Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 227
Michael recalled the other versions of himself he had seen until now.
Every time he activated the âImpossibilityâ, a similar yet different world would begin before him.
In most of those worlds, Irene did not exist.
But there was always a âMichaelâ.
Michael thought back to the first alternate version of himself he had encountered.
The moment he realized he had activated the Impossibility and traveled back in time, he had immediately rushed to the fortress where Irene was supposed to be.
And there, instead of Ireneâhe saw another version of himself.
The same face, the same clothes, the same appearance.
But there was one crucial difference.
That Michael was holding the sacred sword of the temple without any difficulty.
A sword that Michael, as he was right now, could no longer wield properly.
It had once been the templeâs symbol, and his own. A sword that despised monsters and all things impure.
From the moment he had severed Ceciliaâs head, Michael had lost the ability to properly wield it.
As he continued to slaughter monsters, becoming more of a monster himself, even touching the blade caused his flesh to decay and rot.
Even now, it was the same.
Though Irene had yet to notice because he always wore gloves, his hands beneath them were already blackened and rotting.
Of course, they would heal before longâ
But still, he could no longer wield the sword.
Yet the other Michaelâthe one standing before himâheld it effortlessly.
And the moment that Michael saw him, he swung his sword without hesitation.
There was no doubt in his actionsâonly an absolute belief that he was the real Michael, and any other existence was false.
Michael, too, drew his sword.
But instead of the templeâs sacred sword, which he could no longer wield, he used another blade.
That other Michael, however, fell shockingly easily.
Now that Michael had surpassed the limits of humanity, an earlier version of himselfâstill inexperiencedâstood no chance.
In truth, there had been no need to kill him.
Even if he had attacked first, there had been countless ways to avoid him.
But Michael had struck him down in a single blow.
Brutally.
As he looked down at the shattered remnants of himself, Michael realizedâhis cruelty stemmed from jealousy.
If Irene had existed in that world, then unlike the Michael who had ruined everythingâ
That Michael would have never hurt her.
He would have cherished and respected her.
And he would have been loved by her.
Michael couldnât stand it.
As he stood staring at the gruesome sight, he suddenly felt it.
The world was once again trying to create a âMichaelâ.
The world he had reshaped through the Impossibility had been crafted for Ireneâs happiness.
And to ensure that happinessâthere had to be a Michael.
But since he had just killed the Michael of this world, the world itself was now attempting to create a new one.
Michael let out a hollow laugh.
The world needed another Michael.
Not the one who had made so many mistakesâ
But a Michael who had never hurt Irene.
A Michael who had been perfect for her from the very beginning.
In the world he had created, Michael himself had been rejected.
âThis world will be no different.â
For some reason, when he had first rushed to the fortress, there had been no other Michael.
Because of that, he had been able to naturally assume the role of this worldâs Michaelâ
To stay by Ireneâs side and act for her sake.
But when he saw the gray mass in the dungeonâ
He realized the truth.
It wasnât that there was no Michael in this world.
He simply hadnât been completed yet.
And if that process were to be fully completedâ
âEveryoneâs memories will be rewritten around him.â
Everything Michael had built with Irene in this world⌠would vanish.
The Contract Night, when he had held her hand and bound them together.
The time they had spent trapped in the dungeon.
The love they had shared there.
All of it would disappear.
Replaced by memories with the newly created Michael.
Michaelâs hand trembled.
He had never feared anything before.
But the thought of Irene losing all memories of him sent him spiraling into a bottomless abyss.
At that momentâ
Click.
The sound of the door opening echoed, and with itâ
A warm breeze mixed with the scent of soap and Ireneâs familiar warmth washed over him.
Michaelâs trembling hand stilled.
He turned to see Irene stepping out of the bathroom.
Her damp hair dripped water onto her disheveled clothes, as though she had dressed in a hurry.
Michael rose from his seat and approached her, reaching out his hand.
Taking the towel she was holding, he gently began drying her wet hair.
At first, Irene had been about to protest, but realizing he wouldnât give up, she plopped down onto the sofa and let him do as he pleased.
With a satisfied expression, Michael carefully continued drying her hair.
Even if this memory were to one day vanishâ
At this moment, he was giving it his all.
His touch was meticulously gentle, as if he were handling something infinitely precious.
