"Pardon?" Yuuta said, blinking in disbelief. "What do you mean by climbing the stairs while carrying my wife?"
For a brief moment, he truly believed Father Nelson was joking. The idea sounded absurd—almost unreal—especially after everything that had already happened.
But Father Nelson's expression remained calm and unwavering.
"If you wish to marry your wife here," he said evenly, "then you must understand the weight of your words. Marriage is not proven by promises alone. It must be proven through action."
Yuuta hesitated.
"Are you sure, Father Nelson?" he asked carefully. "This… sounds like a test."
Father Nelson shook his head.
"No," he replied. "What I said earlier still stands. I am not testing you. I mean exactly what I said. Complete this small task, and I will tell you what it truly means. That is my promise to you."
Something ignited in Yuuta's eyes. The uncertainty vanished, replaced by resolve. He straightened his back and drew in a steady breath.
"I will do it," Yuuta said firmly.
His gaze shifted between Father Nelson and Erza, as if declaring his answer to both of them.
Erza and Grandpa froze. Their eyes widened in shock.
Color rushed to Erza's cheeks, spreading fast. She turned toward Yuuta, flustered and caught off guard.
"W-What do you mean by carrying me?" she snapped, trying—and failing—to hide her embarrassment. "Are you joking?"
She immediately looked to Father Nelson, silently hoping this was all some cruel misunderstanding.
But Father Nelson said nothing.
That silence terrified her.
Erza's unease deepened as she watched Yuuta accept the task without hesitation, without truly understanding what it demanded. There was something about this challenge—something heavy—that Yuuta could not yet see.
And that was exactly what frightened her most.
Father Nelson began climbing the stairs with the others, his long robes brushing against the ancient stone with each step. The crusaders followed behind him in disciplined silence, escorting Grandpa, Allen, and Elena along the way. The soft clinking of armor echoed faintly as they ascended, several of them glancing back with clear anticipation, as if eager to witness whatever was about to unfold.
Gradually, their figures disappeared higher up the mountain.
Yuuta and Erza remained at the base of the staircase Hour past and still standing side by side in heavy silence. Before them stretched an endless path of stone steps, spiraling upward along the mountain's spine. The stairs seemed to vanish into the clouds, their true end impossible to see.
Yuuta tilted his head back, his throat tightening as he stared upward. After a moment, he swallowed and spoke, his voice quiet and uncertain.
"So… I think I can do it, right, Erza?"
He kept his eyes fixed on the summit as he spoke, as if looking away would shatter the fragile confidence he was trying to hold together.
Erza crossed her arms firmly over her chest, her expression cold and unyielding.
"It's impossible," she said. "With human strength, Yuuta. You should have stopped before accepting."
Yuuta turned toward her, surprise flickering across his face.
"What?" he asked. "You don't trust me?"
Erza exhaled sharply, frustration seeping into her tone.
"How can you be so foolish?" she said. "This isn't an ordinary climb. This is a mountain. Ten Thousands of steps. Carrying someone like me with your human body—how do you expect that to work?"
She shook her head slowly, her gaze sharp.
"You always do this. You act before thinking. You convince yourself you can handle anything without considering reality. It's reckless. It's stupid."
Yuuta didn't respond right away.
Her words sank into him, deeper than he expected. Something inside his chest trembled—not pain, not sadness, but a heavy, burning weight. Behind her criticism, he heard the unspoken truth echoing in his mind.
You can't do it.
You're not enough.
His jaw tightened as his hands slowly curled into fists. Veins surfaced along his arms, his muscles twitching as tension coiled through his body. His breathing grew heavier, sharper, each breath filled with restrained emotion.
For a brief moment, heat seemed to rise from him, like steam escaping from something pushed too far.
This was no longer just about the stairs.
It was about doubt.
And the quiet fury of being underestimated by the woman he loved most.
Erza noticed it immediately.
Something about Yuuta had changed. A faint, uneasy aura seemed to leak from him, subtle yet unmistakable. The tension in his posture, the way his breath no longer followed a steady rhythm—it all told her she had gone too far. Her violet eyes softened, losing their sharp edge as realization struck her.
He was only human.
And she had spoken as if he were not.
A quiet guilt settled in her chest. She knew how deeply those words must have cut him—being reminded of his limits, especially by the one person whose belief mattered most.
After a moment, she spoke, her voice gentler than before.
"It's okay, Yuuta," she said. "We can talk to Father Nelson. We can convince him and avoid this… stupid bet."
But Yuuta did not respond.
He didn't even seem to hear her.
