Re:Zero -Starting Life in Zero

Regulus stared at her intently, his initial joy completely replaced by coldness and mockery, his tone languid yet deadly:

"But you are my wife, but as a perfectionist husband, I don't need a partner who has fled from the enemy camp."

He tightened his fingertips slightly, making her feel a suffocating pressure, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his lips:

"Besides, it took you so long to escape back, you really disappoint me."

Sylphy's neck turned red from being choked, and her breathing became rapid, but her eyes remained calm.

She spoke slowly and deliberately, her voice soft yet carrying a resolute determination:

"Please forgive me, my dear husband. I brought you a gift."

Regulus paused slightly, then let out a short, mocking laugh:

"How amazing, my lovely number 184."

He gripped her neck, leaned down slightly, and whispered in her ear in a tone that was both extremely gentle and extremely cruel:

"Is this gift... your life?"

Sylphy shook her head and said calmly, "It's even better than that. I've brought you back a new wife."

As soon as he finished speaking, even footsteps sounded at the church door.

A noblewoman in a red dress stepped in.

Her scarlet skirt trailed across the cold marble floor, each step exuding composure and elegance.

His brows and eyes held an innate arrogance, and his body radiated a chilling aura that kept strangers at bay, completely disregarding Regulus.

"Oh my~ Is this some kind of matchmaking game? You're just a mortal."

She parted her red lips slightly, her voice clear and crisp, yet tinged with a nonchalant mockery.

The slight upward inflection at the end of the note easily shattered Regulus's self-righteous sense of control.

Regulus's eyes lit up, and the chilling aura around him instantly vanished, replaced by extreme amazement and an obsessive desire.

He suddenly loosened his grip and threw Sylphy hard to the ground.

The force was so great that she slammed into the pillar base, letting out a muffled groan but showing no sign of begging for mercy.

He strode forward, his gaze greedily tracing the woman's face and figure.

All the perfectionist's pickiness vanished, replaced by undisguised praise:

"How beautiful you are! You are worthy to be my wife, woman."

The woman in the red dress raised an eyebrow slightly, raised her hand lightly, and directly avoided Regulus's fingertips that were about to touch her. A hint of disdain flashed in her eyes, and her tone was indifferent:

"Qualifications? You seem to have misunderstood something—selection has always been the privilege of me, and you, unfortunately, are not even qualified to be a minor fruit official by my side."

Instead of getting angry, Regulus chuckled softly, his possessiveness growing stronger in his eyes.

Among his wives, there were only those who obeyed him and those who feared him.

The fact that this woman in red was so composed and even seemed to have the upper hand over him was quite novel to him.

Regulus turned to look at the disheveled Sylphie on the ground, his eyes turning cold and sarcastic again, his tone full of disgust:

"Number 184, you're still somewhat useful. You've finally found something that suits my taste."

Having said that, he didn't look at Sylphy again, turning directly to the woman in the red dress. He suppressed his menacing aura, striving to project what he considered a perfect demeanor, and spoke in a gentle voice:

"Whatever you want—status, wealth, or even everything in the world—I can give it to you, as long as you stay by my side and be my perfect wife."

Priscilla, looking down from her vantage point, unfolded her gilded folding fan, its surface adorned with intricate and beautiful jewels. With a gentle wave, she deflected Regulus's outstretched hand. The disdain in her eyes intensified, and even her tone was tinged with undisguised contempt.

"That's the funniest joke I've heard all day. Of all the eight husbands I've married, even the worst one was more of a man than you."

Her words were clear and precise, each sentence hitting Regulus's most sensitive spot of perfectionism without any hesitation.

The gentle demeanor Regulus had been carefully maintained shattered instantly, and the amazement and possessiveness in his eyes were replaced by a sudden surge of ferocity and rage.

His face contorted for a moment, and the air around him seemed to freeze and grow cold.

He abruptly took a step back, his eyes filled with a terrifyingly sinister glint as he stared intently at Priscilla. His voice, sharp with extreme rage, carried a distorted, questioning tone:

"What did you say? Hey woman, you're not a virgin anymore, are you?"

These words slipped out, and his perfectionist obsession completely erupted.

In his eyes, his wife must be absolutely pure and flawless, and he would not allow her to have any trace of her past.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and a gloomy cloud hung over his ordinary face.

If the woman in front of him was truly as imperfect as he imagined, she would be completely rejected by him in the next second, and he might even have to pay the price.

Although Priscilla nominally had eight husbands, all of them died young.

He died before he could even get close to the Sun Princess.

A 23-year-old girl is also considered a pure widow.

Priscilla rolled her eyes at Regulus with disdain; his crude and narrow-minded words had already subtly crossed her line.

She slammed the gilded folding fan shut, making a crisp sound as it tapped against her palm, and a frosty look settled over her face.

His arrogant tone was laced with biting sarcasm, each word carrying weight and conviction.

"Whether I am pure or not is none of your business. A weak man like you probably doesn't have the ability to turn a girl into a woman."

These words ignited Regulus's fury, and his perfectionist pride was utterly trampled upon.

His violent aura surged wildly, and the dignity he had been trying to maintain was completely destroyed.

With bloodshot eyes, he roared, his furious voice making the church dome tremble.

"Damn it! Everyone has the right to pursue a better life, and you, bastard, have repeatedly provoked me, completely violating my rights!"

He turned abruptly, directing his anger at Sylphy who was standing nearby.

His fingertips were fixed on her, who still stood silently, his eyes cold as if poisoned, his tone filled with boundless rage and disgust:

"And you, Number 184, did you bring back a dirty woman to mock me?!"

Sylphy's hand, hanging at her side, paused slightly, and the fleeting playful expression on her face was instantly suppressed.

Having regained her usual calm and composed demeanor, she lowered her head slightly, her tone still gentle and indifferent, revealing not a trace of emotion:

"How could that be, my lord? This beautiful lady is actually still a pure young girl."

"What?"

Regulus froze, his furious expression hardening on his face, his eyes filled with disbelief, and he blurted out instinctively,

"But she's already had eight husbands!"

He stared intently at Priscilla, his perfectionist obsession causing him to both loathe her past marriage and covet her exquisite beauty and unique charm, plunging him into a state of extreme contradiction and turmoil.

Sylphie raised her eyes, a faint hint of calculation flashing in them, and spoke slowly and calmly, each word clearly reaching Regulus's ears:

"This is called the Eight-Farewell Family. All eight husbands died young, and she was never tainted by them. This only proves how rare this woman is. She is a rare pure person in the world and is completely worthy of your pursuit of perfection, my husband."

After he finished speaking, the church fell into a moment of deathly silence.