[72] Pure Soul

The chambers of his heart brimmed, overflowing like a tide.

Even though fifteen hundred years had passed.

The rose known as the Witch hadn't faded, nor withered, instead, it grew even more lush and enchanting.

She was like the night, embracing both silence and stars.

Enfolding within her wide bosom, she held her dark sun.

Just as it had always been.

Reinhardt explored every inch of the witch's body meticulously, savoring every part of her body.

Morgan Le Fay.

Her skin, flushed with warmth, seemed as tender and dewy as a rose kissed by morning dew.

Though draped in the cool veil of indifference, her body burned like a flame within.

Such vastness within her embrace.

Such fervent warmth.

Carrying her own sins, cleansing her own soul.

Pressing his lips together, with the soft tip of his tongue against his palate, he could softly utter her name.

"Morgan Le Fey."

Reinhard gazed at her, as if attempting to imprint her into his eyes.

From this angle, he could see the ripples in the Witch's pupils.

His own reflection.

Swirling and flickering within her azure eyes.

The jet-black rose bloomed magnificently in the shadows, ripe and fragrant.

Her slender waist, drooping with abundant fruits. Those profound grooves seemed to draw out one's soul.

Five hundred thousand dawns and dusks.

Yet her tenderness remained unwashed.

Facing such a Witch.

Facing those hands, fair and soft, cradling his face.

What more could Reinhard offer besides dedicating himself wholeheartedly, filling the void of fifteen hundred years for the Queen?

Should there... still be something?

It was a feeling called guilt...

"Sorry, my dear."

Embracing the guilt.

The more he called her by such endearing names.

The more Reinhard couldn't help but feel his own despicability.

The system evaluation was incredibly precise.

It saw through his nature...

Yes...

"Full of wickedness."

Indeed, he was a man full of wickedness.

She traversed the dark wilderness, endured fifteen hundred years of solitude, only to arrive before him.

The answer she sought.

Yet it was this brutal.

But even so...

Reinhard had reasons that must be spoken.

Because this brutal truth.

Attempting to bury deep within the depths of his heart, the longer it lingered, the more it would create fissures, the more it would harm each other.

The young man with black hair lowered his ink-dark eyes.

Though he had just kissed her.

Yet he immediately had to...

Hurt her...

"I'm not just your Alvin."

Reinhard whispered softly.

His words were ethereal like the wind, disappearing into the twilight in an instant.

He admitted...

Admitted it as if releasing a burden.

Because this truth had to be acknowledged.

He didn't want to taint the feelings of the witch.

The ethereal voice faded away.

Silence pervaded the room.

Reinhard had already imagined the expression that would appear on Morgan's face.

Would she be sad, in pain, mad, silent... or would tears flow?

Would she interrogate him in frustration?

Would she grasp his neck tightly?

Suffocating in her hands would be a decent ending too.

Just like that...

It wouldn't matter to take his own heart out and give it to his hubby named Alvin Pendragon.

Because there is a high probability...

If Reinhard died.

Alvin Pendragon's soul would ascend to the Throne of Heroes.

However...

As the words faded away.

His response wasn't verbal.

Only the witch's soft, trembling, and hot lips.

Like willow leaves in the wind, swaying and undulating.

The sticky beads of sweat slid down from her collarbone and hair tips, dripping onto her black-haired, azure-chested bosom.

Her pupils, as blue as rippling lakes, like a captivating abyss.

As Reinhard's words faded away.

The witch's actions became more intense instead.

It seemed his complete honesty.

Caused some memories buried deep in Morgan's heart to be stirred, shattered, and trickled out...

Cradling her hubby's cheeks.

Admiring the black-haired youth, whose face, due to their intense intimacy, blushed slightly and trembled as he pressed his lips together.

The Witch named Morgan Le Fey smiled and said...

"I knew."

"Eh..."

Reinhard's embarrassed expression suddenly froze.

"You're not Alvin... are you?"

With her blue-eyed gaze, the beautiful woman leaned down, a teasing curve appearing at the corner of her lips, whispering by his ear like a sigh of orchids.

"I've known that for a long time, dear."

Reinhard stared at her in bewilderment.

Watching her fair fingertips, almost teasingly, twirl against his chest.

