Salvation Through Delusion C114

Chapter 114

“The guard who followed Rue-nim has returned alone.”

The captain of the guard gestured for the soldier he had brought along to explain. Hesitating, the soldier blurted out an excuse first.

“Rue-nim shook me off and disappeared quickly into the darkness, so—”

He couldn’t even finish properly. An inexplicable chill crawled up his spine, and when he lifted his eyes, he met those terrifying golden eyes brimming with killing intent.

Eek—!

The soldier barely swallowed his scream when that dreadful gaze shifted elsewhere.

“Direction.”

Ignoring the soldier entirely, Tyroc questioned the captain. The captain, grasping the seriousness of the situation, shot the soldier a sharp look. The soldier hesitated, then spoke.

“I-I think it was toward the fog…”

“Nargal.”

Before he even finished listening, Tyroc called the captain again.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Rue has excellent night vision and moves quickly. If an escort lets their guard down, it’s easy to lose him. And yet now, my soldier is trying to hide his mistake by slandering Rue—the one who will become my consort.”

Tyroc’s voice was so flat it sounded devoid of emotion, but everyone present stiffened instantly.

A swordmaster could release killing intent as a formless pressure—something ordinary people could hardly endure.

Rick, an ordinary man, could barely breathe as he stood there. Even so, his mind was in turmoil. Why is he this angry?

“It’s my fault for failing to train them properly.”

Nargal dropped to one knee and bowed his head. The soldier beside him went pale and pressed his forehead to the floor, begging forgiveness. But once again, Tyroc seemed not to hear the soldier at all, directing his icy gaze only at Nargal.

“Then you’ll set the example. I strip you of your rank for one month. Return to the lowest post and guard the main gate without rotation.”

With that, he vanished into the darkness, as if going to find Rue himself.

Only then did Rick finally breathe, realizing one thing with certainty, whatever the reason: Tyroc genuinely cherished Adeye Rue.

I hadn’t wanted to cause trouble less than a day after arriving at the ducal estate, but this time it really couldn’t be helped.

Entering the fog without a lantern made it hard to find my way. Of course, with Mo, I could still keep the correct direction, so I just followed that.

But with visibility so poor, I failed to notice a stone jutting out from the ground.

Thud.

I tripped and slammed my knee hard.

“Ugh!”

I barely managed to brace myself with my hands to keep my head from hitting the ground, but my ankle twisted badly instead.

Sure enough, when I tried to stand, pain throbbed through my ankle, making it hard to put any weight on it.

I’d lost my escort, wandered into forbidden fog, and now I was injured too.

Wait—this is exactly the useless-protagonist route, isn’t it?

“Ah, fuck.”

The curse slipped out on its own. If I ran straight into Tyroc coming to rescue me like this, it’d be the peak of an annoying cliché.

That cannot happen.

Gritting my teeth, I dragged my aching leg forward a few steps, but every movement sent sharp pain shooting up.

Damn it, even if it hurts, I have to keep moving. I absolutely cannot get rescued in the fog like some idiot.

Just as I was forcing myself onward, diligent Mo spotted something in the darkness.

[There is a structure resembling a cabin at four o’clock.]

After a brief hesitation, I changed direction. Pushing myself and worsening the injury just to find my way might be worse than waiting safely somewhere to be rescued.

Luckily, the cabin wasn’t far, and the door was open. Thinking it abandoned, I stepped inside—and the moment I groped along the wall and lit a lamp, that assumption was overturned.

The small interior was well maintained. The bedding on a simple cot was neatly folded and clean, as if someone had used it recently.

Who on earth—

As I looked around in confusion, I belatedly noticed the tools lined up along one wall: various hammers and saws, coils of rope, and even a large wooden chest that looked like a toolbox.

It resembled a carpenter’s workshop. Yet strangely, other items were unmistakably expensive.

The lamp I’d lit was made from costly black magic stone, and the kettle and cups for tea were refined enough for a noble.

The combination made no sense—but it did let me guess who used this place.

In fog where no one else could enter, only one person would calmly drink fine tea while resting here.

…Damn it. Don’t tell me I’ve trespassed into Tyroc’s hideout?

I didn’t have to wait long to confirm that fear.

Creak.

The door opened with a faint sound.

The clouds that had lingered since daytime had swallowed even the weak moonlight, leaving the world drenched in darkness.

Beyond a certain point behind the mansion, there were no lamps at all. The boundary of darkness was especially clear tonight. Beyond it lay the fog—a warning not to go any farther.

If you go in, something terrible will happen.

Like a ghost’s whisper, the rumor had spread among people. And indeed, those who entered the fog had never returned alive.

That was why the estate’s servants never even looked this way. The only ones who would step here were newcomers who knew nothing.

But the fog was only a warning. The true cursed area around the main castle was enclosed by high walls. So Rue, who had entered the fog, wasn’t truly in danger.

At worst, he would just wander until exhausted and sit down.

Knowing this, Tyroc had no reason to rush.

And yet anxiety clung to him like sticky glue, growing until it felt as though it was strangling him.

It had begun the moment he returned to the estate and learned Rue wasn’t in his room.

His nerves sharpened like a blade. Absurdly enough, until then he’d been in such a good mood he almost felt lightheaded.

He’d spent the entire way imagining things he could say and do to fluster and horrify Rue, forcing himself to keep a straight face because the images made him want to laugh.

When thinking about their promised conversation, picturing Rue’s irritated expression made heat pool heavily below his waist.

He’d planned to straddle Rue, look down at that openly annoyed face, strip him, slide between his legs, and rub his cock against him.

Just imagining it made his head feel like it would explode.

Tyroc had never once in his life anticipated bedding someone like this. Desire had always been impulsive; the identity of the partner hardly mattered. Sex was merely a way to satisfy himself—nothing more.

But Rue was different.

At all hours, Rue dominated Tyroc’s thoughts. In those moments, it was as if flames erupted, consuming everything until only Adeye Rue remained.

At first, he refused to admit he was in heat for Rue. Anyone but Adeye Rue.

He dismissed it as a spark that would soon fade. But mocking his resolve, thoughts of Rue never disappeared.

More than once, he’d given in, stroking himself while thinking of him—his face, his voice, his movements, even the look of displeasure in his eyes that made Tyroc’s blood burn.

It’s just heat.

He kept repeating the excuse.

But as time passed, each time he thought of Rue, it wasn’t his groin but his chest that burned.

After returning from Borhumi, the feeling reached its peak. When he regained consciousness after being injured fighting Dorgo, the first thing that came to mind was Rue’s safety.

Only then did he admit his own foolishness. If it were mere heat, his chest wouldn’t ache like this.

The moment he could walk again, he threw himself into training day and night. Others thought he was rushing to regain his former strength—but that was only half true.

If he didn’t exhaust himself like this, he felt he might do something idiotic, like run straight to the Adeye estate.

“They say Adeye Rue is hovering between life and death.”

Hearing that, a powerful impulse surged through him in the dead of night. Go. See him with your own eyes.

Instead, he went to the training grounds and swung his sword until his wounds split open.

Drip. Drip.

Watching his blood fall to the ground, Tyroc faced the question he’d tried to ignore.

Why can’t I let him go?

The unfamiliar, uncontrollable thoughts enraged him. The moment he found a faint answer was when his friend visited.

“Accept me as your mate.”

At Hoiga’s request, his mind turned ice-cold. Even as the one calling himself a Savior spoke of lifting the curse, the words barely registered.

Absurdly, it was because of a single realization.

Then I won’t be able to have Rue.

 

TLv- Crazyyyy