Grant me Your Grace Chapter 71

“So… you are Hissin.”

 

Queen Louisiana Tefnu of Mohron gazed at Hissin with steady eyes.

 

Tefnu, who shared the same surname as Hissin, was the older sister of King Osiris of Janna and Hissin’s aunt. 

 

Long ago, she had vehemently argued that the power of the Janna royal family should be used to strengthen national defense for the kingdom’s safety. 

 

However, disillusioned by Osiris’s idealistic politics, she eventually left her homeland with her followers.

 

Unable to take root in barren land, she settled deep underground and founded the village of Mohron, meaning ‘the blinded ones.’ 

 

Over time, people who had lost their homes for various reasons gathered one by one, forming a nation. 

 

Most of them were refugees who had lost their countries due to the warmonger Khankundra.

 

And so, they lived hidden from the world’s eyes for many years—until her nephew, of all people, found his way here. With all his bloodline lost, in that tiny, fragile body.

 

Rising from her throne, Tefnu leaned on her cane and slowly approached Hissin. Having long abandoned her royal power upon leaving Janna, she had lost the ‘Mark of Awakening’—the color of her irises—and was left with only faint vision.

 

Tap, tap, tap—

 

Arriving before Hissin, Tefnu slowly lowered herself. As his eyes met her faded white ones, a dry yet familiar scent brushed his nose—different from the underground caves of Baran.

 

It was the fragrance of Janna’s national flower, the Louisiana.

 

Tefnu gently stroked her young nephew’s cheek and peered deeply into his eyes.

 

“The blood of Janna flows within you.”

 

Taking a mirror handed by a servant, she held it up to the boy’s face.

 

“A most intense flame has bloomed within you.”

 

Young Hissin could only stare in shock at his reflection. His once ordinary black irises had transformed into a blazing, vivid red—like roaring flames.

 

Awakening. 

 

As a member of the Janna royalty, he had now become a vessel capable of forging the Oath of the Heart.

 

“You are the one and only surviving royalty of Janna in this land.”

 

Young Hissin let tears fall drop by drop, yet he could not tear his gaze away from his own crimson eyes reflected in the mirror. 

 

Unlike his mother’s gentle amber eyes or his father’s steadfast brown ones, his own blazing red eyes burned fiercely, filled with deep-seated resentment and hatred.

 

“What will you do now?”

 

At Tefnu’s question, Hissin turned to look at her. Though she had left Janna long ago, her roots still lay there, and so she had willingly offered the resources of this underground kingdom to aid in his vengeance against their homeland.

 

Hissin’s crimson eyes flared violently, “Vengeance… I will have vengeance. I will slaughter the Baran Kingdom, who mercilessly took my family and my people, and I will wipe out their bloodline.”

 

The sheer brutality of such hatred, unthinkable for a child to harbor, made Tefnu exhale softly. 

 

As she had no heir, she placed a hand on Hissin’s head and spoke, “I will raise you as the new ruler of this land.”

 

In that moment, the next king of Mohron was born, and all those present knelt before Tefnu and Hissin. 

 

As Hissin looked upon the countless figures surrounding him, he felt his blood seethe with fury.

 

“When the day comes for you to return to Baran, I shall grant you a shadow to sow the seeds of despair upon that land in your name.”

 

A young man stepped forward before them. When Hissin turned his gaze upon him, the youth knelt on one knee as if swearing fealty.

 

“He is a child who lost his nation and family to Baran even before you did.”

 

Tefnu drew a dagger and handed it to Hissin. Even without explanation, Hissin knew exactly what he must do.

 

Hissin drew his hand across the back of his palm, and the approaching figure lowered themselves to press their lips against it.
As blood seeped into their mouth, their amber-like clear eyes turned toward Hissin.
“I pledge my life to follow your will.”
The first servant to forge a heart-bound oath with Hissin.
It was Hovan.

 

💫

 

Hissin raised his head. In the pitch-black darkness of the underground prison, a silent shadow approached, answering his call through their shared bond.

 

Even in the darkness, those vividly glowing amber eyes fixed upon their master.

 

“You have summoned me.”

 

“The time has come.”

 

Hissin stared straight at the shadow—Hovan—and spoke.

 

“In ten days, we strike the Baran Kingdom.”

 

At the finally set date of Baran’s downfall, Hovan’s eyes flickered faintly.

 

It had already been nine years since he infiltrated the Baran Kingdom’s temple as a spy for the Mohron Kingdom. 

 

Like Hissin, Hovan had long lost his homeland to Baran, abandoning even the sacred bird of Maia, waiting only for this day.

 

With keen insight and strategy, he had risen to the position of the next High Priest, meticulously carrying out Hissin’s orders to slowly corrupt this land.

 

Feeding the emperor poisoned lotus under Mindhu’s thirst for the throne, delivering false prophecies about the divine gift, spreading rumors that Hissin was not a divine blessing but a demon’s offering—

 

All of it was orchestrated by Hissin and executed by Hovan. 

 

From the miracles that once graced this land to the plagues and famines that followed, everything.

 

Now, the Baran Kingdom was in a horrifying decline, like the ancient monster Ammit devouring the dead. 

 

Having witnessed every gruesome facet of this place over the years, Hovan longed to hasten its ruin and return to his sanctuary, Mohron.

Hovan bowed deeply, “I shall make the final preparations.”

