SOTBW - 233

The reason for such a lack of progress is surprisingly simple.

There’s an ancient word, “Amos,” which means “soul.” However, poets and musicians of that time used the same word to mean “breath” instead of “soul.” Meanwhile, soldiers, knights, and magicians used “Amos” not as “soul” or “breath,” but to mean “spirit.”

This raises a question: What do poets and musicians call a “soul”? They call it “Peluma.” Soldiers, knights, and magicians, on the other hand, referred to the soul as “Shugenia.”

What’s even more shocking is that the languages used by magicians from noble families, merchant households, commoners, and even peasants were all different. Moreover, regional dialects existed, varying by class, occupation, and location. If everyone spoke such vastly different languages depending on their social standing, occupation, and region, how on earth did people in the Schnellian Kingdom communicate with one another?

Memorizing all those languages is impossible. Who knows what made their language so complex and intricate, but because of it, descendants are still wandering in confusion, unable to find any leads despite centuries of research.

If only Aron’s original diary had survived, they could have cross-referenced it with the translations made by his disciples. But since everything was lost, researchers are left with only the materials excavated from ruins.

Crunching loudly on the snack, Gwyneth scrunched up his face in frustration, clearly disliking the headache-inducing complexity of it all, when he spotted a burly man approaching the residence. It was unmistakably Maximón Elgort.

Maximón ignored Gwyneth completely. Gwyneth, brushing off crumbs from his hands, smacked Maximón hard on the back with all his might.

Caught off guard by the sudden attack, Maximón’s expression hardened. But Gwyneth didn’t care and hit him twice more. Maximón stared at Gwyneth as if he were insane—though it didn’t hurt, his expression clearly showed irritation.

Feeling much better after venting his frustration, Gwyneth popped another piece of Najane’s snack into his mouth and pointed a finger at Maximón.

“Don’t torment Najane too much, you beast. Honestly, you have no conscience. How Najane ended up entangled with someone like you…”

Gwyneth snorted dismissively at Maximón, who looked utterly baffled, and continued down the path. Though hitting him this much wasn’t nearly enough considering the broken holy sword, Gwyneth was busy, so this would have to suffice.

Left confused and unjustly attacked, Maximón mulled over Gwyneth’ parting words. Could it be that yesterday’s rough session caused something to go wrong with Najane’s body? Misinterpreting Gwyneth’ words, Maximón’s face darkened with worry.

The murderous intent he had harbored toward Gwyneth fizzled out like a flame doused with water. Hurrying up the hill, Maximón entered the residence. The soldiers guarding the place greeted him respectfully, but he paid them no mind as he walked inside.

Najane was tidying up the empty teacups onto a tray. Why was she doing this herself when the maids should have been handling it? Maximón glared down the hallway connected to the kitchen. The maids standing there flinched under his sharp gaze and backed away nervously.

Just then, Najane noticed Maximón and smiled brightly.

“You’re here? You’re a bit late today.”

At her greeting, Maximón’s previously tense expression softened. He quickly took the tray from her and examined her body with a worried look.

Najane stared at him, bewildered, as he scanned her. Fortunately, she seemed much the same as the day before.

Relieved, Maximón handed the tray to one of the maids. A young maid approached cautiously, trembling as she took the tray from him. Seeing how frightened the girl was, Najane gently pinched Maximón’s arm.

“Don’t scold her. I insisted on cleaning up myself.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were glaring at them just now. If you keep intimidating them, I’ll feel bad for the maids.”

When Najane said things like that, Maximón was left speechless, no matter how many excuses he might have had.

“…Alright, I won’t do it again from now on.”

The younger maids silently marveled at how skillfully Najane reprimanded Maximón. Najane turned to the cluster of maids gathered around the tray and spoke kindly.

“Girls, take care of that and then go rest for a bit. You’ve all worked hard.”

At Najane’s words, the maids beamed and hurried to the kitchen. The faint sounds of clinking teapots and cups being washed echoed softly. Najane tugged on Maximón’s arm to distract him from worrying about the maids and pulled him over to sit on the sofa.

From what the guards had told her, the fields had been quiet again last night. Where on earth had the Seriths disappeared to? Were they planning to catch everyone off guard once more and launch another absurd attack?

The mere thought of those cruel, horrifying monsters caused Najane’s brow to furrow in tension. Noticing this, Maximón pressed his fingers firmly against her tense forehead. Startled, Najane relaxed her expression.

“You were lost in thought, even with me right here.”

“To be precise, it wasn’t exactly a wandering thought…”

Najane didn’t want Maximón to fight so hard against the Seriths. She could no longer go out into the field. He had always been capable of fighting well on his own, but the fact that they couldn’t share life-and-death struggles in the same space left Najane feeling a deep sense of deprivation.

However, she didn’t explain these feelings to Maximón. Instead, she simply smiled faintly, refusing to reveal what she had been thinking about.

Maximón held her gaze for a moment before gently placing his hand on her flat stomach. As he carefully stroked her lower abdomen, Najane tilted her head in confusion.

Only after confirming that there was no other life growing inside her did he finally relax. Najane stared at him, utterly baffled. Had he been checking if yesterday’s food had fully digested?

With an expectant look, Najane fixed her persistent gaze on him, silently urging him to explain why he had touched her belly. But Maximón had no intention of bringing up the pregnancy rumors circulating among the knights. All he wanted now was for her to live peacefully without worrying about anything.

