Chapter 472: Lost Consciousness. Once Again.

Chapter 472: Chapter 472: Lost Consciousness. Once Again.

Chapter 472 – Lost Consciousness. Once Again.

There was no doubt in Persephone’s mind.

The item inside the envelope was the Underwear, the same one Adonis had gifted her. The only thing that man had ever given her, despite the two of them having done all kinds of things.

No one could understand how dearly she held that gift. Long ago, Persephone had only ever worn it in front of Adonis, and no one else.

That was how precious it was to her, and so no one could have understood the pain she had gone through when she lost it.

Something that should have been completely impossible, no less.

’Only Adonis and I knew where the underwear was,’ Persephone thought, her black eyes narrowing, her pale hand clenching the letter tightly. ’So the fact that it was lost, stolen even, could only mean that Adonis had taken it.’

The Queen of the Underworld had never understood why Adonis would do that. Or even whether it had truly been him.

All she’d had all this time were her suspicions, and now, finally, she had the opportunity to find out the truth.

If the Underwear was indeed inside the envelope, then it would mean that Adonis was still alive, and was waiting for her somehow... somewhere.

That conclusion had many holes, and she knew it. But the mere possibility of Adonis, her dear love, still being alive was so overwhelming that Persephone’s body was shaking with joy.

She parted her mouth, her tongue slithering out to lick her lips with a soft moan that echoed the wailing around her throne. "My Adonis," she wheezed. "This time, I will not let any of these women take you from me. This time, I have no husband to care about or mind, and I will follow you no matter what, and make you mine and mine alone."

The love Persephone thought she had lost was burning inside her chest again, even stronger than before, like a starved beast eager to feast.

And what her love wanted to feast upon was Adonis’s attention.

However, the Queen of the Underworld knew there was a high probability that she was entirely wrong. And that would mean binding herself to someone who was not Adonis.

If that happened, she wasn’t at all sure how she would deal with it.

So,

"I must make sure first," Persephone muttered, still breathing heavily with excitement, her lips pulled into an unguarded smile. "And if I can’t be sure, I must at least find a way to lessen the drawbacks in case it isn’t Adonis."

All that aside, Persephone was quite surprised by the Couriel. She couldn’t pierce through it, and she knew that once she accepted one of the options, she would be bound by it.

"This kind of item could only be obtained through Mother System. And only those High on the Ladder could hope to get it." She tilted her head, her ink-black hair falling to one side. "Intriguing, indeed."

Persephone’s decision was made.

If Vorn wanted to replace her with another Persephone by corrupting and snatching her Foundation of Myth, then the Queen of the Underworld knew it was time to stop being a spectator to her own downfall and start acting against the Usurper.

Until now, she had been at a loss as to how to proceed.

Now a way had come to her, opening many kinds of doors.

Whether it was Adonis or some other being capable of obtaining this item, they would still be of tremendous help in keeping her divinity. After all, they wanted her to be part of their Pantheon.

"Good timing," Persephone whispered, raising her head upward, as if able to see things only she could. "I was growing weary of the eternal dispute between Zeus and Artemis over their plaything. One wants to control the boy, the other to teach him. Heh. That’s their problem. I have no interest in giving that boy my Blessing. I only give it to the man I love, and since Adonis, no one has managed to take that place."

And besides, none of them had done anything when she told them about Vorn’s plan to usurp her Authority. All of them had been reluctant to fight against The Ones Who Never Die.

So be it.

Persephone read the letter again, her smile widening.

"Time to be a Traitor, just like that man, and start paying back Hera, that bitch. Should I free the mortal woman she has been torturing because Zeus hasn’t been able to keep his disgusting dick in his pants since the end of the Age of the Second Revelation?"

It was going to be fun.

Gathering herself, she cried out aloud.

"Now, come on, old woman," Persephone said to the Underworld. "Tell me who your Blessed is. I might need that mortal soon. Being Queen of these wretched beings is tiring. And I have no interest in entertaining these Lords any longer."

[Not yet.] The Underworld replied immediately, its voice hoarse but delighted. [My Precious is too young. But she will come. She shall come.]

The Underworld laughed, and Persephone arched an eyebrow at how eager it sounded.

[And she shall be the greatest Queen I have ever chosen!]

"Well... I pity that mortal already."

[Pity yourself, Wretched.]

