His Breeding Obsession Chapter 183 - Sacrifice

💫

 

The white bedsheet was stained with blood.

 

The moment he saw her convulsing and gagging, Grecan thought he was having another nightmare.

 

A nightmare that was always terrifying, miserable, and despairing.

 

But unlike in his dreams, the Mirania before his eyes was real.

 

The metallic smell of blood, her faint breath, and her labored, painful gasps—all of it was real.

 

“M-my lord, we can’t treat her. We can’t even figure out the cause. Everyone who tries to touch her collapses.”

 

“We can’t even identify the cause. They’re all… dead. We can’t even get close.”

 

The fox clan servant, who held the position of head steward in the imperial palace, spoke with a haunted expression, her lips trembling.

 

It was common knowledge among the palace staff that Grecan was obsessed with the woman in the crystal room, and they had hoped to extinguish the emergency before he arrived.

 

They had acted quickly, but it was still too late.

 

Gathering his scattered thoughts, Grecan spoke coldly.

 

“Not only can we not identify the cause, but anyone who touches her dies. You need to leave this room.”

 

Grecan slowly looked around.

 

A moment later.

 

Around the bed, people clutching their chests collapsed.  

 

Even a servant, who seemed to have died while cleaning up blood, lay on the floor, having vomited blood.  

 

“The culprit seems to be this servant. I’ll release my subordinates to quickly uncover the mastermind, High Lord,” Hakan said with an unusually stern expression as he carefully examined the decapitated servant.  

 

Ignoring the trembling Tiger Clan members and Hakan’s cautious glances, Grecan only looked at Mirania.  

 

Blood dripped from her eyes onto the sheets.  

 

“…Get out.”  

 

“Huh?”  

 

“Everyone, get out.”  

 

Hakan was the first to react to the sharp command.  

 

As he scurried away, the others who had been trembling on the floor filed out of the room.  

 

Grecan moved his stiff body and approached the bedside. Black smoke seeped in through the wide-open window.  

 

The smoke gathered into the size of a grown man and soon took the form of Malandor.  

 

“I’m sorry to see you like this. We don’t have time, so I’ll quickly tell you what I’ve found.”  

 

He held up a withered ivy vine.  

 

“There are traces of a black liquid dried on the walls of this building. I tasted it… it’s mixed with my poison.”  

 

“…”  

 

“The plants that were clinging to the walls have withered and died. Mirania has ingested the poison.”  

 

“…Poison?”  

 

Though they hadn’t seen each other in decades, there were no formal greetings or clichéd expressions of anger.

 

The atmosphere between the two was dry and desolate as they exchanged words.  

 

“The drink Mirania consumed contained my essence—more precisely, my primordial blood. For Mirania, it’s a deadly poison.”  

 

If Mirania’s primordial essence was a cure that could heal any illness, Malandor’s primordial essence was a vicious poison capable of killing anything.  

 

“Mirania has healing powers.”  

 

“Her blood can’t be detoxified. She and I are polar opposites.”  

 

“…”  

 

“Soon…”  

 

Malandor’s pale face twisted as he choked out his words.  

 

“She’ll die.”  

 

“Shut up.”  

 

Grecan reacted immediately, baring his teeth.  

 

He sat on the blood-soaked bed, gently caressing her cheek. His large hand was stained with sticky blood. Not a bright crimson, but a dark, deathly red.  

 

Mirania trembled. Her shivering transmitted to him, and Grecan’s hand shook as well.  

 

It felt as if someone were squeezing his heart, causing intense pain in his chest.  

 

Seeing her convulsing face, his mind went blank.  

 

Mirania was in pain. His Mirania, his beloved, was suffering.  

 

Malandor grew restless.  

 

“We don’t have time. I’ll go find the red flower…”  

 

“It’s useless.”  

 

Grecan’s voice was sharp.  

 

“What?”  

 

While stroking Mirania’s cheek, Grecan spoke, “We’ve already used the red flower. It won’t work anymore.”  

 

Malandor let out a pained groan.  

 

“Then there’s really no way…”  

 

Without looking at Malandor, who was struggling to speak, Grecan bowed his head to Mirania.  

 

“There is a way.”  

 

“…”  

 

Malandor closed his mouth and stared at Grecan.  

 

Grecan reverently kissed Mirania’s blood-stained lips. His actions, tenderly caressing and holding her close despite her being covered in dark red blood, revealed a strange madness.  

 

Malandor swallowed dryly.  

 

“What are you thinking?”  

 

“I used the red flower to save Mirania once.”  

 

“…!”  

 

“And I’ll save her again.”  

 

“Hey, Grecan.”  

 

“Mirania’s pain. I’ll take that too.”  

 

Grecan raised his head and turned to Malandor.  

 

Malandor flinched.  

 

Grecan’s face, stained red with her blood, and his emotionless black eyes flashed with an eerie light.  

 

The absolute being, consumed only by a desire for destruction.  

 

Malandor’s back stiffened slightly as he recalled the monstrous figure who had torn apart his king a hundred years ago.  

 

Grecan spoke one last time.  

 

“You, get out too.”  

 

Thud!

 

The door closed. The room, now empty except for the two of them, was filled only with the lifeless body and the pouring blood.  

 

From outside the open window, the chirping of oblivious wild doves drifted in.  

 

Grecan pressed his cheek against Mirania’s heart. His ear pressed against the ribs and skin covering her heart.  

