SOTBW - 40

Maximón quietly closed the door and then lifted Najane, who had collapsed on the floor, into his arms. She didn’t say a word, simply crying silently.

He carried her to the bed and set her down before placing a tray of food on the bedside table. On the tray were a bowl of soup with potatoes and mushrooms, along with a few slices of thinly cut bread.

As Najane avoided looking at him, she wiped her tears and spoke in a calm voice.

“...Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Maximón replied calmly. There was no mockery or disdain in his tone, contrary to what she had expected. Only then did Najane meet his gaze.

Maximón looked at her briefly, then handed her the bowl of soup and a spoon. It was the same look in his eyes that she had known before.

After a moment of hesitation, Najane accepted the bowl. The soup was warm.

“Eat.”

“...”

“It’s from Amelia. She’s been really worried about you.”

“Does everyone know about my curse now?”

Holding back her tears, Najane asked the question calmly. A few drops of her tears fell into the soup.

Maximón moved slightly as if to wipe her tears but clenched his fist instead.

“No one knows yet.”

“...Not even Amelia?”

“She probably overheard something when she came to bring you a snack,” he explained.

Najane let out a deep sigh.

“She must have misunderstood a lot.”

“What kind of misunderstanding?”

“That I have... some sort of special relationship with you.”

Najane wiped her tears with her hand and took a spoonful of the soup. There was a faint hint of pepper in it. Pepper was an expensive spice, so Amelia must have been cautious using it without permission.

Sniffling softly, Najane spoke to Maximón.

“I’ll explain it to her so she doesn’t misunderstand. You don’t have to worry.”

“You don’t have to.”

“...Pardon?”

Maximón looked at her for a moment before lowering his gaze. He clasped and unclasped his hands nervously, and then, as though confessing a sin, he spoke.

“I did it on purpose.”

“...What are you talking about?”

“Being cold to you all of a sudden.”

“...”

“I’m sorry.”

It was then that Najane understood what he was saying. The sorrow that had clouded her mind froze into clarity in an instant.

Remembering all the emotional turmoil she had endured, Najane calmly pushed the bowl of soup—Amelia’s soup—onto the bedside table. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she looked directly at Maximón.

“...Why?”

Her voice trembled faintly as she asked the question. Najane tried to stay composed. She had spent so much time believing it was her fault that his attitude had changed, so she thought there must be a clear reason. Perhaps if he explained, she could understand.

But Maximón said nothing. Instead, he averted his gaze as if afraid to tell the truth. Seeing him like that, Najane felt anger surge within her, clenching her fists tightly.

“You’re the worst.”

Tears streamed down Najane’s angry eyes.

“I’ve never met anyone as selfish and cruel as you in my life. Did you enjoy watching me walk on eggshells around you? Did you find it entertaining? Was it fun because I’m cursed and easy to take advantage of? Ha, let me make one thing clear: I’m not some object you can do whatever you want with. Do you think just because I can wield swordsmanship like you, I’m invincible? Do you think I can endure anything? Answer me! Tell me right now why you did it!”

Najane struck Maximón with her fist. The bandages wrapped around her thigh began to stain with blood, the red seeping through. The scent of blood made Maximón’s expression turn to one of alarm as he hurriedly reached out to grab Najane’s wrist.

But Najane immediately shook his hand off. Panting, she cried, and then, suddenly, she laughed.

She pitied herself for having missed him all this time. As Maximón reached out to wipe her tears, she pushed his hand away, her expression growing cold.

“You have no idea how I endured those days.”

For so long, she had thought it was her fault. Even as she resolved not to dwell on him, she would find herself thinking about him again and again, feeling pathetic and frustrated with herself. But not anymore. Najane now realized how much her tears shed for him had been wasted.

How many nights had she cried, blaming herself out of habit? With a bitter laugh, Najane glared at Maximón.

“I finally understand why people avoid you. They all knew you’d hurt them, and that’s why they stayed away. I was just too naive to see it.”

“…Najane.”

Maximón’s eyes showed growing unease. Najane shoved him aside and stood up from the bed.

Her injured thigh hurt so much that standing was difficult, but she coldly rejected Maximón’s attempt to help her, refusing his support. Without another word, she left the room. She could hear his voice calling her from behind, but she didn’t turn back.

She limped down the corridor, each step heavy with pain. Just as she reached the end of the hallway, Maximón rushed in front of her to block her path. He opened his mouth, as though he was about to speak, but Najane cut him off first.

“As of today, I’m leaving Romsoa.”

“Najane!”

“Don’t call my name like it’s an order!”

Her voice rang out like a scream, startling the knights who had been relaxing in the barracks. They came out into the corridor, looking perplexed as they glanced between Maximón and Najane.

Maximón stood frozen in place, staring at her. He looked completely lost, like a child being scolded for the first time.

He reached out a hand hesitantly, but when Najane shot him a cold glare, he withdrew it, hanging his head in shame. Najane, no longer shedding tears for him, walked to the door.

With one final, resolute tone, she addressed him.

“Goodbye, Sir Elgort. I hope we never see each other again.”

________________________________________

“What’s with all the commotion?”

Hearing a sudden woman’s outcry, Gwyneth poked her head out of a window overlooking the hallway. Knights who had been heading up the stairs paused, unsure of whether to advance or retreat.

Leaning halfway out of the window, Gwyneth strained to listen to the voices echoing through the barracks. Someone was coming down the stairs quickly.

“Najane?”

When she saw Najane practically fleeing, Gwyneth was startled. Najane, who had been ready to leave the barracks for good, stopped in her tracks when she heard Gwyneth’s voice.

