The World Is Mine For The Taking

Chapter 88 - The Sword Festival, Part 2 (8)

Zeruel's POV

I couldn't quite put into words why I had signed up for this tournament. Was it out of desperation for money? Or some deep desire to show off my swordsmanship?

No.

The truth was, I didn't need the money at all. Sure, the prize money was tempting—it was more than enough to keep my family secure—but thanks to the Leonamon Corporation's support, we weren't struggling. If anything, I considered giving the prize to them as a token of gratitude, but let's face it: they didn't need it. Leonamon was swimming in wealth.

And as for my swordsmanship? It wasn't something I'd ever thought of showcasing. My technique was crude and self-taught—functional, not elegant. I wasn't here to impress anyone, let alone flaunt skills I didn't think were worth noticing.

So why? Why had I signed up for this tournament?

It was him.

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The man who'd turned my life upside down and saved it all at once. Leon—the owner of Leonamon, the man who reached out to save my mother when no one else could. She'd been condemned to a coma-like existence, a disease so rare and insidious that doctors could only offer sympathy. Leon stepped in and covered the costs of her treatment without asking for a single thing in return.

I owed him everything.

And yet, our beginning was... rocky. The first time we spoke, he didn't ease into conversation or exchange pleasantries. No, he dove straight in and confessed his love to me.

It was the worst possible timing. That same day, my mother collapsed, and the diagnosis had shattered me. His confession, no matter how heartfelt, felt like a slap in the face amidst my chaos. I lashed out at him, rejected him with more venom than I'd intended. If the circumstances had been different, I might have been confused or uncertain. But at that moment, his words only stung.

I've apologized since then. Profusely. I've thanked him over and over for saving not just my mother but me as well. Without him, I might've ended up prostituting myself just to make ends meet, and my younger sister would have suffered for it. He saved us all.

But no matter how much I thanked him, it never felt enough.

I didn't have money—he didn't need it anyway. So, in desperation, I decided to offer him my body. Surely, a man like him, who'd gone so far for me, would accept something as primal as sex. I was certain he'd take it. I was very confused... Wasn't that what men wanted? But to my surprise, he refused. He told me he wasn't helping me for compensation.

I was stunned. Confused.

I didn't understand him.

But I wanted to. I needed to. Not just as the man who saved my family but as a person. I wanted to see the real him, to understand what made him tick, what drove him.@@@@

And yet, every time I thought I had him figured out, he shattered my assumptions. It was as if he thrived on remaining an enigma. He kept slipping through my grasp, a puzzle with pieces that never quite fit.

I could finally see him. The real him.

And then, deep within my chest, I felt something stir—something unexpected, unanticipated. It wasn't anything I had prepared for, and yet, there it was, blooming inside me like it had always been waiting. It was raw, unfiltered, and impossible to ignore. For the first time, I felt like I was truly beginning to understand him, and in some strange way, I wanted him to understand me, too.

If that even made sense.

"Raaaaaaaaahhhh!!!"

A guttural roar tore from my throat as I threw everything I had into my attacks. My sword swung with ferocity, the flames blazing brighter, but he met me blow for blow. His sword moved like an unyielding wall, effortlessly blocking and parrying every strike I threw at him. It felt like trying to break through a mountain—immovable, unshakable. Defeating him was impossible.

And yet...

"Ha... ha ha..."

Laughter bubbled up inside me, soft at first, then growing louder. I couldn't explain it, but I laughed, the sound rough and foreign to my ears. I couldn't remember the last time I'd let out a laugh like this—or any laugh at all, really. Not since my mother's diagnosis had robbed me of that part of myself.

This laugh, though, wasn't loud or wild. It was quiet but real, something that rose from deep within.

Then, without warning, his sword moved faster than I could follow. My grip faltered, and my blade flew from my hand, clattering onto the platform floor. My knees gave out, and I collapsed onto them, panting heavily. Sweat dripped down my face, rolling off my chin and pooling on the ground beneath me.

I had lost.

But instead of frustration, instead of bitterness or regret, all I felt was a strange, pure happiness. It was clarity, a sudden understanding of why I had signed up for this tournament in the first place.

It was to face him, to fight him, to finally uncover the truth buried in my own heart.

The truth was so simple, yet so overwhelming.

I loved him.

I loved this man.

The realization hit me like a wave, washing over everything else. It didn't matter that it was too late, that he already had not one but two women in his life. None of that mattered.

I didn't regret rejecting him back then, when I was too lost in my own pain to see him clearly. Now, I was just grateful. Grateful for this moment, for the chance to let my feelings grow, to nurture them into something more profound.

And that was enough.

I loved him.