The Princess Wants to Live (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 20
“Yeah. If you’re that anxious about who I might go kill, wouldn’t it be better to come along and check for yourself?”
“When did I ever go that far?”
Olivia tried to protest, but Cryer firmly shook his head.
“You did go that far.”
“I’ve been thinking this for a while—you’ve got no filter in your head or your mouth, have you? The decent thing to do in situations like this is to let it slide, even if it’s true, so the other person doesn’t feel embarrassed.”
Though her reprimand sounded perfectly reasonable, Cryer merely shrugged lightly.
“If it was necessary, of course I would have done exactly that.”
“It’s necessary for me too!”
“Princess Olivia.”
Cryer leaned against the doorway, staring intently at Olivia.
“Don’t change the subject. Why won’t you come with me?”
“Then why are you so insistent on going together?”
When Olivia shot back the question, Cryer smiled.
“Because you genuinely think I might go kill someone.”
“I said I wouldn’t! No, fine. Let’s just go together then. Not right now—I have something else to take care of first.”
Olivia stepped briskly toward him.
“So you had other things to do.”
“Yeah. I need to go to the district where the Taren family’s trading houses are located.”
“Taren?”
“Just know they’re a house you absolutely can’t ignore. I’ve agreed to investigate this incident together with their heir.”
“You’re bringing someone else into a matter involving the Ancient God?”
When Cryer’s eyebrow arched sharply, Olivia shook her head.
“Of course not. The incident occurred in the Taren family’s trading district, and the family formally requested our involvement, so I’m merely going to reassure them somewhat.”
Thinking of Ambre Taren, Olivia frowned slightly.
“Lady Taren’s enthusiasm might be a bit excessive, but since we’re only going to hear testimonies from people anyway, it’ll probably be easier to get the trading house folks to talk with her around…”
Before she could finish her sentence, Cryer had somehow already drawn close and was gently rubbing her furrowed brow.
By now she’d grown somewhat used to it, so even though he’d approached silently and suddenly, she didn’t jump in alarm.
She pressed down firmly on the spot he’d just rubbed and let out a sigh.
“It reminded me of Lady Taren’s grand epic.”
“Epic?”
“Yeah. In Lady Taren’s grand epic, you and I fall instantly in love at first sight, overcome the barriers of status, endure everyone’s gossip, and nurture a beautiful romance.”
A crease similar to Olivia’s now appeared between Cryer’s brows.
Seeing this, Olivia rose onto her tiptoes and barely managed to press firmly on his frown.
“See? You naturally make that expression, just like I said.”
Just as Olivia’s outstretched arms began trembling, Cryer smoothly and naturally lowered his head a little.
Only then could she rub his brow more comfortably as she added,
“At any rate, she immediately accepted my firm denial. She’s a rather unusual young lady.”
Soon after, she stepped back from Cryer and lightly patted his arm.
“Good luck.”
“Mine? Or my opponent’s?”
Olivia gave him a firm reply as he tilted his head and chuckled softly.
“Your luck, of course. Though I doubt it would ever come to that.”
She paused briefly, then looked him straight in the eyes before speaking again.
“If, during the duel, you ever seem close to getting hurt or… dying, don’t hold back for my sake.”
Though this request differed entirely from her previous ones, the worry shimmering in her clear, blue eyes was so vivid it seemed almost transparent.
It was so piercingly clear that it lodged deep in Cryer’s chest.
“That’s why I’m wishing you good luck.”
With a faint smile, Olivia gave him a light shove.
Cryer stared at her for a moment before finally turning to leave.
Just as he grasped the doorknob—
“Oh, by the way, Cryer.”
Olivia called out to him as if she’d only just remembered.
“What is it?”
“It’s nothing serious.”
But as Olivia added that unnecessary remark, Cryer once again ruthlessly drove home the truth.
“The very moment you say that, it seems you’re already admitting it’s serious.”
This time, however, not a single crack appeared in Olivia’s smile.
She casually tossed out the words as if it truly meant nothing.
“Someone from the Kingdom of Norden will be coming to assist with this case.”
In itself, the statement meant nothing.
It was literally just news of a visitor from a foreign country.
But in the next instant—
Something impossible happened. From Cryer’s ankles upward, an icy-cold aura swirled violently like jagged frost, and his crimson eyes sank deeper than the abyssal trench of the ocean.
– Click. Clack.
In the tomb-like silence that followed, Olivia’s jaw trembled violently, her teeth chattering intermittently.
She understood instinctively—or rather, from experience—
That what radiated relentlessly from Cryer wasn’t merely cold air, but killing intent.
A lethal will so intense it felt as if her head might fly off at any moment.
Even though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, Olivia had to steel herself desperately to keep from stepping backward, to prevent her shaking knees from buckling and collapsing her disgracefully onto the floor.
How long had passed—each second stretching into an eternity?
Gradually, focus returned to Cryer’s eyes, which had darkened with hatred and fury toward the mage who’d enslaved him to the Ancient God.
As his narrowed vision slowly widened, Olivia came into view at the edge of his sight.
Her cheeks were so utterly frozen they’d turned pale beyond pallor, utterly drained of color, not a single vein visible.
Once Cryer’s gaze fully settled on Olivia, the violently swirling killing intent around him vanished as if washed away.
“H-huh… hah…”
Unaware she’d even stopped breathing, Olivia finally gasped out a ragged breath and unconsciously scratched her throat.
Once, then again… no, maybe four times—hadn’t his hand nearly severed her neck each time?
Her frantic scratching at her throat was likely pure instinct.
Cryer gently grasped both her hands and lowered them carefully.
The small, soft hands in his grip were cold as a corpse and trembled incessantly.
Because of that, Cryer couldn’t bring himself to look directly at her.