The Witch's eyelids drooped, squinting slightly, pouring out a fascinating and intoxicating light from her azure eyes.

"At that time, when I lived with you in Londinium, I was still so foolishly slow..."

"So, at that time, I actually couldn't understand, hubby."

"After piercing through the inner sea of the planet, you just scattered away like that, hubby."

"I watched Artoria... watched her pick up your spear, inherit your will, and want to protect the legacy of this island."

"In truth... I understand."

"I, who know your nature the best, understand it the most."

"You... you're the most stubborn and whimsical guy there is. You just wanted to, to avenge Vortigern, right..."

"I will also do it..."

"If you died in front of me, even if it meant burning myself, I would avenge you."

"So, I didn't stop you."

"Because, I will never be your obstacle."

Cradling the bewildered face of the black-haired youth.

The Witch smiled, gently kissing his lips, enjoying his dazed expression.

"I understand you, hubby."

"But at that time, I couldn't forgive Artoria, who swung her sword like a pawn."

"She wasn't wrong, but so what?"

"Because, you really dissipated before my eyes."

"My heart it shattered..."

"I... originally wanted to die."

Reinhard trembled slightly.

He suddenly tightened her hand.

The Witch's light kiss gradually relaxed him.

That intoxicatingly full bosom pressed against his face.

"Don't worry... I'm right here in front of you."

"Because..."

"...It's your heart, that holds onto mine."

Saying so with a smile.

The Witch inserted her hand into her own chest.

From her heart.

She brought out that clear and pure heart belonging to Alvin, and at the same time, to Reinhard.

A dragon's heart.

Also a human's heart.

The Witch kissed that translucent heart.

His heart.

In every profound night, it would emit such a profound and comforting light.

"You see, I've kept it well..."

"Because, I've found you."

"...So, I return your heart to you."

The translucent heart entered the black-haired youth's chest.

Causing that hollow, sun-like pattern to seem to float with a dazzling flame ring.

That was his flame.

Burning Alvin Pendragon's soul, and rising up again, the flame named the Lord of Cinder.

Now, it was returned.

Because of the connection between the Witch and him, and the continuously rising synchronization rate...

It skyrocketed once again...

28%... 34%... 40%...

The slightly exhausted energy.

Kept surging out.

The Witch thus tasted...

From the black-haired youth, that sudden and violent response.

"Mhmmm..."

This made her couldn't help but hum a weak, thread-like moan from her lips.

Yes.

This was it, incredibly satisfying... The feeling of being filled again, once more intoxicated her.

Avenge wasn't enough.

It was still far from enough to fill the void in the Witch's heart for fifteen hundred years.

"Hubby..."

Holding each other's faces.

Their magical energy also filled and surged, forming a connected loop.

The Witch's breath brushed against the black-haired youth's ear.

"Since..."

"Artoria welcomed... her end."

"She used your blood to create Mordred, clearly wanting to keep you."

"But you dissipated before her eyes, hubby."

"Just like me."

"All the support she had while alive, also vanished in that moment."

"To Mordred, she was indifferent."

"In the end, realizing the truth, that rebellious knight, who understood everything, rebelled against my sister."

As her words faded.

Reinhard's pupils began to tremble.

Admiring the dazed, slightly open-mouthed expression of her husband.

The Witch, licking her lips, couldn't resist her pleasure.

Morgan suddenly lowered her head, blocking the black-haired youth's lips, and began to pour pure magic into them, replenishing her husband's strength.

The intoxicating kiss finally parted.

The crystal-clear thread, like a broken string on a harp.

"Mordred... is mine...?"

"Yes, she's yours, your successor."

"The combination of the red and white dragons... her strength made even Artoria, who held your lance, ultimately perish with her."

The Witch gently stroked the spiral patterns on her abdomen.

"From that lance, I retrieved your sword."

"I dismantled your eternal night fire, and also dismantled the counter force ritual to summon servants."

"Three hundred and seventy years later, facing the rising dark sun, holding your clear and translucent heart, I tried to summon you from the Throne of Heroes."

"But... there was no response."

No response.

Yet the Witch smiled.

Because, it meant her beloved wasn't on the Throne of Heroes.

Alvin had died.

Yet, the life named Reinhard continued to flourish, branching out, not engraved by the boundaries of records.

"So... I, the fool, finally realized, dear."

