Episode 39. This Moment
Until now, the two had tested whether their strength was returning with light kisses or hand-holding.
However, since no response was received upon each touch, there was no reason to proceed further.
Furthermore, there was always a lack of suitable places and times for more in-depth testing.
Until now, Lacrahan had not established the concept of his own room or study.
Wherever he was, even the knights and other servants could freely come and go.
He had never felt the need to impose restrictions.
The library was the only space in Lacrahan's castle reserved for him, and that space was strictly guarded.
Under these circumstances, Lacrahan and Bercheria had never been able to utilize their alone time in the vast castle.
This was one of the things that needed to change after their wedding.
Another important factor was Lacrahan's condition.
He was always overly tense around Bercheria.
This tension peaked when she had been bitten by a snake in the forest.
He had first realized that sucking the venom from her chin could be more stimulating than kissing her.
"I need to come to my senses."
He had avoided women for fear of losing them.
But it made no sense to like someone when you knew they'd leave.
It was a feeling he had to give up anyway.
"Why do I have to give mana through touch? This is driving me crazy."
Lacrahan knocked on the door of his room, ruffling his black hair, and entered.
Bercheria sat on the edge of Lacrahan's bed, gazing out the window.
She tried to lightly apply her strength, but the weather hadn't changed at all. Even the most important strength—the ability to control the weather—had not returned.
"The wedding is tomorrow, and I need to regain at least some of my strength before then."
Only after regaining this strength would she be able to think about what came next.
A wave of impatience washed over her.
"Is there, by any chance, an official record of any Awakened being married so far? My memory might not be perfect."
When she turned, Lacrahan was undressing.
Then he paused for a moment and turned to look at her.
“I forgot we agreed to talk occasionally. Please understand, I’ll get used to it after a while.”
“...Yes.”
His hand, resting on his shirt button, paused again, meaninglessly.
The words he had uttered lingered on the tip of his tongue, unable to be properly digested.
Getting used to it?
Will the day ever come when we become accustomed to this marriage?
Trying to ignore the bitterness spreading through his mouth, he unbuttoned the button.
“What did you just say? Did you ask if any of the Awakened had ever been married?”
“Oh, yes.”
Lacrahan unfastened his cloak and belt, placing them on the couch in front of the fireplace.
“Hmm.”
As he searched his memory and took off his shirt, his expression showed an unusually tired look.
“I don’t remember it. But that too is a human record, so I don’t know what it was like before that.”
Although he was turned away, the oblique angle allowed his body to be clearly visible.
“I see.”
Bercheria was staring intently at Lacrahan’s back.
It wasn't because his masculine body, covered in delicate muscles, was impressive. It was because of the scars that covered his entire body.
Scars large and small littered his skin like messy doodles.
The most striking of them all was a deep, vivid scar that ran across his spine and up to his neck.
"Is it that ugly?"
"Oh."
Until now, the two had tested whether their strength was returning with light kisses or hand-holding.
However, since no response was received upon each touch, there was no reason to proceed further.
Furthermore, there was always a lack of suitable places and times for more in-depth testing.
Until now, Lacrahan had not established the concept of his own room or study.
Wherever he was, even the knights and other servants could freely come and go.
He had never felt the need to impose restrictions.
The library was the only space in Lacrahan's castle reserved for him, and that space was strictly guarded.
Under these circumstances, Lacrahan and Bercheria had never been able to utilize their alone time in the vast castle.
This was one of the things that needed to change after their wedding.
Another important factor was Lacrahan's condition.
He was always overly tense around Bercheria.
This tension peaked when she had been bitten by a snake in the forest.
He had first realized that sucking the venom from her chin could be more stimulating than kissing her.
"I need to come to my senses."
He had avoided women for fear of losing them.
But it made no sense to like someone when you knew they'd leave.
It was a feeling he had to give up anyway.
"Why do I have to give mana through touch? This is driving me crazy."
Lacrahan knocked on the door of his room, ruffling his black hair, and entered.
***
Bercheria sat on the edge of Lacrahan's bed, gazing out the window.
She tried to lightly apply her strength, but the weather hadn't changed at all. Even the most important strength—the ability to control the weather—had not returned.
"The wedding is tomorrow, and I need to regain at least some of my strength before then."
Only after regaining this strength would she be able to think about what came next.
A wave of impatience washed over her.
"Is there, by any chance, an official record of any Awakened being married so far? My memory might not be perfect."
When she turned, Lacrahan was undressing.
Then he paused for a moment and turned to look at her.
“I forgot we agreed to talk occasionally. Please understand, I’ll get used to it after a while.”
“...Yes.”
His hand, resting on his shirt button, paused again, meaninglessly.
The words he had uttered lingered on the tip of his tongue, unable to be properly digested.
