HPV 99

From the start, Banwes had never known how to fight like a human.

So how fitting it was—a battle of monsters between monsters.

The entire temple building trembled, and the underground collapsed. With a thunderous roar that seemed to flip the very earth, every pillar was shattered.

Banwes exposed his own vital point to the beast to keep the frail body lying on the ground from being swept away.

The beast sank its teeth into Banwes’ side. As the man flinched from the pain, the monster pried open the wound and repeatedly stabbed into it with blade-like claws. His flesh, shredded and tattered, was on the verge of being torn away.

Even as a beastly wail rose from his throat, the man did not fall. His eyes remained wide open.

You cannot kill me. You’ve never been a monster. You’ve never lived as one.

Even though you’re more of a monster than I am, you’ve never been called one. Instead, they worshiped you as a divine leader and gave you everything you wanted.

That’s how you dared to lay your hands even on someone who should never have been touched.

The fierce struggle that had shaken the entire underground reached its climax. Banwes leapt onto the monster’s back, seized its jaw with both hands, and screamed as he poured out every ounce of strength. At last, the jaw was torn wide open.

The massive body, now separated from its head, tipped over with a groan. A thunderous crash echoed through the underground chamber.

At that moment, the necklace that had hung from the limp body snapped on its own.

“……!”

Banwes bent forward, gasping raggedly. A burst of divine power, like a fire consuming his entire body, pierced the space around him.

The beast’s corpse lay still, and its rotting, festering soul was swept away and extinguished by the holy power released from the shattered necklace.

Riarun’s half-closed eyes and unnaturally limp body betrayed the truth—his bones had all been broken. He didn’t stir. He could no longer feel pain.

Banwes couldn’t bear to touch him with these disgusting, monstrous, violent hands.

The monster’s desperate cry rang through the underground and reached even the upper levels.

Fortunately, the painful wait was not long. The holy knights finally found a way into the underground. Hearing the creature’s cry, they rushed down the stairs, their boots clattering.

People arrived. The monster stopped crying and pointed to Riarun’s collapsed form.

Pushing past the paladins, Yurichen, his clothes disheveled, stepped forward. He approached Riarun quickly and knelt beside him, barely needing help.

The holy knights who had been aiming their spears at the monster witnessed an unexpected sight.

A wounded beast, unable even to hold the one thing it cherished most, simply curled up and hugged itself, as if that were all it could do.

While running to the temple, Yurichen had imagined this scene. It was all that filled his mind.

What could have happened to Riarun in this place? And what might still be happening to him even now?

Constant beatings that never left his body free of bruises. Verbal abuse. Starvation until he was skin and bones. That smiling, cheerful face always carried an undercurrent of low self-worth.

He had never truly escaped those days when he clutched at his only comfort—his long hair.

Right now, Yurichen poured every ounce of his soul into prayer. He didn’t care if it was a spirit, a god, or even a demon.

If only someone would hear his prayer now. If only no price would be demanded from Riarun.

May someone kinder and warmer than me love Riarun from this moment on.

A beast-like sob burst from the monster’s throat. Yurichen closed his eyes tightly and accelerated the healing.

Any physician would have declared Riarun already dead. But it wasn’t over yet.

When a person dies, the body may seem still, but the thread of life lingers for a few minutes.

He had to bring back that broken breath.

From the extremities of the body where life had faded, he gently pushed divine energy back in. It was far more taxing than ordinary healing—dozens of times more. He spent nearly all of his sacred power. Sweat beaded on the High Priest’s forehead and temples.

Finally, he opened his eyes wide and let out a sigh of relief.

“Banwes. Come and see. Riarun is alive. It’s thanks to your sacrifice.”

The monster jolted and raised his body.

From his wounded body, a grotesque arm extended and slammed into the ground. Using it to drag himself forward, another arm followed. He crawled across the floor to reach Riarun.

Riarun’s delicate nose twitched, drawing in air with shallow breaths. Slowly, his breathing evened out, weak but steady.

The man collapsed onto his chest and wept again. He cried like a child, his grotesquely swollen chest heaving with sobs.

