PMEVBO 24

More than that, what was that crimson power Atsula just used…? What exactly is it?

…Is it aura?

It was a world without magic, but with aura. Well, like most generic fantasy settings, aura was the absolute measure separating basic swordsmen from Sword Masters in this world too.

In the original story, Isabelle had trained to master aura until she became a guard and appeared before Lucariel. She believed only a Sword Master could slice that insane psychopath’s throat.

But she eventually realized she lacked the talent to be a swordsman.

So she changed her method of revenge. To seduction.

In the end, that became a more cruel revenge than killing with a sword.

Because it didn’t just end with killing the body; it killed the soul too.

Anyway, since I witnessed that entire process in the original work, I had a rough idea of what aura was like in this world. The aura in this world was colorless and transparent. Not red like blood.

Besides, why would a priest have aura? …Unless it’s divine power.

But is this a world with divine power…?

There’s no magic, but aura and special abilities exist. That much is certain.

But divine power… Well, I’m not sure. The only priest in the original work was Lucariel, and there was no mention of him wielding divine power.

While I was lost in thought, the area around the table, which had been a mess due to Atsula’s rampage, had been roughly cleaned up. But just then, the young butler wiping the table made a mistake. He dropped a drop of wine onto Atsula’s clerical robes.

“I-I’m sorry…!”

The young butler trembled like a reed.

Atsula stared down at the wine stain on his vestments, one cheek bulging as he grimaced. His eyes narrowed, looking like he was about to lash out.

“Two hands are too many to manage, I see?”

“I-I made a mistake─”

“Enough with the apologies. Choose which hand you dislike. I’ll make it easier to manage by reducing it to one.”

Atsula twirled a steak knife between his fingertips.

“Please stop, Archbishop Abet.”

Tykvana’s voice was calm. Yet beneath it lay a contempt she hadn’t quite managed to conceal. Atsula ignored Tykvana’s words entirely, grinning crookedly.

“Can’t decide? Well, then, I’ll choose for you.”

“Ahh… Please, have mercy…”

“It’s better for the one who made the mistake to disappear, right?”

The young butler pleaded tearfully, but Atsula paid him no mind, aiming the knife at his right wrist.

But before the knife could touch the butler’s skin, it was struck by a bullet-like red mass and flung into the air.

Bang!

I was the ace at shooting drills in the army.

Whether it’s aura or divine power, it’s easier to handle than a gun.

Maybe because I’d seen Atsula use it first, I somehow felt I could do it too. Imagining firing a gun, I aimed my index finger at the target, and sure enough, a crimson energy shot out like a bullet from my fingertip.

Alright. Besides skills and brute strength, I’ve got one more thing I can rely on. The more finishing moves, the better.

I blew on the tip of my index finger, which had fired the red energy, and grinned.

“……Priest Nebella, are you… wielding divine power?”

Only then did I notice Tykvana standing beside me. She had frozen in the posture she’d taken to restrain Atsula, staring at the tip of my finger in shock.

Was that real divine power…?

Wait, but why is she so shocked? Is it that surprising for a priest to use divine power? Did the original Lucariel not know how to wield divine power…? Then why can I? Possessor’s privilege… well, something like that?

Atsula, who had stood blankly for a moment, glared and gritted his teeth.

“Damn it, you bastard wielding divine power—!”

I propped my chin up and cut him off with a bored tone.

“Hey.”

No. That one’s just an archbishop in name, his words and actions are pure thuggery.

“I understand that you’re upset about the wine stain on your clothes. But is that worth pulling a knife over? It’s black anyway, so the stain won’t even show.”

I spoke absentmindedly, rubbing my lips with the finger propping my chin.

“If you’re that upset, should I wash it for you?”

…But what do you even wash that kind of outfit with?

As I pondered that, Atsula’s reaction was odd. He seemed to zone out for a second, then suddenly his neck veins bulged as he shouted at me.

“…You fucking bastard, is that how you sweet-talked your way into His Holiness’s favor?”

Oh my, look at this bastard? A so-called clergyman having all sorts of thoughts about a minor.

I often forget it myself, but Lucariel was still very much a minor. If you touched a minor sexually for any reason, you were a piece of shit.

I chuckled.

“Well, I don’t remember. But I guess you think His Holiness is that kind of person?”

“What?”

“If not, then you’re just worse than a dog. Right?”

You said it yourself. Even dogs choose who they bark at.

Before I could finish speaking, Atsula abruptly rose from his seat. Crimson divine power flared up from his entire body.

Right then, Tykvana stepped forward decisively to stop him.

“Cease this, Archbishop Abet. If you cause any more disturbance, His Holiness will hear about it.”

Just moments ago, he’d casually dismissed Tykvana’s words, but apparently, he couldn’t ignore the word ‘His Holiness’.

Atsula, who had been glaring at Tykvana as if he wanted to devour her, finally withdrew the divine power enveloping him and slumped back into his seat. His fingertips trembled, likely from the pent-up rage he couldn’t unleash.

A deathly silence enveloped the hall.

After what seemed like an eternity, the duke spoke in a voice that barely escaped his throat.

