Stolen Crown Princess (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 14

Caliph froze instantly, unable to move a muscle. He still needed time—time to chew over Felix’s words, time to make a decision. But Ibelia wouldn’t wait for him.

“Your Majesty.”

Caliph rolled his eyes helplessly and clenched his limp hand tightly. Then, slowly, he turned around.

Ibelia, now propped halfway up, filled his vision entirely. Just that alone dried his mouth completely and sent his heart pounding as if it might burst.

“How could this have happened…?”

“…So you don’t even remember collapsing the moment you stepped out of Mother’s greenhouse.”

He replied indifferently behind her frail, cracking voice that seemed to scatter into the air like mist.

A sigh reached him immediately, and Caliph slowly closed his eyes. Felix’s words kept resurfacing in his mind.

That unusually serious, earnest tone.

[Instead of that, why not just go to her?] [You may not be able to reveal your true identity yet, but does that mean you have to hide your feelings too?]

He had never once considered revealing his heart to Ibelia.

Of course not. Ever since this wretched cycle of regression began, he had never once lived as Caliph Dwit.

The first time he experienced this unbelievable phenomenon of regression was shortly after Ibelia became Empress.

[Hey, have you heard the rumor? Her Imperial Majesty, the newly crowned Empress, took her own life. The streets are flooded with talk that a state funeral will be held soon.] [What? Her Majesty the Empress? But she’s only been Empress for such a short time—how could she have taken her own life!] [Isn’t the reason obvious? Ever since she was Crown Princess, the Emperor has lived only with his mistress—the current Empress. She must have found that humiliation unbearable.] [Tsk tsk. What’s happening to this country? Is it really true that she took her own life?] [If it’s not true, then was she murdered?] [Who knows? That Emperor is such a despicable man—he took a Crown Princess yet lived only with his mistress. Maybe he and the Empress conspired to poison her.]

Hearing his comrades’ harsh gossip in the tavern where he’d gone just to eat a meal, Caliph felt as if his heart had stopped.

The Empress’s death.

It was something he’d never once considered—not even once—and something he shouldn’t have had to consider.

Ibelia Caroline, Empress of the Empire—who was she to him?

She was the first and last woman he’d ever held in his heart, the only person in the world for whom he’d sincerely wished happiness.

Even though she’d become another man’s wife, he’d genuinely hoped she’d be happy. Even if his own heart had long since crumbled to dust after losing her, he still wished that much for her.

Yet the very woman he’d so desperately wanted to see happy had taken her own life….

Caliph shot up from his seat, his face still stunned from the shock.

Half out of his mind, he headed straight for the Imperial Palace.

He swung his sword like a madman against the palace knights blocking his path. He saw blood spray and chunks of flesh fly off, yet he couldn’t stop.

He had to reach Ibelia. He needed to see her body with his own eyes—to confirm whether she’d really taken her own life or whether she was truly dead at all.

At the sudden commotion, scattered knights quickly converged. But Caliph didn’t hesitate for a moment, slashing wildly at anyone who stood in his way.

Driven solely by the desperate need to see her, he endured even the pain grazing his skin, gritting his teeth through it as if spitting blood.

Thus, however slowly, he pressed forward, frantically searching for her. But in the end, he couldn’t even catch sight of a single strand of her hair.

Just as he turned his head, scanning for the Empress’s quarters, an indescribable pain shot up his spine. When he looked down, he saw the tip of a blade protruding from his chest.

He had to go—he had to reach Ibelia quickly.

Though that thought surfaced instinctively, he couldn’t take even a single step. His legs—and indeed his whole body—had stiffened completely, refusing to obey.

A sharp, high-pitched ringing filled his ears, and his once-steady knees suddenly buckled. He’d only blinked slowly, yet his vision plunged downward.

That was the first death he ever met.

He’d never imagined he’d die such a disgraceful death—yet his end turned out far more pitiful than he’d expected.

Still, he felt no regret.

After all, he’d already grown utterly weary of this life.

Of course, it deeply pained him that he’d closed his eyes without seeing her one last time—but an overwhelming drowsiness swept over him, too heavy to resist.

So he closed his eyes. His consciousness faded, and he felt himself being pulled helplessly into some unknown void.

