Limited Extra Time - Chapter 92

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

—— Page 1 ——

It was painfully obvious that she was desperate to tell me—yet she lied. She kept pushing me away, again and again.

Millaiyen found it both irritating and bewildering. Why would she go to such lengths to conceal emotions laid so bare?

‘…Because I said she was a nuisance?’

But he had apologized for that. She could never be a nuisance to him again.

Millaiyen tightened his grip on the wrist he held.

Through his fingertips, he felt the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Your heart—it’s about to burst.

Carina’s eyes widened sharply.

Wanting to kiss those wide-open eyes, Millaiyen slowly pulled himself away.

He wanted to kiss her, but if he did, she would surely retreat even deeper into herself.

“If you’re going to lie to me, you should have hidden it from the start.”

—— Page 2 ——

“I should have hidden it better.”

“This is… just…”

You seem tired today, so get some good rest. I’ll send someone to pick you up. Let’s talk tomorrow.

Millaiyen lightly kissed her hair and turned away. As she watched his retreating figure leave the room, Carina’s face slowly crumbled.

Thud.

She stared at the door that had closed with a loud sound, then buried her face in her palms. She was devastated yet relieved, and horrified by her own contradictions.

Carina Leopold buried her face in the pillow as she collapsed.

Click.

Millaiyen Pestellio’s face had turned glacial as he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Glacial was too mild a word—murderous would have been more apt. His gaze alone seemed capable of felling a dozen men in a single breath.

He forced his leaden feet to move. He’d nearly lost his temper with her. Nearly shouted at her for being so infuriatingly obstinate.

But he hadn’t, because he feared Carina Leopold might startle and suffer another episode.

Even touching her required caution. When he’d grasped her wrist, he’d worried whether the delicate bones might fracture beneath his grip.

Despite restraining his strength as much as possible, her wrist bore a faint flush when he’d finally released it.

“Think of me as a troublesome, inconvenient tempest that visits briefly before moving on. The storm will pass eventually. I simply wish to remain that sort of existence to you.”

Millaiyen’s face contorted. A tempest that visits briefly before departing?

“Nonsense.”

—— Page 3 ——

He muttered the word low, his voice lethal.

Who had ever said he would release her?

She was his woman, and he had no intention whatsoever of letting her go.

If she truly despised him, perhaps it would be different.

But that wasn’t the case.

She desired him. Whenever he glimpsed the possessiveness in her gaze, his lower abdomen would grow heavy with want.

They’d had little in common at first. Then one day, she’d simply thrown herself into his arms of her own accord.

But what came willingly need not leave the same way.

Departure required his permission.

And Millaiyen had no intention of granting that permission whatsoever.

“We need to crush the bastards first.”

Millaiyen spoke with rare vulgarity—the kind of curse he only uttered when his blood ran hot enough to override his restraint.

But hunting Magical Beasts often demanded he rely on his primal nature, and in those moments, reason typically shattered.

When he clawed his way back to rationality from that state, he became sharp and volatile.

Sometimes his eyes would glaze over entirely, and only by lighting a cigarette could he regain some semblance of composure.

Millaiyen strode toward the Banquet Hall without even considering reaching for the cigarette in his pocket.

His gait was swift and decisive—nothing like the hesitation that had marked his ascent.

“Anyone escaped?”

“No, Your Grace. A few attempted to leave, but we stopped them with your message.”

“Understood. Open it.”

The Soldier moved with urgency at Millaiyen’s command. He had no choice.

—— Page 4 ——

Those half-torn pupils looked as though they might rend everyone present in the same fashion.

“Close it.”

As Millaiyen stepped inside, the Soldier shut the door behind him.

Millaiyen glanced at the firmly sealed door, then surveyed the gathered clusters of people within.

“Damn it. They’re all dead.”

Millaiyen drew his sword directly from his waist.

The Lords and Knights paled to ghostly white as Millaiyen unsheathed his blade without explanation the moment he entered.

Among them, only one person maintained their usual expression.

“Goreden.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Tell me what happened.”

At Millaiyen’s command, Goreden bowed his head and opened his mouth.

He reported everything that had occurred since the moment Millaiyen disappeared,

leaving nothing out.

Once he finished speaking and lowered his head, Millaiyen gave a slight nod.

“Make sure no one leaves this place. Goreden, that’s an order.”

“Understood.”

Goreden answered and took his position like a gatekeeper before the Terrace entrance.

With the broad-shouldered man stationed at the Terrace opening, it became an exit from which escape was truly impossible.

“It’s been a while. Draw your sword.”

“W-wait, Your Grace. Let’s talk about this. We should settle this with words. After all, we only discussed matters concerning Harun!”