Saying so, she caressed Reinhard's face.

The Witch's lips then curved into a subtle, joyful, almost teasing smile.

"Your talent, your knowledge..."

"Your foresight..."

"Your maturity and stability, as if born knowing."

"Clearly a young man who knows nothing of the world, never stepped out of the castle."

"But you know so well, how to stir my heart..."

"Guh...?!"

...Kill me.

I want to die right away.

Yes... that's right.

To die in the witch's embrace like this, wouldn't be bad at all...

Previously tempting the once forbidding witch before him, his intentions were, of course, deliberate.

Although it began with pity, and with a desire to tease a woman.

But in the presence of the night and the moonlight, the moment he held her icy yet soft hand.

Reinhard understood.

He... wanted to protect her.

The heart of a youth was, in fact, the heart of a young man.

Bullying the witch was something no one enjoyed.

So, let himself be the one to love her.

Such a thing.

Such impure, conflicting motives.

How could he... express them?

The black-haired youth trembled, shyly averting his gaze.

I should be under the bed, not on the bed.

Embarrassing... I wish I could just disappear into the ground.

Unlike Reinhard's feelings of shame and desire to die, Morgan experiences loving and pleasure when she sees her hubby's embarrassed face.

I love to see that expression on your face, hubby...

A hint of infinite pleasure played at the corners of the witch's lips.

Gently, she held Reinhard's face, turning it slightly.

"No."

"You absolutely must, look at me."

"This is punishment for deceiving me, hubby."

"Um..."

The blocked words couldn't find a response.

Just as it had always been.

The Witch's lips, soft and fervent.

The magnificent purity of magical energy.

Flowing continuously through the interface, pouring out. And through lips and tongues, continuously surging back.

Sweat swayed and trembled.

Shaking and trembling, it dripped from their closely pressed skin.

Like the silver strands sticking to her fair collarbones, the bedspread was already soaked through in large patches.

In the intoxicating gaze of each other.

The Witch smiled mischievously, softly narrating.

"So, I immediately understood..."

"Hubby, you were waiting for me somewhere, at some time."

"So, since then..."

"I've traveled to many beautiful places, trying hard to find you."

In the twilight with no witnesses.

In the fiery and scorching embrace.

The witch cradled Reinhard's face.

Word by word, slowly, she recounted for Reinhard.

Recounting... her story, her journey, her poured-out love.

In the long, almost endless fifteen hundred years.

She traveled through abysses and oceans.

Through bright days and dark nights.

Through every inch of land on this earth.

The process of searching.

It was like getting closer to him step by step.

The Witch, asking all she could, inquired...

"Where is my hubby?"

The nightingale responded.

So, she walked into the palm groves to find him.

At that twilight moment, the glow of the setting sun swayed along the horizon.

The coast was dyed a beautiful and dazzling golden color, the waves rippling, as beautiful as the splendid wheat fields he planted.

The aurora in the snowy night responded.

So, she walked into the snow on the mountaintop to find him.

The resplendent light in the night sky of Londinium was the aurora emitted only for their beloved Melusine.

She still remembered her daughter's silver elegant eyes, her skin as delicate as pure white snow.

The misty rain responded.

So, she walked into the alleys of the ancient town to find him.

The light rain was intoxicating, the mist swirling. The witch stood quietly at the entrance of the alley town, holding an oil-paper umbrella, quietly listening to the sound of raindrops falling on the bluestone slabs.

In every courtyard, the scent of cooking that drifted out, like the dishes he made for her every day with his own hands.

A bunch of sunset picked, warm in the palm, like the warmth transmitted by his skin.

A sprinkle of frost from the snow mountain, gently rubbed, melting between the fingers, like the time they spent intertwining with each other.

Regardless of the passage of time, the rise and fall of all things, the witch continued to walk like this, carrying her hopes, his heart, into the world that belonged only to her.

Lonely?

Sometimes she felt that way.

Even though separated by thousands of years, his heart was with her, so she didn't feel lonely.

The witch stood on the edge of the coast, silent for a long, long time.

The evening breeze swept over the sea, as the time when the waves were stirred.

The twilight gradually turned into deep night, a few silver stars began to flicker above the watchtower, like his gray eyes.

She traversed vast lands, the end of the world, cruel fairylands.

