Irresistible Rewards - 2: A Person's Resolve Doesn't Break Easily

"Bath time!"

"...We have to, huh."

I tried to ignore the quest window that popped up right in front of me.

It had been a week since I'd resolved not to help Mikhail with his trials anymore. I'd hoped for his independent growth, both mentally and physically. Watching the current Mikhail reach the novel's ending just wouldn't cut it. The Mikhail who preached justice every day would probably learn some moderation after this incident. It absolutely wasn't because I wanted to bathe with the young lady. It was just that today's underwear color was... No.

I looked at the young lady with eyes full of anticipation. She was wearing a bathrobe, and her black underwear peeked through just a little, feeling tantalizingly provocative. Stretching with a yawn, she said,

"Let's go!"

Her breasts gathered menacingly. I was glad I'd given up on the quest. Giving her an awkward smile, I offered my back.

"Hop on."

I strained to ignore the blue window floating in the air.

Quests weren't mandatory. They popped up suddenly without rumors, but there was no compulsion to complete them. The novel was progressing normally; I was just an extra addition. Having compulsion would be weirder.

Sometimes there were penalties like reduced stats or dropped favorability, but nothing life-altering, so they were easy to ignore.

Quests depended on my choice. Like Hanna's quest, they allowed freedom to save or kill lives.

Same here. Black Magic Resistance was good, sure, but not tempting enough to break my vow not to help Mikhail. If it were swordsmanship level-up or an extra skill, I might've reconsidered—but bathing with the young lady... No, getting tangled with Mikhail's stress wasn't worth it. Black Magic Resistance would rise over time anyway, without lifestyle hassles.

And the failure penalties were minor. Favorability already at rock bottom couldn't drop much further—just from scowls to asking about parents' well-being at worst. We wouldn't see each other long-term. I didn't want to anyway.

70% was high enough to ignore. I believed Mikhail could handle it. He was gutsy, and his skills were solid. I trusted them.

But when the quest window changed, my hopeful mood froze cold.

Hah... fucking hell.

"Ah...?"

I snorted, eyes sneaking toward the young lady slowly slipping off her bathrobe. Demonstrating her wholesome philosophy that baths require nudity. Black bra. Menacing breasts.

Fuck.

I clenched my fist and said to her,

"Sh...shall we do it next time?"

The young lady burst into tears.

"Fuck."

In the dark dungeon, I saw terrified Yuria and unconscious Mikhail. A deep sigh rose from my danjeon.

Since becoming a butler, I'd tried not to swear, but Mikhail's pathetic performance was making my mouth itch.

The story hadn't diverged much. Met heretic remnants. Healed the heretic. Ambushed. Mikhail got wrecked. Nothing changed from the novel except Mikhail passing out in that scene.

But why the hell are they still like this?

Sword in hand, I glared irritably at Mikhail.

The guy who should be fighting is passed out?

The heretic before me wasn't as strong as Ballack or Pascal. Like a blue golem in the jungle from my past life's games. Tough for Mikhail, but winnable. If not ambushed or careless...

No way... I scanned Mikhail suspiciously. Faint knife scar on his abdomen. Uniform soaked in fresh blood. Smooth skin peeking from torn clothes told the story.

...Hopeless bastard.

This event was where Mikhail first killed. Awakening aura to protect dragged-away Yuria. But he looked far from awakening—or surviving.

With mixed feelings, I eyed the heretic gripping Yuria's hair.

The heretic stared at me stiffly. My unexpected arrival annoyed him, but he quickly masked it with a creepy smile.

"Who might you be?"

"Your mom."

"Pardon?"

I was in a foul mood. Mikhail's utter defeat grated more than a weekend work text.

Eyes on the heretic's hand in Yuria's precious hair—ignorant of hair's value, oblivious to baldness terror—I said,

"You'd better let go of that hand... now."

"What?"

The heretic gripped harder. Yuria's frail scream pierced the air.

I swung my sword lightly.

Schwick.

The heretic's arm severed with the sound. His eyes shook wide in confusion ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at his flying limb, face twisting in panic.

"Gaaahhh!! My arm! My arrmm!!"

He rolled on the ground, clutching the stump.

"Told you to let go."

My words didn't reach him amid the agony. Not a pretty sight—the bleeding heretic, shocked Yuria. Made me look like the villain.

Whatever. I just wanted home. I kicked the fallen heretic's gut.

Thud. He flew to the corner. Hand to his waist for a dagger—but I wasn't allowing that.

"Who are you...!"

"Doesn't matter."

