Blessed By A Yandere Goddess

Chapter 37: Deserving Better

"So... this is his old place?"

Yeula stepped into the apartment first, her spear held loosely in one hand. The tip glowed with a soft golden light that pushed back against the shadows, illuminating corners that hadn’t seen brightness in weeks.

She swept it left and right as she moved, more out of habit than caution.

"That’s what the records said."

Tristan followed her in, lightning crackling faintly across his knuckles. He pressed his palm against the doorframe as he passed, and a charge rippled outward, jumping from surface to surface.

The kitchen counter, the empty shelves, the bare floorboards. All of it hummed now with a low, waiting voltage. Anyone stupid enough to touch something without his say-so would get cooked on the spot.

Yeula completed her sweep and stopped in the middle of the room, one hand settling on her hip. She glanced back at him, her expression flat.

"The place is empty, Tan."

"Look closer."

Tristan moved past her, his boots echoing against the bare floor. He stopped near the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, eyes tracking across every wall, every corner, every patch of dust that hadn’t been disturbed.

"It’s not just empty. It’s stripped clean. Not even a single piece of furniture. Someone came back here and took what they needed, then erased every trace of where it went."

Yeula frowned, her gold eyes narrowing as she took in the room again. He was right. There were faint imprints in the dust where furniture used to sit, a bed frame, a small table, a chair, but the objects themselves were gone.

No drag marks. No scratches on the floor. No indication they’d been carried out through the door.

"So this means...?"

Tristan met her gaze, his jaw tight.

"Our perpetrator definitely has teleportation."

Yeula absorbed the word with a slow blink, then turned back toward the empty apartment like it might offer up more answers if she stared hard enough.

Her spear’s light swept across the dust imprints one more time, tracing the ghosts of furniture that had been there days ago and now simply wasn’t.

"Teleportation," she repeated flatly. "You’re sure it’s not something else? Maybe he just moved it out the normal way while no one was watching."

"The door was locked from the outside when we arrived. And there were no signs of forced entry anywhere in the building. The landlord said no one’s touched this room in weeks."

Tristan knelt near the center of the room, his fingers hovering over the dust outline of what used to be a bed. The voltage around his knuckles dimmed as he concentrated.

"The furniture’s gone, but there’s no trail. No witnesses saw a man hauling a mattress down three flights of stairs in the middle of the night. Whatever he used to move it, it wasn’t physical."

Yeula clicked her tongue.

"Fantastic. So we’re hunting a teleporter who could subdue a B-Rank while disoriented?"

"Scared, Yeula?"

"Scared? This is a waste of time, T. How are we supposed to track someone who could teleport?"

"Through the digital world, of course. NightPorter15."

"Night... what now?"

"His old forum handle. The one he used for porter work before the expedition. Our digital team flagged it this morning. Someone logged into the account last night, changed the username, and started contacting fixers in the underground network."

"Changed it to what?"

"GodBound."

Yeula let the name hang in the air for a moment, then snorted. "Subtle."

"It’s not supposed to be subtle. He’s not hiding his class anymore. He’s rebranding." freewebnøvel.coɱ

Tristan moved toward the door, his boots crunching faintly against the dust.

"The account’s scrubbed clean now. No contacts, no message history, no trail. But the fixer he contacted is still active. We’re working on tracing the connection."

Yeula fell into step beside him, the golden light from her spear fading entirely and leaving the apartment in darkness once more.

"So... do we just wait for them to trace him?"

"No. We’ve got another lead."

"You’re talking about that guild that got robbed, right? I heard it was a nearly perfect theft."

"Exactly. And guess how people are describing the perpetrator?"

"...A teleporter."

"Exactly."

***

"Ronan~"

Sarael moaned, sitting on his lap while his teeth stayed buried in the side of her neck. He was marking her, just like he’d promised, and unlike him, where the bite had been a strange mix of pain and pleasure, for Sarael it seemed like the only thing she felt was pure bliss.

A bite from a human wasn’t even enough to meaningfully hurt a goddess like her.

She wasn’t even bleeding. Her skin just gave way wherever he bit, and she’d even asked if he wanted to see blood, if he thought that would make it hotter.

And if he did, she’d make it happen.

But Ronan wasn’t that far gone. Not yet, at least.

So he refused.

"There..."

He pulled back, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the mark he’d left behind.

"I put it in the most visible spot I could think of. Even normal clothes won’t hide it unless you’re wearing a turtleneck."

"A turtleneck?" Sarael tilted her head, genuinely confused.

Ronan chuckled. It was such a dumb question for such an intimate moment, but that was exactly what made it endearing.

"A shirt that covers your neck. Basically."

Her eyes widened as the description sank in.

"So that means... most normal clothes would leave this mark visible? For anyone to see?"

"Yeah. Like it?"

"I love it~!"

She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his uninjured shoulder, her whole body practically vibrating with joy.

"Everyone will see it," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "Everyone will know."

"That was the idea."

Ronan leaned back against the mattress, pulling her with him until they were both horizontal, her head resting on his chest and her legs tangled with his. The bite mark on his own shoulder throbbed faintly, a dull ache that would probably scar exactly the way she wanted it to.

Her mark on him.

His mark on her.

A matching set.

Now all they had to do was wait for the next job. And hopefully, it would be bigger than a simple retrieval.

Ronan didn’t survive hell just to scrape by in his own world. That wouldn’t just be unfair to himself. It’d be unfair to Sarael, too. A goddess who’d spent centuries alone deserved more than a dusty shack and convenience store snacks.

He’d thought about that the moment he saw her smiling back at the convenience store, her violet eyes lighting up over shrimp chips like they were treasure. She deserved better. And he was going to get it for her.