Killed Me? Now I Have Your Power Chapter 477: Your mother’s look

That marked the ultimate verdict, leaving Kaden devoid of both the power and desire to question the reasons or delve deeper.

He resembled a solitary wanderer battling a ferocious sandstorm in a merciless wasteland, chasing every faint guide—eyes shrouded by the gale, flesh desiccated and toughened.

Still, he pressed further into the tempest. Heading straight toward oblivion. Yet death held no terror for Kaden.

Ever since his ordeal in the Dungeon of the Devourer of Souls, Kaden had cultivated a primal dread of decisions.

And fearing choices meant starting to dread existence itself, grasping instead for the simplest path offered.

Kaden Warborn had sunk to that depth, a state Reditha never imagined her master descending into.

’Blanche... Blanche, you ought to be here.’ She lamented silently, concealing her sobs even from Kaden. ’I’m utterly clueless now. Kaden’s adrift. And I’m lost alongside him. We need you...’

Yet the White Phoenix was gone forever. Her soothing, insightful voice vanished too, stripping Kaden of one of his final comforts.

Never had Reditha felt such misery. She witnessed the very essence of her creation tormented so profoundly that he withered within, yet she could only weep. Weep like an innocent maiden. Weep like a powerless, desperate girl.

That epiphany plunged her into self-disgust, trapped in her private turmoil where agony and loathing clashed. Much like Kaden, she consumed herself from inside.

Two souls. One shattered by the agony of seeing a cherished one transform into another.

The other fractured too, but not from life's cruel teachings. From the one she had unwittingly depended on.

Kaden remained oblivious as he sat before Pandora, gazing at her naive, bewildered expression, her head cocked in her characteristic manner.

"Is something wrong, Traveller?" She inquired, shifting nearer gradually, driven by the rapport they’d forged over the last week.

Kaden refused.

With a raised hand, he halted her advance, his faded crimson eyes fixed impassively upon her. The girl froze instantly, her features contorting in bewilderment tinged with concealed hurt and dread.

Dread of being forsaken.

"Did Pandora do something bad?" She blurted out quickly, then prostrated herself low, forehead nearly touching the ground. "I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Traveller!"

Over and over. Begging pardon for an offense she hadn’t committed.

’Damn it all.’ Kaden cursed silently, validating the Historian’s earlier observations amid this display.

Vainglory’s brutal injury had reverted Pandora’s appearance—from mature woman back to a child. But the changes went beyond that.

Her recollections had vanished entirely, reshaping her personality. In their stead, she mimicked the sole model available: the youngsters she’d observed nearby.

Adorable. Oblivious. Energetic.

However, realizing she wasn’t receiving the affection those kids enjoyed—with tenderness, attention, comfort—Pandora desperately pursued that warmth.

The tribesfolk attempted it. But they failed. They couldn’t pretend with the embodiment of their grief, who now acted endearing and craved love.

Resentment festered in their hearts. Still, they remained powerless against her.

Though amnesiac, Pandora kept a primal reflex. It activated whenever danger neared the Tower or threatened her survival.

The transformation was abrupt, and she recalled nothing afterward. As though another entity within her had acted. An essence that endured Vainglory’s assault.

Understanding this confirmed Pandora’s genuineness toward him all along.

And that realization only intensified his torment.

He couldn’t view her as before. His gaze held no kindness.

That stare wounded Pandora deeper than expected. She’d at last discovered someone who mattered. She’d savored the joy other children knew.

Now, it seemed on the verge of vanishing.

Indignation wracked her heart.

She bashed her brow against the stone floor—agony burst across her skull, yet her heart’s ache surpassed it—sobbing and pleading, "I’m sorry! Pandora is sorry!"

The scene snapped something within Kaden. Observing her, he noted that despite the repeated impacts, no mark marred her skin. No injury whatsoever.

He quelled a shiver and approached her cautiously. Pandora went still, detecting him, then raised her head, eyes brimming with desperate hope.

Tears, mucus, saliva smeared her face. Total disarray.

Yet an odd feeling resonated in his thoughts at the view.

’She resembles Rea.’ His expression grew remote, immersed in poignant memories of tender instants with his betrothed.

Those recollections dominated his mind, allowing him to stoop, scoop the girl onto his knee, and gently caress her locks.

Such simplicity sufficed.

Minutes passed, and Pandora slumbered, her damp cheeks now graced by a faint, content grin.

"Time to go, wise boy." The Historian’s voice sliced in abruptly, his diminutive frame propped against the wall. "Sweet dreams don’t belong here."

Kaden raised his gaze to meet the man’s flatly. "Dreams?" He snorted faintly, standing with effort and laying Pandora’s head tenderly on the floor. "No dreams, old timer. All nightmares. Every bit of it, pure nightmares."

Towering over him, he peered into those amber orbs. "A nightmare from which there’s no awakening."

"Life unfolds that way." The yellow-skinned man replied, tugging his beard while pivoting to lead onward. "A nightmare, wise boy. Endless, inescapable by all. Yet one can flourish within its grasp."

Kaden trailed at a sluggish pace, hobbling, his wounds yet to mend.

"I require that method. Reveal it." He murmured, eyeing a staff propped nearby. He seized it promptly with his quivering right hand, using it for support.

Agony eased, his stride steadied.

"Knowledge comes shortly." The Historian declared, ushering him via the cavern, beyond bunks, chairs, and faded furnishings, to a scarlet barrier concealed by another.

Kaden’s brows arched faintly.

"But," The Historian continued, slicing his forefinger to let blood flow as he inscribed upon the surface, "I won’t be your instructor."

The barrier rumbled, split, then swung apart, unveiling a portal whence dense gloom seeped, trailed by a foul reek of rot and demise.

The Historian’s scowl intensified. A faint tremor shook him. "Indeed... yes, the moment aligns." He whispered to himself before entering. "Come along."

Excitement evaded Kaden. Inured to mortality though he was, the odor proved nearly intolerable.

Shaking his head with a wry smirk, he pursued, relying firmly on his staff.

Darkness engulfed him completely, erasing all sight. The floor started as stone underfoot. Soon, it turned to timber.

That alteration brought a gentle, serene melody resounding in the void.

A melody utterly out of place here.

Nevertheless, it persisted.

Gradually, the gloom withdrew, illumination flooding back.

Kaden parted his lips to query the Historian upon beholding the surroundings, then clamped them shut.

His stare fixed on the figure perched on the planks, spine against an engraved blade, returning his regard.

Aged, hide shriveled like tattered rags, aura thick with putrefaction.

Yet that wasn’t Kaden’s focus.

Raven-black tresses crowned the elder. Blood-red eyes gleamed.

Kaden reeled backward a pace, knees buckling.

The elder bared a grin—missing half his dentition, yet oddly inviting. Captivating, even.

"Aye, lad. Seeing you myself now..."

His smile broadened.

—End of Chapter 477—