Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 93
At that moment, Michael paused briefly, as if holding something back. He sat still for a long time before gently taking Irene’s hand. Then, he pressed his lips to each of her fingers, one by one.
Each time he touched her in this way, it felt like a cool breeze was passing through him. It should have been a pleasant sensation, but Michael didn’t welcome it.
“…This isn’t bad at all. For now.”
The desire that surged within him burned like flames, consuming his thoughts every minute and every second. It should have been unbearable, yet he found that he did not want to escape the intensity.
The cool relief Irene provided as his pair filled him with self-reproach.
The more he touched her, the more he realized just how dark and deep the desire he harbored within himself truly was.
Thankfully, he had managed to suppress his urges for now. He was helped by the small, delicate laughter she let out each time he touched her.
It was a sound he had never heard from her before. She had always treated him with respect and formality.
“You are my pair. I don’t understand why you’re so distant from me.”
His voice was soft and slightly complaining, the kind of tone that would have surprised Irene if she were awake.
“I wish you’d just trust me and accept me without hesitation.”
He murmured as he continued to kiss her fingers and nails, his actions almost reverent, like a devout believer seeing a divine image for the first time.
Then, his lips lingered on her ring finger.
“…”
He narrowed his eyes as he stared at her bare finger where no ring adorned her hand. At the same time, the red in his eyes deepened.
Whenever Irene walked by, everyone would look at the ring on her finger.
And he had felt pleased by that.
Whenever people saw her, they would be reminded of who had given her that ring.
They would know who her pair was.
When he first learned about the significance of giving the first artifact to a pair, this was the item that immediately came to mind.
The most valuable thing he knew of, and something he desperately wanted to give to Irene.
That’s why he had intentionally ‘summoned’ it.
People had no idea what an unstable dungeon truly was, nor how he could control such things.
Michael gently set Irene’s hand down and stood up.
He only took a few steps away, but it felt as if he were leaving behind a piece of himself.
Though he had spent the entire night clinging to and devouring her, the hunger inside him hadn’t been satisfied—it had only deepened.
He couldn’t fathom how much more he would need to hold her to feel complete.
But he wasn’t disheartened by that realization.
The sensation of yearning for someone so deeply, to the point that it made his fingertips tremble, was intensely pleasurable.
He finally understood why the temple forbade such pleasures. It was a dark and overwhelming ecstasy, capable of making even the most devout crumble.
As he looked around, his eyes fell on the ring sitting on the table.
He thought of returning it to its rightful owner, but just as he moved to do so, he stopped.
Staring curiously at the ring in his hand, he turned his gaze to the box on the table.
He opened it, revealing the dagger Irene had purchased earlier at the auction.
As he picked it up, the dagger made a low humming noise, as if in protest.
Michael smirked at the weapon’s resistance.
He looked back and forth between the ring and the dagger, murmuring to himself,
“So, even you have a pair, don’t you?”
Others might not have understood, but he did.
This ring and the dagger were forged from the same block of mineral, crafted into separate items.
Artifacts that roamed different dimensions and worlds, temporarily anchored here.
Though they had been apart for a time, once they were in the same world, one must have called to the other.
Michael glanced at the appraisal report that had been left in the box.
The fortress staff had shaken their heads, claiming the language was indecipherable, a language unknown anywhere in the world.
But Michael’s eyes quickly scanned through it.
“Yorgo’s Blade, capable of inflicting critical damage at a certain probability. The more enemies faced, the higher the probability and the more devastating the power…”
The language that supposedly didn’t exist anywhere on the continent—Michael read it effortlessly.
