HPV 103 (End)

After helping him finishing by hand, Riarun collapsed onto the bed as if he had been stripped bare and tormented all over. His lips, parted wide in exhaustion, panted for breath.

“Did you like it?”

The question was blatantly direct, yet carried a hint of tenderness, making it all the more embarrassing. Riarun, whose nape had flushed crimson, bit his lip and nodded rapidly.

Looking at Riarun’s thoroughly undone state—like someone who had been vigorously penetrated and made to climax—Banwes swallowed hard.

He awkwardly shifted his posture on the bed, trying to manage his own dripping hardness.

Glancing at Riarun, whose eyes fluttered faintly, he pressed the tip of his glans against the trembling pale thigh, still twitching from the aftershocks.

A slick, wet sound echoed as his palm and skin rubbed together.

Even more stimulating than stroking himself was the faint touch of Riarun’s skin.

Finally, with an indecent burst, a thick stream of semen splattered across Riarun’s backside.

Riarun’s eyes cracked open faintly, and he let out a low groan, his hips giving a small twitch.

Leaving the cleanup to Banwes, Riarun slipped into unconsciousness.

It was left to the man to deal with his own still-throbbing erection.

***

Prince Dodio stirred chaos in the capital—and Riarun disappeared.

Hancanera took advantage of the confusion to abduct him.

As if they had known this would happen in advance.

The capital’s soldiers were disciplined and swift to respond.

Loyal knights of the royal court locked down the city. No one was allowed to escape.

Except the cultists had already fled beforehand.

Isn’t that suspicious?

As if those sent by the cult leader, Hancanera, knew the exact moment the lockdown would begin.

And another thing—was Prince Dodio really the kind of man to lead a rebellion?

Absolutely not.

Someone must have handed him trained troops and whispered sweet, persuasive words into his ear.

Yurichen traced every thread of context and pinpointed the root of the rebellion.

He then dispatched the temple’s shadow agents—those who moved without sound—to gather evidence.

Hancanera.

The cult leader had devoted his life to molding Riarun into something of his own design, even if it meant stirring up the entire kingdom.

“The Rohin Cult is a rebellious faction. With this, we can erase them from history for good.”

His blackened eyes briefly flared with their former divine light, scattering like shards of brilliance.

However, the true purpose of the rebellion—Riarun’s abduction—was kept hidden.

—There’s no evidence, and no one would believe a rebellion was waged solely to abduct someone. We’ll let it stay buried.

—Riarun must not be labeled as the cause of the uprising.

The cult leader and all his followers were killed that day, but a formal trial was still held for the cult.

The title of count that the cult leader had held was stripped away.

All that remained was the name of a traitor to the crown.

Riarun, the sole survivor of the Rohin Cult, was granted the title of baron—including the land rights in the south that the cult leader once possessed.

The title of count that Hancanera had held had been a special appointment from the crown, meant for caring for the southern people and aiding the poor.

But for Riarun, no such duties were assigned.

The Rohin Cult was now gone, and he had no reason to live as its leader.

Under those conditions, the baron’s title was a considerable one.

It would have been ideal if the trial had ended there.

But another royal hearing was convened.

This time, the defendant was Banwes—a half-orc who had gone berserk and killed the cult leader and all the followers.

Outside of the black dragon subjugation, he was not permitted to go berserk.

Concerns were raised again about how dangerous he was.

At the very least, people argued, he couldn’t be allowed to live in the densely populated capital.

Some suggested moving his reward lands to the outskirts of the kingdom.

In essence, it was exile.

High Priest Yurichen defended Banwes against this claim, and Riarun, despite his weakened condition, also stood up in his defense.

And then… an unexpected ally appeared.

When the red-eyed beast wept, shedding tear after tear at Riarun’s fallen side, the holy knights were there too.

Every one of them testified in court.

“He is not a monster. Monsters do not weep.”

“He retained his self-awareness even in monstrous form and only harmed others for the sake of someone precious to him.”

The verdict was reached: Banwes would retain the land near the capital that had been granted to him.

But then came a twist.

Banwes returned the land—and asked for something else.

The title of consort to the baron.

***

“If it came to it, I was prepared to personally officiate a same-sex marriage… but I suppose that won’t be necessary now. Since His Majesty has given his approval.”

I couldn’t even manage a reply like “Yes” or “Is that so?” and just stared at the High Priest, sweating coldly.

Still, Yurichen as our officiant? I really would like to pass on that.

