Chapter 928 |
Chapter 927
Kishiar, in the present, did not prefer to wear gloves even at official events. There had been a time when touching anything with bare hands was a luxury he couldn't afford due to certain complications. Now, fully recovered, he found little desire to wear them. Yuder, realizing another lingering effect from that time, noted how Kishiar particularly enjoyed touching him with bare hands.
Kishiar often touched Yuder, before, during, and after their encounters. It was frequent, almost to the point of tedium, but never once did it feel careless or thoughtless.
His touch was always cautious. He would start by gently tapping with his fingertips, and only when he felt it safe, would the rest of his skin slowly make contact. This unique way of touching was so distinctive that Yuder felt he could recognize Kishiar with his eyes closed. There were times when such delicate contact felt embarrassingly overcautious, like handling the finest glassware.
Yet, recalling the look in his eyes when he said that the beloved horse he had carelessly touched as a child had later been found dead, Yuder found himself reluctant to voice any complaints.
Kishiar, now averse to gloves, contrasted starkly with the still-gloved hand before him. Was there really such a great difference between them? The entanglement of Kishiar and Yuder's lives was relatively short compared to the much longer lives they had led separately. Could it be that one despised touching commoners enough to always wear gloves, while the other did not?
Yuder knew all too well that Kishiar La Orr was not the person others described. He never intimidated anyone with his status, nor was he a lustful aristocrat. In fact, Kishiar seemed to find more joy in what others would consider challenging or impossible tasks, reveling in them like an enthusiast.
The shock Yuder felt when Kishiar expressed his preference for conversation with him over physical intimacy still lingered vividly.
Now, with the accumulation of knowledge and memories, a clear answer began to emerge.
The memory of someone who had unconditionally trusted and believed in him came to mind.
And then there was Kishiar, a master actor capable of feigning cold rationality better than anyone. Even Yuder, with all his experience, had been deceived by him.
Thinking he understood all this...
The sensation of burning behind his eyes, his heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might burst, yet all these feelings felt distant to Yuder.
He didn't know how to express this overwhelming internal turmoil. He wanted to shout, to ask questions, or to silently retreat to a place where no one could find him. Yet, in reality, he could do none of these.
Having changed so much since his return to the past, he had believed in those changes and planned to continue altering his future.
But the being before him was a living proof that the sins Yuder had committed, the truths he had been ignorant of, could never be altered in such a way. Yuder's lips quivered several times before he barely managed to speak.
"...You are..."
It was then, before he could finish his words, the other gloved hand approached and opened its fingers.
The hand paused momentarily near Yuder's face, then slowly, almost awkwardly, brushed against his cheek. The movement seemed to carry a purpose beyond mere contact. Looking down, Yuder noticed something on the fingers that had touched his cheek. It was difficult to discern in the darkness, but he could tell it was a liquid.
Moving his own hand to the same spot, he felt a substance identical to what stained the white glove.
A hot, transparent liquid with no color or viscosity.
"..."
What could this be? A moment later, an absurd emotion surged within him.
People had often said that tears were foreign to Yuder, a sentiment he himself had shared. He had never understood why others cried, and even when subjected to horrendous torture for months before his execution, he did not shed a single tear, earning the reputation of being unbreakable.
The torturers, finding it bizarre and terrifying that no amount of torment could make him cry or break his spirit, were numerous. Even when one of his eyes was gouged out in an attempt to subdue him, he did not wail but instead faced them squarely, a legend that persisted among the soldiers guarding the prison.
Not even the deaths of his close companions or at Kishiar's funeral did Yuder show any sign of sorrow. There were sarcastic suggestions that he should get medically examined, as it seemed he lacked the physical capability to produce tears.
This trait continued in this lifetime as well. Even when the Cavalry members tried to make him cry by betting on bringing chopped onions before him, his reputation remained largely unchanged, albeit in a slightly different context from his previous life.
Yet, there was one moment, barely acknowledged, when he wondered if it was 'such' a moment. It was the day he first became intimate with Kishiar in this life. On that day, Yuder struggled to breathe, overwhelmed not by the expected pain or pleasure of intercourse, but by an enormous wave of emotions and sensations too profound to comprehend.
That vast something he felt when he fully accepted Kishiar, his heart pounding as he recalled Kishiar's eyes, flickering with indescribable emotions and burying his head while smiling. A strange sensation enveloped Yuder, his chest heaving, a heat rising within him, making it seem impossible to maintain his composure without swallowing it back down.
Perhaps that was the moment he might have cried, or even did cry.
But why now, here?
The unbearable weight he felt was the same, but the emotion it evoked was the polar opposite of the bright and warm feeling from that time. Yuder lowered his hand with the tear, his face expressionless. Meanwhile, the tears continued to stream down his cheek and jaw.
Many who had questioned whether Yuder too was human, would they have said anything if they had seen this sight? Yuder felt as if a vast ocean, unknown even to himself, existed within his chest, raging with storms. With each tumultuous wave crashing and pounding within, an indescribable agony wrung his lungs, seemingly robbing him of the strength to even think.
Perhaps what was now flowing out was part of those shattered waves.
When Yuder remained silently standing, a hand reached out again. It no longer touched Yuder's cheek, instead, it pulled at the white glove he still held, drawing it off with a movement too elegant for the situation. The hand, sliding fingers between the leather, pulled down.
And then, it tugged at his sleeve.
"..."
Yuder glanced down at his taut sleeve for a moment before moving his feet, following the lead. He was in darkness so profound that no ground seemed visible to step upon, yet somehow, he could walk wherever it led.
How long had he walked these incomprehensible steps? Before long, something resembling the place he had been previously pushed and fallen into came into view.
A vast chasm that appeared distant yet simultaneously close.
From somewhere, a chilling sound and the sensation of something writhing were felt.
Upon reaching there, the hand that had been pulling him stopped and placed a forefinger on Yuder's palm.
Look carefully.
What truly matters.
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