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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Silverriver
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I frowned. The wolf’s words included me.
Could it not sense the demonic energy within my body?
“Isn’t there a way to tell if someone possesses demonic energy?”
“[Demons don’t hide their demonic energy. Those who’ve accepted demonic energy into their bodies can’t conceal their desires either.]”
It seemed they didn’t even consider the possibility of concealing it. I cautiously asked,
“What about those who do conceal it?”
“[I’ve never encountered such a being. And demonic energy is inherently malevolent; you can sense it immediately.]”
Hmm. It seemed no one had noticed the demonic energy within my body. I was reminded, once again, of my mother’s extraordinary abilities.
How had she sensed it so easily? I scratched my head, looking at the wolf. It had sheathed its fangs, its killing intent receding. Its form began to dissipate.
“[It seems my time is up.]”
“Will we meet again?”
“[That depends on your actions.]”
Unlike when I arrived, my eyes grew heavy. The owls hooted, and the wolf’s howl echoed through the forest.
“[Oh, and… don’t be too surprised when you wake up.]”
What did that mean…?
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-Rustle…
Medea cautiously approached Deron. He lay there, eyes closed, his expression peaceful. She looked at her hand, then at his, the slave mark clearly visible on both.
She had trembled when she first received the mark, fearing what he might do.
‘But he hasn’t done anything.’
Deron hadn’t touched her. She wasn’t entirely sure about human currency, but she knew 8,000 gold, the price he had paid for her, was a significant sum. And…
Medea looked down at her clothes. The human clothes Deron had bought for her. They fit perfectly, the fabric soft and luxurious.
“He went to Winter Castle…”
The scent of blood on him was stronger. He hadn’t smelled like blood before. Medea had heard of Winter Castle. The mountain range where orcs, ogres, and all sorts of monsters resided. The fortress that guarded the entrance, a place where thousands of orcs were slain every year.
It was understandable that he would smell of blood after visiting such a place. Medea’s gaze fell on his hands, covered in scars, a testament to his time in Winter Castle.
And the metallic scent wasn’t just from the blood of slain enemies. It was the scent of Deron’s own blood. He must have been injured.
‘Hmm…’
Medea hesitated, then carefully rolled up Deron’s sleeve. As expected, the bandages were soaked with blood.
“If I just heal his arm…”
She reached out, and her hair shimmered faintly. The spirits gathered around her, converging on her hand.
“[What is it today?]”
A small child with pointed ears appeared beside her. A cool breeze swept through the forest as it arrived.
“Sylph, can you check on this man’s condition?”
Sylph, the wind spirit. It was only at the intermediate level, but it could communicate. Sylph bowed its head slightly and looked at Deron, then frowned.
“[What’s with this human?]”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“[His aura… it’s welcoming, yet… repulsive.]”
“What?”
Medea frowned, confused. What did that even mean?
Sylph explained,
“[It’s… strange. There’s a… repellent force around him. Lower-ranking spirits probably wouldn’t notice it, but…]”
“So intermediate-level spirits and above can’t even touch him?”
“[No, they can interact with him, talk to him, make requests. But they can’t… connect their mana.]”
Medea looked at Deron after hearing Sylph’s explanation. To be born with an affinity for spirits, yet unable to connect with them…
What kind of curse was this?
“So he can’t even be healed?”
“[I could heal his arm. It’s repulsive, but… it’s your request.]”
“That’s enough.”
Medea carefully rolled up Deron’s sleeve, revealing the blood-soaked bandages. She gently unwrapped them, revealing the wound beneath. Scabs had formed, and it was slowly healing.
His body was fighting to keep him alive.
“What… is this body?”
She stared at Deron’s wound, her eyes wide with surprise. Sylph muttered, equally surprised,
“[Is he blessed by the gods? This is… fascinating.]”
Just then, Deron’s body twitched. Sylph’s eyes widened.
“[W-Why are you here?]”
“What?”
“[Sorry, Christina, I have to go!]”
“Sylph? Sylph?!”
Sylph vanished. Medea’s eyes widened. It had never disappeared so abruptly before…
“Why are you here?”
Medea’s body trembled at the low, familiar voice, a voice she hadn’t wanted to hear. Her eyes darted nervously. She slowly turned her head.
“Answer me. Why did you uncover my arm and remove my bandages?”
The owner of the slave mark, the man whose wounds she had been trying to heal.
Deron Philasia. He glared at her, his face creased with a frown.
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“Hmm…”
I twirled the magic pen in my hand, then looked towards the front of the classroom. Professor Erwin Steinger was lecturing.
Despite his age, his voice boomed through the room. He seemed to be a seasoned lecturer, effortlessly continuing his rather dull lesson. I put down the pen and examined my arm.
Bandages still covered most of my body, but they were no longer needed on my arm, thanks to Medea.
‘I didn’t know she had that kind of ability.’
My body rejected divine power due to the demonic energy within me. So I relied on my body’s natural healing abilities and medicine to recover from injuries.
But Medea had accelerated the healing process, at least on my arm. I flexed my hand. The throbbing pain was almost gone, and I could move it freely.
‘That was… unexpected.’
I hadn’t understood what the wolf meant by “don’t be too surprised.” I hadn’t expected Medea to try to heal my wounds. Not with divine power, but with herbs known only to elves.
The northern forest, despite being frequently visited, was ancient. It still held hidden, potent herbs. Medea had used spirits to gather some of these herbs and treated my arm.
The demonic energy hadn’t reacted, seemingly not rejecting the herbs.
“The history of the Empire is cyclical. The Demon King always appears, and heroes rise to oppose them. Heroes like the Magic Swordsman, Lenox, and the Archmage, Iliad.”
Lenox and Iliad. Familiar names. I turned my head at the mention of them.
“We don’t know if the current Demon King is alive, or if one has yet to be born. Perhaps one will never appear.”
Professor Erwin paused, then continued,
“If this ancient cycle is broken, if the Demon King never emerges, then it would be a blessing. But if not… we will have to choose another hero.”
The atmosphere grew somber. Everyone in the classroom knew the hero’s fate. The hero gained the power to defeat the Demon King, but they couldn’t wield it for long. None of the heroes in history had met a happy end.
“That was a bit grim, wasn’t it? I doubt any of you are destined to be the hero.”
No, wait. Professor Erwin’s gaze shifted towards me.
“Or perhaps… one of us is.”
I met his gaze, my expression impassive. Professor Erwin grinned, then left the classroom.
“Was he always like that?”
His expression had been… unsettling. As if he was scheming something. I frowned and stood up, heading towards my dormitory to see Medea.
Professor Akdin’s descent into madness was supposed to happen around this time. I had intended to prevent it, but I needed to be in peak condition to do so. And Medea could heal my lingering injuries.
I didn’t feel any pain, but it was better to be safe than sorry. As I was about to leave…
“Um… excuse me…”
Someone stopped me. I turned around.
“…Adele?”
“Can we talk, Deron?”
The Saintess stood there, her face grim, her gaze fixed on me.
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