yready Chapter 346 346: The Gambler’s Mercy [3]
Chapter 346 346: The Gambler’s Mercy [3]
No.
This wasn't what she wanted.
Lena's arms trembled as she held him closer, as if sheer will could keep the warmth from leaving his body. She pressed her forehead to his, her breath hitching when she felt how cold his skin had become.
She didn't understand what that meant at first.
Her mind was foggy, heavy, like she was sinking underwater. Thoughts slipped through her fingers no matter how tightly she tried to grasp them. But even in that haze, she knew one thing with painful certainty.
This wasn't good.
She couldn't hear the battlefield anymore.
The shouts, the clash of weapons, the frantic cries—all of it was gone, swallowed by a thick, suffocating silence. The world narrowed until there was only him in her arms and the uneven sound of her own breathing.
"…you…"
A voice cut through the haze.
Lena flinched.
The black shape before her—no, not black, she realized dimly—was speaking. Its words felt distant, like echoes bouncing off the walls of her skull.
"It's time…"
Time?
Time for what?
She didn't understand. She didn't want to understand. She tightened her grip around him instead, afraid that if she loosened her arms even slightly, he would slip away completely.
"It's time to snap out of it. The others are worried."
Snap out of it?
Her breath stuttered.
Did he just say that?
Something deep inside her recoiled violently. An instinctive rejection surged through her chest, sharp and panicked. If she let go now—if she listened—then something irreversible would happen.
There would be no turning back.
"I won't," Lena whispered hoarsely, though she wasn't sure if the words even left her mouth.
Even so, she resisted.
Not for herself, but because that voice—cool, calm, almost gentle—was asking her to. Because some distant part of her knew that ignoring it would only make things worse.
Her vision flickered.
The darkness receded just a little, like a curtain being drawn back by trembling hands. Light seeped in, blurry and unfocused, but real. Pain followed immediately after.
Clarity returned in fragments.
The scent hit her first.
"…A relic?"
The villain confronting Ryan muttered the words, his voice low and stunned, but Lena barely registered him.
"…Oh."
Red.
The thing she had thought was black was drenched in red. Endless, soaking red.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
A strong floral scent filled the air—too strong, too sweet. It clung to her skin, her clothes, her lungs. For a fleeting moment, she thought it was his usual scent, familiar and comforting.
Then realization struck.
Blood.
Not ordinary blood. It was faintly sweet, almost delicate, nothing like the metallic stench she expected. Because of that, it had taken her far too long to understand the truth.
The red staining him.
The red staining her.
It was his blood.
Lena's hands began to shake violently.
Her gaze dropped to his abdomen, to the gaping wound she had refused to acknowledge. Blood flowed steadily from the hole, warm against her palms, slipping through her fingers no matter how desperately she tried to press down.
"Rin…"
Her voice cracked.
Their scents mixed together, forming a strange, haunting fragrance she had never smelled before. It was beautiful and dreadful all at once. An ominous, sorrowful perfume that seemed to mark this moment as something unforgivable.
Why?
What happened?
Her memories were tangled, knotted together in a painful mess. Images surfaced and sank just as quickly—flashes of red, the sound of her own heartbeat roaring in her ears, power surging through her veins.
Her consciousness wasn't clear.
But she knew.
She knew who was responsible.
Because her fists were soaked in red.
Because her hands—the same hands trembling against his wound—had done this.
"No…" Lena whispered, her head shaking weakly.
Only then did she truly look at his face.
Rin's eyes were half-lidded, their usual warmth fading with every passing second. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but no longer had the strength.
"Stay with me," she pleaded, her voice breaking completely now.
"Please. I didn't mean to. I didn't—I'll fix it. I can fix it."
Her words tumbled over each other, desperate and incoherent. She searched his face for any sign of response, any flicker of awareness.
His fingers twitched weakly against her sleeve.
That was enough to shatter her.
Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, blurring her vision once more.
"No," she sobbed.
Only after seeing the life slowly drain from his eyes did the full weight of her actions crash down upon her.
Only then did the truth become impossible to deny.
"…No…"
Her grip tightened around him as if she could anchor him to this world through sheer desperation alone.
Lena finally remembered his name.
The boy growing cold in her arms.
"Rin…!"
The scream tore itself from her chest, raw and broken, echoing across the battlefield that had long since resumed around them.
Lena's scream lingered in the air long after her voice gave out.
The battlefield seemed to hesitate, as if even the world itself recoiled from the sound. Steel clashed again somewhere in the distance, voices shouting orders and curses, but to her, it all felt impossibly far away.
Rin didn't respond.
His chest no longer rose beneath her trembling hands. The faint warmth she had clung to moments ago slipped away completely, leaving only a cold that crept into her palms and up her arms.
"No… no, no—"
Her words dissolved into broken breaths. She pressed her hand harder against his wound, panic overriding reason, as if pressure alone could force his life back into him. Blood seeped through her fingers regardless, dripping onto the ground below.
"Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Look at me. Rin, look at me."
Nothing.
The silence was unbearable.
The silence stretched on, cruel and unyielding.
Lena felt it press down on her chest until breathing became an effort. Every second that passed without a response carved deeper into her, turning panic into something hollow and terrifyingly still.
Her hands slipped, slick with blood.
She didn't notice at first. She was too focused on his face, on the way his expression had gone unnaturally peaceful, as if he were only sleeping. As if he might open his eyes at any moment and scold her for shaking him so hard.
"Rin…" she whispered again, softer this time, like speaking too loudly might disturb him.
She brushed her thumb across his cheek. It was cold.
Her breath hitched violently.
"No," she said again, the word coming out sharper now, edged with disbelief. "No—don't do this. You can't."
Her shoulders shook as she bent over him, forehead pressing against his chest. She waited—counted—listened.
Nothing.