Isabel Butted In, Didn't She?

It was when I was staring blankly at the pouring rain. "Does it feel good?" The rain that refused to stop felt exactly like my own heart. But someone barged in and shattered the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thought.

"...You've only been spending time with Isabel lately. Is it really that good?"

Hair as white as a lily. Blue eyes that carried the pure love suggested by its flower language. Even the pouting face brimming with jealousy. It was Seria, beautiful enough to be called the greatest beauty in all of Vanaheim.

A month had already passed since we entered the Lionblood family. Thanks to Kandel's permission, we were allowed to stay in this house. When he had shoved me into the room with that sinister grin, it felt like I was staring at a devil... Grandchildren... I'm looking forward to it. It seemed Kandel had already drawn up his own future plans. That was something we would learn later, though. Right now I couldn't focus on daily life. The moment Nidhogg's Fang was completed, we would have to head straight for Yggdrasil.

For the time being, Seria—who could basically be considered the lady of the house—approached me with a faint smile. That smile made me feel like I was walking across a frozen lake. I hadn't done anything wrong, yet somehow it felt like I had... That... um... how should I put it. A storm of excuses raged through my head. There was nothing to feel guilty about, but I was desperately trying to come up with something, anything, that might soothe her heart.

"Did you sleep well?"

I'd start with a greeting. Everything else could wait. Seria answered with a calm, smiling glance. Her posture was more elegant than anyone's. She lifted the hem of her skirt lightly and bowed at the waist. It was the kind of gesture that made you truly feel she was nobility.

That lasted only a moment before her cold voice continued.

"No."

"Huh?"

"...I couldn't sleep well."

She slowly drew closer and sat down beside me, bending gracefully at the waist before turning to meet my eyes. We were close. Close enough to feel each other's breath. At a distance where a sticky kiss could begin at any second, a sweet fragrance drifted from her.

She wrapped her arms around the back of my neck. Her expression was sullen, yet overflowing with affection. Her voice was a complicated mixture of jealousy, obsession, and love.

"For an entire week you've stayed only by Isabel's side instead of mine."

"...That's because Isabel kept nagging me—"

"...I don't want to hear it."

Ugh. She was seriously upset. I had no choice but to quietly obey Seria's demand. Just as she wanted, I closed my mouth.

With the soft rustle of fabric, she pressed her cheek against my chest and closed her eyes. Without a word, we simply listened to each other's heartbeats. Even the rain hammering the ground couldn't drown out the sound of our hearts.

Thump. The loudest beat came first. After that the sounds grew steadily louder, their pace quickening to match. We shared our affection quietly, without hiding our embarrassment.

"...Do you dislike me for being such a jealous woman?"

The question came out of nowhere. Seria, with eyes like a blue sky, was worried. She feared he might have grown tired of her jealousy. That he might think she had suddenly forced her way between Isabel and the hero. That he might see her as a bothersome woman.

...No. Wasn't it Isabel who butted in? That bitch... That bitch is the one who intruded... so why am I... Countless theories swirled through my head.

Seria bit her nails with a faint crunch, so quietly it could barely be heard. An expression he could not see. A face sunk deep in the shadows of jealousy.

The past week had been hell for Seria. She had been unbearably busy. Stress burned her from the inside and exhaustion kept her from truly closing her eyes. Monster rampages breaking out everywhere, the purple tint gradually swallowing the sky, the endless downpour, the evacuation of the tribes—since Vidar, the ducal representative, had vanished, she as the second daughter had been forced to handle everything.

The overflowing letters and seals. The scattered scraps of paper and the cold black tea were still vivid before her eyes. She hadn't been able to meet the man she loved and could only work. The man who had saved her—he did not remember, but she remembered only him. The girl in love could only clutch her burning chest and pant alone every night.

There had simply been too much work. She had despaired at the reality that she could not see the hero she longed for so desperately. Perhaps that was why her stubbornness had grown even stronger. In truth, she had finished every document within a single week.

Compared to her, Isabel had been free. The girl who used to assist Seria was now constantly glued to the hero's side.

...That's my place. The spot where I should be. Why are you standing there?

Every time she saw that sight, Seria ground her teeth. In such a painful time, the image of Isabel and the hero together tormented her.

Crunch. No matter how much she tore at her already ruined nails, there was nothing to gain. Only frustration remained.

To Seria, he was the one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and only. She wanted to build memories with him, fall asleep beside him, go out and have fun, and then... and then... In the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠end, she simply didn't want him taken away.

And now, today was a holiday. After she had finished her work and Isabel had taken over cleaning the mansion for a while, Seria's turn had finally come.

"Hero."

"I don't dislike it."

"...Liar."

"Seria!"

He shouted. As if scolding her dejected appearance, the hero raised his voice. Seria apologized for her jealousy. There was no way he could love a woman so full of jealousy and greed.

"...Ugh, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing, Seria? It's my fault for not making things clear."

He knew he would not give up Isabel. There was a woman who could not accept that. But... to obtain him, she would have to abandon part of her own heart. Because he loved both Seria and Isabel.

Playboy, trash, son of a bitch—those words might suit him. But to Seria he was simply the man she loved. Jealousy was an emotion that came naturally. There was nothing she could do about it.

"Hero. I don't like Isabel..."