I crushed his remaining arm underfoot and approached Mikhail. Leaning against the wall, gasping—he lacked willpower. I'd have fought to wake up somehow. His pitiful unconsciousness irked me.

I nudged him with my toe.

"Wake up."

"..."

"Wake. Up."

Get up before I lose it... He needed to finish this himself. If I soloed it, he'd gain nothing.

Irritated nudge.

"Wake up. Yuria's getting dragged off—are you just gonna sit?"

"..."

"...For real."

Thwack. Hard kick—Mikhail groaned awake.

"Yuria!"

Eyes open, straight to her. Couldn't help but applaud the protagonist vibe.

His view took in the scene: armless heretic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠writhing, Yuria panting, me staring blankly down.

His eyes trembled at the rapid events, but I guided him.

Clang. Tossed his dropped sword at his feet—chipped, handled blade.

He gaped at me in confusion, but I ignored, slowly approaching the heretic.

Yuria's red potion on the floor from her pouch—top-grade imperial supply. Tempted to pocket it, but sighed, uncorked it, sprinkled on the heretic's stump.

Sizzle. The wound closed temporarily—enough to fight.

He glared. Baffled that his arm-severer was healing him. Absurd even to me.

I looked at him and Mikhail.

"From now on, I do nothing. Kill him, let him flee—whatever."

"..."

His eyes on me.

"For real...?"

Quick thinker. I nodded.

"But see that guy?"

Pointed at dazed, sword-holding Mikhail.

"Fight him."

The heretic glared—what bullshit—one-armed vs. Mikhail impossible.

I gave him harsh reality.

"Then die."

He gripped his sword, asked again.

"Fight that guy... and you let me go?"

"Of course."

Struggling to lift it, tainted mana leaked—I stepped aside, helped up collapsed Yuria.

"You okay?"

"Mi..Mikhail.."

"Ah... He'll be fine. If shit hits, I'll step in."

Glanced at Mikhail eyeing approaching heretic with shaking eyes. How far would this pushover go? Didn't expect a kill—just crippling or scarring resolve would be progress. He wouldn't stand by after hair-grabbing his crush.

In the novel, Mikhail killed him—first blood for rescuing Yuria, gaining cold resolve. Description of trembling embrace, "it's okay." Curious how it'd go now.

Clang—swords met. I prepped to clock out.

*

Combat ended. Predictably, heretic down. Impressive one-handed, but Mikhail's sword genius prevailed.

Mikhail panted, sword to heretic's throat.

"Don't move."

Fierce warning. Hands shook—not knowing what next. Knight-killer, Yuria-threatener—couldn't decide.

Heretic pleaded shakily.

"Spare me..."

"..."

"Please... let me live. I'll be good from now on."

"...Really.."

Whoa... I mentally clapped. Not letting him go again? I'd handle secretly if needed, but mercy here would make him Buddha reborn.

I pushed his back.

"C'mon, no way..."

"You call him a killer, a villain to me—but let this one walk?"

Flinch. Mikhail's shoulders shook.

"Isn't that it? Right, Miss Yuria?"

"N...no?"

Flustered Yuria looked at me.

"She almost got hurt—feels unfair to just release, yeah."

Like watching national soccer—sighs and curses alternating as I ragged him.

"C'mon."

Yuria eyed me incomprehensibly, then Mikhail. Same for her. Who'd like a killer? Even I didn't. But sometimes, in tough spots, swordsmen steel themselves. That's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠why we train.

Choice was his. Final word:

'Nosiness has limits.'

With that, Mikhail swung.

*

All done. Mikhail dropped sword, gasping; heretic sighed relief at survival.

"Didn't think you'd really spare."

Mikhail spoke mercifully.

"One more chance. No more evil..."

You dumbass. Falling for it again?

Heretic sniffled.

"Thank you! Truly th...nk—!"

Quick dagger thrust to Mikhail's chest—I swung again.

Clang—heretic's breath cut short.

Deep sigh. Punched Mikhail's trembling face.

Thwack...!

"Ugh... idiot."

Never tangling again.

Heading back to the mansion, I escaped the dungeon fast—no more hassle. Looked at my hand. Black scar gone from right palm. Wanted to brag to the young lady.

Thud thud, descending the mountain. Strange sound in my ear.

-Kiiing...

"Huh?"

A cute black-furred puppy whimpered from bushes—round, but paws like a beast's.

Lifeform the young lady'd love. Squatted, beckoned.

"C'mere."

Limping pup rubbed head on my leg.

"Take you home?"

Cautiously touched. Activated new skill.

-Drip.

Nosebleed hit my hand.