Getting used to it?
Will the day ever come when we become accustomed to this marriage?
Trying to ignore the bitterness spreading through his mouth, he unbuttoned the button.
“What did you just say? Did you ask if any of the Awakened had ever been married?”
“Oh, yes.”
Lacrahan unfastened his cloak and belt, placing them on the couch in front of the fireplace.
“Hmm.”
As he searched his memory and took off his shirt, his expression showed an unusually tired look.
“I don’t remember it. But that too is a human record, so I don’t know what it was like before that.”
Although he was turned away, the oblique angle allowed his body to be clearly visible.
“I see.”
Bercheria was staring intently at Lacrahan’s back.
It wasn't because his masculine body, covered in delicate muscles, was impressive. It was because of the scars that covered his entire body.
Scars large and small littered his skin like messy doodles.
The most striking of them all was a deep, vivid scar that ran across his spine and up to his neck.
"Is it that ugly?"
"Oh."
She wanted to turn her head to see him turn away, but even that failed.
The scars on his front were just as severe as those on his back.
Cuts and stab marks littered his smooth skin.
Lacrahan walked toward her, pulling a loose white T-shirt down from his neck.
"Others call me a war hero, but they don't care about what I went through to win that war."
Lacrahan sat down on the edge of the bed beside her.
Bercheria's body tilted toward him under his weight, then returned to its original position.
"Did it hurt?"
Lacrahan frowned, as if asking why such a thing was happening, then smiled lightly and straightened his face again.
He stroked his chin with his fingertips, lost in thought.
As if he were being forced to give a grand answer to a trivial question.
“I guess the correct answer would be to say I didn’t even feel pain. My comrades were dying before my eyes, and in a place where corpses lay strewn, these small wounds meant nothing.”
The horrors of war lingered in Bercheria’s memory.
She hadn’t witnessed this war, but war had always happened, everywhere, and the Awakened were no exception.
Lacrahan leaned forward and stroked his face, feeling a cold warmth on the back of his neck.
He flinched, staring at Bercheria as she touched his wound.
“This could have cost me my life.”
The sensation of a soft, small hand pressing against the protruding wound was almost too vivid.
Lacrahan reached behind him and took Bercheria’s hand.
“I don’t tell people about that wound. No one asks me about it.”
“Why?”
“...”
He lived, and his father and brother died.
“Do you still not want to talk about it?”
Lacrahan ran a hand through his hair, still damp from his bath.
He hated the way others questioned him, seemingly out of mere curiosity.
Whatever pain they felt was insignificant compared to the grief Lacrahan had endured.
But Bercheria's calm voice sounded different from others.
Perhaps she held an expectation that he would understand.
Perhaps this was possible because he had seen that she, too, had suffered a comparable pain. Even in that filthy, narrow tower, Bercheria had not hidden her pain from Lacrahan.
"The people of the Kingdom of Contana treat their horses as if they were their own bodies. Like a barbarian people, they swing swords as big as their own bodies upon them."
Lacrahan joined them two years after the war began.
His brother and father, who had expected to return in just a few months, had not returned for over two years, and Lacrahan had turned seventeen.
He had finally passed the age limit stipulated by law for participation in war.
Of course, this law only applied to the nobles.
"I was a child who couldn't distinguish between theory and practice. I was just too eager to fight."
When he arrived, everyone, including his father and brother, was exhausted.
Seeing them, Lacrahan fell into the delusion that he had to do something.
The arrogance that he could lead this war to victory clouded his vision.
"I infiltrated the enemy lines alone. I thought I could do it. Actually, things were going pretty well at first. But when the leader of the opposing force showed up, the situation completely changed."
He was a seasoned general who had lived through wars both large and small.
He and the three generals escorting him subdued Lacrahan in an instant.
"It was a hair's breadth. If the wound had been any deeper, I would have died on the spot."
As Lacrahan lowered his head, his wounds revealed themselves, then hid again under his shirt.
"My father and brother thought I was dead. So, we began a fight for revenge. The standoff between the two factions lasted for over a week, and in the end, everyone was dead."
Wyatt, who had joined late, had discovered Lacrahan still alive while gathering the corpses for a funeral.
Lacrahan had been able to lead the war to victory, perhaps simply because of his venomous grief.
He turned to Bercheria.
“That’s how this wound came about. What do you think? Do I look like a fool now?”
Bercheria slowly shook her head.
Her chest tightened, unsure of what to say.
“I want to comfort you.”
Lacrahan’s expression hardened at Bercheria’s answer.
“How do people usually comfort you?”
The scars on his front were just as severe as those on his back.
Cuts and stab marks littered his smooth skin.
Lacrahan walked toward her, pulling a loose white T-shirt down from his neck.
"Others call me a war hero, but they don't care about what I went through to win that war."
