SOTBW - 58

Instead of answering, Belshua locked the door. He then unwound the bandages wrapped around his right arm. As the bandages spilled to the floor, the foul stench grew stronger, assaulting their senses. Barely managing to suppress a retch, Gwyneth looked down at Belshua’s arm with a shocked expression.

The entire right arm was engulfed in a dark aura, rapidly rotting away. Gwyneth’s face darkened, and only then did he retract his hand that had been blocking Belshua. This was not something that could be fixed with holy water.

“Sit down. You need a healing spell, right? Ugh, what’s wrong with everyone today?”

Grumbling, Gwyneth hastily pulled a feathered pen and a bottle of holy water from his bag. Belshua slumped down onto the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and extended his withered arm toward Gwyneth. Dipping the pen’s nib into the holy water, Gwyneth muttered the incantation for the healing spell in his mind while seriously warning,

“I’m terrible at this kind of stuff. So don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work.”

“…What are you even good at?”

“Shut up, and don’t even think about thanking me! What’s up with you and Maximón? Can’t you two show some gratitude just because you’re not human?”

Belshua stayed silent in response to Gwyneth’s nagging.

The healing spells were the only hope for humans after magic disappeared.

A force that could be used even without magic. However, to use divine power instead of mana, one had to undergo years of training. A priest could make only about twenty bottles of holy water in their lifetime, but a divine spellcaster could make hundreds of bottles without effort and use spells like curses and healing magic at will.

The problem was that using a spell didn’t guarantee success. The incantations were written in ancient languages no longer in use, and if the slightest detail was wrong, the effects could be completely different, so they were never used lightly.

That’s why most of the so-called curses, like those sold by slave traders, were fakes. Even if someone painstakingly carved them, the effects would only last a day or two. Healing spells, in particular, were much more complicated.

Especially for Gwyneth, he was particularly weak at such intricate work. The only thing he excelled at was hitting and burning things...

Licking his dry lips, Gwyneth glanced at Belshua.

“Let’s start.”

Taking a deep breath, Gwyneth placed the pen’s nib against Belshua’s rotting, discolored arm. As he began to write the necessary incantations, the letters glowed white.

Although theologians were constantly studying ancient spells, only six had been confirmed as effective, including curses. Spells were not all-powerful.

If the spell’s incantation was interrupted midway, no one could predict what would happen, and even if it was perfectly written, nothing might occur.

Moreover, the known healing spells only slightly healed wounds and alleviated pain. Using holy water was far more effective. Gwyneth had heard rumors that the Marquess of Rochelle’s family was desperately working on perfecting healing spells for Rachel, but unfortunately, he hadn’t heard of any success.

Healing spells were certainly a hopeful field in today’s world, but they were also a nearly useless academic pursuit.

No one knew how these spells worked. The person who first created them was Aron Noctis, who, as an Astrun, was born with no mana and couldn’t use magic. However, Aron developed the spells, fought with Serith, and even built the Noctis Fortress.

Aron was the longest-living Astrun and left the most records, but unfortunately, all the books related to the spells were burned, leaving only a few copies. Even those were in poor condition, making interpretation difficult, and all of them were held by the Astien Empire. The reason the Astien Empire was able to protect such a vast territory from Serith was likely due to the sacred relics they owned, a few successful defensive spells they had interpreted, and the Immortal Mackanon.

Gwyneth, anxious about whether the healing spell would succeed or fail, carefully moved the pen’s nib. The overwhelming stench of decay nearly made him faint several times, threatening his focus.

“You managed to hide this from everyone?”

“Most people can’t even smell it.”

“How did this happen? Did you use magic?”

“…”

“Unbelievable, you did use it. Are you out of your mind? Using magic on a cursed body?”

Gwyneth laughed incredulously.

Belshua sighed and began to explain.

“I had no choice.”

“How did you end up using magic?”

“…When Najane fell off the cart.”

He had also fired arrows to try to catch their ankles, but he didn’t feel the need to mention that.

In truth, Belshua hadn’t planned on protecting Najane. He had intended to keep the cart from leaving the barley fields until Maximón arrived, but as soon as he saw Najane floating in the air, he had cast a protective spell without thinking.

It was a mistake, but at the same time, it was the one thing Belshua had desperately wanted all along.

Just once, he wanted to help her, so that she wouldn’t suffer so much.

Belshua had wanted to reach out many times as he watched Najane either be murdered or take her own life, but he always stopped himself, thinking he shouldn’t disturb the flow of things. For thousands of years, he had seen Najane’s horrible deaths, and somewhere along the way, that wish had quietly settled in his heart.

“Just asking, but you didn’t plan this, did you?”

Gwyneth asked in a vague tone, but Belshua understood immediately and responded right away.

“Why would I?”

“Well, since you answered so quickly, I guess it’s not you.”

“…Don’t get involved with them.”

“Why not? I just wanted to help since I feel sorry for Najane. Unless, maybe, those two are also involved with Seriths, like you? If so, I’ll back off. I don’t want to mess things up.”

Gwyneth spoke as if offering a favor.

Belshua glanced at the spell that had come down to his forearm before turning his head away.

“Do you know what fate is?”

“The kind of fate that’s predetermined, something like an unchangeable, absolute relationship.”

“That’s what Sylin made for Maximón and Najane.”

“What?”

“There used to be no such thing.”

