Jeanne tilted her head, staring at the Sarkaz woman sitting next to her. She couldn't quite wrap her brain around why this lady had imdiately started apologizing the second she woke up. Had she done sothing wrong?
Seeing the pink-haired Demon King offer such a heartfelt apology right out of the gate, Jeanne's imdiate, nagging thought was whether all the intense stress from a mont ago had sohow short-circuited the poor woman's brain.
Jeanne cast an anxious, uneasy glance over at Kal'tsit, who was standing right beside them. The ancient doctor was watching the Demon King with a deeply worried expression, but even she looked a bit helpless.
When it ca to injuries of a spiritual or ntal nature, even a polymath like Kal'tsit didn't know the exact chanics. In fact, her grasp on the subject was probably much behind the Demon King's, simply because unlocking the deeper mysteries of the soul required a very specific, innate magical talent.
And Kal'tsit undeniably lacked that specific gift. While her centuries of exhaustive research had given her a decent conceptual understanding of how souls operated, she couldn't instantly diagnose whether the Demon King's mind had suffered permanent damage.
"I am perfectly fine," the Demon King explained gently, noticing the raw concern radiating from the ancient doctor. "My mind was simply caught in a violent backdraft when my witchcraft interacted with Jeanne's soul... It certainly taught a harsh lesson, though. I must be far more cautious when using my arts in the future."
Despite her reassuring words, the Demon King didn't actually try to stand up. Her head was throbbing with a dull, heavy ache, so she chose to remain right where she was—still entirely draped across Jeanne's lap.
Thanks to Jeanne's quick reflexes in swapping her forms—which had violently yanked the Demon King out of that burning hellscape and completely erased the residual ntal corruption—the worst of the spiritual danger had passed. However, Jeanne couldn't do a single thing to alleviate the grueling physical toll left behind by the backfire of the Sarkaz witchcraft.
Jeanne didn't understand the first thing about Sarkaz arts. To her, the only reliable thod for fixing a damaged soul involved folding her hands, offering a deeply sincere prayer, and letting her higher-ups handle the divine healing.
But the woman resting on her was a literal Demon King! Jeanne was genuinely terrified that if she started praying right now, instead of a miraculous wave of healing energy coming down, she might accidentally summon a devastating pillar of divine judgnt right onto their heads. With that terrifying thought in mind, she decided it was best to just sit perfectly still and watch.
Though... could you maybe sit up for just a second? Jeanne thought silently, her inner composure fracturing slightly. My leg is going completely numb... and one of your horns is digging straight into my stomach! At least let shift around a little bit!
Even though she was screaming internally, Jeanne kept her mouth firmly shut. Since she felt entirely responsible for causing this whole ss in the first place, she simply sat there in silence, keeping a protective eye on the pale Demon King, utterly terrified that the older sister might suddenly faint right on top of her.
Co to think of it, Jeanne wondered if it was even appropriate for her to refer to the woman as an older sister. For long-lived races like the Sarkaz, traditional family labels and age gaps were usually an absolute, tangled ss anyway—the kind of dynamic where generations blurred completely out of order.
"Um... Kal'tsit? Would you mind giving a hand?" the Demon King asked, turning a sheepish, pleading smile toward the silent doctor. "My body feels incredibly heavy... I don't think I can actually stand up on my own right now."
She knew full well that the ancient doctor was likely furious with her for taking such a reckless gamble. Looking back on the experience, a cold shiver of dread ran down the Demon King's spine; she had co dangerously close to slipping into that terrifying, dark state the Doctor always liked to refer to as 'corruption.'
Though she still had no idea why the Doctor was so utterly obsessed with that dark concept, she was fairly certain that even if she did turn completely evil, her hair wouldn't magically change color or anything ridiculous like that.
Kal'tsit stared down at the pleading Demon King, letting out a heavy, weary sigh after a long, tense silence. She finally reached out her hands and pulled the nearly paralyzed ruler up into a sitting position.
It wasn't that the doctor's anger had suddenly lted away. Rather, her sharp eyes had noticed that the positioning had been a bit awkward—and the sheer weight was completely cutting off the circulation to poor Jeanne's leg.
Prioritizing Jeanne's physical well-being as a dical professional, Kal'tsit decided it was ti to move the pink-haired weight, even if the Demon King could only manage to sit there limply once hoisted up.
"Your witchcraft completely broke away from your control and backfired violently," Kal'tsit diagnosed, her tone strictly professional yet laced with underlying tension. "Although sothing—or soone—managed to cut off the connection at the critical mont, the sheer overexertion of your Arts has left your muscles entirely depleted. And furthermore..."