"Heh." She laughed, looking at the letter and the golden envelope. "I have done that enough. It’s time I regained my glory. So, Mother Dark, shall I kill one of your Lords before my resignation?"

[Be my guest, wretched.]

"Heh."

...

"Just where and when did I fail as a father?" he asked, and Jeanne knew her father was not expecting an answer from her.

So she lowered her head, standing in the middle of the open training ground on that chilly Saturday night, unable to stop herself from shaking.

The Patriarch of the Safara Family stood in front of his daughter, his thick hands, as big as anvils, clenched tight at his sides.

His orange, flaming eyes glowed, yet showed nothing but disdain and disgust. Disdain and disgust so strong and palpable that Jeanne could feel them seeping into her body and strangling her from within.

She began to breathe rapidly, her panic rising as the seconds passed, her fingers trembling sporadically.

"The daughter of the Wealth Family is 10th in the Ranking," he said, his voice heavy. "Tell me, Jeanne, are you stronger than her, or is she stronger than you?"

"I..." Jeanne began. "I am..." The words refused to come out, and her breathing grew louder and more ragged. "I-I am..."

SLAP!

Her father backhanded her with merciless strength, and Jeanne was sent flying, her body toppling to the ground like a corpse.

"I have no fucking time for your stuttering," he growled, walking towards her as she began to whimper. "I asked who is stronger, Jeanne Safara!"

He grabbed her hair without any mercy and yanked her up, ripping out some of her hair.

Jeanne’s face was flooded with tears, and her right cheek, where her father had just struck her, had split, blood welling and dripping.

The pain burned like fire on her face, but Jeanne was used to it by now. So she ignored it, even though she could never stop her tears whenever this happened, and answered,

"I am... stronger, father. I am!"

"Then why didn’t you challenge her?"

Jeanne knew that question was coming.

But how could she tell him that it was because she was terrified Meadow would use her wealth to ruin them financially? Just how could she admit that she struggled to use her own strength because of the constant panic attacks that plagued her? That she could no longer sleep without dreaming of her dead brother, or of the horrible ways she might be killed if she failed to make her father proud?

Just how... how could Jeanne Safara admit to her own father, the very person she hated most in this world, that she was broken and wanted to die, yet was terrified of death itself?

She couldn’t.

And just like always, when her father didn’t receive the answer he wanted, he beat her.

Punches and slaps rained down all over her body.

Her nose broke, her father’s fist cracking it easily. His face red with anger, he slapped her hard, and some of the blood vessels close to her eyes burst, painting them red.

She began to wail, crying for mercy, and her father broke her jaw before smashing her head straight into the ground, knocking out her teeth.

And all the while, he was talking, his voice murderous, his mind filled with madness and hatred.

"Don’t you dare spit on our Family’s honor!" he bellowed. "You are a Tier Two Heiress, the Safara’s Heiress, and you can’t even manage to be among the top 10? Do you wish to die like your brother? Do you want me to murder you, you useless daughter of a whore?"

"F-For... g... i... ve me!" Jeanne wailed through her broken jaw. "P-Please!!! Please, Fa—!"

"Shut up!" he cut her off, slapping her so hard that her head whipped violently to the side, sending her body rolling across the training field.

He looked at her, her body twitching heavily. The Patriarch straightened, his hands bloody and veiny, ready to continue this senseless beating.

However, before he could approach Jeanne, a woman appeared, standing in front of the broken young girl.

She had red hair and black eyes, her face covered in scars. Her eyes were filled with tears. "Please, let her go," Jeanne’s mother pleaded, kneeling on the ground. "You will kill her if you continue. You will kill her, and you will have no Heir left in this world. Come to your senses."

The Patriarch halted, staring at the woman intensely, his face as hard as stone. Realizing the truth in her words, he cursed under his breath and walked out of the training ground, his voice echoing behind him.

"Heal her, and send this useless daughter to the Academy. I don’t want to see her face until she has shown results, or I will kill her, and to hell with having a bloody Heir."

He disappeared soon after, leaving Beatrice, Jeanne’s mother, alone with her broken daughter.

She immediately approached her, took Jeanne into her arms, and burst into tears at the sight of her daughter’s bloodied face.

"I am sorry."

Beatrice cried harder.

"I am so sorry for giving you such a father, my precious. I am so sorry. I am sorry. I am..."

But it was no use.

Jeanne Safara had lost consciousness.

For the 321st time.

—End of Chapter 472—