Un... fiancée???

Of all the reasons she’d braced for, Adelaide never thought that word would come out of Cruz’s mouth.

Emotion surged first, a sour wave against her ribs. Then the mind tallied details. This Follower of Pleasure did have things that tugged at her—furniture that matched every Blood Mage daydream, and that scent on him that had fooled her into mistaking him for Mira for a heartbeat.

Oh. Clarify, before the heart misleads the hands. His scent wasn’t Mira’s. He lacked that calming camellia softness that soothed Adelaide’s pulse. What he had was the same sweet-briny note that pricked her appetite—no, sharper than Mira’s, like sugar rubbed over steel.

Being pressed up against Mira felt like hugging a full-length pillow stuffed with warmth and perfume. Sharing a room with this crimson man felt like sinking into a Bloody Mary, nausea lapping at her throat while a feral urge begged her to bow and drown her face in the scarlet.

Imagine only. Desire at her belly bucked, then buckled under danger. She lifted her chin and wore a smile lacquered thin, polite as a mask stretched over a snarl.

“Esteemed Mr. Cruz, I’m flattered past words. Please don’t mistake what I’m about to say. As a younger Blood Mage, I hold utmost respect for a senior like you… only, to set a marriage with someone I met yesterday, I’m afraid…”

She had no need to validate that absurdity. Yet with a man whispered to be monstrous, pricking his pride would be folly. So she picked each word like stepping stones, layered armor over armor, and said the thing that boiled down to four words and two punctuations—Who are you? Scram!

Even so, after the refusal, he didn’t flare or fume. He laughed.

“My dear, I understand perfectly. But…” He opened his hands, a little helpless. “It’s a shame. Our union, like my inevitable death, is not yours to decide. Nor mine.”

“Forgive my ignorance. I struggle to understand. Powerful as you are—” she pressed weight on the word powerful—“is there truly someone who can decide for you, Mr. Cruz?”

“Another good question. No wonder you’re my clever fiancée.”

He applauded her, then looked upward. Crimson pupils caught not a ceiling of flesh, but something farther, like a horizon stitched from bone-white light.

“Sadly, the answer is yes—even I once believed in absolute freedom as fiercely as you do.”

He said it, then glanced at the black hole yawning in his chest.

“On that, I must thank High Judge Tatapuchi. If not for his one shot that exhausted everything and touched ‘extremity’—that holy lance round—I couldn’t have smashed that invisible wall. Then, riding that power beyond boundaries, I caught a trace of ‘His’ miracle…”

Adelaide’s gaze stalled. Cruz looked back and wore a teasing smile.

“You know what I mean. You’ve seen Him too, haven’t you, Jiaqi?”

No answer—there couldn’t be one. Her mind blanked at that name, and his voice slid on.

“Oh, dear, you don’t know. To learn you’re not alone in hating how many names you carry… that’s a joy that rings like chimes in winter.”

Cruz held her eyes. His voice climbed like a bell tower taking flame.

“Yes. We are alike—try recalling that moment’s beauty! A beauty not of this world. Unseen by eyes, unheard by ears, beyond all formed things. The beauty at the end of all things! Knowledge forbidden to the sons of men within arm’s reach, truth chased by sages their whole lives printed onto your retinas—every past, every future, unrolled before you, making you weep by instinct, laugh while crying, feel your self melt and unweave into the vast, endless flood of truth—!”

He cried it high, a zealot’s fever burning in his gaze. Then he dropped to his knees, hands raised as if to touch a sky he’d never behold again. Despair rippled in his pupils. Tears traced his cheeks. He choked, clawed his chest, overloading from fanatic to shattered in seconds. When the last tear fell, his mouth curved in a sly, delighted arc, and normality threaded back into his face.

“In that unending heartbeat, I saw more than my fate. I saw your past and your futures… and I understood His intent.”

He stood, stepped closer, one quiet foot after another, to Adelaide frozen stiff.

“He took a soul stolen from another world and crammed it into a jester’s head that should’ve died. He erased her consciousness, then installed that loser’s memories onto your original soul’s template. He destroyed the soul that body once held in essence, while keeping the new consciousness intact enough not to shatter into madness at the moment of fusion.”

He paused, like he’d lay the words out slower so she could swallow without choking.

“The soul’s the most delicate instrument in the world. Even for Him, that’s a long, painstaking work. Yet it wasn’t to change your fate… it was… to change mine.”

He stopped before her. He bowed his head to her ear, voice dropping soft as silk over a blade.

“He let you live because only then could you unite with me later… and in our first battle, you would kill me.”

Adelaide’s pupils pinched. The instant stretched, became a fevered forever. Breath deserted her. Only the clamp in her chest forced her mouth to open, gasp, and kick her frail heart back into beat.

In essence… destroy… the original soul?

Then—who… am I?

At long last, a hurricane’s tear surged, shredding through Adelaide’s skull.

Since that fight with Mira—then their patchwork peace—she’d almost never felt this ripping again. She’d thought she’d made peace with that twisted, bastard god. But the pains that had gone missing returned all at once, not fewer, but jammed together and hammering her consciousness. She couldn’t bear it. A groan broke out of her lips, raw and helpless.

She clutched her cracking head. Instinct shoved Cruz away. She staggered to her feet, reeled back a step.

“G–get… away!”

She backed again, nearly stumbling. Her shoulders struck something warm and wet and tacky.

A wall of blood and meat. And the same flesh ramparts had sealed her in. No matter how she screamed, Mira, Menglan, and Varie outside would never hear.

Knowing she’d walked into a trap, Adelaide raised a trembling hand. Fingers that usually traced perfect circles left twisted lines in the air.