Avoiding her gaze for a moment, Maximón subtly pulled her slender waist closer into his arms.

“Was there any particular place that hurt while I was gone?”

Perhaps Gwyneth’ earlier words about hitting his back were still lingering in his mind, because Maximón fidgeted with her small hands as he asked. Najane hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to mention the swollen area, but ultimately shook her head.

However, the sharp-eyed Maximón noticed her brief hesitation and tightened his grip around her waist. If she didn’t tell him where it hurt, he seemed ready to strip her right then and there.

Feeling the gradual increase in pressure from the hand encircling her, Najane shot him a sidelong glance.

“...Why are you doing this?”

“I know I went too far yesterday.”

Maximón pulled her closer.

Without resistance, Najane leaned her body against his chest.

“Should I call that boy Boris?”

At Maximón’s tender suggestion, Najane flinched. Calling a sacred healer to treat that area? The mere thought made her face burn with embarrassment.

“I’m really fine.”

“But it hurts, doesn’t it?”

“It stings, but it’s not that bad…”

“If a male healer makes you uncomfortable, we can call a female priest instead.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just... a difficult area to get treated.”

“Where does it hurt?”

Maximón pressed, clearly frustrated. Najane hesitated again. She didn’t want to admit that the place he had overworked yesterday was sore, but he looked ready to keep pressing until she answered.

Fiddling with the creases on her skirt, Najane mumbled in a barely audible voice:

“It’s just… a little sore there.”

“There?”

Maximón still didn’t understand her euphemism. How could he be so perceptive at times and yet act clueless now? Najane glared at him briefly before forcing herself to speak bluntly despite her embarrassment.

“The place you pounded on yesterday.”

“Ah…”

Finally grasping why Najane had been vague, Maximón stiffly nodded. His face flushed with awkwardness. Najane watched closely to see how he would react.

He sat there with an awkward expression, lips sealed, before cautiously glancing at her. There wasn’t much sign of remorse in his eyes—more like the smug look of someone who thought himself innocent since Najane had egged him on. Still, seeing her in pain stirred a flicker of guilt within him, akin to a mischievous dog who, unable to contain its excitement at the owner’s invitation to play, ended up chewing up all the expensive furniture and then blaming the owner by saying, “You’re the one who told me to play!”

Still, some semblance of conscience must have pricked him, because Maximón began patting her lower abdomen soothingly. After pondering how to comfort her, he let his eyebrows droop slightly and whispered softly:

“……Shall I blow on it for you?”

When Maximón spoke as if soothing a child with a scraped knee, Najane burst into laughter.

“You’re going to blow on that place?”

“Hmm. If you don’t like that, I could lick it instead.”

At those words, Najane glared at him and curled her body up like a hedgehog.

“That would be more for your benefit.”

“It’d be good for you too.”

Maximón pressed his lips against the nape of Najane’s neck, which she had tucked away.

“You like it when I lick you, don’t you?”

Though Najane didn’t deny his words, she hugged her knees tightly, worried he might actually try to lick her wound. Maximón gazed at her adorable pouting figure before pulling her close from behind, wrapping his arms firmly around her waist.

He had planned to bring up the topic of marriage, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. He had come into the residence with a detailed plan of what to say, when to say it, and how—but seeing Najane smile made his mind go completely blank. His plans always crumbled in front of her.

Maximón tried to turn Najane’s body toward him to propose again, but his expression shifted when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. Someone knocked lightly on the middle gate. It was one of the maids who had taken the tray earlier.

One of the young maids hesitated before bowing her head deeply, looking like a guilty criminal.

“…The head maid told me to come back and prepare the bath for the Knight Commander…”

The young maids, still carrying their baby fat, looked utterly dejected, likely having been scolded by Didiña. As maids, they were supposed to finish their tasks—whether Maximón was handling official duties or being affectionate with Najane—but they had neglected their responsibilities and gotten an earful for it.

Though these young maids were clumsy in many ways, Didiña showed no leniency and trained them strictly. These maids would only serve Najane in this residence until the end of the month before being reassigned to clean the knights’ quarters. 

Next month, they’d be sent to work in the dining hall used by the knights, and over time, they’d be assigned to manage laundry, or work in warehouses storing coal, firewood, and food supplies. Those who couldn’t endure the workload would leave the knight order, while those who persevered would eventually be given their own rooms and become full-fledged maids of Romsoa.

Najane, who had once worked as a maid herself, understood how grueling the work could be and how Didiña—normally as kind as a mother—could turn stern and unforgiving in the face of mistakes. But everyone learns responsibility by cleaning up after their own errors.

With a gentle smile, Najane signaled to the maids not to worry and to carry on with their tasks. In truth, the maids had intended to quietly fill the bathtub and slip out unnoticed, but their movements had been caught by Maximón’s sharp ears.

The maids, visibly nervous under Maximón’s watchful gaze, carefully carried buckets of water into the bathroom. Maximón sat arrogantly on the sofa, glaring disapprovingly at the flustered maids as they scurried about.

The atmosphere was far too chaotic to bring up the topic of marriage now. There was nothing to do but give up—for now.

Sighing inwardly, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Rather than feeling jealous watching Najane look fondly at the clumsy, fumbling maids, it was better to shut his eyes altogether.