PMEVBO 25

“Hah…”

I sighed and took Iser’s hand again. Earlier, startled, I’d grabbed it barehanded, but this time it was my gloved left hand. Thanks to that, it didn’t hurt.

I gently wiped the blood from Iser’s hand with my sleeve, and calmly confessed.

“…I didn’t want you to treat me. It wasn’t just because it hurt.”

“…Then why?”

“I thought you might hate it. But what were you thinking, puncturing your palm? I thought my heart would stop, you little brat.”

I said it playfully, but earlier, I truly thought my blood would freeze. Yet, Iser immediately frowned when he heard my words.

“When did I ever say I hated it?”

Right. Actually, Iser never said that. I just jumped to conclusions.

“You suffered a lot because of that ability. Don’t you hate healing people?”

Iser’s answer to my question was firm.

“I hate it.”

In the dark surroundings, his black-shrouded eyes flickered coldly.

“Every time the duke tried to use my ability however he wanted, I wanted to kill him.”

He wanted to kill him. It was the first time I’d heard Iser use such extreme language. I found myself momentarily flustered, but nodded.

“…I can see why.”

The duke, that bastard worse than a demon, just think of what he did to him.

I lowered my voice and spoke earnestly.

“I’m sorry. I should have hit the duke’s skull harder back then.”

Harder? I should have smashed it over and over.

Iser laughed. In that moment, the dark, damp corridor seemed to brighten like a flower garden at noon. With a smile on his face, Iser said.

“But, I don’t mind treating you.”

It was an unexpected special favor. My heart skipped a beat, but I fixed my gaze on the candle hanging on the wall and forced myself to respond calmly.

“…Oh, really? Thanks.”

Iser pursed his lips briefly before continuing cautiously.

“So, while you’re with me… ask me to heal you. …Okay?”

The boy who’d made me struggle to clear quests because he wanted so little was now looking up at me and making a request. 

I almost nodded without thinking. 

“If you promise not to hurt yourself like you did just now.”

“No.”

His answer left me stunned.

So you’re saying you’ll keep doing this every time I get hurt…?

Iser spoke with a sullen face.

“If you don’t like that, then don’t get hurt in the first place.”

Then, after catching his breath for a moment, he added one more thing.

“…Anyway, there’s less than five days left now. Can’t you even manage that?”

…Right. Farewell was now just around the corner.

────【 Help 】────

Until the next skill activation

D-4 (90h 32m 7s) remaining.

────────────────

Yes, once the skill cooldown’s over, it really is goodbye. But talking like we’ll never see each other again? That’s a bit much.

I feel a little sad.

***

An hour had passed since the banquet ended and they returned to their room.

Atsula sat alone in the room, shrouded in purple smoke.

Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

Tykvana hesitated briefly in the dark room filled with purple smoke, then entered with a frown.

“Why are you here? Want a drink?”

Atsula sat on the sofa, swirling a half-empty glass. A cigarette dangled from his fingertips, its ember still glowing.

Purple smoke curled from the tip. Even in the dark room, it shone brightly, more like light than smoke.

“No, thank you.”

Ignoring the gesture to sit, Tykvana stood stubbornly before Atsula and spoke.

“Just now at the banquet, many people nearly got hurt because of you. You must know how dangerous divine power is. While you’re here at Hayut Castle, refrain from using divine power.”

“Nobody got hurt. So it’s fine, right?”

Atsula shrugged and downed the remaining liquor in one gulp.

“…There is. Someone got hurt.”

“You’re not talking about me.”

Atsula slammed his empty cup down on the table and grinned.

“Looks like you’re worried about that bastard Lucariel getting hurt.”

It wasn’t particularly surprising that Lucariel had saved the butler. Lucariel was, surprisingly, a bastard who was generous to those beneath him.

That’s why he’d bribed the maid to poison him. He’d thought the poor maid might just hand him the food and he’d eat it without question.

‘But he showed no mercy to the maid who tried to poison him. Judging by the fact he killed her.’

Lucariel only acted like a rabid dog toward the clergymen. And not just any a rabid dog, a truly rare breed of bastard.

He didn’t hesitate to bare his teeth at the clergymen. If things went south, he’d bite down regardless of rank. Not even the Pope was spared. Even though His Holiness doted on him so much…

‘…That shameless bastard.’

Lucariel earned his reputation as a scoundrel precisely because he fought like a dog with clergymen day in and day out. But that bastard threw himself in front of a archbishop to protect her? And got hurt doing it?