The holy knights stood dumbfounded, staring at the monster. None of them could utter a single word.

***

Yurichen, though unable to see, tended to Riarun with utmost care—wiping away his sweat and bringing down his fever.

There were two gravely wounded. However, in Banwes’s case, even Yurichen’s mere approach worsened his injuries, so they had no choice but to rely on natural recovery.

The healer capable of treating him showed no progress in recovery.

Still in his monstrous form, Banwes crouched on the bare floor, fearing he might crush the furniture, and stared through a crack in the door at the bed.

Through that narrow gap came the sound of Riarun gasping—choking in a fit, unable to regain consciousness.

The mental shock from the shattered geas—brainwashing placed by Hankanera—had damaged Riarun’s mind. Yurichen tried to ease it through soul communion, but even that was shut out.

Riarun had grown so weak, his aura faint, as if even the strength of spirits no longer lingered in him. He curled up, trembling, occasionally convulsing.

He would either sob or lie still as death. Even when conscious, his eyes were unfocused, unable to recognize Yurichen. Holy power did no good either—he reacted as though divine energy itself reminded him of Hancanera, provoking fresh seizures.

Restraint made it worse. Even the lightest touch to keep him from hurting himself sent him spiraling into panic, screaming from the sensation of being confined. They had to burn calming incense to settle him, but even then, it was less sleep than collapse from exhaustion.

Each time Riarun twisted on the bed, Yurichen broke into a cold sweat, feeling as if he aged ten years.

He had never regretted the limits of his power—until now. If only he were more skilled in soul communion.

[“So what do you plan to do?”]

An artifact that hadn’t yet run dry of magic repeated Penzey’s voice.

“If there’s no improvement by tomorrow, I’ll summon High Priest Daamil.”

Honestly, Daamil’s divine power wasn’t especially superior to his own.

But the man’s generous heart and excessive compassion gave him a profound understanding of others. He was a master of soul communion and a renowned healer who mended both body and spirit.

[“Can even a high priest summon another high priest?”]

“If it’s High Priest Daamil, I believe he’ll answer. But he’s likely busy in the duchy, so proper channels might not suffice. We may need to bring Riarun to meet him halfway.”

[“Can he even be moved?”]

“It’s difficult. But if we leave him like this, he’ll only weaken further. He’s stopped eating entirely.”

They’d tried feeding him something soft, but Riarun now couldn’t swallow even a single spoonful.

Banwes watched from a distance in despair. Rage simmered inside him. Wasn’t he supposed to be such a great healer? Then why couldn’t he fix this?

Yurichen listened silently to the man’s resentment. And only once he’d heard it all did he finally speak.

“Banwes. Please stay by Riarun’s side.”

The man who had blamed so freely was at a loss for words.

“This is, in my judgment, the best possible treatment… No, the only treatment.”

There was a long silence. At last, Banwes confessed his true thoughts, in a voice so small and low it hardly seemed his own.

I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.

“Why do you think that? Can’t you control your strength?”

Banwes recalled. It did take a tremendous amount of effort to restrain his power—but he had never failed. Not once.

Even during intercourse, when his reason blurred, he had never harmed Riarun. It hadn’t been painful, nor impossible.

“Does the orc race carry poison in their blood? Is even a touch harmful?”

He had no retort. Banwes simply shut his rugged mouth and said nothing.

And then, he was pushed into Riarun’s room. The door shut behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

“……”

Banwes looked down at his body, still half monstrous.

There was no other choice. He was a wounded man wrapped in layers of bandages. If he were to cut away his monstrous flesh now and leave it to natural healing, it could cost him his life.

In the end, he got into bed in his monstrous form and embraced Riarun.

He gently loosened Riarun’s curled-up limbs and pulled him into his arms. The fragile body clung weakly to his own. Riarun’s frame felt especially small, warm, noticeably thinner—and so soft and pitiful that it made a soundless sob rise in his throat.

Riarun, like a baby bird finding its mother’s nest, quieted. He occasionally whimpered or gave a little twitch, but gradually, the spaces between movements lengthened.

Eventually, he slipped into a deep, long sleep.