Kal'tsit's gaze grew heavy, her expression clouding with a deep, complicated sorrow. She paused for a long, agonizing mont before continuing in a quiet, solemn voice:
"Your Oripathy has worsened significantly. Can you not feel it?"
The ancient doctor watched her closely, deeply concerned that the sudden flare-up of the infection might have dulled the Demon King's physical senses to the point where she couldn't even perceive her own condition.
The Demon King took a slow breath, turning her focus inward. She could feel the heavy, jagged weight of the Originium crystals embedded in her skin pressing down with greater force; the infection had undeniably taken a sharper turn for the worse.
"I can feel it," the Demon King replied, offering a faint, reassuring smile. "But it isn't the end of the world, is it? To suffer nothing more than a minor flare-up after acting that incredibly reckless... I should count myself profoundly lucky."
She couldn't help but feel a bit amused by her own foolishness. She had almost gotten herself killed entirely out of curiosity—an idiotic stunt that usually belonged to the Doctor, not her.
Jeanne sat quietly beside them, listening intently to their conversation. But the mont she heard Kal'tsit bring up the worsening Oripathy, her own curiosity flared up, and she couldn't resist chiming in:
"Wait, Kal'tsit, didn't you buy a massive supply of Holy Water? Why haven't you used it on her yet? If you have that with you, you shouldn't have to worry about her Oripathy getting worse at all, right?"
Jeanne rembered it vividly—the ancient doctor had purchased a staggering amount of the sacred fluid back then! If it wasn't ant to treat the Demon King's critical illness, what on earth had she bought it for?
Hearing the question, Kal'tsit turned her sharp gaze toward Jeanne, silently studying her face to confirm that the girl wasn't playing a joke or rely trying to break the heavy tension. Once satisfied, she spoke in a asured tone:
"We originally intended to administer it imdiately. But given the unique, complicated nature of her heritage, we ultimately decided that absolute caution was necessary. In the end, we chose to hold off on the full treatnt until you arrived in person."
Kal'tsit assud Jeanne's casual attitude stemd from the fact that her Holy Water had never shown any adverse side effects when used on other Sarkaz. After all, during their ergency dical operations in the field, the sacred fluid had consistently healed their infected soldiers without causing a single drop of harm.
In fact, after Babel had secured those precious vials, the miraculous liquid had successfully pulled five elite operators back from the absolute brink of terminal Oripathy flare-ups, and saved the lives of more than ten ordinary soldiers!
However, right when the dical board was deep in discussion regarding a specialized treatnt plan for the Demon King, Kal'tsit had been forced to set out on her grueling journey toward the Ursus snowfields. Ultimately, they decided it was far safer to wait until they could bring the source of the miracle directly to the patient.
No matter how ticulously they prepared their dical equipnt, the safety margin could never compare to having Jeanne herself standing right there in the room, ready to intervene if the energy fluctuated. Since the Demon King's body could still endure the strain for a little longer, they had safely delayed the procedure until today.
"The convoy is almost fully packed and ready to move out," Kal'tsit noted, standing up as she heard the faint, distant echoes of operators calling out her and the Demon King's nas from across the camp. "I need to go over and manage the final departure logistics. I'll have to trouble you to look after this completely immobile person for a bit longer."
With a quick nod, the doctor hurried off toward the main path. The fact that she was willing to leave a completely defenseless Demon King alone in the hands of a relative stranger spoke volus about the absolute level of trust she placed in Jeanne.
Then again, there was a far more practical reason behind Kal'tsit's casual departure: she understood perfectly well that even if the Demon King were at the absolute peak of her mystical power, if Jeanne ever harbored any genuine malice, the entire strength of Babel's elite vanguard wouldn't even be enough to slow the girl down.
The mont Kal'tsit vanished around the bend, the Demon King turned her full attention back onto Jeanne. Her gaze was incredibly complex, swirling with a profound, unreadable intensity that made Jeanne shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
"Uh... look, if there's sothing weighing on your mind, you can just ask directly," Jeanne offered, rubbing the back of her neck with a nervous laugh. "To be completely honest, when you stare at like that, it makes feel a little bit self-conscious."
The Demon King didn't answer imdiately. She simply let the words hang in the air for a long mont, her eyes tracing the lines of the girl's face, before she finally spoke in a soft, awe-stricken whisper:
"There is one thing I desperately wish to understand, Miss Jeanne... How is it humanly possible for you to carry such an unimaginably loud, screaming madness inside your mind, yet still walk through this world with your sanity completely intact?"
Jeanne: "????"
User Comments
0 comments from readers