 

“There must be no delays. If even one thing goes wrong, everything will collapse.”

 

“Do not worry. Everything will unfold as you desire.”

 

As Hovan turned away, Hissin reminded him of their most crucial objective.

 

“The Princess must be protected at all costs.”

 

Hovan paused and looked back at Hissin. A faint unease flickered in his amber eyes—whether it was displeasure or concern was unclear.

 

“May I ask one thing?”

 

Hissin twitched an eyebrow. Though he gave no verbal answer, the pulse in his chest signaled permission. 

 

Hovan pressed on, aware of his own audacity.

 

“What do you intend to do with the Princess once you take her to Mohron?”

 

Even if Dahlia was Hissin’s savior, the one who had given him life, she was undeniably a Baran by blood—the daughter of the very man who had slaughtered Janna’s royal family.

 

Yet Hissin’s obsession with her was unnatural. 

 

Hovan couldn’t shake his doubts. Was it truly safe to bring Dahlia to Mohron?

 

Perhaps, over these nine long years, even he had unwittingly grown attached to the naive Princess.

 

“Hmm. What else is there to do?”

 

Hissin glanced down at his own body—flawless, unmarred, brimming with vitality. Strong enough to shatter this prison and overthrow Baran in an instant.

 

“I simply wish to take what is mine.”

 

A faint smile touched Hissin’s lips as he savored the life force Dahlia had engraved within him.

 

“…Even if it leads Mohron to ruin?”

 

“Do you, too, fear the will of the goddess?”

 

Hovan hesitated. 

 

After nearly a decade serving in Baran’s temples, he had witnessed too much—things beyond explanation. 

 

Maybe, without realizing it, he had begun to believe.

 

Hissin stared straight at Hovan and spoke, “If that is the goddess’s will, then I will kill even that god and take Dahlia out of this hell.”

His crimson eyes darkened as if absorbing the shadows.

 

“From the moment that woman was chosen as the divine gift destined to endure all suffering, the goddess had already abandoned her.”

 

The divine gift that would save the kingdom of Baran from chaos. 

 

All the prophecies that had descended through oracles long ago were, in truth, the will of the gods toward Dahlia.

 

Yet, whether misfortune or blessing, it was not the priests of Baran but Hovan, a spy of Mohron, who first recognized the divine gift. 

 

While studying the ancient prophecies, Hovan deciphered a passage that read, “The owner of the hidden grail is the divine gift.”

 

Immediately, Hovan burned the ancient prophecy containing that passage and kept the truth utterly secret. 

 

Thanks to that, Hissin was able to enter this country disguised as a false divine gift in Dahlia’s place.

 

“After all, it was they who failed to properly discern the will of the gods. Who can blame me?”

 

Hissin smiled softly, “If there is any sin, it lies with the emperor of this land, who failed to kill me first and allowed me to meet Dahlia.”

 

That pure yet vicious longing could only be called love and hate. 

 

Silently bowing his head, Hovan stepped back from Hissin.

 

At this moment, he found it difficult to control the strange emotions swirling in his chest.

 

Just as he was about to slip away through the secret passage, Hovan’s footsteps suddenly halted. After a brief hesitation, he turned and took a different path.

 

Soon, his steps led him to the prison where High Priest Aaron was confined.

 

Unlike last time, when Aaron had desperately begged for help at the slightest sound, today he showed no movement at all. 

 

Lying exactly as the guards had thrown him, he clung weakly to the last fraying thread of his life.

 

Hovan was momentarily lost in a strange emotion as he watched Aaron struggling to breathe, his breaths ragged.

 

When Hovan first entered the kingdom of Baran, hiding his true identity and joining the temple as a priest, Aaron had accepted him—an orphan of unknown origin and status—without any prejudice.

 

[The goddess Nuit holds everyone in high regard.]

 

That gentle smile resurfaced in his mind—perhaps out of guilt.

 

Swallowing an unnamed emotion, Hovan reached out and placed his hand on Aaron’s head.

 

“…May the gaze of Goddess Nuit reach you tonight.”

 

The moment he prayed for peace from a god he didn’t even believe in, Aaron’s faded eyes flickered beneath his eyelids.

 

“…Manra.”

 

As if signaling the approaching end, Aaron’s voice was now barely distinguishable from a whisper.

 

Just as Hovan swallowed dryly at the soundless words, Aaron’s unfocused gaze, which had been wandering in the dark, suddenly rose—directly at Hovan, as if he could see him.

 

Staring intently at Hovan, Aaron weakly lifted his arm and covered Hovan’s hand with his own.

 

“Lay down… your burdens…”

 

“…”

 

“You always… seemed… tense… as if… chased by something… struggling…”

 

Pat. Pat—

 

With slow movements, Aaron patted the back of Hovan’s hand a couple of times. 

 

The corners of his lips trembled faintly, as if trying to smile, but in the end, he could not finish conveying that warmth before his breath ceased entirely.

 

Hovan remained frozen, unable to pull away from the lingering warmth of Aaron’s hand. 

 

After staying by the dead priest’s side for a long while, he carefully placed Aaron’s hand over his own chest.

 

“…Rest in peace, High Priest.”

 

With a sincere prayer for Aaron’s peaceful afterlife, Hovan forced his unsteady steps forward and left the underground prison.

 

Before the fall of Baran, Aaron had quietly passed away—and for that, at least, Hovan was grateful.