Though he had gone blind overnight, Yurichen had already adjusted to his cane and moved about with ease.

The other priests who served him had not turned their backs. He remained a high-ranking priest of great status.

The fact that his divine power remained unaffected implied that, given time, God might forgive him.

Truthfully, the divine wasn’t angry—he had simply broken hod promise and paid the price.

Yurichen himself called it “a formality.”

Thankfully, my existence hadn’t caused his downfall.

Relieved, I looked at him—then shifted my gaze to my hand.

A faint, pure blue shimmer glowed briefly, like water in a clear glass bottle.

‘Rohin… when you recover and return, let’s talk again then.’

The epilogue had ended.

Every member of the hero’s party had found their place.

Paronai said he wanted to wander the continent and see the world. After some convincing, Bzhan agreed to go with him.

Yurichen, as always, remained at the capital’s temple, and surprisingly, Penzey returned to the mage tower.

He said he was aiming to master the seventh circle and make a dramatic exit.

I had spent several days recovering lazily in Banwes’s warmth, and today, for the first time, I went out for a walk.

My steps weren’t exactly unsteady anymore, but I was still weak. Banwes held my arm firmly at his side.

There was no one around us.

Now, if I wanted to touch him, I could. If I wanted to hold him, I could.

We didn’t need justification—we were the justification.

I felt overwhelmed, like the whole world belonged to me.

I was overcome by a strange impulse—wanting to hold Banwes’s hand tightly against my chest, or even press it to my lips.

Both of us, faces flushed, sat silently on a long bench, holding hands.

Banwes’s free hand hesitated, then gently wrapped around my head and guided it to his shoulder.

“How long do you think you’ll live?”

I murmured, resting against the warmth of his pulsing muscle.

“Probably about the same as a human.”

They say orcs live about as long as humans. As a half-blood between the two, he probably wasn’t much different.

Good.

“You grew up fast, didn’t you?”

“Hm… I grew rapidly as a newborn, then slowed down in adolescence. In the end, I came of age around twenty.”

I liked hearing about his life.

Especially when I knew he was only telling it to me.

I let go of his large left hand for a moment to fidget with it between both of mine, then rested my head back on his arm.

“Let’s die on the same day, fifty years from now.”

At that, Banwes laced his fingers through both of mine with one hand.

“Then I just have to live ten years longer than you.”

Since I’d have to reach seventy, he’d have to push to eighty. He’d need to hang in there.

“I wonder why I lived ten years longer just for this.”

He muttered quietly and brushed my cheek like a feather.

But soon, his touch grew more persistent, more intimate.

Banwes caressed my skin as if his fingers were his tongue, savoring me.

His eyelids fluttered shut, and a low groan rumbled from deep in his throat, a clear sign of his arousal.

My face burned.

In broad daylight, on a walk no less—and yet here we were, seized by indecent urges.

“…You really do seem my age. You don’t act older at all—not even a little mature.”

My cheek was lightly pinched. It didn’t hurt, just tickled.

Banwes shot back, “And you think you’re mature?”

We raised our eyebrows and bickered over who had the lower mental age, dragging up every petty memory.

“Don’t you remember? When we were crossing the canyon, I couldn’t jump the cliff and begged you to carry me—three times! And you ignored me every time. You just liked hearing me beg, didn’t you? What kind of person does that?”

“Oh, and what about the time you gave me the wrong instructions on purpose? I wore my clothes backwards for three days.”

There was no way to tell who was more childish—and even this moment was steeped in that same glorious immaturity.

…At some point, we ended up in a heated kiss, arms around each other.

Neither of us remembered who had initiated it.

He had been smiling just a moment ago, and now his gaze was strange—tender and trembling, a reddish hue swirling inside his eyes, and finally, tears welled up.

“Don’t ever leave me until the day we die. Feel for me what I feel when I look at you.”

I told him I loved him.

And he told me he loved me, too.

We exchanged those words a few more times, giving them shape, making them real.

I had failed to become a villain.

Maybe, at one point, I had been one.

But it no longer mattered.

The man who had kept me from ever truly learning how to become a villain…was someone I’d fall in love with every single time, for the rest of my life.

<End of the main story.>

Lilium

Thank you so much for all the love and support you’ve shown for the novel I’ve been translating!

As for the side stories, I’m not sure yet when (or if) the author will be releasing them, but I’ll keep you updated as soon as I hear anything!