OMS Chapter 11

It’s probably poison. And not just any poison—something really nasty.

The moment I collapsed, Veerant was there, lifting me up, but by then, I couldn’t even open my eyes. Maybe moving around caused the poison to spread faster, or perhaps it was just that potent to begin with.

Even as I lay limp in his arms, Veerant wasted no time springing into action.

I heard the sound of fabric being torn a few times, and then my wound was exposed to the air. Did Veerant gasp because of the way the area was discolored? Or maybe because the arrow-like object was still deeply embedded in my back?

Without hesitation, Veerant pulled it out, then cut the wound open further with a knife, probably to let the poison drain out with the blood. He pressed hard on the injury, forcing out the blood and poison, then let out a frustrated hiss and bent down.

I felt something wet.

Apparently, he intended to suck out the poison by mouth.

…Doesn’t he even know what kind of poison it is? How reckless.

That was my last thought before darkness claimed my consciousness.

✢

Negative emotions from people gather and become tainted, and animals exposed to this corruption eventually turn into monsters. In other words, beasts whose very essence has been twisted by impurity are what we call monsters.

The main difference between regular beasts and monsters is their ferocity. Perhaps it’s from the sorrow of having their lives distorted or from the hatred they’ve absorbed through the corruption, but monsters turn their rage on humans.

When humans are attacked, they feel fear, grief, and more negative emotions, which, in turn, add to the corruption. That corruption spreads, twisting more lives.

And the ultimate result of this vicious cycle is the birth of a being called the Demon King.

Unlike ordinary monsters that start as regular beasts, the Demon King is fundamentally different from birth.

An egg is formed from concentrated corruption, nurtured by it until eventually, a Demon King is born. A being that feeds on corruption, controls it, and regards it as their mother.

Taking the form of a human, the Demon King was named and feared by people due to his human-like appearance.

—The Demon King, huh…

I’d been racing against time, trying to purify as much as possible to prevent this from happening. But it looks like the worst-case scenario has become a reality.

That dark blotch I saw in the blessing net I cast that day—a black stain, opposite to the pure light of the Saint. A lifeform born of a completely different origin.

If the Saint represents light, the Demon King is the embodiment of darkness.

A being that feeds on impurity, the mortal enemy of the Saint, whose role is to purify it. That being attempted to kill Saint Emilia on that day.

“Ugh…”

“Saint-sama!”

“Veerant…? Where am I…?”

This room… It’s not my usual one. It’s overly spacious and grand.

As I blink and take in my surroundings, I see several knights and what looks like a group of doctors crowded around me.

Scanning the room, I finally settle on Veerant, whose face is twisted in concern, and Emilia, who’s sleeping with a tear-streaked, swollen face.

—Um… Did I sleep for quite a while?

Looking around at the gathered personal knights, it’s clear they’ve all seen better days. Their crisp uniforms are rumpled, and they look exhausted. Bags under their eyes, unshaven beards. What surprises me most, though, is that even Veerant looks a bit… unkempt.

His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles under them, and even his stubble is a golden color. I can’t say it suits him at all.

“This is Saint-sama’s chamber. It’s the easiest to guard.”

“So, this is Emilia’s bed?!”

I’ve visited the adjoining rooms plenty of times, but I’ve only been in this bedroom once—when we paid respects to the late Saint. No wonder I didn’t remember the decor. But seriously, what were they thinking, putting an old man in a young girl’s bed?!

What if my old-man smell seeps into it?!

I panicked and tried to jump out of bed, but a sharp pain shot through my back, making me groan. Oh yeah, I got shot with an arrow back then, didn’t I?

It’s been a few days since that happened, and normally, I would’ve healed completely by now… It must’ve been the poison.

In any case, I need to get some answers.

“So, uh… What happened after that?”

When I asked the scowling Veerant, his expression darkened even further.

✢

Apparently, I’d been unconscious for an entire week.

After I collapsed that day, Veerant immediately recognized the poison from the taste when he sucked it out and relayed it to the court physician, who then administered an antidote. According to the physician, if Veerant hadn’t acted so quickly, I might not have survived.

Hearing that, I shot Veerant a sharp look.

Sucking out a deadly poison with your mouth and identifying it by taste? That’s just plain reckless.

When I said so, he coldly replied, “And you’re one to talk?”

…Well, it’s hard to argue with that. I like to think I’m hardy enough to survive most poisons, but he probably wouldn’t believe that even if I said it.

Anyway, it turns out it wasn’t the poison that put me out for a week—it was the arrow.

Or rather, I’m not sure if “arrow” is the right word for it.

The thing that was brought to me, lying on a tray, was about the length of my forearm. It had no fletching like a typical arrow, but it was still arrow-thick.

The material wasn’t wood or metal, though—it was made of pure corruption.

Touching it alone would melt flesh, and it would burn and corrode the skin. No healing magic, aside from holy magic, could mend the damage.

It was only thanks to my own sacred power that I survived, but an ordinary person would’ve been done for. Just remembering it made me recall something from right before I passed out.

At the time, Veerant had… pulled this thing out of my back.

“Veerant, show me your hand.”

“Saint-sama, that’s—”

“Hurry.”

I grabbed his hand, which he was reluctant to show, and peeled away the bandages. As I feared, his hand was horribly injured.

His palm was burned as if scorched, with festering sores in several places. Spreading across the hand was a dark, murky stain—the corruption itself.

So, he’d been tainted when he pulled the arrow out.

…If I don’t do something, his hand’s going to rot away.

“Oh, gods above…”

“Saint-sama…! Please, stop!”

Ignoring his protests, I held his hand tightly and began chanting a sacred verse. I didn’t have much sacred power left after being infected with the corruption myself. In fact, my body had been unconsciously using up the sacred power within me just to purify the corruption in my system.

I was almost completely drained, but if I forced it, I could still squeeze out enough to heal this injury.

I’d probably pass out again after this, but that was better than letting it get worse.

The knights shouted in concern, and Veerant struggled to pull away, but I ignored all of them and focused on the sacred verse. I purified the corruption and healed the wound.

Even though it was just that, the effort was exhausting, likely because I hadn’t fully recovered. Sweat dripped from my forehead as the strength left my body.

“—Cleanse the corruption… and heal.”

With the last words of the chant, I collapsed, still clutching Veerant’s hand.

…This is Emilia’s bed, but I’m going to end up sleeping in it again, aren’t I?

Well, I’ve already been unconscious here for days, so what’s one more time?

Once I wake up again, I’ll check on Veerant’s hand, apologize to Emilia… and we need to talk about the Demon King.

And there’s still the purification of the country I’ve neglected for a whole week…

As I let my mind drift, I sank into the soft mattress.

I could faintly hear Veerant calling my name, but I no longer had the strength to open my eyes.

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