Irene Decided to Die - Chapter 5
Irene smiled with a gloomy face and opened her parched lips to ask a question.
“A saint… you say?”
Upon hearing this, the Messenger looked at Irene.
“Yes, she’s right in front of me.”
If “right in front” meant Irene, she was the only one. Irene shrank back and asked again.
“Surely… you don’t mean me?”
However, the answer that came back was not what she expected.
“That’s right. I meant you. Please lie back down for now.”
The Messenger carefully reached out and laid Irene back on the bed.
“You’ve barely come back to life; you shouldn’t be moving around like this.”
At those words, memories deeply buried in her mind awakened.
The tips of her toes stepping into the void. The strange sensation of floating. Her body falling as if being sucked downward and the dull impact against a solid floor.
A chill ran through her body, causing her to shiver.
Survived a fall from that height? Alive? Lies! Lies! It’s all lies!
“Revived?”
Irene asked, clenching her teeth.
“It’s the grace of the goddess.”
Surviving is grace? No! This is a curse.
‘I didn’t want to live!’
If it truly were grace, it should have granted her death. At that moment, when she hit the hard stone floor, it should have severed her from this detestable world.
Her heart pounded violently, and the corners of her eyes reddened. Why? Why can’t she even face death as she wishes!
A teer. It trickled down her cheek and dampened the pillow.
“Is this a dream?”
She wished it were a dream.
“This is reality.”
However, the calm reply that came back was different from her wishes.
‘I didn’t want to live.’
But then, she came back to life. Tears flowed endlessly at that fact.
“No, it must be a dream.”
She spoke as if desperately pleading, but the Messenger shook his head. If this wasn’t a dream, then the person standing before her wasn’t an Messenger.
Burt. He was the king of the North, Burt.
Tears streamed down uncontrollably. The pain was unbearable. She cried as if her eyes would melt away. No, she wished her body would just melt away.
“Stop crying.”
Only then did she realize who the owner of the voice that had reached her in her torment was.
Despite her distraught state, she wanted to tear her ears off for not recognizing the king’s voice.
How could she not cry?
“Why, why!”
Was she alive? She didn’t want to live. She wanted to die just like that!
“Why did I survive!”
“The grace of the goddess…”
“It’s not grace!”
Irene wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed, gasping for breath.
“Goddess, why… why did you save me?”
The one who answered her question wasn’t the goddess but Burt.
“Because you are the saintess.”
At those words, she lifted her tearful eyes to look at Burt. Shocked, she had momentarily forgotten that he had been calling her a saintess all this time.
“Could it be.”
“That ‘could it be’ is correct.”
“Ah, ahahahaha!”
Irene forced out laughter through her hoarse voice.
A saintess, she thought. The most wretched being tortured in the tower of death was now a saintess.
She didn’t know whether to believe it or not. But she couldn’t not believe it either.
Her counterpart was one of the four kings who ruled the world, and it seemed unlikely he would lie just to deceive her.
“I’m a saintess?”
To Irene’s words, Burt replied.
“That’s right.”
It was painful. Everyone had said she could never become a saintess. They insulted her, bringing up her ominous mark and humble origins as they tormented her.
‘But a saintess? Me, a saintess? Does that even make sense?’
She had no choice but to laugh.
“Ha, hahaha. Ahahaha.”
‘Oh, cruel goddess.’
