HPV 44

The true knights of the duchy scrambled to hunt down and eliminate the remaining members of the demon-worshiping cult.

Those who had disguised themselves as knights were either killed or captured.

The situation had been so dire that even the retired, elderly priests had to come out personally to treat the injured civilians.

“Through the confession of the host, it was revealed that he was both the host and the summoner. Aside from the host-summoner, thirty-eight others willingly participated in the demon summoning ritual and disguised themselves as knights in an attempt to massacre fifty civilians. This was a deliberate act to rescue the cult leader who is now undergoing purification rites at the temple and to sow chaos—therefore, their crime is severe.”

At the time, the civilians had entered the enclosed space without knowing anything.

It wasn’t until they witnessed the person in front of them collapse, spewing blood, that many panicked and tried to flee.

Yet somehow, there had not been a single death.

After receiving treatment, every survivor gave the same testimony.

They all said that just when everyone could have died, a “guardian angel” appeared, opened the locked doors, and lured away the murderers.

“He was as beautiful as an angel. He looked fragile, but he was incredibly strong. When he moved his hand, a shield appeared over our heads…”

Still caught up in the emotion of the moment, the speaker babbled without much coherence—then abruptly shut his mouth, glancing nervously at the priest.

Upon reflection, the benefactor they had called an “angel” wasn’t a priest of Gaioh.

The figure standing before them, so sacred that his mere presence made their eyes sting, was in fact a high priest of such noble rank that few ever laid eyes on him.

Rumor had it that he harbored a strong hatred for Rohin’s followers.

Yet at the moment, the high priest seemed lost in thought.

Rarun…

Yurichen gripped the communication artifact tightly and sent a message to Penzey.

Then, gathering the hem of his long robe in both hands so as not to trip, he took off running himself.

—

Liarun’s eyes flew wide open.

The fog clouding his mind was instantly blown away—but even then, he couldn’t breathe out of sheer shock.

A tongue, forced inside his mouth, coiled around his own and sucked harshly, almost painfully.

“Ugh—hngh.”

There was no space between their lips for a whimper to escape.

Through the soft, bud-like eyes, he could see the man’s closed eyelids up close.

The man wasn’t gentle at all; he was scowling fiercely even as he kissed him so aggressively, as if something had greatly displeased him.

If he didn’t want to, he could have just moved slowly or pushed him away—so why?

He didn’t understand anything.

Every thought felt sluggish and heavy.

Why was this happening now?

Why was Banwes here?

The one who should have been answering was too busy sucking on his lips, grinding mouth against mouth, and thoroughly scraping the inside of his mouth as if scrubbing it clean.

His mouth was wet.

Riarun felt his lips and cheeks heat up as he struggled to swallow the saliva that threatened to spill from the corners of his mouth.

As Banwes bent down even more, pressing harder, Riarun’s back arched from the pressure.

There was so much more contact than usual.

Banwes’s arms had wrapped tightly around his back and shoulder blades.

There had been times when Banwes grabbed his chin to prevent unnecessary movement, but never before had he bound him so completely—arms pinning even unrelated parts of his body like his back and waist.

It was vicious, savage—like he was furious at something and wanted to devour Riarun’s lips until they no longer existed.

The thick flesh pressing into his throat triggered a cough and a shudder down his spine.

On instinct, Riarun grabbed the man’s arm to try to soothe him.

But it only made the kiss grow even deeper.

“L-let me… ngh—”

He barely managed to force out a word, but it was swallowed whole.

The man’s half-lidded eyes opened slightly, glaring as if to scold him for speaking.

From beneath heavy lashes, a narrow slit of red iris appeared—and the moment Liarun saw that shade, his heartbeat, which he thought could not become any more frantic, slammed even harder against his ribs.

It was strange.

Staring into those dazed, feverish eyes, Riarun felt not just his lips but his whole body turn damp and sluggish.

Inside his clothes, even his hands and feet—parts that should have had nothing to do with this—felt sticky and languid.

A strange, dull ache throbbed in his lower stomach.

Strange indeed.

Because he didn’t feel the familiar sensation of the demon being sucked out of him—

‘…He’s not pulling out the demon?’

His mind snapped sharply back into focus.

At the same time, Banwes’s red eyes gradually began to return to normal.

The tongue that had been ravaging his mouth slowed down, and the lips that had been pressing down so hard finally pulled away with a damp, squelching sound.