 

Thump, thu-thump, thu-thump—

 

The heartbeat grew weaker. Time was running out. 

 

Mirania was dying.  

 

Grecan closed his eyes and began to observe her. Passing through dense muscles, blood vessels gushing with blood, and the curved ribs encasing her heart, he arrived at the large heart.  

 

Golden threads tightly wrapped around the heart. Thin but unbreakable, the golden threads bound the heart like chains.  

 

The golden threads didn’t stop at binding the heart—they extended somewhere beyond.

 

Grecan carefully followed the golden thread.  

 

As he traced the winding thread, another heart appeared. This heart wasn’t as large as his own.  

 

It was a heart small enough to be covered by a single hand, with one corner shriveled. The blood it pumped was dark red, and it was slowly being consumed by illness, turning a murky black.  

 

Grecan slowly approached the heart. It was dying.  

 

The gradually fading heartbeat filled him with sorrow, yet its desperate struggle to endure was endearing.  

 

He looked around. The golden thread connecting his heart to hers. 

 

A square door blocked the way.  

 

The door, too, was a brilliant gold. Grecan grabbed the doorknob. He intuitively understood.  

 

‘This is it.’  

 

Beyond this door lay Mirania’s pain. What had formed in place of the red flower after it was absorbed and disappeared?  

 

This was the very thing that connected her to him.  

 

All living beings have an instinct to protect themselves.  

 

Though Grecan had transcended human limits, the lingering instinct of a living being screamed at him not to open the door.  

 

But Grecan unlocked it. He pushed aside the faint cries of instinct and instead forced the door open wider.  

 

The door swung open.  

 

Whoosh!

 

The interior, filled with black and red mist, screamed as it discovered Grecan.  

 

The entities that had been writhing in agony, craving more space, surged out as if they had been waiting.  

 

Veins bulged on Grecan’s skin as he closed his eyes.  

 

The swollen veins were on the verge of bursting.  

 

Inside, Grecan tightly gripped the doorknob. He had no intention of closing the door until all the pain trapped within Mirania had been expelled.

  

His hand trembled violently. The knuckles of his fingers swelled fiercely.  

 

Grecan swallowed the pain pouring into him, one gulp after another.  

 

Grecan’s body tightly held Mirania’s hand. The skin on his face twitched as his eyes remained closed. One by one, the taut veins burst, creating streams of blood.  

 

Blood oozed from their clasped hands.  

 

As Grecan’s body turned red, Mirania’s face gradually grew peaceful.  

 

💫

 

A neatly organized room. Sunlight streamed in through a large window.  

 

In the garden, which had been greatly cultivated over the past few months, a yellow warbler perched on a newly planted branch, preening its feathers with its beak.  

 

The chirping of the bird, pecking at the leaves, reached Mirania’s ears as she lay in bed.  

 

Someone who had been watching over her got up and drew the curtains over the window.  

 

The sunlight was blocked. A deeper silence settled over the darkened room.  

 

Mirania’s eyelids fluttered open. She turned her head slightly, frowning as her vision remained blurry.  

 

“…Don’t force yourself to see. It’ll be hard to focus your eyes.”  

 

A quiet warning.  

 

Mirania moved her hand, which felt oddly heavy and uncomfortable, to her eyes. She pressed hard on her eyes and then released them.  

 

Her blurry vision became slightly clearer.  

 

“Your eyes bled a lot. The color of your irises has turned a bit red, but don’t worry. They’ll return to normal as your body recovers.”  

 

She nodded, then tilted her head in confusion.  

 

“Malandor?”  

 

“Yeah, it’s me.”  

 

Malandor, sitting in a chair beside the bed, smiled down at her.  

 

“Why are you here?”  

 

“You’re not seriously asking why I came, are you?”  

 

Malandor spoke playfully, but when Mirania’s dazed expression didn’t change, he dropped the smile.  

 

He scratched his forehead, a look of discomfort crossing his face.  

 

“First, I want to apologize. I didn’t manage things well internally… I came to prevent anything from happening, but in the end, I was too late.”  

 

“So what I drank really was the essence of the Black Veil. Even so, it was excessively dark and vicious.”  

 

“Well, of course. It’s my primordial essence.”  

 

Mirania, covering one eye with her hand, twitched her eyebrow.  

 

The primordial essence was the most fundamental and powerful energy of a living being.  

 

If it was Malandor’s primordial essence, that governed death, it would be closest to death itself.  

 

“My subordinate did something dangerous. It seems they wanted revenge on Grecan, and the one who got their hands on the poison used it on you.”  

 

“…”  

 

“You would’ve died.”  

 

“I suppose so. This life of mine is surprisingly tenacious. To still be alive after all that.”  

 

Mirania sat up. Malandor tried to stop her, but she raised her hand to refuse and scanned the room.  

 

It felt unfamiliar, but it wasn’t the Crystal Chamber.  

 

“Where’s Grecan?”  

 

When she looked at Malandor, his brow furrowed slightly. He felt the urge to cross his arms, but instead remained still.  

 

Mirania hurriedly threw off the blanket. Malandor pleaded with her.

 

“You need to rest more, Mirania. This isn’t just ordinary poison—it’s my miasma. Do you want to collapse again?”

 

“I need to see Grecan.”

 

Frustrated, Malandor raised his voice.

 

“Where do you think you’re going? Do you even know where he is?”