I'm a Patient (3)
There are so many hardships in the world.
Mining coal in the depths of a mountain, washing the windows of skyscrapers, dealing with an endless flood of complaints. Hell, someone out there is even deleting repulsive photos that pop up all night long without getting paid a dime. At least the others earn money for their misery—what the hell do you do about this?
And right now, the world's toughest jobs were unfolding before my very eyes.
Rubelheim Ten Swords Activity Report
Ecological Changes Due to Decreasing Numbers of Northern Beasts. Request for Establishment of Countermeasures
Irisia Empire: Evidence Captured of Second Prince's Affair
Just seeing the title of that last document made my head spin. Do we really need to know about some foreign royal's cheating scandal?
Not easy, huh.
The reason I ended up doing work that didn't suit me was simple: everyone else in the Execution Bureau had left except for me.
"Aren't you going this time?"
"I'm a patient."
"Did something break down there—? Kidding, kidding!"
I wanted to turn the 1st District Chief into a fellow patient, but with this mountain of paperwork ready to bury me, I barely held back my fist.
Why won't it just disappear?
And seriously, this paperwork shows no signs of vanishing. Alick said it'd be done in a day—how the hell does anyone finish this much in one day?
Guess everyone really does have their own fitting role. So please, just hurry back already. It's been a whole week.
Of course, while I'm suffering here, things on-site are probably a mess too.
"Lianna, where's the 1st District Chief?"
"He charged in alone to create an opening and got hit with concentrated fire. He's laid up now."
"...Is he an idiot?"
Even with all those people, no real progress in a week? I could already picture how it was going.
"They're just holding the barrier and stalling, right?"
"Yeah. Looks like we need to attack again. I'll report later—gotta go for now."
The black mages were pouring everything into defense. Not a great sign.
Should I go?
Thinking back to all the crap from the Demon War, there was a high chance they'd hit us with something big. They knew it too—no way the field team missed what my brain could calculate. They just had no counter, so they were stuck.
...Should I use it just once?
I considered teleporting in secretly and pulling out a miracle from the six gods if things got dire. I'd get an earful later, but better than eating the black mages' "big gift," right?
But this plan had one massive flaw.
"Oppa! Had lunch yet?"
Sylvia. My pretty, dutiful, clever little sister-figure.
No way did I ever suspect she was an assassin dispatched by Evangeline. The second she senses me trying to move, she pounces, and bam.
"If you wanna go, go ahead."
She was waving a one-way ticket straight to the Astria Duchy right in my face. The moment Sylvia stormed the Astria family yelling "Why are you messing with my man?!" a holy sword would drop on my head.
This is why guys need to manage their women well... Not something a lifelong singleton like me should say, huh.
"Made seafood today. How is it?"
Forced into breakfast, lunch, and dinner together like this, a week flew by in the blink of an eye.
"Thanks. Looks good—"
"Ah~."
Oh no. Here we go again.
"Sylvia, I can handle daily life on my own, you know? So maybe stop—"
"Don't wanna?"
"No, it's fine...."
Lately, she's been treating me more and more like a kid. I'm a fully grown adult with all limbs intact, thank you very much.
Plus, yeah, I'm a patient, but I'm not actually sick. Weird way to put it, but my body's fine—better than usual, even. Eating and sleeping well, top condition.
"Your stigmas keep piling up, and when they hit critical mass, your body collapses. So just listen to me!"
From a doctor's view, it's different, I guess. How can she be so vicious?
But as a doctor, she's the real deal. During the Demon War, Evangeline saved nearly five figures worth of lives. Guys who ignored her are all wheezing now, so yeah, better shut up and obey.
So here I was, alone in the Execution Bureau, starring in a third-rate youth rom-com with Sylvia.
"Tasty?"
"Delicious. Whoever made it could sell it."
No clue who, but it tasted exactly like the seafood hotpot from that 5th Street specialist restaurant. Seriously, no idea.
"What about yesterday's?"
"...I'll invoke the right to remain silent."
Um, Sylvia? Some things in this world are just impossible. Yesterday's was barely edible.
"Just watch. I'll make something perfect eventually."
Seeing her all pouty tugged at my conscience a bit.
But what can I do? Five days of gourmet chef meals, then something iffy hits my tongue—face not twisting would be weirder. Yeah, I'm the bad guy here.
Still, it was food, so I finished it. We call people who waste others' efforts "trash." So, can you cheer up now?
"Hug me, and I'll forgive you."
Her arms shot open with a snap. Smug face, like she knew I wouldn't.
Too bad, I'm not the type to let that slide.