Slowly, he turned toward her, his gaze lifting until it met hers directly. There was no anger in his eyes, but something far heavier—resolve sharpened by hurt. Without saying a word, he stepped toward her.
Erza stiffened, startled by the sudden shift. Before she could react or speak again, Yuuta bent down and lifted her into his arms, holding her in a princess carry as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Wait—" Erza began. "There's something I forgot to say—"
Before she could finish, Yuuta stumbled forward, his balance faltering for a brief, dangerous moment. His feet scraped against the stone, but he managed to steady himself, his breathing growing rough and uneven as he tightened his grip.
Through clenched teeth, he muttered,
"How can you be so heavy, Erza?"
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Without hesitation, Erza slapped him across the face.
"Idiot!" she snapped. "How dare you say that to a woman?"
She puffed out her cheeks, clearly offended.
"And I'm not even that heavy. Compared to other dragons, I'm well within a reasonable range."
Her voice softened slightly, frustration mixing with concern.
"That's exactly why I told you to stop this useless act. I'm not a normal human girl, Yuuta. We're different in human Dragon form."
Yuuta said nothing.
Instead, his expression hardened with focus. Carefully, he shifted his stance and nudged off his shoes with his foot, letting them fall aside so his bare feet could grip the stone more firmly. Without looking back, he took his first step onto the staircase.
Then another.
Erza felt his muscles strain beneath her weight, felt the tension in his arms and shoulders. She frowned, her voice rising as worry slipped through her irritation.
"Yuuta, just stop this already," she said. "This is stupidity. Can't you understand that?"
Still, he did not answer.
His eyes remained fixed on the path ahead—on the endless stairs climbing toward the church above. He drew in a deep breath and placed his foot onto the second step, his body trembling slightly as he pushed forward.
Far above them, near the gates of the main church, Father Nelson stood watching.
As he observed Yuuta's struggle begin, a small, knowing smile formed on his face.
"I knew it," he murmured softly.
"I knew you would choose this path, Yuuta."
The first step was smooth.
So was the second.
Then the third.
Yuuta continued upward, his pace steady at first, his grip firm around Erza's body. Each movement was careful, deliberate, as if he were afraid that even a single careless motion would cause him to fall.
Erza frowned, unease creeping into her voice.
"Yuuta," she said, "I'm a dragon. My weight isn't normal compared to a human girl. This is insane—stop it."
She shifted slightly in his arms, clearly uncomfortable.
But Yuuta did not answer.
His eyes, dark and unwavering, were fixed straight ahead. He did not look down. He did not look at her. He simply climbed.
Time passed.
Several Minutes slipped by, unnoticed.
Erza gradually fell silent.
She could feel it now—the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. It was no longer calm. It was fast, uneven, pounding against his chest as if trying to escape. His breathing had grown heavier, warmer against her skin. She felt the faint tremor in his arms, the subtle stiffness in his shoulders.
He was already thirsty.
Already exhausted.
Yet he did not stop.
By the time Yuuta reached the eightieth step, his legs began to betray him. They trembled visibly with every movement, muscles quivering as if stretched beyond their limit. Sweat poured down his face, soaking his hair and dripping from his chin onto the stone below.
The sun showed no mercy.
It hung high in the afternoon sky, blazing relentlessly, turning the stone steps into a furnace beneath his bare feet. Still, Yuuta climbed, one painful step after another, teeth clenched, breath ragged.
Above them, near the main gate, the crusaders watched.
Laughter broke out.
One of them pointed down the staircase, shaking his head.
"How can anyone climb those stairs while carrying another human?" he scoffed.
Another crusader laughed.
"He's insane. Last time one of our soldiers carried a water barrel for Father Nelson, he collapsed halfway and injured himself. And that barrel weighed barely twelve kilograms."
A third voice chimed in, mocking and loud.
"I bet he'll give up soon."
Their laughter echoed against the stone walls, ringing through the gate like ridicule carved into sound.
Allen stood among them, silent.
His expression did not change, but his hands slowly curled into fists.
A dark aura began to leak from him—thick, heavy, and demonic. It rippled around his fingers like heat rising from flame. His patience was burning away, replaced by a cold, murderous rage.
The thought of humans mocking his master and mistress filled him with fury.
If one word more crossed the line—
He would slaughter them.
Allen watched his master struggle below, step after step, breath after breath.
His Golden eyes burned as he glanced toward Father Nelson. For a fleeting moment, a dangerous thought crossed his mind—this is a trap. A method wrapped in faith, designed to erase his master without ever raising a blade. The crusaders had already named Yuuta a Satan worshipper. All it would take was one collapse, one death, and it would be justified as "divine will."