"You two get along well, though. Before, the two of you at night—"

"...That was!"

...There were memories far too explicit.

"Th-that couldn't be helped."

Couldn't be helped? What exactly?

"The hero is just too... delicious, so I couldn't help myself..."

Delicious? Not wonderful?

"S-stop! Let's not talk about things like this first thing in the morning."

"Ehehe..."

I could tell even without seeing her flushed cheeks. I let out a small chuckle at the words that had slipped out from her jealousy. The two of them had originally gotten along well. I could only believe that someday they would understand each other, cherish one another, and cooperate. At the very least, I had to make it so. Before being a hero, as a man who loved them both, I could not welcome any fights between them. I really was a son of a bitch. Even while knowing how jealous Seria was, I had simply demanded that she understand me.

"Seria."

"Yes?"

"What would you like me to do, Seria? Tell me exactly how you feel."

So I asked. To ease even a little of the pain she had endured. I would do everything I possibly could to listen to her.

I could have forced her to choose. I loved both women, but Seria did not want that. It was not wrong for her to wish that he would look only at her. In fact, that was normal. However, Seria knew very well that I did not want that. It seemed she had reached her own compromise. After watching the two women toy with me at night, that suspicion had become certainty. Otherwise their coordination could not have been so flawless.

A choice between the two. Was I a shameless bastard for hoping it would not come to that? With those thoughts in my heart, I waited for Seria's answer.

"Th-then..."

The moment her lips parted.

"...Then I want a ring too..."

"Hero! The sword has arrived!"

Sword? Black hair like wet ebony, drenched with rain. Soft lips carrying a subtle sweetness, and the female warrior with rather rugged abs entered my sight.

"Ugh, Riana."

Riana had come bearing Nidhogg's Fang. The strange atmosphere vanished in an instant. The pink-tinted mood evaporated. Riana, soaked to the bone, could only tilt her head.

"Hmm? Why does the mood feel so weird?"

Seria could only shout.

"You trashy bitch!"

"S-Seria. Verbal abuse play first thing in the morning...!! Kuh, good. Come at me!"

"H-how dare you interrupt my time with the hero! It's been so long!"

"Hngh... g-good."

Whether the world crumbled or not, Riana remained exactly the same. I sighed and rose to my feet, brushing off my knees. When I stroked Seria's head, her flushed face gradually calmed. Leaving the now-docile Seria—who had become as gentle as a kitten—behind, because the blade that would replace the holy sword stood right before my eyes.

"Fuhuhu."

Nidhogg's Fang. A sword wrapped in void energy—essentially a demonic blade. With a wry smile I grasped the black sword.

The hero of light dreamed of revenge. Recalling the Mistilteinn he had lost, he took up the magic sword instead. A dragon fear strong enough to swallow my arm washed over me. A sinister grin rose on my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lips. It felt as if Nidhogg himself stood before me. The fighting spirit that had stalled began to roar like an engine once more.

Yggdrasil, the World Tree. The massive tree that connected entire realms carried an overwhelming sense of wonder. Yet the half-corrupted tree looked dangerously precarious. The wyverns flying around it—Nidhogg. That son of a bitch bared his broken fangs and spat out void energy. It was in the shape of a breath. It wouldn't reach this far, but the way the blade in my hand was reacting...

"It'll be here soon."

"Hero, Bete says he has something to tell you."

"Bete?"

Could Riana actually converse with him inside her mind? It felt strangely fascinating. By comparison, the Shield of Frost—no, Skrim—was far too quiet. Was Bete simply a special case? Or had Skrim gone silent on purpose? Setting the question aside, I turned my attention to Bete. It was unmistakably a jet-black axe. It somehow matched Riana's dark hair perfectly, I thought.

"Why? No."

The axe's ferocious edge trembled violently. What on earth was it so afraid of? Bete was strong. He was the bastard who had nearly killed me even when I held Mistilteinn. The moment he finished speaking, the sword in my right hand—Nidhogg's Fang—naturally began radiating void energy. I felt it growing heavier. It was the same sensation as when I stacked mana five times on the holy sword. Just by existing, Nidhogg's Fang surpassed five layers of sword energy.

"...What the hell is it reacting to?"

The void had reacted. If it was Bete's kin, then among the three hells it would be the place crawling with the most vicious monsters. It meant an existence from Helheim. However, the fact that Nidhogg's Fang was reacting suggested it was not a being from Helheim.

I accelerated my thoughts. In that brief span of frozen time I searched for an answer. Then, far in the distance, I saw someone walking. Amid the violently raging storm and thunder. Piercing through Thor's roaring voice that echoed from Asgard, the man let out a low chuckle. My instincts screamed at me. It was him. He was the kin Bete had spoken of.

Eyes that held a cosmic, abyssal darkness. Small ears peeked through black hair that seemed forged from the gaps of a void where nothing existed. A pure white blade. Veins as red as a crimson rose.

I could guess his identity. Following Bete's warning, I stopped in my tracks.

"Is it you?"

I spoke as if chewing the words.

"Did you turn Nidhogg into that?"

At my question, he simply formed a wry smile.

Our footsteps halted at the same moment. Instinct drove our bodies, and my intuition let me dodge his blade—his claws. And now. The story continues in the present.