“…Since the two archbishops have stated they will be staying at my castle for five days, I shall arrange another gathering like this one soon. Therefore, shall we conclude today’s proceedings… at this point?”

And so the banquet event ended anticlimactically.

***

By the time I returned to my room, it was already late at night.

I headed straight for the hideout because I was worried about Iser, who must have eaten dinner alone.

I did make sure to prepare dinner before leaving… but I wonder if he actually ate it.

With that worry on my mind, I descended the ladder. To my surprise, Iser was there. He was crouched alone on the hallway floor, hugging his knees.

His face, looking up at me indifferently, resembled that of a stray cat sitting in an alley corner, watching the faces of passersby.

Glad to see Iser, I teased him.

“What, were you waiting here because you missed me?”

“Yes.”

Iser closed the book resting on his knees, looked up at me briefly, then nodded.

“……Really?”

Expecting a retort, I was momentarily speechless when met with such a docile affirmation. But soon, the poor state of the hallway caught my eye.

“Doesn’t your back hurt? Sit on something.”

“Not really.”

I chuckled softly and held out my right hand.

“Come on, get up. Sitting like that will hurt your back.”

Iser stared silently at my gloved palm for a moment, then suddenly brought his face close to my mand. Looking down at his small face, almost covered by my palm, I thought. 

…What is this? Is he really a cat? Honestly, he looked exactly like a cat headbutting something it really liked.

While I was flustered, Iser grabbed my wrist and murmured.

“You smell like alcohol.”

“Really? Guess the wine splashed on me at the banquet earlier didn’t wash off.”

Iser narrowed his eyes and asked.

“…Did you drink?”

“Why would I drink? The duke and archbishops were the ones drinking.”

Though my original body was at an age where alcohol might flow through its veins instead of blood, Lucariel’s body was only seventeen. Even in this Western-style romance fantasy world, minors shouldn’t drink. So I came here with superhuman restraint, just sucking my thumb.

“…Really?”

As he spoke, Iser naturally moved the hand that had been holding my wrist to grasp my hand. The pressure of his grip pressed against my wounded backhand, making me flinch.

I hadn’t realized until returning to the annex that I had a fairly large wound on my backhand, probably from being scraped by a shard of a glass in the hall. But since it had already scabbed over, I just slipped gloves over it and came straight here…

I completely forgot and ended up offering my injured hand.

The grip on my hand loosened momentarily. I thought I saw Iser glance at my right hand, but soon, still holding my hand, he calmly stood up.

It looked like he was using me to pull himself up, but strangely, I felt none of Iser’s weight on my injured hand.

Is it because he’s still young and his joints are supple? He gets up so easily on his own.

Youth really is unfair.

Even after standing up, Iser didn’t let go of my hand. So I was certain he hadn’t noticed my injury.

On the way to the hideout, hand in hand, Iser suddenly asked.

“…Did anything happen at the banquet?”

“Oh, it did. The meat was incredibly tender. A professional’s skill really makes a difference.”

“Really?”

I grinned and replied.

“But it didn’t taste good. I was eating without you.”

Iser looked at me with a speechless expression, his face appearing flushed, perhaps from the candlelight. The boy, who had been pursing his lips, let out a long sigh and said.

“……That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“Then what?”

At that moment, Iser’s gaze fell onto the back of my hand.

“……Why didn’t you ask me to heal you? You’re hurt. Here.”

…He caught me. When did he notice?

After a moment of fluster, I answered flatly.

“Because I hate pain. Your healing hurts.”

It wasn’t a lie. I’m pretty good at enduring pain, but getting healed by Iser was genuinely excruciating.

Seeing him at the banquet earlier, the duke seemed both cowardly and overly dramatic. How on earth had he exploited Iser’s healing abilities all this time?

Iser stared at me with an exasperated look. Yet, somehow, he seemed slightly hurt. Why?

“…Then would you accept it if I healed you without it hurting?”

“Can you control that yourself?”

“Right. I can’t control it. But…”

Iser trailed off, then pressed his palm against the sharp tip of a candlestick hanging on the wall, his expression unreadable.

A sickening sound of flesh tearing echoed as dark liquid, indistinguishable in the dim light, dripped.

“If it’s like this, it doesn’t hurt, I guess”

Iser smiled as he looked down at the pool of blood soaking his palm. It was a faint smile, like the moon seen in daylight.

While I froze at the sight, Iser slipped off my right glove. Then, with his own blood-stained hand, he interlocked our fingers.

Through our intertwined fingers, I distinctly felt the damp blood and cold body temperature, yet it didn’t hurt. The wound on the back of my hand healed instantly. After confirming this, Iser slowly released my hand.

Only then did I come to my senses.

“Hey, are you crazy?! … Ugh!”

I grabbed Iser’s wounded hand and examined it. Fortunately, the wound on his palm had already healed. Instead, a stinging pain surged through my own hand, which was holding his bare skin.

Seeing me in pain, Iser yanked his hand away. Then, avoiding my eyes, he muttered sullenly.

“You said you hated pain.”