Chapter 169
Chapter 169
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 169
Chapter Title: Clumsy Cultist
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The lace-trimmed curtains fluttered in the breeze blowing through the wide-open window.
Beyond them, my gaze fell on a fluffy-looking bedspread and mattress that promised a pleasantly cool sensation.
Atop it sat what looked like a little girl dressed in a black gown.
The dress, adorned with plenty of frills and ribbons, resembled doll clothing.
A life-sized doll perched on the edge of the bed, or so I thought—until it opened its mouth and spoke.
"Mister, you really saw a nymph?"
Her voice carried a bright, lively lilt, complete with a beaming smile. Though I wasn't exactly a "mister," I got it—my suspicious mask and robe hid my identity, after all.
Anyway, I was a little startled.
This must be what a noble lady looks like.
The Enya I'd met on the battlefield early on felt more like a general or a commander than a noble lady.
Seeing the textbook example of a delicately raised noble girl stirred something in me.
It was like my life had switched genres to a Disney tale.
But her hair and eyes were black.
Nothing special or intriguing to me, but in this world, black evoked Pluto's domain—the underworld, death, and the shadowy valleys of demise.
It felt ominous.
It was the color of the Samaritans, those harbingers of grim apocalypse racing across black wastelands beyond the sea.
Was this girl a Samaritan? Nah, probably not.
"Mister, have you really seen a nymph before?"
Lost in thought for a moment, I watched as the baron's daughter, Brigitte, rose smoothly from the bed and strode right up to me.
"What a weird mask. And you're huge. You're the strangest-looking quack my dad's brought in yet."
Quack?
That's when I remembered why I was standing here in the first place.
Whether this girl was a Samaritan or not didn't really matter to me. All I had to do was fix whatever illness she had, grab my gold bar, and bolt.
But Brigitte circled me like she was sizing me up, chattering away.
"I've never seen a mask like that around here. The mask festival's coming up soon—are you wearing it for that? Or is your face just that ugly?"
Calling a stranger "mister" was one thing. Suddenly jabbing at my looks was another. She was cheerful enough, but pretty rude.
Being a noble's daughter, she'd probably never gotten a knuckle to the forehead for her impudence. That must be how she ended up with a personality like this.
"This year's mask festival is supposed to be huge! I wanna go so bad. I couldn't last year, or the year before..."
It sounded ridiculous coming from me, but being alone in a room with a big guy like her could've been scary.
She showed no sign of fear, though. Either she had guts of steel, or she trusted the mansion's security that much.
"Have you been to the mask festival, mister? They set off fireworks at the end. You know fireworks? Like the fire magic mages use. You can see them great from this window."
Brigitte rattled on like a starving storyteller eager for an audience, questions or no.
Most of it held little interest for me. But something my father once told me resurfaced in my mind from long ago.
He'd said to listen carefully to patients' stories—they wove in their life experiences and karma, which might hold clues to curing their ailments.
Suspect acupressure and acupuncture weren't enough; even just listening could heal.
Back then, I'd have called it nonsense. Nowadays, though, Dad's advice was proving surprisingly useful.
"Why can't you go to the festival? Because of your illness?"
Was there more to it than her chest shrinking? Maybe she was being cautious to hide her small breasts.
It felt a bit different, though.
Brigitte let out a soft sigh at my question.
"I couldn't go even without the illness. I've never left this villa since I was born."
"Is that so?"
"Dad's way too overprotective. He acts like I'd melt like ice if I went outside. You know ice? The cold stuff."
She glided over to the tall window.
Her straight black hair danced in the wind as she eagerly drank in the clouds, the sun, and the tiny world below.
"Seeing nymphs is hard even if you go out. Do they really have pointy ears?"
"More or less. Pointy, but not as much as elves..."
"Elves? You've seen elves too, mister? What's the difference between nymphs and elves?"
Her barrage of questions made me understand why the baron's lady Brigitte's room was perched so high up.
This girl yearned to see farther, to see more. The highest room would be perfect for that.
"Tell me about the outside world. Even if you can't cure me, I'll put in a good word with Dad so you get paid well."
"You've really never stepped outside the mansion, not even once since birth?"
"Except maybe one time when I was really little, no."
Locked away in a world without internet—yeah, it'd get boring.
No matter how big the house or how fancy the clothes and food, weeks, months, years would breed frustration.
Gazing at the view from this little perch under my mask, I pictured all the healers the baron had summoned before, spinning tales of the outside for her.
"Why won't they let you go out?"
"Overprotective, like I said. Or... honestly, I don't really know."
I narrowed my eyes at her black hair swaying in the breeze. A foggy flashback hit me—the coachman's story before we arrived.
The baron's wife had been kidnapped by Samaritans.
Kidnapped wife.
Black-haired daughter.
And just like that, the genre shifted from Disney to morning soap opera.
A daughter with black hair born to that wife.
No wonder he'd want to hide her.