Allen's aura flared.
But before he could move, Grandpa—standing calmly beside Father Nelson—met his gaze.
No words were exchanged.
Just a look.
A silent command.
Remain still.
Allen clenched his jaw, forcing the rage back down. Slowly, painfully, he obeyed.
Time passed.
An hour slipped away.
Yuuta's strength was fading.
Below, Erza trembled—not with anger, but with something far worse. Fear. Her arms tightened instinctively around his neck as she felt his steps grow heavier, slower. His breathing was no longer steady. Each inhale sounded forced, shallow, as if his lungs themselves were rebelling.
She spoke at last, her voice cold, stripped of emotion.
"Do whatever you want," she muttered.
"I won't stop you anymore, idiot."
It was not anger.
It was helplessness.
Yuuta did not reply.
The sun had turned cruel. The stone stairs burned beneath his bare feet like heated iron. Each step felt like stepping onto fire. His sweat had long dried away, leaving his skin raw, his lips cracked, his vision blurring at the edges.
Still, he climbed.
Above them, the mood had changed.
The crusaders were no longer merely watching.
They were gambling.
A rough wooden table had been dragged out near the gate. On it, chalk markings divided into squares—Hour One. Hour Two. Hour Three. Coins clinked and scattered as men placed bets, laughing loudly as if this were nothing more than entertainment.
"I say he collapses before the second hour," one said.
"No, no," another laughed. "Third hour at most. He's already done."
More than a hundred had gathered now, voices overlapping, mocking, cruel.
Allen's hands shook.
The rage he had suppressed earlier returned tenfold, flooding his veins like poison. His shadow rippled beneath him, thickening, darkening—and from it, a blade slowly emerged.
A sword of darkness.
Above, on the church balcony, Father Nelson stood unmoving.
He did not look at the crusaders.
He did not look away.
His eyes were fixed on Yuuta.
Tears welled silently at the corners of his eyes, though his expression remained calm. He said nothing. He did nothing. He simply watched—a young soul dragging his fragile body against fate itself.
Allen followed his gaze, fury twisting his face.
The sword in his hand was fully drawn now.
Two hours had passed.
Yuuta had climbed far beyond what any ordinary human body should have endured. The stairs stretched endlessly beneath him, disappearing into the mountain like a cruel test with no mercy. The sun stood directly overhead—12:30 in the afternoon—its heat pressing down like an unseen weight, making even standing still unbearable.
Yet Yuuta kept moving.
Each step was heavier than the last. His legs trembled violently, muscles screaming in protest. Tears blurred his vision, spilling freely down his cheeks, not from pain alone—but from exhaustion so deep it begged him to stop.
Enough.
His body pleaded.
But his will refused.
Erza saw everything.
She felt his uneven breathing, the way his grip around her tightened and loosened as his strength faltered. Her heart clenched painfully. Finally, her pride shattered.
"Stop… Yuuta, stop this—please."
Her voice trembled.
"I'm sorry," she said, desperation seeping into every word.
"I said you were weak. I didn't mean it. Please… stop."
She hoped—prayed—that he would finally listen.
But Yuuta did not answer.
He couldn't.
Exhaustion had stolen his voice, but not his resolve. His eyes glowed faintly, unnaturally, as he forced his body beyond its limits. One step. Then another. His movements were slow, mechanical—yet unwavering.
Below and above, the crowd reacted.
Some of the crusaders fell silent, their mocking fading as they watched his persistence. A few exchanged uneasy glances. Even some of the maids peering from the church balconies had begun to cry, hands covering their mouths as they witnessed a man destroying himself just to keep moving forward.
But the larger group didn't care.
Coins clattered loudly against the betting table.
"Oh, come on," one crusader scoffed.
"Why hasn't he fallen yet? Look at his legs—they're about to snap. Is he doing this just to make me lose money?"
Another spat on the ground.
"Damn it. If I lose this bet," he growled,
"I swear I'll cut off his limbs myself."
Their laughter rang out, sharp and poisonous.
Not one of them feared Father Nelson.
Not one of them cared.
Allen's hands shook violently.
That was enough.
The demonic sword fully emerged from his shadow, its dark edge humming with killing intent. His eyes burned with fury as he took a step forward.
I will slaughter them all.
But—
"Enough."
The single word echoed across the stone steps like a command carved into reality itself.
Allen froze.
So did the crusaders.
The laughter died instantly.
Every head turned.
The voice carried authority—absolute, unquestionable—and it did not belong to Father Nelson.
Silence fell upon the mountain Chruch.
To be continued.