Married To Darkness
Chapter 273: Richard (genuinely can’t remember his surname)

Chapter 273: Richard (genuinely can’t remember his surname)

"Alaric!" Salviana gasped, rushing to his side. Her eyes darted to his arm, where crimson seeped through the fabric of his shirt.

He raised his other hand to stop her. "Stay back!" he snapped, his voice rougher than he intended. His eyes darted around, scanning the forest.

The figure was gone, melted into the shadows, but the echo of footsteps remained, circling them like wolves stalking prey.

Salviana ignored his warning, stepping closer. "You’re hurt!" Her hands hovered near his wound, trembling slightly.

"It’s nothing," he growled, though his jaw clenched against the pain. His gaze burned as he searched for their attacker. How could I let this happen?

"What if it’s poisoned?" Salviana whispered, her voice shaking. "What if—"

"Stop," he said, softer now, meeting her worried eyes. "I’m fine. Just stay close and trust me."

But the fear in her gaze mirrored the dread clawing at his chest.

What if they aimed for her?

What if they come back and strike again?

What if this is just the beginning?

Salviana touched his uninjured arm, her voice firm. "I trust you, but don’t shut me out, Alaric. I’m not afraid."

He looked at her, the weight of his love and fear crashing into him. "You should be," he said quietly. "This isn’t a game, Salviana."

Her eyes softened. "I know. But I’m here because I want to be. With you."

Before he could respond, the forest seemed to shift around them.

The voices to their left grew louder, accompanied by rustling leaves and the faint glint of steel.

Alaric pulled Salviana closer, his protective instincts kicking in.

"Stay behind me," he ordered again, his voice a low growl.

This time, she didn’t argue.

The dark figure emerged briefly ahead, slipping between the trees like a shadow.

Alaric narrowed his eyes, his muscles coiled like a spring.

He could feel the blood dripping down his arm, but he pushed the pain aside.

"Who’s there? Come out and show your sword" he demanded, his voice cutting through the night in a crazy sing:song.

No response.

Salviana squeezed his hand. "Alaric..."

"I’ll protect you," he said firmly, his voice resolute despite the chaos swirling in his mind. "No matter what."

The hunt had begun. But for the first time, Alaric wasn’t sure if they were the hunters—or the prey.

"Come on out, coward," Alaric barked.

The figure stepped into the moonlight, his silhouette sharp and imposing.

Alaric tensed, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

Salviana’s breath hitched as she clung to his side, her wide, fearful eyes fixed on the man who emerged from the shadows.

"Richard?" Alaric’s voice was a mixture of confusion and disbelief as he recognized the face of his longtime friend and trusted knight.

Salviana blinked rapidly, her heart racing. That’s him. I always knew he was strange.

"What are you doing here?" Alaric asked, his tone wary but steady.

Richard stepped forward, his expression cold and unyielding. His sword hung loosely in his hand, its blade faintly glowing in the moonlight.

Unlike Alaric’s elegant, well-worn weapon—silver-forged with intricate runes etched into its guard—Richard’s sword was rougher, newer, and bore dark markings that twisted ominously along its length.

Salviana gripped Alaric’s arm, her voice trembling. "That’s our bad man, why you asking, he sliced your arm" she whispered, her words barely audible.

Alaric glanced at her briefly, his expression hardening. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but something was off.

Richard’s stance was aggressive, his smirk a twisted mockery of the man Alaric once knew.

"Was it you?" Alaric asked, his voice sharpening. "You were the one taking the girls—doing this—weren’t you?"

Richard laughed bitterly, the sound echoing eerily in the forest. "Oh, Alaric. Always so naive. Always so blinded by your foolish righteousness and your ridiculous love for these people."

"What are you talking about?" Alaric demanded, his grip tightening on his sword.

"They hate you," Richard sneered. "They call your random little wife a witch. Did you know that? They whisper about you both in the streets, claiming you’re cursed, a demon in disguise. Soon enough, they’ll kill you—or, at best, drive you out. And you? You’ll still believe you owe them your loyalty."

Salviana flinched at his words, but Alaric remained composed, his piercing gaze locked on Richard. "Did you kill those girls?"

Richard’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with a sinister light. "Kill them? No. They came willingly. They always wanted to be my soulmates, to be a part of me." He chuckled darkly. "So I gave them what they wanted. I fed them to my soul."

"You what?" Salviana gasped, her voice trembling with outrage.

Richard’s eyes flickered to her, his smile turning predatory. "Oh, the little redhead wants to know if she’s next?" He tilted his head mockingly, his expression dripping with malice.

Salviana’s stomach churned, but she stood firm, her eyes narrowing. "Why? Why would you do something so monstrous?"

"Why?" Richard echoed, his grin turning feral. "Because I can. Because their lives mean nothing. Because their souls are fuel for my power." He took a step closer, his gaze raking over Salviana.

"But you? No, you’re too dangerous. You’d purify everything I’ve worked so hard to create. But don’t worry, my dear." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "In a few nights, I’ll have you for dinner."

The threat was too much. Alaric snapped.

With a roar of fury, he drew his sword in a blur of silver. The runes on the blade glowed brightly as it clashed with Richard’s darker weapon.

The forest echoed with the harsh sound of steel meeting steel. Sparks flew as they exchanged blows, each strike fueled by raw emotion and years of training.

Alaric’s movements were precise and controlled, his sword slicing through the air with deadly grace. Richard, however, fought with unrelenting aggression, his strikes wild but powerful.

They knew each other’s techniques too well. Every feint, every parry, every thrust—they had practiced them together countless times. But this wasn’t training.

This was a battle to the death.

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