"Alright, hug incoming."
I stood up, spread my arms wide, and hugged her with all my might. No mood, just a straight-up bear hug.
"There."
"...Sigh."
Sylvia let out a sigh with that classic "I knew it" look.
Sorry, but that's the best skinship I can manage. Forgive me for being a hopeless perv....
As if she'd predicted it, her arms slowly wrapped around my back. Then she spoke.
"Oppa. You wanna go now, right?"
...She's too grown-up to call a kid anymore. She notices everything.
"Worried, yeah."
I know it's unnecessary fussing. I know it looks overprotective from the sidelines. No way I'd disrespect battlefield vets—who face death head-on—by treating them like houseplants.
I've been on the field; I get that this line of thinking is nonsense.
But I've lived half my life like this—what can I do? Old habits die hard, as they say.
"Keep my conditions, and I might turn a blind eye."
"...Huh?"
Sylvia whispered mischievously. Sounded like something I shouldn't hear.
"Evangeline unnie said if I can't stop you, use this."
With that, she pulled a rolled-up something from her back pocket.
Blue God's Contract?
Takes me a week to make one if I really try—why's it in your hands?
Looking closer, it was packed with clauses: no Possession, restricted Holy Law use, absolute obedience to legitimate orders.
So thorough—she knew I'd pull this.
"Just checking: no other options?"
"There are, but I doubt you'd pick 'em."
She cautiously pulled out a stiff envelope. Inside? An impossible choice.
Groom: Daniel Dia Tristan
Bride: Sylvia Vasilisa
Nope. Hard pass.
Sylvia knew me too well. No way I'd touch that.
"This one it is."
I snatched the Blue God's Contract. She glared daggers, but I had nothing to say.
A drop of blood on the contract, and blue holy power linked us—proof it was sealed.
As I tried to pull away.
"Mm-hmm. Shall we head out now?"
Sylvia clung like gum, refusing to let go. This was a problem.
"Sylvia, enough joking—"
"Read the contract again."
"...?"
She pointed to one line.
Party A shall have the right to monitor Party B's compliance with the contract.
Hold up. This wasn't a comms device—it was a one-on-one personal tracker?
Never thought I'd feel Caesar's pain. Getting attacked by the kid you raised like your own... this is it.
The Blue God, oblivious, pressured me with holy power: Contract made—now fulfill it.
"Oppa, when do we leave?"
Sylvia gazed innocently, her smile radiant. Meanwhile, her hug tightened like she'd never let go.
This is dizzying.
Thankfully, we reached a dramatic compromise with Sylvia.
Hand-holding instead of hugging—six of one, half a dozen of the other—but better than looking like some grotesque conjoined twin.
"This way, no one will hit on you, right, oppa?"
Her declaration: stick to me 24/7 in front of all the priests. Chilling, but I had no veto power. I was prepared, but scary is scary.
I never planned to let her roam alone in a battlefield dripping with killing intent anyway. Scary is still scary.
Before heading to Ludwig Marquis Territory for this joyless adventure, one thing to prepare.
Mana-less, holy-power-one-trick pony who can't use Holy Law? Options are limited. Time to dig out the old stuff. Without it, I'd just be a spectator.
This one especially—I had to steel myself. Proper use costs as much as a capital mansion.
So I opened the deepest door in the Execution Bureau warehouse. Never thought I'd touch this.
Still in good shape.
Preservation magic held: blade to armor joints, all as pristine as Demon War days.
Only one to take.
I lifted the incense burner, trace of my desperate mana-less magic attempts. That musty, all-too-familiar smell.
Funny now.
Looking back, yeah, hilarious. Right after getting hit with the reincarnation beam into this fantasy world and diagnosed mana-deficient, I'd stubbornly crafted one spell out of spite.
"H-how is this magic?! Do you even know what magic is?!"
Like frost in May from a woman's grudge, a mana-less grudge births something too weird for "magic."
"Fuck! This isn't magic, I said—aaargh!"
When even our black mages gave it 5/5 reviews, you know it's bizarre. Guys who shrugged off fire arrows while chanting Fireball ripped into this every time.
"...This is your unique magic? Is it even magic...?"
Even the Sage couldn't grasp it instantly—definitely outside normal bounds.
Unique, sure. My heart realm built on it too.
Low end hits rock bottom—hell, even—but peak? Yeah.
"Ah, you fool! How could you do such a thing?! Insin—a god made for humanity, by humanity, as human! How could you ruin that plan?!"
"Wanted a god? Make one from your own body. Now shut up and die."
Perfect knife for slaying gods and idiots alike.