I Got Married to a Yandere Queen
Chapter 35 - 34 - Echoes of a Dreamed Cut

Chapter 35: Chapter 34 - Echoes of a Dreamed Cut

Riven’s voice trembled as he whispered to himself, "What... what was that dream? Who was that man?"

His breath caught for a moment.

"Why did he feel so familiar... like someone I’ve lost but can’t remember?"

A cold unease settled in his chest, as if the memory was clawing at the edge of his mind—just out of reach.

Riven became aware of something warm draped over him—a thin blanket he hadn’t used before, and a jacket wrapped around his body, both slipping off as he sat up abruptly. His brow furrowed slightly. He turned to one side, where Mira still lay fast asleep, curled up like a small cocoon in the oversized jacket she’d claimed for herself. Her breathing was steady, lips slightly parted, completely unaware of anything happening around her.

Riven shifted his gaze, and on the other side... he saw Ashtoria.

The woman slept in silence, dressed only in the thin clothes she’d changed into earlier. Her body was curled slightly, as if bracing against the biting night chill. Her crimson hair spilled messily across the grass, some strands veiling her beautiful face—so peaceful in slumber, stripped of all pretense.

Riven watched her quietly, and something warm unfurled in his chest.

’No question... she’s the one who covered me.’

The thought made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar feeling. Tender. Warm. And... complicated.

But the warmth lasted only a moment before his memory betrayed him, flooding back with images of Ashtoria’s bare figure by the lake. Those delicate curves. Moonlight gliding over pale skin. The hidden scars that only deepened her mystique. His breath hitched, slow but heavy, his body burning despite the frigid night air.

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through gritted teeth, as if trying to expel the fire smoldering inside him. ’Get a grip,’ he scolded himself. ’Don’t turn into a bastard over one moment.’

After a few seconds, the heat dulled slightly, replaced by an inexplicable frustration.

His eyes dropped to the jacket draped over him—his jacket, the one he’d given her to wear.

She hadn’t hesitated to return it, even if it meant sleeping in the cold.

"Why do you haunt my thoughts like this? he whispered, half-annoyed, half... enchanted.

"In a few days, we’ll part ways and go back to being strangers."

Moving carefully to avoid waking her, Riven gathered the fallen jacket and blanket, then leaned down to wrap them around Ashtoria instead. He adjusted her position slightly, making sure she’d be warm tonight.

For a moment, Riven gazed closely at Ashtoria’s sleeping face—so peaceful, without masks, without power. Just a woman... someone who had been hurt, yet still chose to care.

Moving carefully, he rose to his feet, then quietly walked away from the two of them, retrieving Crysthalis from the wooden cart not far from where they slept.

Riven stepped gently through the dew-laden grass, leaving them behind. The stars and moon provided the only light, casting a silver frame around his figure. Crysthalis was gripped tightly in his right hand—heavy, yet familiar, like an extension of his own scattered thoughts.

His steps led him into the darker part of the woods, until he arrived at a large boulder near a narrow forest path. The stone was dark gray, looming silently in the middle of an empty clearing—quiet and unmoving, like a sentinel of the night.

It was... nearly the size of a small house.

Riven stopped in front of it.

There was a strange urge rising in him. A whisper, faint yet firm, as if born from the depths of his own soul—urging him to strike. The feeling had followed him from the dream... from the words of that mysterious man who told him he could cut through anything—if he truly understood it.

Without saying a word, Riven stepped forward, planting his feet firmly a few paces from the boulder.

He inhaled slowly.

His left foot slid forward half a step. Knees slightly bent. His left hand supported the hilt of Crysthalis from below while his right gripped the upper part tightly. A steady stance. A flawless form. Just as the woman had taught him.

With sharp eyes, he raised the sword high above his head. The blade caught the faint starlight—cold and sharp.

And without a shout or signal, he swung downward.

SRAAKKH!!

Crysthalis struck the boulder with full force—a vertical slash imbued with pure focus and the certainty born of a dream.

The clash of metal on stone rang through the air, followed by a soft hum like a snapped string.

Then... silence.

Riven held his breath, eyes locked on the point of impact.

There was only... a scratch.

Shallow. Barely visible unless examined closely.

His body tensed. His chest tightened.

’What was I thinking?’ he muttered inwardly. ’Am I being delusional?’

A discomfort gnawed at his chest—not just from failure, but from the hope he had allowed to grow. The hope that maybe... he really could do something impossible, just like in his dream.

His grip on the sword tightened.

Frustration began to swell. Not at the stone. Not at the sword. But at himself.

He wanted to try again. To prove something. But for now, all that remained was the silence... and the burning impatience within him.

And in that silence, beneath the cold night sky, Riven stood alone... haunted by the small scratch on the rock—and the memory of a perfect strike within his dream.

. .

Suddenly, Riven clenched his jaw. His breath was heavy.

His hand lifted once more—this time without patience.

SRAAKH!

Crysthalis struck the stone again. The sound rang loud and harsh, piercing the stillness of the night. But there was no change. Only fine dust and tiny chips fell from the surface.

"Damn it..." Riven muttered, and struck again.

CRANGG!! CRANGG!! CRANGG!!

Blow after blow landed with full force. His body moved like a machine driven by fury. The clang of metal and stone filled the air. Starlight flickered wildly off his blade, flashing like brief sparks swallowed by the shadowy trees.

Yet... the boulder remained. Unbroken. Unmoved.

Only its surface was scarred—tiny, meaningless wounds, as if mocking his effort.

Riven stood, panting. His chest heaved, sweat clinging to his temples and back. Crysthalis trembled in his grip.

’Why... won’t it cut?’

The question echoed in his mind.

’Why does this bother me so much... just because I couldn’t split a stupid rock?’

Cold sweat dripped from his chin.

He glared at the boulder, breath ragged, as if he’d just emerged from a deadly battle. But this wasn’t about the stone. It wasn’t about physical strength. There was something deeper—something beyond steel and stone.

Riven gritted his teeth.

’That man’s swing... why did it look so light, yet it split the world in two?’

His final strike, no matter how fierce or forceful, had accomplished nothing. The boulder remained steadfast, cold, silent—as if mocking him.

Riven growled softly and lowered his head, his body trembling slightly.

The anger he felt wasn’t just from failure—it was because, in his dream, the conviction had felt so real.

But in the waking world... reality was never as simple as a dream.

Crysthalis sank halfway into the earth. Riven closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. Yet the question lingered in the air, pressing on his chest:

"What is it that I truly need to understand... to be able to cut this stone?"

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