Dragged into the mess, Ostianro was naturally indignant. After all, having traveled through time and surrounded by countless beauties, he had always seen himself as the protagonist, the ruler of this world. It was only natural that he would be the one scheming against others—how could he possibly let others outmaneuver him?
Now that he had been tricked, of course, he would do everything in his power to strike back—vengeance for grievances, retribution for wrongs! Thus, the two sides clashed, relentlessly exposing each other’s flaws, and in the end, neither came out unscathed.
Though none of their subordinates or factions escaped unscathed, Ostianro and Orvia, blessed with protagonist’s halo, managed to escape despite their severe injuries and heavy losses.
Though burdened with infamy, hunted, cursed, and wanted by all, they did indeed escape—no one knew where they were now.
However, their actions alone were enough to make Davist, an elf, lose all goodwill toward them and develop a deep loathing. Meanwhile, Kurler, the much-anticipated Holy Son of Light, was equally disgusted and repulsed by the brothers’ deeds.
Though Davist’s anger was rather endearing in Kurler’s eyes, he didn’t want his beloved to remain upset. So, he pulled Davist into his arms, gently soothing him with sweet words.
After years of companionship, Kurler had mastered the art of comforting Davist. Soon, Davist’s ruffled feathers were smoothed, and the two happily resumed discussing their plans to meet each other’s families.
Truth be told, even someone as outstanding as Kurler—a veritable god among men—couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about meeting his lover’s family.
While the two lovebirds snuggled together, the expressions of Orvia and Ostianro, who had crossed paths on their escape, were far from pleasant.
Orvia was a mage, while Ostianro was a dual-wielder of magic and martial arts. Caught off guard in their sudden encounter, Orvia was at a disadvantage and was promptly pinned to the ground by Ostianro.
Though Ostianro was far from a good man, riddled with flaws, his combat prowess was indeed superior to Orvia’s. Gripping Orvia tightly, he pressed him to the ground and snarled, “Well, well, Orvia, my dearest little brother—what an actor you’ve been! I never saw that ambition of yours coming!”
His face darkened. “Never in my life have I been humiliated like this—and by someone as insignificant as you! Orvia, my dear brother, you’ve truly given me the greatest ‘surprise’ of my life!”
But Ostianro wasn’t the only one seething. Orvia was equally furious. “Ostianro! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have failed! And if I hadn’t failed, I wouldn’t have dragged you down with me! This is all your own doing—don’t you dare pin it on me!”
Ostianro refused to take the blame. “Spare me! All I did was show off with my girlfriend—what’s the harm in that? You brought this on yourself! And not content with your own downfall, you had to drag me—and the entire family—down with you. Orvia, you’re truly something else!”
Their eyes locked, burning with fury and resentment. In their minds, the fault lay entirely with the other—neither would admit their own mistakes.
Had they reflected honestly, they might have realized that if they had lived upright and blameless lives, no amount of scheming could have exposed them. But their foundations were already rotten, unable to withstand scrutiny. How could they shift all the blame onto each other and claim innocence?
Their mutual accusations tore apart the fragile facade of brotherly affection. In the end, Ostianro couldn’t hold back and beat Orvia mercilessly.
Had Orvia not still been useful, Ostianro would have long since ended the life of this troublesome pawn. After all, Orvia, though handsome, was still just a man—not a beautiful woman. Ostianro felt no hesitation in dealing with him.
Ostianro glared down at Orvia. “I’ve always been meticulous. The only people who knew my secrets were those under my control—everyone else is dead. So, how did you find out? Talk!”
This was a question Ostianro had to answer—otherwise, how could he focus on his grand ambitions? The thought of someone lurking in the shadows, waiting to stab him in the back, was unbearable.
At first, Orvia resisted revealing his trump card, unwilling to expose his greatest secret. But under Ostianro’s relentless threats, he finally cracked.
“What? You’re a transmigrator too?!” Ostianro was stunned. Learning that Orvia had transmigrated into a novel where he was the protagonist—and knowing the heights and opportunities he would have reached without Orvia’s interference—only fueled his rage.
Unable to restrain himself, he beat Orvia again.
But now, Ostianro changed his mind about killing Orvia. The man still had value. Letting him die so easily would be too merciful.
Orvia knew the plot—the future golden opportunities, the hidden treasures. These memories were priceless. With Orvia in his grasp, Ostianro wouldn’t waste such a valuable “resource.” Besides, in Ostianro’s mind, those things rightfully belonged to him. Orvia’s revelations were merely repayment for his debts.
With this in mind, Ostianro and Orvia set off together. Though they despised each other, circumstances forced them to cooperate—for now.
Meanwhile, Kurler and Davist’s families had their own meeting.
In the private residence of the Pope of the Holy Light Church—
The Pope, the First Cardinal, and Davist’s guardian, Anxiula, gathered to discuss the two young men’s future. The actual couple, however, was deemed a nuisance and shooed away.
Exchanging wry smiles, Kurler was left with a mountain of official duties by his adoptive fathers, while Davist, restless and nervous, trailed after him like an obedient shadow.
Kurler welcomed this eagerly, wrapping an arm around Davist as he introduced him to the Holy Light Church, soothing the elf’s unease.
Fortunately, Davist, raised under Anxiula’s excellent tutelage and educated at Lumian Academy, was no stranger to grandeur. With Kurler by his side, he quickly calmed down and settled in to assist with paperwork.
As the two worked side by side, the enchanted mirror reserved for high-ranking officials suddenly glowed—someone was seeking an audience with the Pope.
With the Pope occupied, the duty of receiving the guest fell to Kurler, the Holy Son and heir.
Squeezing Davist’s hand and pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips, Kurler straightened his robes and activated the mirror—revealing the Dark Pope, Owen D. Victoire.
Kurler bowed politely. “Your Holiness, Pope Victoire. To what do we owe this communication?”
Owen, lounging lazily in his chair, smirked. “Ah, Kurler. Did your lovey-dovey dads ditch you with paperwork again?”
This was hardly the first time. As the Light Pope’s close friend, Owen was all too familiar with the scene. As a lonely widower, he made a point of mocking the couple for their shameless displays of affection.
But this time, he was mistaken. Kurler’s smile brightened. “Actually, Uncle Owen, you’re wrong. I’ve found my life partner. They’re discussing our future with my beloved’s family.”
Owen—bereaved, resigned to solitude, and perpetually disinterested—silently crushed his wineglass in his hand, shooting Kurler a death glare. Kurler merely beamed back.
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