Irene Decided to Die - Chapter 8
It was she who had been crawling on the floor, begging for affection not long ago, yet now the roles seemed reversed.
“In front of others as well?”
“If that’s what you desire.”
The rage that had heated her mind seemed to cool slightly.
Both Burt and the other kings would not stand idly by and let Irene die. If she couldn’t die no matter what, then…
Irene’s gaze grew icy.
‘It’s unfair for me to taste hell alone.’
Whether it was because she had died and come back to life, or because her status had changed upon becoming a saint, Irene wished for others to experience her suffering.
The Irene who blamed herself and lived in sorrow had died.
“Good.”
Having reached a conclusion, Irene dropped the informal speech.
“If that’s how it is, I won’t die. But I won’t make a deal.”
Deals were only possible in a relationship of equals. Were she and he equals?
To that question, she could confidently answer, “No.”
She was above him now. She had never wanted to join hands with such a dark-hearted individual in the first place.
Why was he caring for her alone? Perhaps he was less emotional than the other kings, but she didn’t believe that was the whole story.
‘He must have wanted to monopolize the saint.’
Otherwise, why would a king care for her alone? It made no sense.
“Won’t you make a deal?”
“Yes, I will issue unilateral commands. You asked if I wanted revenge, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Help me with my revenge.”
If she couldn’t die, she would make others wish they could die from the torment.
“Helping you will not be difficult, but is there truly no compensation?”
“I won’t die.”
That was the greatest thing Irene could offer.
Burt looked at her calmly and then nodded,’
“Very well. I hope that someday we can make a deal on equal footing.”
“That will never happen.”
“One never knows with the causality of the world.”
With that, a pact was formed between them. As soon as all was settled and the tension dissipated, Irene collapsed where she stood and closed her eyes.
Her exhausted body could no longer hold up.
Burt stood up, approached her, and lifted her into his arms, relieved that she was still breathing properly.
He walked past the chaos on the floor and laid Irene on the bed.
She seemed different than before. The Tower of Death seemed to have changed her.
But Burt found he liked this change. With this level of venom, she wouldn’t collapse easily anymore.
He was troubled by her previous desire for death, but since she promised not to pursue that path now, it was a relief.
‘This is more challenging than I thought.’
He had assumed that invoking revenge and power would make persuasion easier, but it wasn’t so. It only highlighted the depth of her wounds.
A new stimulus had arrived in his otherwise mundane life, and it brought him immense joy.
Burt smiled as he looked at the raven-black hair scattered like crow feathers across the pillow.
‘Please live for a long time.’
He could only hope and wish.
Then, a noise from outside interrupted Burt’s thoughts.
“Lord Burt!”
They were the ones who had been unable to leave, pacing anxiously outside.
“Come in.”
Upon his delayed invitation, the previously restless priest and maids poured in. They gaped at the disarray on the floor, their expressions a mix of shock and confusion.
“Clean this up. And since the saint has collapsed again, call for a physician.”
At his command, the maids bowed hastily, some darting out to summon a physician.
“Are you alright?”
A young priest, appearing to hold some rank, approached Burt to inquire.
Only then did Burt remember the cuts on his palms, though he deemed them not serious enough for treatment. After all, it was a mark bestowed by the saint herself; carrying such a scar seemed fitting.
“I’m fine.”
Burt responded. The priest seemed to want to say more but was overpowered by Burt’s presence and remained silent.
“Make sure the saint is properly treated.”
“We’ll do our best!”
The summoned physician quickly attended to Irene. Shocked by her condition, they hurriedly opened their box of medical tools.
The carefully applied bandages were now a mess, and blood was seeping out again. Their alarm was understandable.
“Hurry up!”
“Start with stopping the bleeding!”
The physicians moved swiftly to their tasks.
‘Now, it’s time for me to do what I must.’
Burt stepped away to attend to the next matter at hand.
He felt the need to find out more about what the other three kings were doing.
