Turning Chapter 1081

"...He's asleep."

Kishiar, eyes closed, gazed quietly at the man resting in his arms.

Who could have imagined that soone always so composed and sharp, never a hair out of place, could look like this?

Steady breaths, a body gone slack with sleep. Lips slightly parted beneath dark lashes like strands of hair—fuller than usual, tinted deep with color, enough to make anyone guess what they had just done. The strands of hair still damp and sticking to his nape, the reddish tips of his earlobes standing in contrast to his pale ears, the fingers marked with overlapping bite marks like rings—there wasn’t a single detail that wasn’t drenched in sensuality.

The man, always tense and vigilant, had completely unlatched every lock only in front of Kishiar. Watching him sleep as if he didn’t care what might be done to him stirred in Kishiar countless feelings that words couldn’t begin to capture.

It was all the more poignant because the place they were in was none other than the office in Peleta Castle.

Kishiar had once seen a fragnt of the mories Yuder had lived through in this place. But seeing wasn’t the sa as fully understanding what the other had felt.

So all he could do was what was in his power.

To make everything happen the way the man who had trusted him enough to fall asleep wanted it to.

Kishiar held Yuder’s hand as his eyes slowly scanned their surroundings. His gaze sank low, like a beast ready to tear apart an approaching enemy at any mont.

No changes nearby. Everyone in Peleta Castle was still going about their duties, unaware of what had happened here. Even when Kishiar pushed his Swordmaster senses to their limit to sweep the castle and everything beneath it—nothing unusual turned up.

A man ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) who could’ve done sothing so staggering that even other Swordmasters would doubt their eyes now quietly withdrew his sensory range back to normal. The birds and insects, frozen into silence by his overwhelming aura, only now resud their songs.

That he could heighten his senses this much in an instant without even coughing blood was proof that Kishiar’s health was better than ever. Ever since he’d shattered the Wall of Blue Despair in the South, his body had not only recovered to its previous state—it continued to improve, steadily and inexplicably.

Now, at his peak, he felt so brimming with energy that it reminded him of his youthful days, almost too much to control. If before his power had felt like a stream forced through a single crack in a dam, now it was more like scooping freely from a river spilling over a half-broken barrier. The stifling, painful sensation he’d felt every ti he used his power, the difficulty of holding back and fine-tuning his strength—they were all gone. Sotis, it even left him feeling drunk.

Without hesitation, he could now wield more than he ever wanted to—each ti bringing a rush of euphoria so addictive it felt like his mind might go numb. Though it didn’t yet seem harmful to his body, Kishiar couldn’t ignore the possibility that this, too, was a side effect of sothing connected to Yuder.

“I hope I'm not missing sothing important while I’m intoxicated by all this sweetness...”

You mustn’t accept good things blindly just because they’re good.

Things that seem positive at a glance can hide smaller shifts masked by the flow of greater tides. Like how tiny shadows disappear within a larger one.

And then—

As if he had heard Kishiar's low murmur, Yuder's lashes twitched faintly.

The calm atmosphere instantly sharpened.

Kishiar swept the surroundings with alert eyes. The seal was still active. No physical enemy could be detected through his senses—but what of that uncanny sixth sense? Kishiar’s gaze swept over the countless threads of golden light between them. His eyes instantly traced each strand—and stopped at one.

One thread, faint and fluttering, previously hidden in the tangle, now trembled loosely. It was wrapped around Yuder—but not connected to Kishiar.

Had that been there before?

Before the thought could finish forming, Kishiar tightened his arms around Yuder.

“Yuder.”

His voice, despite the sudden shift in posture, remained soft and low as always. But Yuder didn’t wake. For him, that was unthinkable. Still, Kishiar did not panic.

He rembered what he had done when he followed Yuder into a nightmare once before. Back then, he had found Yuder groaning in his sleep, furrowing his brow. Kishiar had tried several tis to wake him, and when that failed, he recalled sothing from the past.

That day they fell asleep together in the palace, and shared a dream—as if connected.

They had placed the empress’s scented pouch by their pillow that night. Though they had used it again afterward, it never caused the sa phenonon. So Kishiar couldn’t say with certainty that the pouch was the reason—but he had wondered.

Though the Empress wasn’t formally trained in magic, she had been born with more mana and talent than most. Because of that, the herbs and flowers she personally raised sotis had effects beyond the ordinary. Usually it was things like stronger, faster pain relief—but if given the right trigger, even faint power could produce miracles.

When Yuder had nightmares, Kishiar had rembered the pouch the Empress had once gifted, which he kept tucked away in his luggage. He had thrown it into the magic stone furnace and held Yuder tightly, wishing with all his might—

That a miracle might happen, just like then.

That, like during Yuder’s heat, he might be pulled into the sa dream.

And unbelievably, it had worked.

He never told Yuder, uncertain if the pouch had truly caused it. At the ti, what Yuder needed more than unknown theories was warmth and a bit of humor.

But if sothing happens once, it can happen again.

Kishiar shifted his gaze. A small object tucked between the bookshelves trembled, then flew forward, drawn as if by his will. The sa pouch the Empress had sent to Peleta long ago flew into the furnace.

The flas, upon encountering it, blazed brightly. For a mont, a fragrance that should’ve long faded seed to fill the air.

Kishiar drew a deep breath, leaned his forehead against Yuder’s, and closed his eyes.

He held him tightly—no wind or cold could reach them—and wished for one thing.

To follow you, across ti and space.

To tug on the thread between us and step into that dark path.

Just to be with you there.

He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep.

But when he opened his eyes again, Kishiar was standing in darkness.

The place was the sa—but everything else was different.

Before him stood a man pointing a chilling blue blade at him.

For a mont, his thoughts blurred. Ti slowed. And then he recognized the man.

Only the nose and lips of the figure under the black robe were visible—but how could Kishiar not know him? Even if that face had been mangled beyond recognition, Kishiar would still know.

This was the one he, Kishiar la Orr, had longed for more than anyone else.

The one whose face had burned into his vision through so many tornting, ash-filled dreams—he was here now, for real.

Not a phantom this ti.

Kishiar felt the corners of his mouth lift in a familiar smile.

A smile honed to appear calm and unaffected, despite the truth beneath.

Yes. That sa smile he had worn hundreds, thousands of tis. It fit him perfectly. And sure enough, it worked—the man’s expression twisted.

He would want to say sothing. A curse, a question, or so shocking proposal like before.

But there was no ti. And no need for words.

Ti had always been unfair. Especially so for Kishiar.

He had no complaints left to offer against such unfairness.

All that remained for the man called Kishiar la Orr... was one thing.

‘That day, what connected us may have been more than our bodies... Sothing deeper. Sothing like a soul. I spent years searching for a way to sever what cannot be seen. And I’ve concluded—only my own power can end this the right way.’

As Kishiar spoke slowly, he never took his eyes off the trembling, dark eyes in front of him. Eyes that revealed pain and honesty.

Eyes more captivating than any he’d ever known.

‘...It’ll be over soon. I’ll push until every last connection breaks... and then—’

As he spoke, he struck.

Without warning, yet with precision honed by countless rehearsals in his mind.

Using every last drop of strength he had.