SOTBW - 232

Gwyneth looked around the bustling living room, which had become much livelier than before. 

Next to the large fireplace, the desk from the dressing room had been placed facing away from the big French window. On it were piles of documents, likely related to the knighthood, stacked so high they made one’s head hurt just looking at them. Around the desk, additional storage cabinets had been added for easier organization of the papers. And... 

As Gwyneth stared blankly at the desk, something sparkling caught his eye underneath it. Normally, he wouldn’t have paid any attention, but the way it glinted in the sunlight felt oddly familiar.

Rising from the sofa, Gwyneth approached the desk and pulled the chair back slightly. There, broken into two pieces beyond repair, lay the holy sword. It seemed Didiña had unintentionally left it there, unsure whether to discard it or not.

Gwyneth’ eyes widened as if he’d been struck on the back of the head. Hastily picking up the broken sword, he wore a look of utter disbelief. How could this happen? He had poured countless efforts into crafting this single holy sword, and now it was shattered?

Furious, Gwyneth glared at the desk. The holy sword was an object that no ordinary blacksmith could destroy, but with Maximón, things were different. Yes, that bastard was more than capable of breaking such a precious holy sword.

Trembling with anger, Gwyneth clutched the broken sword in his hand. This was the very same holy sword he had given to Maximón, who hadn’t used it, instead leaving it hidden somewhere before eventually giving it to Najane one day.

Could it be that Najane broke it to prevent him from going out into the field? Whatever the reason, this act was unforgivable. Gwyneth had poured his heart and soul into forging these swords, yet other knights dared to treat them as mere heirlooms!

Just as his anger was about to boil over, an apology echoed from the kitchen, separated from the living room: “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” It was Najane. Startled, Gwyneth quickly placed the broken sword back under the desk and sat down on the sofa.

Bringing tea was the maid’s job, but Najane had insisted on doing it himself, bringing herbs steeped in hot water. Though the tea tasted bitter, Gwyneth pretended not to notice the broken sword, smiling brightly as he accepted the tray Najane brought.

Fortunately, Najane seemed more energetic than before. As Gwyneth took the teacup, he examined Najane’s complexion and smiled gently.

“I’m glad to see you looking healthier. You haven’t collapsed or anything since that day, have you?”

“Not at all.”

Relieved by Najane’s response, Gwyneth teased him deliberately.

“Hmm, your complexion seems much better. Seems like Maximón is treating you well?”

Najane blushed slightly, embarrassed. Since he didn’t deny it, it seemed his relationship with Maximón was going well. A faint blush spread across his cheeks, bringing life back to his previously gaunt face.

As Gwyneth savored the aroma of the tea Najane had prepared, he gestured toward the desk with a nod of his chin.

“Has that guy been working here lately?”

“I guess he got worried after I coughed up blood a few times.”

Gwyneth’ expression darkened slightly.

“Were the haemoptysis episodes severe?”

Instead of answering, Najane gave a calm smile. Gwyneth sighed softly, wrapping his hands around the warm teacup.

“It must be tough, but hang in there a little longer. There might be a way to save you. I’m still researching, but nothing is certain yet, so I can’t say anything for sure.”

“I’m grateful for everything you’re doing.”

Najane’s words were sincere, not empty flattery. His demeanor suggested he wouldn’t be too disappointed even if a solution to extend his life or eliminate the curse wasn’t found during his lifetime. Gwyneth couldn’t help but feel conflicted. It seemed Najane had already come to terms with his death.

The calmness of someone facing death inevitably made those who would continue living feel sorrowful and lonely. However, Najane didn’t want to dampen the mood. He cheerfully offered Gwyneth some snacks the maids had prepared earlier, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Your Grace, there’s actually something I’ve been curious about regarding my condition.”

“Ask me anything. I’ll answer whatever I know.”

Gwyneth replied readily.

“Does the curse affect every part of my body from head to toe? I mean, not just visible parts like my hands or feet, but other parts as well?”

“Yes, it affects your entire body. For example, if you scratch an itch on your backside and it breaks the skin, the curse will activate to heal it—even for such a minor wound.”

Perceptive as ever, Gwyneth set down his teacup and crossed his legs.

“Did you happen to notice anything strange?”

Najane gave a vague smile and lowered his gaze.

“It’s a little embarrassing to say...”

Trailing off, Najane grabbed the hem of his skirt and then let it go.

“...since yesterday, um, that place has been hurting quite a bit...”

“Hmm?”

Gwyneth repeated, not quite understanding. After hesitating for a moment, Najane pointed toward his lower body before quickly withdrawing his hand.

“I mean... down there...”

Too embarrassed to meet Gwyneth’ eyes, Najane looked away. Gwyneth blinked rapidly, trying to process what he was hearing, and cautiously rephrased the question to confirm his understanding.

“...You mean, the place where babies come out?”

Najane clasped his hands tightly together and nodded vigorously. Gwyneth’ expression grew even more delicate.

