Chapter 215: She Wanted To Believe Him
"Do you really think that's realistic?"
Gladia's icy gaze swept over Steven. Both of them knew it deep down—ever since the moment her memories returned, there was no going back to the relationship they once had.
At least for her, calling him Dad while clinging to his side like before… was no longer possible.
"So what now?" Steven raised an eyebrow. "We cut all ties? Or are you still planning to hack me to pieces?"
He smiled as he spoke, his tone playful. The girl—no, woman—before him was cold and sharp like a swordfish, her beauty radiant yet untouchable.
Calling her a "girl" now felt inaccurate. With her calm maturity and piercing gaze, beauty or even lady felt far more fitting.
"I might just do that," Gladia said flatly. "But before I do, there's something else I want from you. That secret you've been keeping—the one you said you couldn't tell Skadi. About Ægir. Consider it… my final request, as your daughter."
She didn't even bother playing along with his jokes anymore. Instead, she shook her head and her gaze sharpened with a sudden seriousness.
Sorting out their relationship only made her feel more tangled up inside. Compared to that mess, talking about Ægir felt… easier.
Besides, returning to Ægir was non-negotiable.
She still had duties to reclaim. Honor to restore. And maybe—just maybe—other Abyssal Hunters still out there waiting to be found.
Laurentina. Skadi. If they had survived that disaster, then perhaps others had, too.
Which meant the intel Steven was keeping from her was far too important to give up on.
"…Haaah," Steven sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "The problem is, if I do tell you… that really might end up being your final request."
He narrowed his eyes at her, half-worried, half-annoyed.
"You're a captain-level combatant. You call yourself the Honorary Army leader. Don't tell me you haven't noticed the changes in Ægir?"
Compared to the easily tricked Skadi, Gladia was proving to be a far tougher opponent when it came to keeping secrets. She wasn't someone who could be brushed off with a vague excuse.
Even that sly old cat Kal'tsit had already figured it out. There was no way someone like Gladia, standing at the top of the Ægir hierarchy, wouldn't be aware.
Yet even so… she still wanted to go back?
He glanced at her again, as she danced like a butterfly in his arms, her movements elegant and natural. Steven barely needed to do anything—just follow her lead.
Then, without warning, Gladia hesitated.
She stopped moving.
And instead of continuing the dance, she leaned into his chest once more, guiding his hand back to her waist.
"…Even if Ægir is no longer the home I remember," she said softly, "as long as there are still people waiting for me to return… I can't give up. Not yet. Not all Ægirians are like them…"
Just like Steven had guessed—Gladia already knew.
Ægir was no longer the place it used to be. But so what?
As long as her blood still carried the pride of Ægir… as long as there was even a single reason to return—she would not run from it.
Not as a citizen.
And certainly not as its Honorary Army leader.
"…And what if I refuse to tell you?" Steven asked, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
His hand rested gently on her waist—soft and firm with surprising strength—and his voice lowered to a teasing whisper.
That city he saw beneath the sea…
It's a dead city, with not a single soul in sight.
Steven hadn't needed to think twice—it was a trap. A lure set out for Abyssal Hunters like Gladia and the others. And surrounding that lifeless city was something… something ancient and dreadful. Something not unlike a primal god.
With Gladia's current condition, she wouldn't last a second. Even if she brought those other two "stranded little fish" with her, it would still be nothing more than serving themselves up on a silver platter.
He wasn't about to let his daughter throw her life away like that. Not after all the trouble he went through nursing her back to health. If she just up and died now—yeah, he'd be more than a little heartbroken.
"You're worried about me?" Gladia blinked at him, her tone flat but confused. "That makes no sense. Our fragile little 'father-daughter' bond is already over."
She didn't sound angry. More than anything, she sounded… puzzled.
She met his gaze, and for some reason, her eyes softened.
How long had it been since someone cared for her like this?
After finally escaping the chains of her original family, the only ones who stood by her had been comrades, followers, believers. None of them had ever looked at her the way Steven did—not for her title, not for her purpose, but simply… as her.
"That's just wishful thinking on your part," Steven said, shrugging. "You think you can just cut me off because you said so? Sorry, but I'm not letting my daughter go get herself killed that easily."
He gave her a half-smile, half-pout, full of stubborn warmth.
He cared. So what?
What kind of guy could just stand by and watch their daughter walk off to die?
