Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 273
TL: Elphie / PR: Marm
Michael gazed at Irene, surrounded by the people of this world⌠and the other Michael.
A world for Irene existed here.
A world where she was happy.
A world where he did not exist.
Her gaze fell on him with the emotionless stare of a stranger.
In Ireneâs eyes, where the memory of him had faded, there was no warmth. There was only a quiet, lingering question. Why was this unfamiliar man standing beside her?
Faced with that gaze, Michael bit his lip. He had always knownâthat in the perfect world meant for her, there was no place for him.
Even if he hadn’t killed her directly, his actions had piled up and piled up, eventually leading to Irene’s death.
No amount of regret could ever change that truth.
Michael turned his eyes back to the world he had created anew. This was the world that held Ireneâs wishâand his own.
A perfect world where she would never be hurt, where all his sins would be erased.
And the one who had wished for this world more than anyone else was him.
So now, he should be smilingâŚ
But as Michael met Ireneâs gaze as she was in another Michaelâs arms, his heart felt as though it were being torn to shreds.
In this perfect world, he could not exist.
That was why, even though they were looking at him, they could not truly perceive him.
He looked exactly like this worldâs Michael, and yet no one recognized him.
Even when he had been torn apart by monsters while still alive, it had not been this painful.
Back then, he had accepted it and believed that it was simply the punishment he deserved for his sins.
But compared to the way Irene looked at him now, that suffering was nothing. It was not even worthy of being called pain.
And at last, Michael understood.
This was his true punishment.
Silently, he turned away.
In the reflection of the Mirror of Truth, he saw himself. What an extraordinary power, to lay bare every sin he had ever committed.
Then, suddenly, the image in the mirror shifted.
The blood vanished in an instant, replaced by a grand ballroom where numerous purifiers stood beneath dazzling lights.
Everyone who saw it immediately understood.
Their Contract Night. The mirror was showing them that day.
Among the elegantly dressed guests, Irene stood alone, her head bowed. A murmur of confusion spread through the onlookers. This was not the Irene they remembered.
The Irene they had seen, dressed in such shabby clothes, trembling, her gaze cast downward in fear was the Irene they did not know.
The world in the mirror seemed to flicker for a moment, and then the scene changed.
Now, Michael and Irene stood together.
As they watched, the Michael in the mirror roughly shook off the hand Irene had reached out to him.
After he left, Irene stood there for a long time, staring blankly at his retreating figure.
Beyond the mirror, the image rippled once more, as if it still had much left to show. Thenâ
Crash!
A sharp, shattering sound rang out as the mirror was smashed to pieces.
A massive sword had flown straight into it, reducing it to fragments.
Michael, his teeth clenched, stood before the broken mirror, staring down at its shattered remains.
And yet, as if mocking him, the scattered shards each reflected different scenes: him ignoring Ireneâs greeting as he passed her by, him deliberately keeping his distance, and him pulling away, his expression cold and stiff the moment their hands brushed.
Every momentâevery choice he had made out of fear, afraid that they would see the turmoil in his heart.
And in the end, all of it had led her to death.
Michael ground his heel into the broken shards.
But even then, the fractured pieces showed him more. So he pressed down harder again and again, shattering them beneath his weight until nothing remained by dust and no trace of his past could be seen again.
Until even Irene, as she was now, could never witness any of it.
“W-What⌠what just happened?”
The onlookers, struck speechless by the scene before them, could only watch in stunned silence.
That the Mirror of Truth had been shattered was shocking enough, but what truly left them in disbelief was the sword lying on the ground.
âThat⌠thatâs the Holy Sword.â
Reynaâs voice wavered as she muttered the words.
The Holy Swordâlost from the temple long ago, its whereabouts unknown to all. And yet, somehow, why did âthat thingâ have it?
Before anyone could react, the Michael standing beside Irene swiftly stepped forward.
He reached down and picked up the fallen Holy Sword. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the sword came alive, regaining its radiance, as if it had always belonged to him.
Michael, the one who had been crushing his own past beneath his feet, turned to face himself at last.
Now, with the sword in hand, this worldâs Michael was finally complete.
So the old, the worn, the unworthy that could not even wield the Holy Sword must be vanquished.
He knew this truth better than anyone, and yetâŚ
Something dark, long buried in the depths of his heart, began to slither its way back to the surface.
He had once been a man who walked the path to God more faithfully than anyone else.
Even the High Priestess had told him he need not push himself so relentlessly.
Looking back now, perhaps it was a blessing that he had learned self-control in such a way.
For he had always been a beastâfar too greedy to ever truly reach the divine. He had simply been unaware of his true desires.
But the day he finally realized what it was he craved, that beast broke free of its chains and embraced what he craved with more ferocity than ever before.
If he had never learned restraint, he would have never let go.
Perhaps, he would have held onto her until his final breath.
The others, even Irene herself, believed that his wild, unrelenting grasp on her for that entire week had been the work of corruption from miasma.
âAs if that were possible.â
A laugh escaped him, low and mocking.
It wasnât the miasma. No, this was simply who he was.
Beneath the rigid discipline, the devout faith, the sacrifices made in the name of others, the soul of a Holy Knight was nothing more than greed, lust, and violence wrapped in a righteous facade.
His corruption had long since been purified.
He had buried his face between her trembling thighs, drinking her in with reckless abandon. There was no way a single trace of miasma could have remained.
And yet, even then, he had pretended to be lost in it, using it as an excuse to claim her even deeper, even more ruthlessly.
Because the sight of her tearful, breathless, and calling his name was a beauty he could never grow tired of.
On the day he was completely consumed by corruption, Michael had felt nothing but peace.
Because this insatiable hunger had always been his true nature.
âI want Irene.â