“Ah... I see... That place hurts, you say... Hmm, surely it’s not because of Maximón, is it?”

Najane’s head drooped lower, his ears and the nape of his neck gradually turning red. His silence spoke volumes—it was an implicit admission.

Gwyneth felt a tightening sensation at the back of his neck as he pressed hard on his furrowed brow, trying to keep his composure. So, Najane was in pain because of that? The memory of accidentally witnessing an intimate scene between the two flashed through his mind.

Damn beast. Gwyneth swallowed the rising frustration that had almost reached his throat. Seeing Gwyneth’ reaction, Najane panicked and waved his hands frantically.

“Oh no, Your Grace, please don’t misunderstand! He tried to restrain himself, but I asked him to be rougher...”

Realizing too late what he’d said, Najane froze. This only made Gwyneth even more shocked. Flustered, Najane began shaking his head and stammering out an explanation.

“It’s not like I have some kind of masochistic tendency where I enjoy being slapped or stepped on! There was a reason yesterday…”

The more he explained, the stranger the atmosphere became.

Giving up on elaborating further, Najane buried his now-pale face in his palms and summarized what he wanted to say.

“...To put it simply, it’s been a day, and that place still hasn’t healed.”

According to Gwyneth’ explanation, even minor abrasions should have healed instantly thanks to the curse. At first, Najane hadn’t thought much of it and assumed the pain was normal given how intense things had been.

But by morning, something felt off. If the curse was supposed to automatically heal his body, then that area should have been fine by now, as if nothing had happened.

He wondered if psychological factors were making him feel lingering soreness despite the wound healing, so he checked with a mirror—but the skin around that area was still red and swollen. No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t make sense. It wasn’t as though the mysterious curse had eyes; how could it selectively avoid healing certain wounds?

Gwyneth also seemed to sense something odd, rubbing his chin with a serious expression.

“So, what you’re saying is that Maximón left that place in such a state that—”

“A-Ah, no! It’s just a scrape! Like when you fall and graze your skin!”

Najane hastily corrected Gwyneth, startled.

Gwyneth nodded slightly, relieved at the clarification, and then probed further.

“Did it hurt badly enough for you to feel real pain?”

“It stung a bit when I sat down, but technically, that still counts as an injury, right?”

“That’s true. Since it’s injured, theoretically, it should heal according to the rules of the curse... Could it be that during your activities, you pushed too hard, and the shock is why you’re still feeling pain now?”

“Just to be sure, I double-checked before Your Grace arrived, but it was still... swollen.”

“Hmm.”

Gwyneth crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“This is quite peculiar. Does that place still hurt now?”

“It’s just a slight throbbing if I sit without a cushion, but… yes, it still hurts.”

Gwyneth finally glanced at where Najane was sitting. Najane was seated on a thick cushion. It seemed the wound truly hadn’t healed.

Though Gwyneth didn’t think Najane would fabricate such a story, he had personally witnessed the curse activate through Venus. That left him unsure how to process this confusing situation. He had assumed that unraveling the structure of the curse and deciphering the spells within would solve everything—but apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Uncrossing his arms, Gwyneth scratched his forehead.

“There are people I’m working with to research the curse. Would it be alright if I shared this with them? Just so you know, I can’t guarantee anonymity—they already know about you.”

Najane hesitated for a moment. This was an undeniably embarrassing story to share. But if survival outweighed pride, sometimes one had to swallow their shame.

“…If it’s necessary for the research, you may tell them.”

“Thank you for allowing me to share this. Fortunately, the people I’m working with are quite discreet. You don’t need to worry about your story leaking out unnecessarily.”

Gwyneth comforted Najane as he downed the remaining herbal tea in one gulp. The purpose of his visit today was to check on Najane’s well-being. Though he had been irritated a few times because of Maximón, seeing that Najane was doing fine gave him peace of mind, and it was time to return to work.

Najane offered Gwyneth some snacks the maids had prepared as she was leaving. He tried to see her off all the way outside, but Gwyneth insisted he stay, so they parted ways near the middle gate.

As Gwyneth descended the snow-melting hill path, he munched on the snacks Najane had given him.

How had Aron created this curse? Until now, Gwyneth had believed the structure of the curse was the most important aspect.

The concept of the fourth-order structure itself had been revolutionary to them. They thought that once they roughly unraveled it, the rest of the problems would fall into place smoothly. However, Gwyneth and Venus had only succeeded in copying the curse from Najane’s body—they had failed at everything else.

There were many reasons for their failure, but the biggest issue likely lay in the spells embedded within the curse. Only ancient language could be used in the curse, and out of the tens of thousands of Schnellian words known so far, fewer than a hundred had been properly interpreted.

To illustrate how stagnant the research progress had been—ever since the Holy Church became the state religion of Bastronia nearly a thousand years ago, countless theologians had studied the ancient language, yet not a single scholar was capable of holding a conversation in it.