"…But I'm not like you," Gladia murmured, her voice dropping low. "Life on land… it dries out my skin. And more importantly—my time is almost up."
Her fingers grazed her own cheek. Soft. Silky. Like a perfectly peeled egg. Honestly, Steven couldn't see how she could complain about that skin being dry—did she want to be able to wring water from her cheeks or something?
But her words about time…
He understood.
His gaze drifted from her face to her neck—hidden beneath that high-collared coat.
He knew.
He'd already seen it.
Just like with Irene back then, Gladia was beginning to change.
Irreversibly. Slowly, but relentlessly. Becoming something else.
Becoming one of the Seaborn.
The transformation wasn't as rapid as Irene's, but it was far more… insidious.
Because Abyssal Hunters were never meant to be natural. They were man-made monsters—forced hybrids of Ægirian and Seaborn.
Gladia was no exception.
"Does it hurt?"
Steven's hand, once resting casually at her waist, moved. With a gentle touch, he brushed aside her long, silver hair, revealing the side of her neck.
There, on her porcelain skin—jarring and hideous—a patch of scales shimmered faintly.
She flinched, but didn't stop him.
"No… it doesn't hurt," she whispered. "But it terrifies me."
His fingers were cool against her skin, trailing lightly over the rough patch. She let them.
"I don't know how much time I have left. Do you understand what that means?"
She shouldn't be telling him this. She knew that. And yet…
Once the words started, they wouldn't stop.
This—this was why she was so desperate to return to Ægir.
The longer she stayed stranded on land, the faster the transformation progressed—pushing her body toward something she could no longer control. And on land, there was no technology, no cure, no hope to reverse what was happening to her. If she wanted even a sliver of a chance, she had to return to Ægir—the birthplace of the Abyssal Hunters, and perhaps the only place where the key to her salvation still existed.
And it wasn't just her. The other two… they were changing too. In fact, one of them—Gladia couldn't even say for certain if Specter still qualified as human anymore.
Her gaze drifted toward the two Abyssal Hunters watching her and Steven's dance from the sidelines. Their eyes sparkled with admiration, innocence untouched by reality. Gladia's expression darkened with guilt.
They still didn't know the truth.
To them, becoming an Abyssal Hunter was becoming a hero—a protector of Ægir.
They didn't realize what they'd given up to take that role.
But she did. She'd had no choice.
Those two, though… they still had time. They still had hope.
"What if I told you… I had a way?" Steven's voice broke through her thoughts.
Gladia blinked and looked up at him.
She stared at the man—this strangely lazy, ever-smiling man who claimed to be her father—and found herself stunned again. It wasn't the first time he'd said something outrageous. But unlike anyone else… when he said it, it didn't sound like a delusion.
After all, he was her ever-mysterious father.
The miraculous father.
The one who could do anything.
"…You're serious?"
She didn't say it, but the way her fingers tightened around his hand made her thoughts obvious. She wanted to believe him.
Steven chuckled. "Why're you looking at me like that? Come on, haven't I always been amazing? Since when have I ever been troubled by some minor setback?" He grinned smugly, tapping her on the forehead. "Just because the land-dwellers can't do it doesn't mean I can't."
His hand slid from her neck to her cheek. Cool fingers brushed over smooth, damp skin. He gave her cheek a light pinch, and Gladia's frosty, queenly demeanor cracked ever so slightly.
Just like that, the ice melted a little, and she looked… softer. More like a girl.
She didn't protest.
Didn't look away.
She just clung tighter to his hand—ten slender fingers laced with his, as if she were afraid he'd disappear.
"Not just me…? You mean, they… they can be saved too?"
"You mean the little shark and the baby orca?" Steven tilted his head, amused. "As long as it's not brain or memory damage, it's just annoying. Not impossible."
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
It was true—separating the Seaborn traits from a high-fusion Abyssal Hunter wasn't something milk and healing potions could fix anymore. Not like with Irene. These girls were on a different level.
But then again…
He had something special.
Yamato.
A blade capable of dividing a person into two—splitting their humanity from their monstrosity. For something like separating the Seaborn side of an Abyssal Hunter, it was tailor-made.
Of course, just the version of the sword embedded in his own techniques wouldn't be enough. But fortunately… he had the real deal.
The true Yamato.
And with that came its hidden functions. Its mods. Its divine attachments.
As for things like skill points or required resources?
Please.
Steven didn't even need to look at the price tag.
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