‘What the hell got into him?’

Atsula twisted the corners of his mouth as he watched Tykvana through the violet smoke.

“Why, are you moved that bastard got hurt saving you? So you’re going to switch your loyalty from His Holiness to him?”

At that moment, Tykvana’s gaze wavered. She quickly regained her composure and spoke in a low voice.

“…Do not insult my loyal devotion to His Holiness.”

But her voice trembled ever so slightly.

Loyal devotion? More like infatuation. What servant in the world looks at their sovereign like that? Watching Tykvana struggle to hide her feelings for the Pope, Atsula snorted derisively.

Tykvana gritted her teeth, glaring at Atsula before turning her head with a long sigh.

“…More importantly, Priest Nebella manifested divine power. I shall report this to His Holiness.”

“Not manifested. Discovered.”

Atsula corrected her, flicking cigarette ash into the ashtray.

“Huh? What do you mean…”

“Divine power manifests by thirteen at the latest. If it doesn’t by then, it never will. Not a single bastard has manifested it after thirteen.”

Divine power belonged to the god, but it was the Pope who first brought it into the human world. This meant the Pope was the very origin of the divine power wielded by the clergymen.

Divine power was proof of inheriting the Pope’s blood, and all who had manifested it thus far were descendants of the Pope. But it had been centuries since the Pope last had a child. So nowadays, even those falsely claiming to be the Pope’s descendants often failed to manifest divine power.

In this age where divine power had become rare, it served as the measure determining a cleric’s rank. Manifesting divine power meant an immediate elevation to bishop status.

So that bastard Lucariel would also rise to bishop rank…

“So, what… are you planning to accuse Priest Nebella of concealing divine power?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Atsula drummed his fingertips on the sofa armrest, baring his teeth in a grin.

“…Yes. Divine power manifests before the age of thirteen. But as you know, divine power isn’t something you can simply hide. So if Lucariel manifested his divine power that long ago, there’s no way he wouldn’t have been discovered.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Atsula nodded obediently.

True to its nature as sacred power, divine power was incredibly difficult to control. It leaked out when emotions ran high, and using it often resulted in self-inflicted injury. That was true for Atsula as well.

Therefore, hiding divine power manifestation was impossible. Generally speaking, that was the case.

“That bastard Lucariel compressed his divine power into a small ball and threw it? And aimed it precisely at the knife.”

“……”

“Do you really think that’s something someone who just manifested divine power could do?”

For a moment, Tykvana’s expression froze.

‘Yes, she’d think that’s impossible.’

Atsula, who had been inwardly mocking Tykvana, took a long drag of his cigarette.

The manifestation of divine power always comes with rampant surges. Especially around the time of first manifestation, it was practically a disaster.

Even Atsula, on the day he first manifested divine power, blew an entire prayer room to smithereens. He’d heard that Tykvana, right before him, had reduced the garden she’d tended with her own hands to dust when she first manifested her divine power.

Yet, at the banquet, Lucariel controlled his divine power as if it were nothing. Whether it was because his innate divine power was weak or because his control was bizarrely excellent, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was…

‘The fact that this bastard, who never showed any sign of manifesting divine power until now, is handling that power.’

To dare hide the power granted by God, how could that not be blasphemy?

‘If Lucariel knew how to wield divine power from the start, it makes sense he nearly killed Bechard.’

Cardinal Bechard possessed great divine power, but he was an eccentric, a half-witted fool in many ways. So, even when told that he’d been defeated by Lucariel, who supposedly couldn’t use divine power, Atsula didn’t doubt it much. He just figured a fool had done a foolish thing. Now, he’d finally found a more plausible explanation.

It was then that Tykvana, who had been biting her lip, stammered out her words.

“…Even after assaulting the cardinal and murdering the maid, His Holiness did not cast out Priest Nebella. He would never cast him out for something so trivial.”

His Holiness’s favor. Just the thought of that phrase twisted his stomach.

According to what was said, the Pope hadn’t kept a single person by his side for the past several hundred years. Except for that bastard, Lucariel, whom he’d personally raised since infancy.

Atsula gritted his teeth. But soon, he opened his mouth with a crooked smile.

“If it’s just the crime of concealing divine power, then yes. But what if that hidden divine power is used to kill countless people? Wouldn’t that be different?”

Atsula crushed the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray and extinguished it. A low murmur escaped between his lips.

“I’ll never let that bastard become a bishop.”

Even after the cigarette was extinguished, the purple smoke still filled the room.