“Why did you send people away and speak such needless words?”

Thud—Millaiyen’s tilted voice had completely lost its restraint.

Marin Aerial’s mouth fell open.

There was no sign of yielding. The first to surrender and draw his sword was Solai Leonhardt.

—— Page 5 ——

Having watched Millaiyen since childhood, he knew that once he made a decision, he would never go back on it.

‘Troubles in my twilight years.’

I wished my nephew would grow up faster, but he still had a long way to go before he could shoulder the burden alone.

Solai Leonhardt exhaled deeply and positioned himself at a distance from the other Lords.

“Aren’t the rest of you drawing your weapons? If you want to search quietly, then do so.”

“Damn it! Who said we weren’t?! This is ridiculous. What a waste—such a waste of the lady! How did she end up entangled with this monster?”

Marin Aerial drew the cutlass from her waist. Distinctly, she wielded a blade in each hand, baring her teeth.

Sharp fangs flashed briefly before vanishing.

“Ugh… I really don’t want to fight His Grace! It’s obvious I’ll get beaten like a dog—damn

it!”

Yet Baron Cramber swiftly drew his own blade from its sheath.

The Knights watching the Lords began drawing their weapons one by one, though their expressions were utterly consumed by fear.

They knew better than anyone how Millaiyen would shred the Magical Beasts to ribbons once he lost control.

Millaiyen’s lips twisted upward as he surveyed his surroundings.

“Carina is a waste. Who said she wasn’t?”

Millaiyen muttered in a low voice.

Of course she was a waste to him. Their words weren’t wrong. She was simply caught by a madman.

“She was caught by a madman, that’s all.”

Millaiyen lowered the tip of his blade toward the ground. Everyone in the Banquet Hall held their breath as they watched the sword descend at an angle.

“But Carina will never know—

—— Page 6 ——

It’s none of my concern.”

“What the… Why is that the pillar of the Northern Territory?”

Marin Aerial, having spat out a crude curse, charged straight at Millaiyen without hesitation.

She wielded two cutlasses with practiced ease, launching a rapid barrage of attacks at Millaiyen.

Millaiyen parried each strike with a single sword held in one hand, then twisted his blade horizontally with a surge of force.

Aerial hastily crossed her blades in an X to block Millaiyen’s counterattack.

“That monster…”

Surlai ducked behind the retreating Aerial, searching for an opening in Millaiyen’s defense.

Millaiyen sidestepped effortlessly and drew his blade downward in a sweeping arc.

This was typical of the Northern Territory. There was no ceremony, no formality—if trouble arose, swords came out first.

That their leader operated this way explained everything about the origins of their combative nature.

Millaiyen dealt with the Knights swarming from all sides like ants, kicking them away one after another.

The fact that he showed restraint and refrained from causing serious injury was the only mercy they could claim.

Among the Lords being sent flying, Baron Cramber was the first to hit the ground.

I rolled around.

Knowing full well that Cramber had deliberately goaded Carina into sending him, Millaiyen strode over and delivered a vicious kick to the Baron’s stomach.

“Ugh! That hurts!”

Baron Cramber tumbled across the Banquet Hall floor, whimpering pathetically.

Then he scrambled behind a table and fled.

He’d never harbored any hope of victory. Millaiyen showed no mercy whatsoever—

—— Page 7 ——

there would be no one alive in this place right now.

Marin Aerial’s cutlass spun wildly through the air before embedding itself into the table with a dull thunk.

She raised both hands and let out a sigh.

“I concede. I’ve lost.”

Marin Aerial quickly expressed her surrender.

They possessed fierce competitive spirits and were quick to flare up, yet they rarely dragged out fights in a messy fashion.

In other words, they harbored no hesitation in acknowledging defeat.

Strength was strength.

Those still standing were Solai Leonhardt and Millaiyen, who had been striking and retreating with measured restraint, and Goreden, who had been positioned to prevent anyone from fleeing toward the Terrace.

Everyone else had fallen.

“Perhaps we should call it here, Your Grace?”

Solai Leonhardt spoke with a wry chuckle.

“…You cunning bastard.”

Millaiyen replied in a voice grown even more subdued.

Yet by now, much of the venom had drained from his tone compared to before. Millaiyen clicked his tongue sharply and sheathed his sword at his waist.

He understood that continuing further would sour the atmosphere. More importantly, the Subjugation would soon begin, and any injuries sustained now would prove troublesome.

Knowing this, Millaiyen readily accepted Solai’s proposal.

He sheathed his blade and withdrew a cigarette, placing it between his lips.

He sheathed his sword and pulled out a cigarette, putting it in his mouth.

He struck a match from his pocket and lit the torch, then strode purposefully toward the Terrace.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————