It was obvious that she had been crying. Her face bore the unmistakable marks of a long and emotional outburst. Concerned, Gwyneth opened the door and gestured for Najane to come inside. Najane, who wanted nothing more than to leave, hesitated but eventually turned back, guilt tugging at her for failing to recognize Gwyneth in the field.

“What happened?”

Gwyneth asked kindly, offering Najane a cup of lemon tea. Instead of answering, Najane simply smiled faintly.

Gwyneth, sensing that further questioning would be futile, glanced at the heavy bag Najane had brought down with her. It looked substantial, the kind of thing someone would pack if they intended to leave for good.

Scratching her nose awkwardly, Gwyneth decided to change the subject.

________________________________________

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Where on earth did you get that curse?”

Gwyneth asked in a somewhat serious tone, her voice filled with genuine concern for Najane’s well-being.

Najane hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should tell the story. Even though Gwyneth was a divine wielder, could she casually share everything she had been through? What if trusting this person led to more trouble?

Thinking of Maximón, Najane ultimately chose to remain silent. Fortunately, Gwyneth didn’t press her for an answer or demand to know. She simply sipped her tea, wearing a warm and understanding smile.

“If it’s too uncomfortable to talk about, you don’t have to say anything. Everyone has their secrets, you know. Me, you, and even Maximón.”

Setting her teacup down, Gwyneth gazed intently at Najane. For a moment, she thought about saying, You resemble your mother, but stopped herself.

Nellis had always been a woman of secrets. Gwyneth had found it surprising when Nellis, who had pledged herself to chastity, adopted two young girls as her foster daughters. Rumors had circulated that those children were somehow connected to Leon, the king of the Elgort Kingdom.

It was said that, since Queen Audelica had been unable to bear children for over ten years, Leon had secretly taken a mistress, and the children born from that affair were placed under Nellis’ protection.

At first, Gwyneth had dismissed the rumors as nonsense—until she met Najane in person.

Najane bore no resemblance to Nellis in appearance, but her cautious yet elegant demeanor was strikingly similar. Upon hearing that Najane could wield sword energy, Gwyneth became convinced that Najane was Nellis’ biological daughter.

Leon and Nellis had likely gone to great lengths to keep their children hidden. After all, Leon had broken his promise to love only Audelica, and Nellis had violated her lifelong vow of chastity to the god Sylin.

“If you’re okay with it, I’d like to examine your curse. Perhaps my knowledge could be of some help.”

“Do you know a lot about curses?”

“Well… I wouldn’t say I know a lot, but as a bishop, I do have access to knowledge others might not. Would you mind showing me?”

Najane hesitated briefly before unbuttoning the top of her shirt. Pulling it slightly down, she revealed the curse mark etched on her chest. Gwyneth, now wearing her glasses, studied the curse carefully, its pattern resembling a constellation.

“This might sting a little,” Gwyneth said as she conjured flames in her empty palm. Startled, Najane flinched—this was her first time seeing divine power up close.

Without hesitation, Gwyneth pressed her flame-encased hand against Najane’s chest. As the palm touched her skin, Najane felt a sharp pain, like being pricked by needles.

At that moment, a strange sound, like flesh tearing, echoed. The curse spread from Najane’s chest to her shoulders and down to her lower abdomen. Shocked, Najane looked down at the areas where the curse had extended. Wounds resembling thorny vines seemed to snake across her body.

Gwyneth removed her glasses and let out a deep sigh. Her gaze, fixed on the curse markings, turned cold.

“I think I owe you an apology, Najane.”

“An apology? To me?”

Najane asked, puzzled.

Gwyneth rubbed her brow, her expression apologetic.

“When we met in the field, I noticed your body was heavily oppressed by the curse, so I tried to ease it a little. But….”

She scratched her cheek, looking genuinely remorseful.

“I think that might’ve backfired. Have you experienced… stronger urges than usual lately?”

“Ah….”

It dawned on Najane that what had happened to her was because of Gwyneth. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel angry. Her mind, in fact, felt calm and composed.

Gwyneth bowed her head and apologized.

“I’m sorry. If I had known how powerful your curse was, I never would’ve done such a thing. I must’ve caused you trouble.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You didn’t mean to,” Najane said with a bitter smile as she buttoned her shirt.

Gwyneth exhaled heavily and took a sip of her tea.

“Do you have any idea who did this to you?”

“Not at all.”

“That is an incredibly intricate curse. There are only a handful of people in Bastronia capable of engraving something like that. Curses are spells devised long ago by those who couldn’t use magic because they lacked innate mana. To activate one properly, a flawless magical formula has to be inscribed directly onto the person’s body. Particularly, books related to such formulas are extremely rare and traded at exorbitant prices, so only a select few people capable of studying such twisted curses could exist….”

“You seem to have someone in mind?”

Najane, adjusting her clothes, looked at Gwyneth with expectant eyes. Gwyneth hesitated briefly. She had a fairly good idea of who might have done this, but the problem was that even if she told Najane, it wouldn’t do her any good.

After some hesitation, Gwyneth raised three fingers.

“There are only three people who could do this. The Pope, Cardinal Albase, and Archbishop Venus. But the Pope is always in the royal palace, so that leaves two others.”

“And the other two…?”

“The Cardinal passed away this spring. So it’s not him.”

As she listened to Gwyneth, Najane’s expression gradually hardened.

“…So it’s this person Venus.”

Gwyneth ran a hand over her face, her expression troubled.

“If your curse were a simpler one, even I wouldn’t have noticed. But with a formula this complex and expansive, it inevitably reveals the identity of its creator. I hate to tell you this, but Venus….”

Gwyneth’s face grew grim, her expression heavy with concern.

“Venus is a strong candidate for the next Pope. That’s why no one dares lay a hand on him.”