Even draping the whole giant birdcage in blackout curtains.
* * *
"Oh my god, Minty jelly pie? They really sell something that awful out there?"
"Sounds gross, but it's tasty once you try it."
I'd been answering this curious girl's questions for a while now. Still, she peppered me with more like someone starved for days.
"I heard adventurers eat anything. Guess it's true. You gotta eat bad stuff while exploring. Even hunt and eat monsters, right?"
"More or less."
"Huh, sounds fun. I wanna be an adventurer. Find treasure, explore ruins no one's seen. Swing a sword and kill goblins—"
"I'm not an adventurer. And it's not that fun."
"Why not?"
Why? 'Cause scraping by on other people's coin ain't easy.
Adventuring sounds romantic, but in reality, it's no fun, just rolling in mud and misery.
I didn't bother correcting her, though.
Too much hassle, and it was time to get to why I was really here.
"Anyway, Lady Brigitte. Mind if I diagnose your condition now?"
Her face, lost in happy fantasies moments ago, scrunched up.
"I told you, no one can cure my illness. Skip that and tell me more about the outside."
Noble blood made her demands carry weight. Born to rule over others, huh?
But we'd already chit-chatted for over an hour. Drag it out much longer, and who knew when I'd wrap up and head home.
"It'll be quick. Just give me your hand."
"Why do you need my hand for a diagnosis?"
Brigitte clutched her wrists to her chest, on high alert. It was refreshingly noble-lady-like.
"W-What, you gonna draw my blood to inspect it? No way!"
Blood? Some previous healers must've done that.
"No pain at all. No blood. Just let me check your wrist."
"..."
Her black eyes narrowed suspiciously, like a feral kitten rummaging a trash bin. Man, what a pain.
I extended my bare palm from under the dark red robe.
"It'll be quick."
"...If I get better, can I go outside too?"
"No clue. But your odds would improve."
At my vague answer, Brigitte sighed softly. She clearly hated it but had no choice.
Her slender, delicate wrist—feminine in the extreme—rested on my palm.
Every time I took a woman's pulse, it amazed me. How did they navigate the world with wrists like these? One squeeze and it'd snap.
Not the point right now, though.
Ding-.
『Name: Brigitte von Pashone lv. 4
Status: Moros's Reprieve | Hell's Stigma | Mana Exhaustion | Back Pain | Dry Eyes』
What the hell.
Way more debuffs than expected. Born a noble lady, never lifted a finger—why so many weird ones?
Or maybe cooped up indoors led to sedentary ailments.
"All done?"
She slipped her wrist from my hand.
"So, you figure out my illness just from touching my wrist?"
The usual question when I checked a pulse. I'd ask too if roles were reversed.
Plenty popped up, but this seemed most useful now.
"Does your back hurt? Around the erector spinae."
"Yeah, but how'd you know? From other healers? Dad? Sydney sis?"
"No one told me. Your eyes feel dry too, right? Kinda gritty."
"...I've never told anyone that."
Her eyes, sharp with doubt moments ago, now brimmed with even more suspicion.
"How? Magic?"
"Close enough. Anyway, let's fix that back pain first. Lie face-down on the bed."
"But I hate pain."
"Won't hurt. Might even feel good."
Even that picky witch Ganfriede had acknowledged my massage skills.
With my blessing-boosted dexterity, I was basically a massage master.
Hell's archduke Hassan's personal masseur—lucky her. My reward.
With goofy thoughts like that, I urged the noble lady.
"Lie down already."
"...If you try anything weird, I'll scream. You'll be in deep trouble. Don't get any funny ideas."
"Do what you want."
She finally lay face-down on the bed before me. The voluminous dress was a bit in the way.
Couldn't tell a noble lady, "Gotta be skin-to-skin—take it off." Might lose my head for real.
But I knew the pressure points for back pain without seeing skin.
Since it'd be over clothes, maybe chuna therapy over acupressure?
I grabbed both her ankles.
"W-Why the legs!?"
"Checking how your hips and pelvis are tilted."
Living indoors meant lots of bed or chair time, so bodies naturally lean one way.
To gauge her tilt, I straightened her legs and checked her soles.
"Gonna touch your feet now. Purely therapeutic—no funny business."
"..."
The chattery Brigitte went silent as treatment began.
Not scared or shrinking—just detached, resigned.
She'd tried tons of methods from countless healers. Nothing new fazed her.
Better than shrieking and squirming, anyway.
"Left leg's a bit short. Fixing that first."
I placed my hands on Lady Brigitte's left hip—precisely, right and left hands under her left buttock.
Through the frills, the soft, squishy feel made blood rush south for a sec.
Purely therapeutic, I reminded myself. Not lewd.
"Hoo-."
Short exhale.
Direction and force mattered most. But with my boosted strength, I'd ease up.
Suction—then pressure on the pelvis under my palms.
Crack.
"Kyaah—!!"
She yelped in shock.