Chapter 47: The Man She Abandoned (Review Bonus)

Chapter 47. The Man She Abandoned (Review Bonus)

Elia’s PoV

"Rey," she said softly. "How are you?"

Elia tried to make her voice sound normal.

It was proving considerably harder than she’d expected.

Her heart was beating too fast.

Ridiculous.

She was the Saintess. She’d faced the Dark Lord, healed soldiers with their limbs hanging by threads, and stood before kings without trembling.

Yet here she was, struggling to maintain her composure because Rey Valen had looked at her.

Just looked.

And smiled.

No.

Not smiled.

Smirked.

There was a difference.

The Rey she remembered used to smile at her with a quiet warmth that rarely appeared when he spoke to anyone else. Even during the war, when he was exhausted and surrounded by corpses, he’d sometimes softened his expression upon seeing her.

This man hadn’t.

His gaze was cold.

Not furious or even particularly hostile.

Just cold.

The kind of look Rey used to give strangers who interrupted his work.

And somehow, that hurt more than anger would have.

Elia swallowed.

The reports had been clear.

His curse was worsening.

His mind was deteriorating.

He could barely use magic without suffering unbearable pain.

One spy had even reported that he’d struggled against an A-rank Behemoth.

Yet the man standing before her looked... Better. Not merely healthy.

His complexion had improved. The shadows beneath his eyes were gone. His posture was straight, his movements controlled, and his dark formal attire emphasized the lean strength beneath it.

He looked more rested than he had during their entire journey.

More composed than the last time she’d visited his estate.

More handsome, too.

That last observation irritated her.

It was completely irrelevant.

So why had she noticed it first?

She remembered his final days after the war.

The black veins.

The trembling hands.

The way the curse spread beneath his skin whenever he tried to use mana.

He’d knelt beside his bed, one hand pressed against his chest.

His breathing had been ragged.

His body had convulsed with pain.

And he’d called her name.

"Elia..."

She could still hear it.

Not the cold, decisive voice of the Royal Magus who’d led their party through the Dark Lord’s territory.

A plea.

"Please..."

She’d tried. But her mana reserves had been nearly empty after treating him again and again.

And even if she’d possessed more mana, what difference would it have made?

The curse had saturated his entire body.

Healing the damage wouldn’t remove its source.

He’d only suffer again.

So she’d watched him lose consciousness.

Then she’d left his estate.

The following day, she’d been busy.

The day after that, there had been temple matters requiring her attention.

Then meetings.

Ceremonies.

Responsibilities.

By the time she’d considered visiting him again, several days had passed.

And the thought of seeing him in that condition had become unbearable.

Not because she couldn’t endure his suffering.

Because she couldn’t fix it.

She was the Saintess.

People looked at her and expected miracles.

Rey had looked at her the same way.

She’d hated that.

Eventually, she’d stopped visiting.

A logical decision.

The curse wasn’t her fault.

She hadn’t broken the Dark Lord’s core.

She hadn’t forced Rey to absorb the backlash.

She couldn’t save someone who was already beyond saving.

Those facts hadn’t changed.

So why did remembering them suddenly make her chest feel tight?

"I’m fine." Rey’s voice pulled her back into the banquet hall.

Elia blinked.

He lifted his wineglass slightly. "Better than ever." His smirk remained.

Her fingers tightened around her own glass.

Better than ever?

How?

She searched his face for signs of instability.

A twitch.

A flash of pain.

The familiar tension that appeared whenever the curse stirred.

Nothing.

He looked entirely comfortable.

Almost amused.

And that was wrong.

It was all wrong.

Elia knew how severe his condition had been.

She’d examined him herself.

She’d felt the corruption beneath his skin.

She’d told Darius that Rey would eventually lose his mind.

She’d believed it and still believed it.

Didn’t she?

Her gaze drifted toward the banquet guests.

Rey’s wives had become the center of attention.

Ariel stood among several noblewomen, smiling and blushing as she told them how wonderful her days had been under Rey’s care.

Lily was happily explaining the enchantments on her jewelry while holding a pastry. Somehow, the conversation had also turned to how much Rey loved her cooking, and she looked positively delighted to tell everyone about it.

Seris looked magnificent in crimson, her bearing proud and confident. Yet her eyes kept returning to Rey, alert and watchful. She looked ready to pounce on anyone who so much as thought about hurting him.

Nia was practically glowing beneath the attention. She proudly explained that Rey had crafted their jewelry himself. Most craftsmen lacked the mana capacity to create enchantments of such quality, but Rey possessed an extraordinary amount of mana. That made his creations exceptionally rare.