Belshua had hoped that Maximón would fall in love with Najane at first sight.

He thought that it was something that had to happen, just as Sylin had intended. No matter how much time passed, he believed that Maximón was the one who had to recognize Najane...

But when Maximón’s reaction was less intense than he expected, Belshua thought he had “failed to create fate.”

Honestly, Belshua was disappointed in Maximón. If it had been Belshua, if he were the true protagonist of this story, he would have embraced Najane the moment he met her and kissed her. He would have delighted in recalling the moments from thousands of years ago, when he was with her, as the unfamiliar memories slowly returned to him.

He would have loved and cherished her body every day. He would have blinded her so that no one could see, bound her hands and feet to prevent any man other than himself from touching her.

Belshua often reminisced about the past when he felt lonely. He should have run away with her when the Seriths first started to wreak havoc.

He would have created a cozy island at the end of the world, locked her there, and made her a blind fool...

With his eyes closed, Belshua tilted his head, wearing an unreadable expression. Gwyneth, startled by Belshua’s words, quickly focused again on finishing the spell. He was so shocked that he almost withdrew the pen nib.

This was the first time Belshua had mentioned Sylin.

When the Seriths reappeared, it was at the Vatican that Belshua had met him. Gwyneth couldn’t even describe how shocked he was to see Belshua. He had heard that the Seriths were unleashed from their seal, and a search party had been dispatched to follow Mahilen, but to learn that the one behind it was at the Vatican…

But Gwyneth couldn’t ask the Pope anything. The Pope didn’t allow questions. He simply told Gwyneth to observe what Belshua was doing at the Noctis Fortress.

At first, it sounded like an order to watch him closely, but what it really meant was to observe from afar.

Gwyneth, driven by a sense of mission to help people as a divine power user at such a young age, had kept a close watch on Belshua. He often asked about the Astrun and Seriths.

He thought that if he found the answers, it might help save the world. But Belshua was a man of few words. So when he joined the Romsoa Order and fought against the Seriths, Gwyneth thought he must have lost his mind.

Was he planning to fight because of the guilt of failing to guard the seal?

Now, thanks to Maximón, the Romsoa Order was considered the strongest, but back then, it had neither reputation nor skill.

Gwyneth had asked Belshua why, out of all the orders, he chose to join Romsoa. Normally, Belshua would have ignored the question, telling him not to bother, but that day, perhaps in a better mood, Belshua had answered without hesitation.

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“Who?”

“The ones who used to wield me around.”

And a few months later, Maximón, who had been appointed as a knight, was assigned to Romsoa. Two non-humans in one order. Gwyneth thought it was too coincidental to be a mere accident, but he didn’t press the truth.

After all, he knew he wouldn’t get the answer he wanted. But this time, he couldn’t hold back his question. Sylin, the living universe itself, had created fate for Maximón and Najane.

“Are you saying that their meeting was fate? Or…?”

As Gwyneth withdrew the pen from Belshua’s wrist, a brief flash of light flickered before the trembling of Belshua’s withered right arm gradually ceased. The spell had succeeded. Gwyneth finally dropped the pen and collapsed to the floor.

As the tension drained away, a long sigh escaped him. Wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead, he glanced at Belshua. Belshua had already fallen asleep. It was the effect of the healing spell. Perhaps after a nap, even if the arm didn’t fully recover, the rotten skin would improve considerably.

“What’s the point of living for thousands of years if you’re like this? Being stronger than humans doesn’t mean anything. One’s a troublemaker, the other is like a child, needing so much care. There’s a limit to how much you can make an old man work…”

Groaning, Gwyneth got up and patted his shoulder. In his desperation to succeed in the spell, he had used too much divine power to heal just one arm. Of course, as a divine power user, a little rest would quickly alleviate the fatigue.

Gwyneth stood hunched over and looked down at Belshua. He wanted to wake him up and slap his cheek, but since Belshua had used magic for someone else, he decided to let it slide, finding it admirable.

He wanted to stay by his side until he woke up, but…

Opening the window without pulling the curtains, cold air rushed in. Gwyneth, who had been breathing through his mouth, couldn’t stand the foul stench filling the room and, as if escaping, rushed outside.

In the room left with only Belshua, the sharp sound of winter wind slicing through the air like a thin blade echoed. The north wind passed over Belshua’s sweating forehead due to the pain, but he didn’t wake up.

The wind blew fiercely, causing the curtains to flap.

She suddenly appeared from somewhere. A woman with striking red hair that reminded one of the blazing sun.

The woman casually crossed her legs while sitting on the edge of the bed. Her emerald green eyes glimmered clearly as they gazed at Belshua. Every time the curtain fluttered in the wind, sunlight poured in, but there was no shadow to be found on her.

The woman rested her chin on her palm and watched Belshua, who was deeply asleep. Her gaze moved to his right arm, which had bulged with muscle, now recovering after being severely injured. Silently, the woman stood up and gently ran her fingers over the damaged arm.

As she touched it, the withered arm quickly regained its original state.

As the faint pain that had been tormenting Belshua eased, his expression relaxed, and the woman looked down at him with a giggle. Her laughter was like watching a friend trip over a rock and laughing at their mistake.

“Such a fool.”

The woman murmured softly before her figure gradually faded away like mist.

Just as suddenly as she had appeared, she vanished in the blink of an eye.

Belshua was once again left alone.

Just like always, for the past thousands of years.