Falling for me… what is this supposed to mean?
Countless people had once told Ophelia they “liked” her.
But whenever she bared her heart to them, without exception, they all looked at her like she was insane and avoided her like she was a plague.
Even the King, upon hearing her grand ambition, only sighed in silence and left her with a single remark: “Don’t do anything foolish.”
And all she wanted was simply to uncover the cause of her mother’s death, and then take revenge for her.
Was that wrong? Ophelia didn’t think so.
If they “liked” her… then why couldn’t they even accept this ordinary wish of hers?
Such “liking” was meaningless.
Ophelia didn’t believe anyone who said they “liked” her.
“What is… this…”
Her throat felt hoarse.
“Eh?”
Ophelia clearly felt the hands stroking her cheek stiffen and freeze.
“I don’t believe in things like ‘liking.’”
No one could truly “like” her.
“Ophelia… why all of a sudden…”
Anna’s hands suddenly retracted as if shocked by an electric current, twitching slightly before falling weakly to her side.
The stone in her heart shattered into pieces, crushed beyond repair.
She had laid all her dark past and bloody scars bare before Ophelia—if she could, she would have even taken out her own heart and placed it on the table for her to inspect.
She had condensed the tangled emotions in her chest into a single sentence: “I like you.” Saying those words had nearly drained the last of her courage, only to be shattered by Ophelia’s cold retort: “I don’t believe it.”
She prayed that Ophelia would at least offer some explanation or clarification, so she might understand that Ophelia was perhaps forced by circumstances.
But Ophelia only fled into silence.
And that suffocating silence was enough to drown a person, like a sharp blade slicing the already wounded heart of Anna into shards.
Her brave confession was in vain; the one who rejected her was the very Ophelia who had cried and begged her not to leave.
Suddenly, Anna realized she hadn’t understood this villainous noblewoman as well as she thought.
She had believed she was stepping through a door, only to find she never even located the door.
Her heart ached as if sawed open by a dull blade.
What else was there to say?
Nothing more.
That headstrong young lady had dragged her out of the mud without permission, presumptuously caring for and protecting her, shedding tears and praying for her.
Anna had thought she would come to hate Ophelia, but upon witnessing her clumsiness, the tears, and the prayers, she thought she understood her.
She believed it was she who should protect Ophelia.
But now, she saw she had been mistaken.
She had exposed her wounds unilaterally and confessed her feelings selfishly, only to discover it was all one-sided…
Ophelia hadn’t even believed her.
Fine. Let her be.
Anna felt every ounce of strength drained from her body.
She staggered back a few steps and collapsed weakly onto the hard bed she hadn’t slept in for a long time.
Her eyes followed the flickering candlelight swaying in the wind and rain outside the window.
The rain was about to stop; she hoped to see a rainbow afterward.
That awful sensation between exhaustion and pain suddenly washed over her entire body—a complete helplessness so deep that even her heart was too lazy to beat.
It felt like there was something she hadn’t yet asked, but now, whether she asked or not, it was meaningless.
Everything should end with that one sentence: “I don’t believe it.”
She had once thought she would be the cure to save Ophelia, but now she saw she was just a clown performing a ridiculous solo act on a circus stage.
Laughable.
She even felt like laughing herself.
The rain drizzled, neither fully stopping nor continuing, as if it, like Anna, was about to cry out the last drop of tears from her body.
Ophelia stood frozen in place, as if she were a wooden log struck by divine thunder.
The words “I don’t believe it” slipped out instinctively.
She saw the rare spark in Anna’s eyes extinguish at lightning speed.
That brave Anna had burned out, leaving only a heap of ashes still faintly warm.
What she truly wanted to say was not this.
She never doubted Anna’s sincerity.
That proud, fiercely proud Sword Hero was willing to do such humiliating things for her, willing to lay her wounds and bleeding scars bare.
Her sincerity had long been forged to shine brilliantly.
Yet the words stuck in her throat, and all she could do was watch that precious, genuine heart become tarnished.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It shouldn’t have been like this.
But what use were belated explanations?
Even if she now stepped forward to apologize, saying she didn’t mean it that way, would Anna believe her?
Of course not.
She would only hate her more.
She had bared her wounds to her, and she just poured salt into them.
Ophelia felt as if she had swallowed a thousand needles.
“Anna…”
Ophelia’s voice was dry, rough like sandpaper on jade.
She instinctively moved closer, reaching out her hand to confirm Anna’s warmth, to touch that fragile figure.
She had thought Anna would struggle to stop her with all her might.
But when her fingertips brushed Anna’s cheek, Anna didn’t move an inch…
Just like that night in the tavern when Ophelia had forcibly possessed her.
Anna seemed to have reverted to that numb shell, devoid of all hope.
Ophelia had destroyed her with her own hands.
Destroyed the Anna who could laugh, cry, respond to her, and kiss her.
Destroyed the Trust and courage Anna had painstakingly built up.
Destroyed the last scraps of Anna’s feelings.
That broken blade probably would never be wielded for her again.
All the vows, promises, and wishes dissolved into bubbles the moment “I don’t believe it” was spoken.
Ophelia felt as if an invisible, thick wall had suddenly risen between her and Anna.
That wall was named “Trust.”
Her fingertips hurriedly withdrew from Anna’s cheek.
Anna didn’t move, not even a flutter of her eyelashes.
She just stared at the ceiling, like a doll that had lost its source of power.
The candle flickered, popped, and briefly blossomed into a tiny flower of flame before dimming.
The rain stopped, but the dark clouds had yet to disperse.
The room’s only source of light was fading fast.
Pop, crackle.
Was it the candle going out—or Ophelia’s world slowly collapsing?
Pop, crackle.
Fireworks exploded outside the window.
But why would there be fireworks in the Lower District?
Pop, crackle.
Magic burst open midair; boom, rumble.
Countless fireballs, wrapped in earth-shattering magic, rained down.
It was the High-tier Explosion Magic Ophelia knew best.
“The explosion won’t snuff out the springseed’s vigor; under iron wings, the seed gains resistance; the warriors of the new age rise in response, standing tall like a tower on our land!”
A mad poet’s shout came from outside, but his scream and laughter were instantly drowned out by the sound of collapsing buildings.
Flames cast their glow through the windows as Ophelia hurried outside.
She saw the river beneath the stone bridge surging like a tidal wave, pouring in the Demon Race’s army.
After three years, the Demon Race had invaded the royal capital once again.