The noblewomen’s eyes gleamed.

Their husbands’ wallets practically screamed.

And Elia felt another unpleasant stab of jealousy.

Then there was Liora.

A small gathering had formed around her, listening intently as she discussed plans to expand the estate.

Elia blinked. ’Wait. What?’

They were expanding the estate?

Since when?

The spies had reported that Rey was struggling to manage his household. That his curse was worsening. That his estate was barely functioning.

So why were his wives talking about expansion as though everything was going wonderfully?

What the hell had happened?

They looked happy.

Every single one of them.

Not like women trapped in a household ruled by a madman.

Elia’s gaze returned to Rey.

He’d brought all five of them.

And they’d arrived in a flying crystal carriage.

She’d heard the commotion from inside the hall.

Then she’d seen the princesses enter, wearing enchanted accessories unlike anything she’d encountered before.

The noblewomen were practically fighting for a closer look.

Elia glanced down at her own necklace.

An expensive gift from the Light Temple.

Beautiful.

Refined.

But ordinary.

Her fingers loosened.

What a stupid thing to care about.

She was the Saintess.

She didn’t need to envy anyone’s jewelry.

And yet... Rey had made those accessories.

Elia forced herself to look away.

Rey’s gaze shifted toward Darius. Then back to her. "I see you two have gotten closer."

Elia’s breath caught.

His expression remained pleasantly unreadable. "Should I expect a wedding invitation soon?"

For one horrible second, Elia forgot how to speak.

Her eyes flicked toward Darius.

Then back to Rey.

Had he heard something?

Had someone told him?

No.

Impossible.

They’d been careful.

Darius scoffed. "Should I remind you, Rey?" His voice carried just enough volume to attract the attention of a few nearby guests. "Elia is the Saintess. She must preserve her chastity."

Elia kept her expression serene.

Her heart, however, gave an unpleasant jolt.

Darius continued. "And I’m bound by my duties as the Holy Knight. I have no time for something like that."

He smiled.

A flawless smile.

The kind that belonged in temple paintings.

Elia almost admired how effortlessly he delivered the lie.

Because the truth was considerably less holy.

She and Darius had shared a bed more than once.

It had started after she’d stopped visiting Rey.

After she’d accepted that the Royal Magus was no longer someone she could rely on.

Darius had been attentive. Confident. Powerful.

And, unlike Rey, he hadn’t spent their private conversations discussing formations, battlefield logistics, or the limitations of healing magic.

He’d made her feel desired. Important. Chosen.

At the time, she’d welcomed it.

Why shouldn’t she?

She’d spent years beside Rey, waiting for him to look at her as something more than a trusted companion.

He never had.

Not even after the five tribes had bestowed their princesses upon him.

Five princesses.

Five marriages.

And Rey had accepted them.

Elia had told herself she wasn’t jealous.

The marriages were political.

Everyone knew that.

But she’d still wondered whether she could make him choose her.

She’d considered visiting him more often while he was recovering.

Staying close.

Becoming the person he depended on most.

She’d even entertained a darker possibility.

If she could catch Rey in a moment of weakness and draw him into the bed, it wouldn’t matter whether he truly wanted her. Rey was a responsible man. Once they’d slept together, she was certain he would feel obligated to her.

And that obligation could bind him to her more securely than any confession of love.

Perhaps he would finally put her before those five princesses.

Then she’d seen the black veins spreading across his body.

Disgusting.

They’d crawled beneath his skin like something alive, turning the once-magnificent Royal Magus into a man she could barely stand to look at.

And when she’d learned how hopeless his condition truly was, all those carefully imagined possibilities had vanished.

She’d left him.

After all, what was the point of binding herself to a man who was already dying?

A perfectly sensible choice.

So why did seeing him now feel like discovering she’d abandoned something valuable just before someone else restored it?

Rey regarded Darius for a moment. Then nodded. "I see."

Elia braced herself.

For what, she wasn’t entirely sure.

An accusation?

A bitter remark?

Perhaps he’d ask why she’d stopped visiting him.

Part of her almost wanted him to.

At least then she’d have an opportunity to explain.

She could tell him about her depleted mana.

Her responsibilities.

The impossibility of curing the Dark Lord’s curse.

She could make him understand.

Instead, Rey smiled. "Luckily, I can enjoy my life." He took a leisurely sip of wine. "Because that sounds boring."