As if observing the world in a moment, as if taking a scoop of the vast ocean.

Searching for her husband....

In the end.

Bathed in the dark sun, she cradled his face.

In that moment, all the noise seemed to have turned into a silence where a pin drop could be heard.

Under the pitch-dark sunlight, they stared at each other, freezing a thousand and five hundred years of time into a single moment.

"The one I love is indeed named Alvin Pendragon."

"And you are... Reinhard."

"But, so what."

Just as it was fifteen hundred years ago.

The silver-haired youth leaned forward in the sunlight, gently kissing the witch.

And now, fifteen hundred years later.

The blue-eyed witch lowered her eyelids in the shadows, gently kissing the youth.

The millennia that flowed by left only traces of maturity and fullness on her lines and contours.

However, his face and figure had changed completely.

But...

The love from the witch remained unwavering.

She spoke softly, smiling.

"You're not just Alvin, I've known that for a long time."

"But..."

"...Alvin is you, hubby.

"What I cherish is not the skin or appearance."

"But you, with your clear and pure soul."

"Is it false? Deception? Aren't you just him?"

"Your memories are real."

"Your feelings are sincere."

"That's enough for me..."

"And now..."

"I realize even more... I've only understood a small part of you, hubby."

"There are still many things about you that I haven't had time to understand."

"This kind of worry, clearly it's a happy worry, why am I crying for it..."

She spoke like this.

But her actions, compared to any time before, became more intense.

"So..."

"I give you a chance to show remorse."

Even though she had reached peak for the third time.

The beautiful blue-haired beauty still languidly lay on the bed, her silver-like smooth long hair slowly spreading out on the bed.

Those rippling eyes narrowed slightly.

The charming ripples seemed to tease.

Or dare to say, it was provoking.

"...Work hard for me, hubby."

40%... 41%... 42%...

The pace rate began to surge.

The surging, almost like a raging tide, energy began to emerge continuously.

Over.

Overflowing...

This kind of thing.

It's too much.

Intentionally using a thousand and five hundred years of guilt.

Pressing and grinding oneself like that.

Clearly, a thousand and five hundred years ago, he had taken the initiative more often.

So...

Reinhard decided.

To give the witch a small lesson.

The most violent and intense actions responded to her.

Taking advantage of the witch's weakest defense.

Reinhard held her arm, lifting her neck high, whispering softly in her ear.

"...My dear wife."

"In fact, I found out when I was ten, you've been peeking at me like this."

"Guh...?!"

The witch, who seemed to have the upper hand and appeared to be enjoying it, suddenly became as if drunk and spread a large blush...

"Every time I bathe, I have to endure your voyeuristic gaze."

"When practicing magecraft under the tree, I have to focus hard."

"Where did my clothes go? My dear wife, do you want to answer this question?"

"Guh...?!"

"So, don't ask for mercy..."

"I'm going to fill in the thousand and five hundred years of emptiness for you."

The implanted neural magic circuit, Sandevistan, instantly filled up, fully powered up.

In the witch's blushing embarrassment.

Reinhard cradled her face, pressing her into the stormy rain of pleasure.

In the midst of shock and embarrassment.

Even the soundproof bounded field was difficult to maintain.

The wheels and tracks clashed against each other.

The luxurious carriage kept shaking.

The eye-catching train, the soundproofing of the room was undoubtedly strong.

But it couldn't withstand the sharp senses of the women present.

The sound of lips entwined...

The rustling of clothes falling to the ground...

Like the cork being pulled from a wine bottle...

Like enthusiastic audience applause for an exciting play...

Against the bedroom door, the girls leaning against the wall listened, their faces red, their legs weakening, and they couldn't help but sit on the ground.

Women who felt hurt.

Slowly raised their heads and looked at the swaying crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

"...Damn it."

What a commotion.

In the awkward yet polite smiles of Waver and Melvin.

Touko Aozaki sat at the bar in front of the private liquor cabinet, silently lighting a cigarette.

The dry land.

The passionate singing.

The quartet of losers.

There's a river surging in this world, but it's not in her heart.

There's a splendid drama unfolding, but she can't participate or even witness it...

Like a complete outsider.

Without needing anyone's reminder.

They all realized this fact.

They lost...

...Thoroughly, lost.