The Son-In-Law Of A Prestigious Household Wants A Divorce-Chapter 135: Side Effects of Ritual

“Ah …….”

A short sigh lingered in the air.

The high-altitude night wind that had howled only moments ago—along with the feverish heat of hatred-laden spells—was simply gone.

Standing amid that impossible calm, Isaac realized he was back at the very clearing where he had last fought Hellic.

The first to greet him were the northern chill carried on the wind and the big, lazy snowflakes drifting down all around.

Perhaps because the early returnees were already reunited, the joyous shouts ringing out nearby felt almost childlike—bright and believing that everything was truly over.

What met his eyes, however, was no longer the ruin he remembered. Well-lined palisades and orderly tents now filled the grounds.

With the Malidan Barrier destroyed, it was clear that Sir Eisenwolf, the unit commander, had raised a temporary northern barricade and was holding it himself.

“They’re back—Baron Logan has returned!”

“His Lordship’s come back!”

The near-shrill cheers of the nearby soldiers pierced Isaac’s ears.

Tok.

A single white flake settled on his hair—a pure, flawless crystal that could never exist in the Abyss Realm.

“They’re here! They’re really here!”

“……!”

Rayahn and Marlin of House Leivice came sprinting toward him.

“Lord Isaac—nim!”

Jonathan, a knight of Helmut, cried out, voice trembling with tears.

Wrapped in the arms of those welcoming him home, the scene that had felt unreal just moments ago finally settled into his mind. The frost in his thoughts melted in his comrades’ warmth, and Isaac began, at last, to accept that he had survived.

“Riha…….”

Moisture welled in his eyes and slid down his cheeks. Her name, cracked from his throat, scattered like ash on the wind.

“Riha…!”

He knew full well his outstretched hand could never touch her—yet the hollow ache inside left him no choice but to reach.

‘I’m back.’

‘I made it home.’

Alone—after leaving her behind.

****

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the meeting already?”

At his side, Jonathan, acting like a proper adjutant, hurried after him. But Isaac strode in a straight line toward his new destination without the slightest hesitation.

“I heard—erm, I mean—Baron Logan was the very last one left on the field!”

“Just call me like you always do.”

“…Yes, sir.”

Sensing the mood, Jonathan watched his words but kept speaking.

“They say only you can explain why Lady Rihanna didn’t return. Sir Eisenwolf is waiting—”

“Please, Jonathan. Quiet.”

“…….”

Jonathan clamped his mouth shut. They had been on the way to the strategy tent when Isaac suddenly veered off, so Jonathan’s worry was understandable.

Yet Isaac needed to calm the pounding in his chest.

The weight of loss threatened to crush him. He needed even a sliver of time to breathe.

“This way, sir.”

In the end Jonathan chose to guide rather than object. Having given his report earlier, he knew exactly where Isaac meant to go.

It was a small, isolated tent.

No one lingered nearby, and that very seclusion felt like a balm.

A man stood out front—short, back bent, two daggers strapped to his belt. In his previous life, Isaac had often told him to straighten up if he wanted proper power behind his blade.

It was Damien, disciple of the Grandmaster.

“Sorry, but inside right now—”

“…….”

“Ah, it’s you.”

Recognizing Isaac at once, Damien clucked his tongue and nodded.

“Tsk. Handsome as advertised. No wonder the Master wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

“…….”

“He said, ‘If a tall fellow with a neat ponytail shows up, let him in.’”

Damien stepped aside with a grin.

“I started learning first, so that makes me your senior. Guess you’ll have to call me hyung.”

Traitor Damien.

The man who swung open the city gates that the Grandmaster’s disciples had sworn to defend in the last battle.

Even though defeat had been inevitable with or without that betrayal, Isaac had never liked the taste of it.

‘Because you were there, the Grandmaster survived.’

Had the Grandmaster—gravely wounded in the fight against Hellic—been left unattended, she would most likely have died. Thanks to Damien, she’d been cared for, and so Isaac could come see her now.

Tuk.

Isaac set a firm hand on Damien’s shoulder and gave a nod.

“Thanks, Hyung.”

“Thanks? Shouldn’t you at least speak politely—?”

Isaac ignored him and stepped inside.

Damien made a flustered grab for him, but Jonathan slipped between them and blocked the way.

