Irene Decided to Die - Chapter 4
As he spoke, the saint cried even more sorrowfully, but she reached for Burt’s hand.
Blood seeped from the thin fingers wrapped in bandages. Despite the trembling hand approaching him, he couldn’t bring himself to avoid it.
He wasn’t usually like this, but facing the saint seemed to weaken his resolve.
As the saint’s crying subsided, the healers around wiped their chests in relief. Treating the saint, who writhed in agony from the pain, was incredibly difficult.
“What are you just standing there for? Move.”
Upon hearing the cold, stern voice, the healers jumped in surprise and quickly resumed their actions. They were determined to save the saint by any means necessary.
“Sir Burt.”
An aide called out to him, but he couldn’t move at the moment.
“I’ll stay here.”
The aide, who had cautiously spoken earlier, quickly nodded at Burt’s words. One of the attendants hurriedly brought a chair, and Burt ended up guarding the saint’s bedside.
The saint still tightly held onto his hand.
“What are the others doing?”
At Burt’s stern question, Gerick, who was standing by, replied.
“They’re discussing the current situation outside.”
At that, a smirk tugged at the corner of Burt’s mouth.
“What situation?”
“It’s about preparations in case the saint passes away.”
That discussion felt like escaping from reality. Furthermore, assuming the worst-case scenario when the saint was still alive and kicking was unbelievable cowardice. It was a despicable trait for a king to have.
Well, considering what they had done to the saint, it wasn’t hard to understand why they might want to flee. After all, the one they tormented had risen to the top.
“How ridiculous.”
It was truly ridiculous. Or was it? Suddenly, that thought crossed his mind.
What if he could get his hands on this wounded saint? That’s what he pondered.
If he could win the saint over to his side, it seemed like there might be some change in her tiresome life.
It could be a mutually beneficial deal in many ways.
The saint suffered for several days.
Some trembled at the thought of her death, while others busied themselves with finding out if a new saint could be appointed.
And in the midst of it all, miraculously, Irene opened her eyes.
‘Where am I?’
It was an unfamiliar ceiling. Irene had never stayed in such a luxurious room before.
Despite being raised as the daughter of a duke, her own room was small and modest. She still felt excruciating pain all over her body, but her mind was clear for the first time in a while.
The first thing she realized was the hand she was holding onto.
In that moment of realizing she was clutching onto a man’s large and sturdy hand, she panicked.
Hesitantly, as she followed her hand with her gaze, she saw a familiar face. She hadn’t seen him many times, but he was so remarkably handsome that she remembered him well.
‘Burt, the king who rules the north.’
But it couldn’t be true, could it? Remembering his cold demeanor, Irene shook her head.
It seemed like the messengers of the afterlife took on the appearance of familiar people.
She couldn’t help but wonder why it had to be him, but she decided not to dwell on it too deeply. The fact that she was dead seemed more important.
The messenger was sitting on the chair beside her bed with his eyes closed. He seemed to be asleep.
Irene slowly released her hand and grimaced as she raised her upper body to look around. It was indeed an unfamiliar place.
“Ugh.”
She clutched her chest in pain. After struggling to catch her breath several times and whimpering in pain, she lifted her head to find steel blue eyes staring back at her.
Those emotionless eyes sent chills down her spine, rendering her unable to speak.
Is this hell? Or heaven?
Irene wondered, knowing well that she didn’t qualify for heaven, yet a faint hope refused to let go of her.
Unable to muster the courage to ask, she could only stare intently at those eyes until the messenger spoke first.
“You have awakened.”
See? He wasn’t the Northern King after all.
There was no reason for him to address her formally, for she was a criminal who had tried to assassinate a candidate for saintship.
No matter how much she denied it, if everyone else believed it, it became the truth.
Recalling the pain she endured in the tower, her fingertips began to tremble. Why did she have to suffer even in death? It was agonizing and heartbreaking.
“Saint?”
the messenger said.
‘Saint?’
The saint?
Irene looked around in shock, but Ramiel was nowhere to be seen.
There were only the two of them in the room. Then, was she being referred to as a saint now?
‘No way!’
That couldn’t be true. It was absolutely impossible.