Riarun collapsed onto the ground, gasping desperately for breath.

“Why, why…?”

He didn’t even know what he was asking about.

He didn’t know where to start, what to accuse, what to question—

His lips moved wordlessly, stunned out of his mind.

Now he remembered.

He had entrusted himself to the holy purification, waiting for the demon to be cleansed, when he lost consciousness.

And when he woke up—this was the situation he found himself in.

If the demon had been properly purified, Banwes would have no reason to kiss him.

If Banwes had been trying to pull the demon out, then it meant he had failed to eliminate it.

Either way, something was wrong.

But Riarun reached a conclusion when he placed a trembling hand over his heart.

The purification didn’t work.

He had failed to escape the demon.

Riarun was still shackled by the demon’s leash, his life faint and fragile.

It felt like the ground beneath him turned pitch black—then thinned away into empty air, plunging him into a bottomless abyss.

Banwes remained silent, but his chest heaved heavily up and down as though he had been holding his breath underwater for a long time.

Regaining his composure had clearly cost him a tremendous amount of mental strength.

And the weight of Riarun’s unspoken question bore down on him like a burden.

Why?

Why are you and I kissing?

“…Because of the demon.”

It was because of the demon.

Because the demon was slowly destroying his body, Banwes—who was half-monster himself—was helping Riarun through a kiss.

At least, that’s what it should have meant.

That’s what the kiss should have been for.

Yet even now, his lips and the nape of his neck still burned hotly.

Banwes, overwhelmed by a confusion he could no longer undo, covered his own mouth with the back of his hand.

His gaze flickered more chaotically than ever.

The alley was strewn with corpses—shattered, bloodied bodies.

Both of them had stood frozen in shock, forgetting even each other’s existence, until a sharp voice snapped them back to awareness.

Banwes was the first to turn his head toward the other end of the alley.

And Riarun, the moment someone appeared from around the corner, pushed himself up from the ground.

“Riarun, are you hurt?”

It was Yurichen, looking surprisingly disheveled.

Who would have thought a High Priest could even run?

His white shoes were scuffed with dirt, his long priest’s robes smelled faintly of the wind, and deep wrinkles marked where the fabric had been caught and pulled along the way.

Still dazed, Riarun accepted Yurichen’s outstretched hand and got to his feet.

The High Priest’s gloved hands carefully, meticulously checked him over.

As he did, Yurichen’s gaze—tinged more with disgust than fear—swept over the corpses littering the ground.

Especially the foul stench of tainted blood, unmistakably mixed with that of monsters, made his golden eyes flare up like hellfire.

The nausea was overpowering.

Yet the moment he saw the massive man standing next to Riarun, Yurichen’s tension visibly eased.

The lingering sense of unease he had felt rushing here finally dissipated.

“So it was you.”

Yurichen sighed as he brushed dirt from Riarun’s clothes.

His white gloves grew dirty, but he didn’t mind—he had no intention of keeping them.

“During the purification ritual, I sensed holy power being pulled toward this area. It was like another current forming on the outskirts of a great storm, siphoning off part of the wind.”

Riarun quickly dropped his gaze to the ground, hiding his stiff expression.

The plan to insert himself into the purification ceremony and expose himself to holy power had succeeded.

But then, why—why was the demon still inside him?

“It seems the holy power reacted to your presence. There was no flaw in the purification ritual itself.”

And yet, how could such an extraordinary High Priest fail to detect the demon within him?

Even after conducting a massive purification ritual?

The ominous force gnawing at his insides—it couldn’t possibly be anything other than a demon.

Then… is the demon inside me so strong even Yurichen can’t do anything about it?

If so, that would mean the demon’s strength rivaled those that had appeared during the Demon War—or perhaps was even comparable to the beings that had possessed the Black Dragon.

There wasn’t even enough time to fully despair.

The world kept moving around him, pushing Riarun forward before he could think.

Yurichen quickly tried to pull the two of them away from the scene.

Riarun tried to take a step—and his knees immediately buckled.

He would have fallen if Yurichen hadn’t caught him.

Naturally, Yurichen turned to look at Banwes.

For a moment, Banwes simply stood there, dazed, to the point it seemed almost suspicious.

Only after Yurichen’s stare dragged on did Banwes stiffly, awkwardly move.

Instead of reaching back to carry Riarun on his back like he usually would, Banwes carefully wrapped an arm around Riarun’s knees, minimizing any direct contact.