Lacrahan sat down on the edge of the bed beside her.
Bercheria's body tilted toward him under his weight, then returned to its original position.
"Did it hurt?"
Lacrahan frowned, as if asking why such a thing was happening, then smiled lightly and straightened his face again.
He stroked his chin with his fingertips, lost in thought.
As if he were being forced to give a grand answer to a trivial question.
“I guess the correct answer would be to say I didn’t even feel pain. My comrades were dying before my eyes, and in a place where corpses lay strewn, these small wounds meant nothing.”
The horrors of war lingered in Bercheria’s memory.
She hadn’t witnessed this war, but war had always happened, everywhere, and the Awakened were no exception.
Lacrahan leaned forward and stroked his face, feeling a cold warmth on the back of his neck.
He flinched, staring at Bercheria as she touched his wound.
“This could have cost me my life.”
The sensation of a soft, small hand pressing against the protruding wound was almost too vivid.
Lacrahan reached behind him and took Bercheria’s hand.
“I don’t tell people about that wound. No one asks me about it.”
“Why?”
“...”
He lived, and his father and brother died.
“Do you still not want to talk about it?”
Lacrahan ran a hand through his hair, still damp from his bath.
He hated the way others questioned him, seemingly out of mere curiosity.
Whatever pain they felt was insignificant compared to the grief Lacrahan had endured.
But Bercheria's calm voice sounded different from others.
Perhaps she held an expectation that he would understand.
Perhaps this was possible because he had seen that she, too, had suffered a comparable pain. Even in that filthy, narrow tower, Bercheria had not hidden her pain from Lacrahan.
"The people of the Kingdom of Contana treat their horses as if they were their own bodies. Like a barbarian people, they swing swords as big as their own bodies upon them."
Lacrahan joined them two years after the war began.
His brother and father, who had expected to return in just a few months, had not returned for over two years, and Lacrahan had turned seventeen.
He had finally passed the age limit stipulated by law for participation in war.
Of course, this law only applied to the nobles.
"I was a child who couldn't distinguish between theory and practice. I was just too eager to fight."
When he arrived, everyone, including his father and brother, was exhausted.
Seeing them, Lacrahan fell into the delusion that he had to do something.
The arrogance that he could lead this war to victory clouded his vision.
"I infiltrated the enemy lines alone. I thought I could do it. Actually, things were going pretty well at first. But when the leader of the opposing force showed up, the situation completely changed."
He was a seasoned general who had lived through wars both large and small.
He and the three generals escorting him subdued Lacrahan in an instant.
"It was a hair's breadth. If the wound had been any deeper, I would have died on the spot."
As Lacrahan lowered his head, his wounds revealed themselves, then hid again under his shirt.
"My father and brother thought I was dead. So, we began a fight for revenge. The standoff between the two factions lasted for over a week, and in the end, everyone was dead."
Wyatt, who had joined late, had discovered Lacrahan still alive while gathering the corpses for a funeral.
Lacrahan had been able to lead the war to victory, perhaps simply because of his venomous grief.
He turned to Bercheria.
“That’s how this wound came about. What do you think? Do I look like a fool now?”
Bercheria slowly shook her head.
Her chest tightened, unsure of what to say.
“I want to comfort you.”
Lacrahan’s expression hardened at Bercheria’s answer.
“How do people usually comfort you?”
She seemed surprised, bewildered, or perhaps at a loss.
“My heart aches and I need to comfort you, but I don’t know what to say.”
Bercheria, truly at a loss for words, spoke her honest feelings.
Lacrahan had told her something he’d never told anyone before, and hearing it broke her heart.
Bercheria, who hadn't met many people, didn't know how to express her feelings.
"Ah."
One thing.
The only compliment she'd ever received came to mind.
Bercheria raised a hand and ruffled Lacrahan's hair.
Then, gently closing her eyes, she whispered,
"You held out well. I'm glad you survived, Lacrahan."
He still had a frown, as if holding something back, but then moved.
Wrapping his large hand around Bercheria's back, Lacrahan pulled her towards him and devoured her lips in one swift motion.
It was a mistake.
He knew from the beginning that he was making a mistake.
The moment Bercheria's hand touched his head, Lacrahan instinctively knew he wouldn't be able to control his impulses.
Perhaps he had been longing for this moment ever since their lips first met in the tower. A moment like this, a moment where he could feel her closer.
'Someone will appear for you, Lacrahan. Perhaps your heart will know it before you do.'
“My heart aches and I need to comfort you, but I don’t know what to say.”
Bercheria, truly at a loss for words, spoke her honest feelings.
Lacrahan had told her something he’d never told anyone before, and hearing it broke her heart.
Bercheria, who hadn't met many people, didn't know how to express her feelings.
"Ah."
