The Tyrant's Terminally-Ill Childhood Friend (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 71

It was a childhood with nothing clearly remembered. She had wanted to forget it altogether because recalling it was painful, yet there was one thing she couldn’t erase no matter how hard she tried: her memories with Peter. Thus, Lowell could vividly recall his voice and the expression on his face at that time.

[I can’t go into details… but there’s definitely a way. A way to extend one’s lifespan.]

Back then, she had snapped in anger out of overwhelming emotion, but looking back now, Peter had been strangely certain. If only she’d thought a little more about how Peter never spoke empty words, she might have realized his story wasn’t entirely absurd. No—even if she had realized it, Lowell at that time wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

Because she had been far too exhausted to believe it.

Yet Peter truly could have saved young Lowell. He had both the will and the means to do so—he simply couldn’t convey it.

As Peter had said, the von der Leyens’ lifespans were far longer than those of ordinary people. This wasn’t so much due to dragon bloodline as it was because those born with strong magical power aged more slowly.

However, most von der Leyens died far earlier than their natural lifespans, and their partners died even sooner. It was already common knowledge that over eighty percent of von der Leyens perished from grief after losing their partners.

Paradoxically, however, this meant the life shared with their partners never became outwardly apparent. In truth, their lives were meant to end on the same line—if they lived out their full natural spans, they would close their eyes side by side at the same moment on the same day.

‘I never even hoped for something like that.’

She didn’t even wish for the comfort of a peaceful death in bed as an old woman. Lowell simply wanted to live a little longer. She wouldn’t mind dying with a youthful face. It hadn’t been long since she’d prayed that if someone would just grant her a bit more time, she could do anything.

Then suddenly, Peter offered her half of his own lifespan. Accepting it would let her live several more years, even if her body was already on the verge of collapse. Her life would be guaranteed, even if she had to endure spitting blood.

If she accepted Peter’s offer, she could live.

‘…I could live.’

It was an unfamiliar proposition. From the moment she’d first received her death sentence, this possibility had ceased to exist for her—yet now it was suddenly placed right in her hands. Perhaps what she’d grasped wasn’t Peter’s heart, but half of his very life.

‘I’ve spent my whole life thinking only of revenge.’

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