conversation. The reward for her betrayal had been more than sweet. She had been given enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life, a cozy house on a hill, and Philip Alswaiz, a man who couldn’t do a thing without her. It was almost too sweet, like something that would rot her teeth.

“Do you remember, Philip?” she asked softly, crouching down to look at him. The man who had once looked down on her with disdain could now only meet her gaze if she lowered herself to his level.

“You always treated me like a doll,” she whispered, brushing his cold cheek with her fingers. “And I didn’t mind. I would have been anything you wanted, as long as I could stay by your side.”

To be used by him had been enough. She had gladly shared her life force with him, happy to be of service. Being born a Risevra had felt like a blessing simply because it allowed her to give herself to him.

“Until you threw me away, like a worn-out toy, and found a new one.”

If only he hadn’t abandoned her, she would never have betrayed him. Men truly were foolish, she thought with a bitter smile.

Even now, Philip’s face was as handsome as ever, though his once-bright eyes were now dull, and his complexion had grown sallow. Yet, he was still beautiful, and that brought her some comfort.

“It’s all right now. You’re my doll,” she murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

Her voice was soft as she kissed his cheek. Philip, with his vacant eyes and unresponsive body, gave no sign that he had heard her.

But that didn’t matter. He was hers, and he would remain hers until the day he died.