Chapter 45: What are you doing?

...

Salser awoke from his dream to find Jeanne still asleep.

In the bedroom, the fire in the hearth crackled softly, mingled with the rustling of pages turning, as peaceful as a person's breathing in sleep, giving him a sense of comfort. An oil lamp was placed on the desk covered with purple velvet, casting a faint glow that illuminated the desk. Viola was reading, and she heard the sound of carpet and clothing rubbing—the dark wizard had slept on the carpet fully clothed, as he wasn't yet familiar enough with the two in the room to share a bed.

Viola closed the literacy book that Salser had specially copied for her—as she was illiterate and needed to begin by overcoming this challenge—and stepped down from the chair. She crouched beside him, deftly taking out a wet towel from her bosom and handing it to him.

The towel still retained the warmth of body heat, perhaps freshly wrung out.

"By the way, how did you know I would wake up at this exact moment?"

Salser didn't hear her reply; the sound slowly merged into the silence. The little girl stared at him without blinking, her eyelashes sparkling with a few specks of light.

Everything around her and on her was foreign, unnatural, and out of place with her—the Dark wizard's handwritten notes on the basics of the common tongue, the blood gem imprisoning the witch's soul, the bedroom frozen in time by the gods, the beautiful long dress, the noble lady's attire embroidered with rose patterns, the light purple ribbon tied in her braids. Yet, her own silent anguish and the gentle motion as she passed the wet towel were simple and serene, reminiscent of the tranquility she experienced in the house of the small fishing village before the events that led to her present circumstances.

The towel remained warm and slightly damp. After sitting up, Salser accepted the towel and used it to wipe his face.

"It tastes a bit salty?" he muttered, licking it unconsciously.

"It's... it's because I accidentally dozed off and drooled on it," Viola stammered.

Salser looked at her for a while until Viola, blushing, buried her face in her knees, then shook his head:

"Very well, if you insist it's drool, then it's drool."

He had no intention of exposing the fact that the girl had been crying alone. He was really bad at dealing with children—truth above, his first half of life was spent in the military, and the second half as a dark wizard; how could he be good with children?

"Um... it's drool, it's drool," she muttered softly, repeating the phrase.

Salser raised his eyebrows:

"Then, given that I've just licked your drool, it would seem you're destined to remain unwed."

"Huh?"

"You see, traditionally, when a man licks a maiden's drool, she is fated to conceive within ten days and subsequently give birth to a baby, understand?" Salser asked.

"No... that...”

"Have you braced yourself mentally?"

"I heard from my mother when I was little how babies are born, teacher."

Salser was stunned for a moment.

"...A waste of my sentiments."

"But, thank you for comforting me," she said softly, "although, um... your method of comfort was a bit vulgar."

"Go, go read your book," Salser urged, "spare us adults your counsel."

He turned away and began to roll up the blanket he was covered with.

Viola stood up with care. She observed Salser's back for a moment, then tentatively extended her hand and tenderly stroked his black hair. Her hand was slender and soft, exuding a subtle fragrance, characteristic of a little girl's hand.

Following the Dark wizard's momentary rigidity, she turned away, lightly stepping on the carpet with her bare, fair little feet, and sat back in the chair to read.

Being pitied by a little girl... damn it.

Salser sighed silently. Yes, he really wasn't good at dealing with children, especially since he was the protagonist of folk horror stories.

Feeling a bit depressed, he decided to wake Jeanne up, hoping that her pain from being awakened mid-sleep would overshadow his own depression.

He stood up, gathered the blanket, and walked towards the bed, where the woman lay on her side, enveloped in a slightly faded blanket reminiscent of a white shroud. Nonchalantly, he lifted the blanket.

This woman is actually wearing the hostess's nightgown, acting like a princess? He had to sleep on the carpet fully clothed.

Who among us was really here for a camping holiday?

Salser's eyebrows twisted together unhappily.

However, since awakening in the dungeon and their initial encounter, he had never witnessed the Inquisitor without her usual foul face. Now, he saw it—truthfully, he felt that the person in this dream was someone else, or more accurately, it was the first time he had truly seen this woman.

Like a peculiar specter, or a living painting.

Everything in the painting was clear and accurate—from the embroidery stitches at the edge of her nightgown's folds, to her chest gently rising and falling with her breath, to the light blue pulsating veins under her throat, to the curve of her lips that seemed never to smile—yet now it also seemed very gentle.

Her hair scattered over her half-exposed shoulders, over her closed eyelids, over her small nose tip, like scattered ashes, or the moon's shadow akin to a golden snake in a mountain stream, evoking a distant and unfamiliar sensation within him.

The translucent firelight was soft and subdued, like light underwater. As it fell upon Jeanne's face, it cast a gentle radiance, rendering her appearance even more enigmatic than the doll.

Salser knocked on his own head.

He shook his head, shifted his gaze from the woman's face, and glared at Viola who was watching him.

"It's all an illusion."

Salser made the sign of the cross on his chest with an odd sensation... then he frowned.

Jeanne's scroll caught his attention.

The slightly yellow parchment was rolled into a circle, tied with a blue ribbon.

It was magic.

Ancient, bloody magic—this magic reminded him of the Warren of the Forkrul, the Warren of the Jaghut, and the Warren of the T'lan Imass. They were the ancient races, the earliest sapient races in the world, the so-called 'creation races'.

As dark wizards, they could access the Warren open to humans, they could also access the Warren of the Evil gods, but as long as they were still human, they could not access the Warren that were only open to specific races—what this scroll connected to was something humans could not normally access.

He was sure that there was definitely no such thing in the room before he fell asleep.

"Very well, allow me to study what this thing really is—"

Salser exhaled softly, bent down, and reached out to the scroll in Jeanne's hand, carefully holding her right wrist, trying to pry open Jeanne's fingers gripping the scroll.

Damn it, how could this woman hold on so tightly?

He exerted force to pull up those slender, beautiful fingers, as if he were prying apart five iron pipes. The veins on the dark wizard's wrist bulged, his teeth clenched, a stark contrast to the emotionless face he had worn while merely watching her sleeping face.

Damn it, how could this woman have such a strong grip?

"What are you doing?"

Jeanne opened her eyes and looked at him coldly.

"Let me think... a night raid?"

⏴ Previous chapter 丨Main丨 Next chapter ⏵

🔮Discord