When I opened my eyes again, the world was blanketed in darkness. Judging by the way the moonlight streamed in, it was probably the middle of the night. I didn’t feel like too much time had passed, so it seemed I’d only been out for a few hours.
The knights, doctors, and even Emilia, who had been there earlier, were now gone. The only one who remained was Veerant, sitting in a chair by my bedside, eyes closed. His posture was a bit unnatural, most likely because I was still clutching his right hand.
I remember trying to heal Veerant’s hand, but it seems I passed out before I could finish. Unable to pull away, he must have decided to stay by my side.
He’s diligent, I’ll give him that. Or maybe it’s loyalty. I guess because I’m the Saint, he feels obligated to be so devoted. But still, his dedication is almost concerning.
I can’t tell if he’s sleeping or just resting his eyes, but even in the dim light, I can see how much he’s worn himself out. Though the feel of his hand tells me the wound has healed, it’s clear his body has been through the wringer—whether from the taint of the corruption or simple exhaustion from watching over me.
Either way, it’s my fault.
I carefully tried to let go of his hand, but before I could, Veerant grabbed mine in return.
So, he wasn’t asleep after all.
In the darkness, his deep violet eyes glimmered, shining intensely, almost piercing. I couldn’t quite place the emotions behind his gaze, but the tension in the air was unmistakable.
Sensing his unease, I reached out with my free hand and ruffled his hair roughly.
“Hey, at least you’re calling me ‘Zeff’ properly now,” I said, messing up his hair even more.
I’d been telling him for months now: I’m not the Saint—Emilia is. He should just call me Zeff. No need for titles or honorifics. It’s weird for colleagues to address each other so formally, after all.
Veerant had been stubbornly calling me “Saint-sama” all this time, but as the public unveiling for Emilia drew closer, he seemed to realize that wouldn’t fly anymore. Just when I’d finally gotten him to call me “Zeff,” that whole incident happened, and in the heat of the moment, he’d reverted to “Saint-sama!” I was worried he’d gone back to his old ways.
Still, what does he mean by “why”? What exactly is he trying to ask?
I tilted my head in confusion, but Veerant just looked at me with an expression that seemed to be struggling to convey something. Even with a face like his, distorted by emotion, it was still a rare sight.
Normally, he was always calm, with that faint, serene smile. What could’ve caused him to be like this?
“Why, Zeff… Why don’t you take better care of yourself?”
“Huh?”
“You shielded Emilia and bled for her. Then, you healed me and passed out again… Why won’t you ever look after yourself?”
His hand, which still held mine, was trembling. Even in the dark, I could see the color had drained from his face, his brows furrowed tightly as he stared at me.
—Hmm… What do I even say to that?
I’m not sure what kind of idealized image of me Veerant’s holding onto, but it’s not like I don’t value my own life. I care about myself just fine, and of course, I want to live a peaceful, trouble-free life.
But leaving Emilia or Veerant behind to protect that peace? That’s not even a possibility.
If Emilia had died in my place, or if Veerant had been injured because of me… The very thought alone is enough to make my skin crawl.
“It’s nothing that noble,” I replied. “I just acted in my own interest.”
Emilia had been targeted because of me, so I protected her. Veerant got hurt trying to help me, so I healed him. It’s not anything special—it’s just the natural thing to do.
Isn’t that what anyone would do?
I shrugged, but Veerant said nothing. He just continued to stare at me, his face twisted as if he were on the verge of tears, all while holding onto my hand tightly.
✢
I saw Emilia the following morning. The moment she laid eyes on me, she broke down in tears. For a split second, I panicked, thinking, Is it the old-man smell?! But it turned out that wasn’t the reason.
“Why did you protect someone like me?!” she sobbed, and I had a hell of a time trying to comfort her. She kept saying things like, “It was a life that should’ve been lost,” and, “You should’ve just let me die,” which were way too depressing to hear.
Veerant and Emilia both seriously underestimated their own worth. It’s ridiculous. They got caught up in this mess because of me; they have every right to be mad at me, not downplaying themselves like this.
Once Emilia had calmed down a bit, I asked her about what had happened after the attack.
She told me, with a slightly awkward smile, that the public unveiling had gone smoothly, even in my absence.
The knights had been searching tirelessly, but there was still no clue as to the assailant. No witnesses, no traces left behind, and they still hadn’t figured out where the arrow came from or what it was made of.
As the knight reporting this news hung his head, he too looked as worn out as the others. It was clear they’d been working around the clock to find the culprit.
“Uh… You can stop searching now,” I said. “I know who the culprit is.”
If I’d told them sooner, I could’ve saved them a lot of trouble. But I hadn’t realized they’d been searching so frantically.
I mean, sure, it makes sense that they’d go all out trying to catch someone who attempted to assassinate the Saint. But from my perspective, I was the only one who got hurt.
I wasn’t seriously injured, and as you can see, I’m up and about. Sure, I was unconscious for a week, but it’s not like it’s the first time that’s happened. I figured I could take my time explaining once things calmed down.
Clearly, I was way off.
“…What do you mean, exactly?” Veerant asked, his voice lower than I’d ever heard it before.
Whoa. Where did that voice even come from?
And that look—those eyes! They were intense, yet strangely dark, and just looking at them sent chills down my spine.
Was this… murder in his eyes?
Is he really that mad?
I glanced around, but the other knights were all glaring just as intensely. Even Emilia, normally so gentle, had pursed her lips tightly and clenched her fists.
The moment I mentioned knowing the culprit, it was like they were all ready to charge out the door in pursuit. The atmosphere had turned noticeably heavier, and the tension was palpable.
Forty-two-year-old me getting knocked out for a week had apparently stirred up this much bloodlust. It just goes to show how much these people treasure the Saint.
…Yeah, no way I can talk my way out of this.
“You ever heard of the Demon King?”
The moment I mentioned that name, the whole room went dead silent. Everyone froze on the spot.
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