“Oh, dear, you don’t want to cast in this state. The backlash would be nasty.”

“Don’t… ugh…” Adelaide clamped her palms over her throbbing brow, then shouted with all the breath she had, “Don’t come closer!”

To her surprise, he obeyed. He stayed put, hands raised in surrender.

“Trust me, dear. I won’t do a thing. Truly!”

His voice held a care so convincing it made doubt waver for a heartbeat.

“You dragged me here… why aren’t you striking?”

This time, Cruz looked puzzled. “Strike? Why?”

“…?”

“Knowing I’ll die the first time I cross blades with you—why would I do that?”

Adelaide blinked, half a second lost. Then she saw he was serious.

Don’t ask how, but although his words sounded like a madman’s gospel, her gut—having seen Him—understood. At least when it was about that petty god, this crimson man wasn’t lying.

That didn’t mean she believed him. She kept her array raised, fingers steadier by a shade.

“I see. You can’t move… so you sicced that thing called Firefly on us. And that dead lizard to swing in your stead…”

Cruz shook his head and sighed.

“I know. Your clever little brain is replaying all the tiny details from walking into the Magma Forge—the handle at the entrance looked like someone fiddled with it before you got there, and all that—string the clues together, and—Aha! I’ll unmask your grand plot!—Oh, dear, I understand your mood,” he lifted a shoulder, “but truth is, there was never a plot.”

“No…? What, a new brand of mockery, Mr. Cruz?”

“I get it. Earning your trust is hard. But Firefly’s little tussle with you was her own idea. She’s not human. Concepts get slippery for her. She even tried that laughable stunt—changing fate.” His lips flickered into a light smile at Firefly’s name. Three parts tender, seven parts ironic. Then he stepped to the next note.

“As for Soul Devourer Sormaidon, no need to twist your mind around breadcrumbs.” Cruz spoke plainly. “I never planned to hide it—yes, I woke it. And yes, I told it you’d be here today.”

Adelaide’s brow knotted. Her hand lifted higher. Before she let the array flare at full tilt, his words cut in.

“—Hold. Before any false accusations, I’ll defend myself. What I did—like I said at the start—was to help you, my dear.”

“…?”

“Think of it. Join an epic battle. Beat a legendary chaos dragon the Lionheart Hero couldn’t slay during the Chaos Uprising. Take back Lama City, the old capital of the Nacha Tribe. Become a benefactor to the orcs. Then claim this vial of Isilia’s Glow. Win the Trial of Good in the most perfect way. For you, isn’t that a flawless plan?”

“You speak so pretty, Mr. Cruz. I brushed past death more than once today.”

Again, to her challenge, he only shrugged, careless as wind over reeds.

“That’s impossible. I’m still alive, and before I climb into a coffin, you will not die—this is fate, curated for us. Have a bit more faith in that mischievous god.”

Adelaide fell into a brief hush, then asked:

“Are you… not afraid of death?”

Each time his cheerful voice tossed out “death,” that word that stands for the end of all things, something twisted in her chest. His face stayed calm, uncracked by fake serenity.

“Afraid? Of course not. How could I fear death? Bearing the name of a Follower of Pleasure, I’m eager for it.” He laughed. “My only worry is that my curtain call won’t be joyful enough. Not grand enough. If the god arranged that I unite with you and then die, I’ll close my act in the most pleasurable, most magnificent style. So—”

A wedding. Nothing fits better. He smiled, bowed like a gentleman. The sweet-briny scent in the air thickened like syrup over iron.

“I look forward to that day. And I hope my dear fiancée appears at the wedding in her most beautiful form—Flower Dancer, the fairest certified by God’s children, the Elves. A bit tacky, yes. But barely worthy of my beautiful fiancée’s name.”

“You do love your own story, Mr. Cruz.” Adelaide swallowed the impulse stoked by that heady scent and spoke, crisp as glass.

"Thanks for the compliment. Lots of people enjoy chatting with me." He wore that sunlit smile again. "Anyway, before the wedding day rises, I'll have everything ready for you."

He said it, then flicked the little gooseneck flask into the air, like a silver fish breaking the surface. Adelaide snatched that spill of moonlight. His voice flowed back, like water in a dark well.

"Oh, right. One more thing before we part, like a final note before the curtain falls."

Cruz smiled and held Adelaide's gaze, steady as a lantern in a night wind.

"It's your freedom, darling, like a bird choosing its branch. Still, I'd suggest you don't tell that little lover about today. I'm a generous fiancé, broad as the sea. I don't mind my bride tasting a bit of fun outside. But your lover's temper may not be as calm as mine."

His tone stayed gentle, but the warmth dropped off a cliff. He kept smiling as he spoke, ice behind the spring water.

"Of course, I won't go looking for trouble with her, like a hunter chasing a shadow. But if she comes to me, I can't promise I won't get carried away. I might turn my rival into furniture for the castle."

"…You—wait!"

Adelaide's eyes flew wide, a startled bird. Her words never reached him. At the instant her sentence ended, the man vanished. The flesh-walled room and its grotesque furniture went with him, like a dream bleached by dawn.

Adelaide stood where she was. The wet, warm touch underfoot and along her back dissolved, replaced by cold, hard steel, like frost biting iron.

Then strength slipped out from under her, support cut like a snapped string, and she collapsed to the floor.

As for what came after safety—the mind cracking like ice under weight, the skull-splitting howl, the doubts that shook the roots of who she was—she left it out. Naturally, she trimmed all of that when she told Mira, paring this brief encounter like bruised fruit.