Hadn’t he sworn never to harm her?
Though he hadn’t harmed her this time…
Cryer reached out toward Olivia.
She flinched slightly at his shoulder but then opened her eyes wide and looked up at him steadily.
Her blue eyes blazed like flames for an instant, searing away the thick, boiling darkness churning within his crimson irises—
As if performing a purification.
Soon after, Cryer lifted her with one arm and carefully set her down on the sofa before kneeling before her.
He moved slowly, extremely deliberately, like someone calming a wary stray cat whose fur was standing on end.
Gently gathering her pale, soft, yet trembling hands, he whispered as if in confession,
“I’m sorry.”
He apologized again and again.
Without excuses or grand words, he simply repeated his sincere apology.
Olivia looked down at his silver hair.
This wasn’t the first time she’d looked down at him like this.
After all, he’d knelt before her without hesitation when he’d sworn an oath for her sake.
Yet, strangely enough…
She was clearly the one who’d felt threatened, terrified, and whose jaw still trembled uncontrollably.
So why did Cryer look as if he were the one weeping?
Unable to bear it any longer, Olivia spoke.
“It’s… it’s fine. I know it wasn’t directed at me. I was just startled—that’s all—because you’re so overwhelmingly strong.”
She gave a dry laugh and shook her head.
“I really ought to worry about your duel opponents instead. Among them are people I’ve known since childhood…”
While Olivia rambled on with whatever came to mind, Cryer’s gaze lingered on her neck.
Though her nails were kept short and smooth for handling documents, her frantic scratching had left deep marks—no blood showed, but angry red nail marks swelled like brands.
“Oh… Did I not mention this before? Every single time with you, I’ve had my head cut off and died.”
Feeling his gaze, Olivia awkwardly tried to soothe her neck but flinched.
A faint pain surged as her fingertip brushed the swollen area.
Cryer silently took her hand and lowered it, only bowing his head in silence.
Seeing him seemingly in repentance, Olivia cursed herself inwardly.
You idiot! Why did you have to bring up dying again?!
The awkward silence became unbearable, so Olivia blurted out whatever came to mind.
“I’m not that cowardly, you know.”
At her words, Cryer finally lifted his head slowly and asked in confusion,
“Cowardly?”
“Oh, I just mean I’m not the type to get this scared.”
In Bolshayk historical texts, “small-livered” described someone timid and faint-hearted, so she’d habitually let the phrase slip.
Olivia gently slipped her hand from his grasp, caught a strand of hair swaying near her collarbone, and used it to cover her neck as she continued.
“I wouldn’t tremble like this just from brushing against a bit of killing intent.”
“I see.”
Cryer accepted her words without further comment, but for some reason, Olivia wasn’t satisfied with his response.
“You know very well I’ve been through four wars.”
How many had fallen dead before her eyes?
She’d trampled over mountains of corpses and crossed rivers of blood—countless times.
Someone like her wouldn’t collapse from just one or two brushes with killing intent.
Cryer nodded compliantly once more, and Olivia exhaled a long sigh before adding,
“It’s because it’s you.”
To someone who didn’t know better, those words might sound sweet, wouldn’t they?
Because it’s you—no one else—and that’s why.
But the past shared between Olivia and Cryer wasn’t beautiful.
If anything, it reeked of blood.
“So in the future, when we’re working together, don’t worry—I won’t freeze up like this if it’s some other bastard charging at me with eyes rolling back in his head.”
Olivia gave his arm a petulant tap and shrank back slightly from his lingering gaze on her neck.
That red mark probably wouldn’t fade so easily.
She sighed and spoke again.
“And this mark on my neck will last a while, so don’t fuss over it.”
If he kept watching her like that during the healing period…
Olivia firmly emphasized once more,
“Don’t worry about it.”
Though the mark clearly wouldn’t vanish instantly, it wasn’t so severe as to warrant declaring it would take ages to heal.
Instead of answering, Cryer asked a question.
“It’ll last long?”
My Ex-Girlfriend Is The Regent In The Female-dominant World (Male lead transmigrates to the matriarchal world)
Two years ago, Gu Sui picked up a homeless woman in ancient costume from the street.
Apart from occasionally claiming to be a princess from a female-dominant country due to illness, her figure, appearance, intelligence, and martial arts skills were impeccable.
Naturally evolving from roommates to girlfriends, as time went on, Gu Sui found it increasingly difficult to tolerate her queen syndrome.
“Mu Jiulu, can you stop controlling me inside and out? Let’s break up.”
Gu Sui made a breakup call, and since then, he couldn’t find any trace of her.
A year later, Gu Sui, who was planning to move, woke up the next day and found himself in a different place.
“Young Master, today is the day you choose your Wife-master through martial arts competition at Jade Dew Pavilion. Please get up quickly.”
Gu Sui: Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
As the only son of a general’s mansion in a female-dominant dynasty, the young empress personally issued a decree allowing Gu Sui to select his Wife-master through martial arts competition. Whoever could defeat him could marry him.
Gu Sui: “……”
He didn’t inherit the original owner’s martial prowess, so anyone could defeat him! And what the hell is a Wife-master?
Forced to come to Jade Dew Pavilion, the densely packed women below made Gu Sui’s agoraphobia act up, and his face was full of resistance.
Until he saw the Regent sitting on the second floor, with a smile on the corner of her lips, her eyes wicked and nonchalant.
Hmm… she looked a little familiar.
It turned out that the Regent also found him a little familiar.
Mu Jiulu fiddled with her bone clasp, her deep gaze locked on the man who was out of place in this world.
“Finally, I found you.”
Male transmigrates into female-dominant world
One-sentence summary: What goes around comes around, taking turns in the crematorium
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