Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 263

Michael reached for the glowing piece of metal.

But it moved away, evading his hand. He tried a few more times, to no avail.

It was almost as though the fragment were teasing him.

At that, Michael lifted his sword.

The fragment then rose into the air, glowing even more brightly, orbiting in circles above Michael’s head.

It became clear at that point. it was mocking him.

Michael regarded it with a cold glare.

For a while, he followed its spinning flight path with his eyes—then, he gripped the bloodstained sword in his hand.

And, without hesitation, he hurled it at the fragment hovering in midair.

CLANG!

A sharp, metallic crash rang through the vault as the blade struck the fragment, slamming it against the wall. The fragment quivered where it fell.

Michael strode over and snatched it up in his hand.

At once, the two joined metal pieces split apart again. The portion Irene had once clutched lost all its light, reverting to its old, scratched-up state.

But the other piece, discovered here in the vault, was different. In Michael’s grip, it struggled violently.

Still, he only squeezed it tighter.

The fragment thrashed even harder in his palm. Though it cut into his skin and made blood drip from his hand, he refused to let go.

He tucked Irene’s fragment away, carrying the writhing piece in his other hand as he left the vault.

Then, gathering all of Irene’s keepsakes he had hidden away, Michael departed Visconti’s royal palace.

Countless survivors saw him but no one dared stand in his way.

***

Michael’s destination was the fortress.

He wanted to learn precisely what power this artifact possessed.

And for that, he needed the Hand of Appraisal—found within the fortress.

Naturally, the fortress didn’t welcome him.

“You, the fallen sword of the Temple! One of Visconti’s rightful heirs has arrived, seeking vengeance!”

Already, some distant relative claiming succession to the Visconti throne had hunted him down, leading an army to the fortress before Michael arrived.

Michael silently drew his sword.

Another merciless massacre began.

By the time the sword he’d stolen from the dead was close to snapping again, he stood before the Appraisal Chamber.

The attendant responsible for the Hand of Appraisal did nothing to stop him.

He lacked both the strength and the courage, and more than that, he had no reason to oppose Michael.

He only made one request of Michael.

“Please do not harm the Hand of Appraisal.”

Michael nodded.

He only killed those who had insulted Irene, or those who tried to stand against him.

The rest were irrelevant in his eyes, not worth harming.

Michael approached the Hand of Appraisal.

It was something like a severed, withered wrist, vaguely resembling a human hand but bearing seven fingers—the appendage of some unknown creature.

Michael took the fragment, still in his grip all the way here, and dropped it in front of it.

The Hand of Appraisal, as though it had been waiting for this moment, fumbled the bloodstained piece of metal, trembling with excitement.

Artifacts with sentience. Meeting one of their own seemed to thrill the Hand of Appraisal.

Michael watched silently. At least the fragment, though it flickered from time to time, didn’t fight back now.

Even so, its behavior irked him all the more, for he could sense that it had been mocking him from the start.

The Hand of Appraisal spent far longer on this piece than on anything else.

By the time the fortress staff member dozed off on his feet from exhaustion, the Hand of Appraisal moved to the edge of the table, picked up a pen, and finally recorded the artifact’s name.

[ The Impossibility ]

What has already occurred is finished.

It is impossible to rewind time and return to the moment of choice.

But miracles do exist.

When it has drunk the blood of all monsters to its satisfaction, the Impossibility will change its face.

Not once in history has it ever been activated.

For it is impossible.

Ah.

Michael’s hand shook as he took the paper from the Hand of Appraisal.

Tears slipped down his cheeks.

What he wanted…

…was to meet Irene again.

To see her once more, to tell her all the words left unsaid, to beg her forgiveness for his wrongs.

He recalled Irene—always hunched in a corner of the fortress, exhausted.

If he could see her again, he wanted to see her smile.

He had read her short diary among her belongings. Some days, it only said, ‘Cold.’

She didn’t even write dates. Each brief entry was laden with weariness, as if she’d used up all her strength just to jot a few words.

He wanted to keep her warm, to ensure she never went hungry again, to let her sleep in the widest, most beautiful place without dreading tomorrow or succumbing to sadness.

If only he could do that…

Michael grabbed the Impossibility and turned to go.

He had to turn the impossible into reality.

It was the one thing he had left to do.