The moment Isaac crossed the flap, the rich scent of pipe-leaf smothered the sharper notes of medicine and blood.

“Oh?”

The Grandmaster, torso swathed in bandages, sat on the cot with one leg propped across her thigh. The pipe in her hand was still mostly fresh, but she stubbed it out hard beneath the candlestick beside her.

“So you’re back.”

She flinched, wanting to rush over, throw her arms around him, and praise her disciple’s safe return.

But a teacher had to keep her dignity—especially when that disciple had lately taken to accusing her (half-jokingly) of sulking.

“Seeing you whole puts my mind at eas—”

The Grandmaster’s voice, tail virtually wagging, cut off. She wasn’t the only one who wanted a hug.

The instant Isaac saw her, he lunged forward and wrapped her in his arms, swallowing his tears against her shoulder.

“……!”

“I-I’m… so glad.”

Relief, thick with tremors, wove through his words—the terror that he might have been separated from her forever still clung to his fingertips.

Tighter.

More desperately.

When Isaac crushed her in an even fiercer embrace, she only patted his back in silence.

“Was it hard?”

The question came ragged, tangled in tears. Isaac forced his stinging nose and quivering tongue into line and answered.

“Yes…….”

So very.

“It was hard.”

Tears poured, and Isaac burrowed even deeper into her arms. Call it childish if one must—right now his heart felt ready to shatter under its own weight.

“If even you—”

Sobbing, Isaac laid himself wholly in the Grandmaster’s embrace.

“Please… don’t leave me too.”

A plea that was all but a confession.

“Well, well—”

She offered the faintest smile and hugged him back, tight.

“Seems this master is still needed, after all.”

* * *

A short while later.

Isaac entered the command tent.

He tried to hide the redness around his eyes, but it wasn’t nearly as easy as he’d hoped.

Embarrassing or not, this wasn’t the time to cling to pride.

The moment Isaac stepped inside, every gaze swung toward him.

Starting with Sir Eisenwolf, then Rayahn Leivice and Lohengrin Helmut—

One after another, they simply stared.

Opposite them sat Uldiran Caldias and Silverna Caldias.

“Isaac —!”

Silverna almost cried out with pure relief—but the words died on her lips.

Yes, they had survived together.

No, he had not.

Remembering that, Silverna swallowed the greeting and sat down again.

“Forgive my lateness,” Isaac said.

“It’s all right,” Sir Eisenwolf answered.

“What about Rihanna?! What happened to Rihanna?!”

Lohengrin Helmut shot to his feet, slamming a fist on the table with a bang!

Was it a worry for the sister who had not returned?

It was unlike Lohengrin to lose his composure, but—first things first.

Isaac forced himself to stay calm and, detail by detail, recounted everything he had been through.

It was a brutal telling.

The small respite the Grandmaster had granted him was crushed all over again.

Guilt and helplessness twisted into a sickening knot, while self-loathing spread like rot.

Someone in the room wished they could beg Isaac to stop—

The way he flayed himself with every word was painful to watch, yet he himself was the one who needed it most.

He chewed on each memory, again and again, the report turning into a declaration of intent.

“I will… without fail… take her back.”

When the ice-sharp account ended, a brief silence settled over the tent.

“That is all,” Isaac finished at last.

Only then did the others seem able to breathe; they nodded faintly.

Uldiran had heard most of it already, but hearing the story straight from the spell’s final medium—Isaac—made certain details stand out even more clearly.

They expected the meeting to resume—

—but a woman was led into the tent, hands bound.

She wore neither the broad-brimmed hat nor the sword she was known for.

“Nameless…?”

Isaac looked at her, startled. Nameless glared back, clearly annoyed.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“How did you—?” Isaac began.

“The Silver-Clock curse that fell away from Rihanna latched onto me instead. Care to explain that…?” Nameless sighed heavily.

Sir Eisenwolf, chin in hand, supplied the rest: “She appeared alongside the others. No doubt she counts as an enemy, yes?”

“Well… yes.”

Isaac nodded, uneasy—then a possible reason struck him.

“Are you, by chance, of mixed blood?”

Nameless answered with a single nod.

Only then did Isaac let out a slow breath, finally understanding.

– – The End of The Chapter ––

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