Chapter 47
Carlos’s face grew grim.
“Let’s get you treated first.”
He took my right hand, gauging its condition, and said in a low voice,
“That’s probably for the best.”
I nodded, and Carlos guided me forward, pushing through the corpses of the unbelievers.
Heading straight down the mountain with my hand in this state was impossible, so we occupied a room in the heretics’ hideout and fetched a first-aid kit.
But in truth, there wasn’t much to treat.
There was no fresh wound—just an old injury flaring up again.
“Let’s immobilize it for now,” Carlos said, pulling out a splint.
“It’s not broken.”
“It might as well be.”
His tone was sharper than usual. Realizing it, he pressed a hand to his forehead.
“…My apologies.”
“It’s fine. You’re just worried about me, aren’t you?”
Carlos gave me a strange look.
“What is it?”
“I just realized… I’m not doing this because I’m worried about you.”
“What? So you didn’t get mad out of concern for me?”
“No. I didn’t.”
His answer was so firm it almost stung.
“Your hand, please.”
Though a little sulky, I offered it. He treated me carefully and with surprising skill.
“You’re pretty good at this.”
Carlos looked up, still holding my hand.
“When I was young, I had to treat all my wounds myself. We couldn’t afford a doctor.”
His casual tone contrasted with the weight of his past, and I froze for a moment.
“This is the first time you’ve told me about your childhood, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
He went back to wrapping my hand in silence, leaving me no room to pry further.
A while later, the bandaging was done, the splint secure. I stared at my fixed-up hand curiously.
That was when he said,
“Once we’re back in the capital, you should visit the Saint.”
“The Saint? Why?”
“Divine power would heal it better. Especially with the third subjugation coming up.”
“Sir Ivach,” I ventured, “what do you think of the Saint?”
He blinked, startled.
“Don’t get me wrong—it’s nothing weird. I was just… curious.”
“Just curious? About what, exactly?”
I hesitated. Knowing the original story, I expected him to end up with her, but from his point of view, having his commanding officer nosing into his love life would be absurd.
Before I could recover, he said,
“If you’re asking about the Saint’s recent behavior… I also find it suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“The Saint has completely changed. She used to be noble and benevolent, but at the illegal auction…”
“She acted recklessly. Lied without hesitation,” I added.
And she had made questionable requests to the sub male lead.
What Carlos said stuck with me—completely changed.
Could the Saint be like me—a transmigrator or a regressor? Or was I overthinking?
“Do you have any idea why she’s changed?”
“No.”
He tilted his head, then said,
“Let’s go. I hear someone calling for you outside.”
I followed him out.
“Captain! We’ve captured the remaining heretics. Not many survivors this time,” Cesare reported.
“We’ll wait at the camp below the mountain for the escort, then return together.”
I almost patted his shoulder, but remembered my splinted hand.
Others glanced at it with concern, and I realized how much had changed—months ago, no one would have cared. Not all the looks were kind, though; Gilbert and Melk’s glares were hard to miss.
After handling the final cleanup, we descended the mountain. At one cliffside, Carlos smoothly stepped in front of Cesare to offer me his hand without a word.
The next day, the escort team from the First Knight Order arrived.
“Good work,” said Sir Kruger, extending his hand.
“I’d shake, but… as you can see, I’m injured.”
He blinked at my splint.
“That’s a problem.”
“Why’s that?”
“If Sir Elia’s injured, our captain will—ah… never mind.”
I wanted to ask, but Kruger wouldn’t budge.
We escorted the heretics to the prison outside the capital, then finally headed home.
“Go to the temple first,” Carlos said, glancing at my hand. “If the High Priest is available, see him instead of the Saint.”
I, too, preferred the High Priest over the suspicious Saint.
But luck was not on my side.
“The High Priest is away in the provinces… I’ll inform the Saint,” the cleric told me.
I had no choice but to accept. Divine healing was always done publicly, and the Saint could only perform miracles of healing—she couldn’t try anything else.
This might be a good chance to learn more about her.
I waited in the reception room until the door finally opened—
and the Saint appeared.
