Chapter 242: It Can’t Be William

He looked at her with that intense gaze. Before leaving for Zloimond, he had promised to marry her upon his return. However, back then, his eyes hadn't held this same depth of pain.

“Isolde, I’ll use all my strength to protect you in this life. I won’t allow anyone to hurt you, not even a little bit. And I won’t let anyone who has harmed you go unpunished.” His fingers brushed her cheek, still faintly carrying the scent of blood. His voice, forced through clenched teeth, was unwavering and resolute.

After the battle at the Zloimond Armory, no one knew what he had endured. The pain that gnawed at his bones tormented him daily, driving him to persevere and return to protect someone.

Isolde was stunned. The Oliver she knew had never displayed such intense love or hatred; he'd always been indifferent. Even knowing his adoptive mother disliked him and William hated him, he simply performed his duties without complaint. This mild-mannered man suddenly unleashing such sharp words caught her completely off guard. She knew only facing life and death could change a person's nature so profoundly. She understood his ordeal had been perilous; he'd barely escaped with his life.

Slowly, she lifted his sleeve. The iron hand extended to his elbow, his arm embedded within a metal casing, with no visible fastenings. She gently tugged, but it wouldn't budge.

“It won’t come off,” Oliver said. “The Grand King Emeritus made this iron hand. When I woke up, it felt fused to my flesh. But it moves as naturally as my own hand. It’s truly magical.”

“This isn’t iron, is it?” Isolde touched the metal, noting its unusual color—whiter than ordinary iron.

“It’s not iron, but I don’t know what it is,” he replied, moving his fingers. The metal hand functioned smoothly; even the joints bent and straightened like real fingers.

“Is it black iron? But it doesn’t seem like it,” Isolde mused.

“No, it’s even harder than black iron. I tried slashing it with the Primordial Sword, and it didn’t leave a scratch,” Oliver said with a smile.

Isolde was astonished. “Stronger than black iron? Then what exactly is it? This is incredible.”

“I really don’t know,” Oliver said with a slight smile. “But don’t worry. As long as I’m alive, that’s all that matters.”

Isolde gazed at his handsome face, gently smoothing his slightly disheveled dark hair. “Yes, coming back alive is the most important thing.”

His eyes softened. “If you agree, I’ll propose to you immediately upon our return.”

Isolde’s expression turned serious. She said solemnly, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Oliver was momentarily stunned, the light in his eyes dimming. “Do you not believe I will treat you well? Or… is there someone else in your heart?”

Isolde sighed softly, gazing into his solemn, sorrowful eyes. “While you were away from the capital, I got married.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed in shock. He blurted out, “You really married William? No! You must divorce him, or I will kill him the moment I return to the capital! Even if you refuse to marry me, that man must not be William Valen, and it must not be anyone from the Valen family!”

Isolde was startled. “Do you really think I married William? Why do you think that? And why can’t it be someone from the Valen family?”

His eyes were filled with pain. “Don’t ask why. Just know that it can’t happen. If you don’t have deep feelings for him, submit a divorce petition based on your merits when you return. The Queen Dowager will grant it.”

Isolde felt a strange unease. It was as if he knew something about her past—things he shouldn't have known. But that was impossible. He’d been gone long before she married William. There was no way he could have known the misery she endured afterward.

She almost asked, but hesitated. Such thoughts were too absurd. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and said with a trace of resentment, “Yes, I married someone from the Valen family, but not William.”

Oliver slowly furrowed his brows, then widened his eyes in shock. “You… you married my father?”

Isolde had assumed this would make him understand. The Valen family only had two sons—William or him. But he’d immediately assumed it was the Marquis of Eldermere. Isolde felt a surge of frustration.

She couldn’t blame Oliver; he couldn’t possibly guess she’d had a spirit marriage with him. If not William, then only his father remained. Even finding the thought absurd, he could only conclude that.

“You idiot! It was you! After you left the capital and news of your death arrived, I held a spirit marriage for us!” Isolde practically shouted. It was obvious she couldn’t have married his father.

“A… spirit marriage?” Oliver’s eyes widened. Then, the light in his eyes returned, sparkling. “So… you married me?”

“Yes, we got married,” Isolde snapped, exasperated.

Oliver’s mind raced, but one thought prevailed. “No way. There was no wedding ceremony. A spirit marriage doesn’t count. We need to have a proper wedding when we return.”

Isolde smiled warmly. To her, whether they held another wedding or not, she was already his wife. But if the wedding mattered so much to him, they would do it again. Besides, she hadn’t received enough wedding gifts last time, as few attended the spirit marriage ceremony. And, deep down, she secretly looked forward to wearing a beautiful wedding dress.

Their gazes met, tinged with shyness. The atmosphere was tender and intimate.

A loud, jarring voice shattered the moment. “Marshal! Marshal! Are you alright? You’re back!”

It was Hazel, shouting at the top of her lungs. She, her sister, and Vincenzo had remained in the disaster-stricken area, as Isolde had intentionally kept them out of the battle. She had planned for both victory and defeat. If she won, everything would be fine. But if she lost, the three of them had strict orders to return to the capital immediately and eliminate Prudence and William to avenge her. With that, there would be no regrets left in this life.

Oliver and Isolde separated, exchanging helpless glances at Hattie and Hazel. The sisters rushed forward, their faces bright with joy and excitement as they looked at Oliver, struggling to hold back tears. Their eyes shimmered with unshed tears; they had clearly been worried.

Oliver smiled warmly. “I’m back, and I’m fine.”

“That’s wonderful! It’s enough that you’re alive, Marshal!” Hattie said, her voice trembling.

Vincenzo strode in with a grin. “Great Marshal, your accident this time gave many people quite a scare.” Vincenzo was drenched from head to toe, his hair plastered to his forehead. His appearance was disheveled; his clothes were covered in mud, his collar folded up, and his pant legs rolled high. He looked like a farmer returning from the fields. Hattie and Hazel, on the other hand, looked far more presentable.