Is this what death feels like?

At that very thought, he gasped sharply and opened his eyes again.

He was back in the mercenary barracks, where he’d recklessly taken shelter five years ago while fleeing his mad father.

It was unbelievable—but he had no choice but to believe. From the moment he reopened his eyes, events from five years prior began unfolding again in exact sequence; how could he possibly doubt it?

Moreover, whenever he made a choice different from what he’d done five years ago, he would die for inexplicable reasons shortly afterward—and then awaken once more in the mercenary barracks from five years past.

Only after repeating this cycle of death and regression several times did he finally realize:

The only ways to avoid death were either to perfectly retrace his previous life or to make choices solely for Ibelia’s sake.

Whether it was leaving the mercenary company to head for the capital just to meet her, or committing slaughter to reach her—

Unless he lived exactly as before, he could escape sudden death only when every action was premised on “doing it for Ibelia.”

It felt like fate: he could live only if Ibelia lived.

Now that it had come to this, he wanted to protect her by any means necessary—so that five years from now, she wouldn’t even dream of taking her own life.

With that resolve, he left the mercenary company without hesitation and headed toward the southern border. The first life he took was that of Liurian Petrov, the Empire’s Crown Prince.

He’d committed countless killings as a mercenary, yet when dealing with Liurian, an indescribable feeling ran through him, sending chills down his entire body.

As the man—who looked exactly like himself—bled and died, Caliph even felt as if he were dying alongside him.

How could there possibly exist someone so identical to himself?

But his doubt didn’t last long.

He had no time to ponder the mystery deeply—he had to take Liurian’s place on the battlefield and endure repeated deaths and regressions due to unforeseen variables that kept arising afterward.

Until he finally led the year-long war against the Kingdom of Elia to victory and met Ibelia, he had to die countless times over.

Though the endless regressions and the resulting repeated killings made him sick with exhaustion, he never stopped running—keeping only the image of her bright smile in his mind.

And now, he had finally arrived at this moment.

“Your Majesty.”

Startled by the sudden, gentle voice, Caliph blinked. Above him sat Ibelia, now upright in her seat.

A heavy breath rose to his throat, and his chest tightened as if a boulder had settled upon it.

He couldn’t even fathom the length of time he’d endured just to see this face again. All he could say was that it had been a horrific ordeal.

Thus, more than anyone, he wanted to follow Felix’s advice—to confess everything to her and bare his heart.

If only he could do that, perhaps he wouldn’t cause Ibelia such agony again.

But the reason he couldn’t was painfully clear.

[…Caliph Dwit? I’ve never heard that name before. Your Majesty, you must be joking. Please, just say it was something you made up. Please…!]

In a few past lives, after the brutal war had ended and he’d finally met Ibelia, he’d already revealed his true identity.

Back then, Ibelia had stepped backward in sheer terror until she collapsed onto the floor. Then, as if facing something far more horrifying than the dreadful time he’d endured, she stared at him—at Caliph Dwit.

Just meeting her gaze hurt as if his chest were being torn open. Yet he had no time to tend to his own wounds—because she, overwhelmed by shock, had begun wasting away in illness.

Unable to bear watching her suffer, he chose death himself. Though it meant regressing once more to the mercenary barracks five years in the past and repeating that loathsome cycle, it was still better than watching Ibelia die.

After that, he had to endure similar experiences several more times. Failing to become a perfect Liurian, he kept making unplanned mistakes—and each time, Ibelia either withered away or made irreversible choices because she couldn’t accept his existence.

That was why.

Caliph was afraid. It was dreadful enough to be sent back to the beginning and repeat his life over a single wrong choice—but worse still was the thought of having to witness Ibelia’s tragic decision with his own eyes.

And yet—could he trust Felix’s words? Even if he kept his true identity hidden, could he at least reveal his feelings for her?

Even if he still couldn’t remove the mask of Liurian Petrov—even so.

“Your Majesty.”

“…”

“…Surely… you haven’t been watching over me all this time, have you?”

Still unable to escape her confusion, Ibelia asked him, gazing at him with beautiful, yearning eyes full of desperate hope.

Meeting that gaze fully, Caliph had a premonition.

Perhaps the tragic moment he never wished to experience again was already drawing near.