One thing.
The only compliment she'd ever received came to mind.
Bercheria raised a hand and ruffled Lacrahan's hair.
Then, gently closing her eyes, she whispered,
"You held out well. I'm glad you survived, Lacrahan."
He still had a frown, as if holding something back, but then moved.
Wrapping his large hand around Bercheria's back, Lacrahan pulled her towards him and devoured her lips in one swift motion.
***
It was a mistake.
He knew from the beginning that he was making a mistake.
The moment Bercheria's hand touched his head, Lacrahan instinctively knew he wouldn't be able to control his impulses.
Perhaps he had been longing for this moment ever since their lips first met in the tower. A moment like this, a moment where he could feel her closer.
'Someone will appear for you, Lacrahan. Perhaps your heart will know it before you do.'
Perhaps the memories, emptied by the war, now reappeared so vividly in his dreams because his father had wanted Lacrahan to recall those memories.
Fearing that his youngest son, left alone, would foolishly fail to notice his own feelings. Fearing that he would still be suffering alone from the pain of losing his family.
'Well then. You must carefully watch your heart so that when that time comes, you won't ignore it. Do you understand?'
Lacrahan gently caressed Bercheria.
The deeper it got, the more his heart filled, not with desire.
This feeling couldn't be ignored, nor could it be ignored.
Lacrahan desperately knew how much he wanted to be with this woman.
But.
Could she be his?
Could he, a mere mortal, possess Bercheria?
Was he giving his heart to someone he was sure to lose again?
Complex thoughts surged through him like waves.
His heart filled and then dizzyingly emptied repeatedly.
Even if he wanted to possess Bercheria completely, he was afraid of being hurt.
If he lost someone again, Lacrahan might not be able to live with a clear mind.
But then.
The moment Bercheria's hand gripped his collar, Lacrahan felt the last of his sanity slip away.
As the hot body heat and body scent surged in, Bercheria closed her eyes without realizing it.
The kiss had begun without warning, but Lacrahan was incredibly affectionate.
Every time her body flinched, he held her tighter, and in return, he kissed her softly.
Was this a kiss meant to restore her strength, or was it impulsive?
Confusion washed over her, but she didn't want to push her away.
Every time his lips moved, her body trembled, and an indescribable fulfillment washed over her.
She knew the special feeling of embracing someone.
When she held Mrs. Morgan, when she held Tatiana.
Bercheria had felt comforted by the warmth of another person, something she had starved for her entire life, but now it was completely different.
If back then it felt like sharing body heat, now it felt like Lacrahan was absorbing everything within her.
Far from being unpleasant, this fact felt a thousand times more comforting. She felt as if she were relying on this man for everything.
Her head was throbbing, and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
But it wasn't a bad feeling.
Lacrahan pulled her dizzy, swaying body onto his lap and thrust deeper into Bercheria.
Fearing that his youngest son, left alone, would foolishly fail to notice his own feelings. Fearing that he would still be suffering alone from the pain of losing his family.
'Well then. You must carefully watch your heart so that when that time comes, you won't ignore it. Do you understand?'
Lacrahan gently caressed Bercheria.
The deeper it got, the more his heart filled, not with desire.
This feeling couldn't be ignored, nor could it be ignored.
Lacrahan desperately knew how much he wanted to be with this woman.
But.
Could she be his?
Could he, a mere mortal, possess Bercheria?
Was he giving his heart to someone he was sure to lose again?
Complex thoughts surged through him like waves.
His heart filled and then dizzyingly emptied repeatedly.
Even if he wanted to possess Bercheria completely, he was afraid of being hurt.
If he lost someone again, Lacrahan might not be able to live with a clear mind.
But then.
The moment Bercheria's hand gripped his collar, Lacrahan felt the last of his sanity slip away.
***
As the hot body heat and body scent surged in, Bercheria closed her eyes without realizing it.
The kiss had begun without warning, but Lacrahan was incredibly affectionate.
Every time her body flinched, he held her tighter, and in return, he kissed her softly.
Was this a kiss meant to restore her strength, or was it impulsive?
Confusion washed over her, but she didn't want to push her away.
Every time his lips moved, her body trembled, and an indescribable fulfillment washed over her.
She knew the special feeling of embracing someone.
When she held Mrs. Morgan, when she held Tatiana.
Bercheria had felt comforted by the warmth of another person, something she had starved for her entire life, but now it was completely different.
If back then it felt like sharing body heat, now it felt like Lacrahan was absorbing everything within her.
Far from being unpleasant, this fact felt a thousand times more comforting. She felt as if she were relying on this man for everything.
Her head was throbbing, and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
But it wasn't a bad feeling.
Lacrahan pulled her dizzy, swaying body onto his lap and thrust deeper into Bercheria.
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