Chapter 67
It was hot.
“W-water…”
Cool water trickled into my dry mouth. I felt a little more alive. Through the hazy mist, someone was looking down at me.
He sighed and turned away. Afraid he would disappear into that gray background, I grabbed him.
Don’t go.
“Roy, Roy?”
Don’t go. Don’t go…
I used all my strength to clutch his cold hand.
I’d had a fever this bad before. Which round was it? Was it during the plague on the expedition in the first life? Or in the second life, after torture in the underground prison? I’d been so sick I thought I might die.
Back then, I hadn’t realized the pale fluttering in my mind was a sign that death was near. More than the pain tearing through me, it had been lonelier that no one was there to take care of me.
I had missed my family—because at that time, I still remembered them.
“Roy. Are you coming to your senses?”
I forced open my heavy eyelids, but my whole body only shook like a boiling pot lid.
He brushed my forehead.
“Just a little longer… You drank the antidote, so you’ll be fine… The treatment went well, but the arrow went in deep…”
The low, steady voice echoed in my ears, supporting me. He was here, by my side.
“I’m glad I carried the antidote in case you were poisoned again like before. So hold on a bit longer.”
But it was too hot.
Panting, I pressed his cold hand against my burning face, lips, and chin. The trembling in my teeth eased a little. Big hands. Warm, but not scorching. Human warmth. But still… I needed more.
“R-Roy? Hey.”
Yeah. Keep talking. Anything sounds good right now.
“Why are you sucking on my fingers… Roy, stop. Stop sucking.”
I’m thirsty. They’re cool… wet.
“What the—what is this…?”
What was it again? Ah—right.
Ice cream. That’s it.
Inside, I cheered. Outside, only a dry rasp escaped. His calloused thumb tilted my chin, brushing my lower lip. Big, rough hands, yet so careful. I licked at the cool moisture with my parched tongue.
His grip on my shoulders tightened, then eased. I realized I was being held against a strong chest and back, rising and falling with his breath.
Ah… I’m in his arms.
Shapes formed in the haze—his voice, his hands, his arms, chest, legs… the beat of his heart and his breath against my cheek.
A droplet fell on my face. I blinked and met his gaze—deep amber eyes, like a midday sun.
“Te…ssarion…”
“……!”
His golden-silver eyes flared, pupils shrinking. He frowned, tugging one corner of his lips.
“You still haven’t fully come to your senses.”
Wow, even your rudeness shines. Cold, hard… perfect for cooling me down.
I burrowed deeper into his arms. My leg felt numb, tingling, almost not my own.
“Hhh… ugh…”
His hand fixed my head firmly against his chest. The scent of wet earth and wood mixed with his warmth. I bit the edge of his damp shirt.
My hot, shallow breaths gradually slowed. Just as fatigue crushed my sharpening senses, his thumb gently stroked my cheek.
Not a brush—he lingered, touching my lashes, repeating the motion. It kept me awake. I frowned and flinched, telling him to stop.
“Don’t fall asleep. Once the water level lowers, we’ll cross the bridge. Stay awake.”
Bridge? Then… where are we?
I forced my eyes open. Over his shoulder, I saw an old wooden ceiling coated in dust. Hunting trophies—stag antlers, pheasants—bows, crossbows, and traps hung on the walls.
It was the gamekeeper’s cabin. The heavy noise was the downpour hammering the roof. It had been raining since the afternoon—enough to flood the valley and submerge the bridge.
Poisoned arrow, dark magic, torrential rain, gamekeeper’s hut.
This was exactly the midpoint episode of a typical possession novel.
Why had it come this early? And why was I in Berieta’s place?
But more importantly—
I looked up at Tessarion. He blinked.
“Why?”
“….”
His face and hair looked so white. Reflection. The light source was me.
I raised my glowing left hand. The holy sword’s mark shone faintly.
“The holy sword…”
I remembered drawing it, Tessarion taking it, cutting my flesh… Then nothing.
He held my hand up, showing the mark.
“It’s here.”
Why was it glowing like a lantern when I hadn’t drawn it? Was the story itself breaking down, making the sword malfunction?
“After pulling out the arrow, the holy sword vanished. But when I gave you the antidote, it lit up and spread its wings. Why? Is something wrong?”
Plenty wrong…
I glanced at the cloaks hanging nearby, dripping water onto the floor. My thin shirt clung transparently. At least I had pants on this time.
The antidote had saved me, but now I was shivering.
“C-cold…”
So cold it felt like my bones were freezing.
Tessarion grabbed my convulsing feet and rubbed them. The mix of numb heaviness and burning pain was unbearable.
“Ugh!”
He jerked back, visibly flustered—unlike him.
“Does it hurt?”
I couldn’t answer. Clenching my teeth, I endured the storm of pain. My head throbbed like molten iron, my legs frozen solid. The chills returned.
Tessarion hugged me tighter. The glow dimmed and brightened with his heartbeat. My mind flickered the same way.
He drew a deep breath and clasped my hand to his lips.
“Roy.”
Tessarion was trembling too. White breath puffed from his lips. Not just my sickness—the hut itself was freezing. We needed a fire.
He rubbed my arms, squeezed my cold hands.
“It’s okay. Just hold on a little longer.”
Can’t you just knock me out? This feels like I’ll suffer right up until the edge of death.
“M-my leg… s-so cold… Duke… s-so sleepy…”
“I know. But don’t close your eyes.”
“Hhh… ugh…!”
