A Holy Clubbing Massage
‘Can’t I just give him a good, thorough massage with this sword?’
—Wouldn’t that hurt? (´O｀)
‘Do I look like someone who gives a damn if that bastard hurts?’
—Um, wouldn’t the agonizing pain tear his mind from his body so violently that his soul risks flying right out of him? (´O｀)
‘So you’re saying he won’t die, right?’
—(´O｀)…… If you really must go through with it, wouldn’t it be wise to bring a priest? If my contractor ends up in a human prison… for attempted murder… that would be a teeny bit… awkward for me….
‘Relax, I’m an imperial princess.’
—…I mean, your direct imperial lineage is indeed the reason you could contract with me in the first place, but still… (´O｀)….
“Young Count Phlux.”
“Yes?”
For a good while, I glared into empty space, sword in hand, before hurling it onto the floor with a loud clatter and stomping all over it in a fit of frustration. Then I scooped it back up, agonized over my options, and finally snapped my head up to glare at Phlux. Meeting my blazing, unblinking stare, he flinched.
“Better to suffer agony within an inch of your life than actually die, right?”
“…Pardon?”
“Keep the scabbard on, and at least you won’t bleed.”
“Excuse me?”
“Debbie.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“First, send word to the Castrein Duchy and report the current state of the Southern Barrier. Ask them if the Offering Festival can proceed as planned, and see if they can procure a substitute for the fake Holy Relic we’re supposed to use—that special-attribute thingamajig. Even if tomorrow is just preparations and the main ritual begins after, we’re pressed for time.”
“Understood. That won’t be an issue, but… what… exactly are you planning to do?”
Debbie asked, glancing back and forth between me warming up my wrists and Phlux, who had clearly picked up on an ominous premonition and was attempting to slide off the back of his chair.
“A Holy Clubbing Massage to purify demonic energy.”
Crisp cracking sounds popped from my knuckles and wrists as I finished stretching.
I hoisted the Emoticon Sword, which I had adjusted to its lightest setting.
“Don’t worry, this is all for the sake of survival. I mean… sure, the culprit who planted such bizarre, lethal contraband underground is the worst villain here. And sure, the idiot who got caught up in it created a cascade of disasters just to solve his own problems, proved incapable of fixing them himself, kidnapped an innocent princess, and had the gall to play the victim. Sure, the young count threw caution to the wind and set off this wildly irresponsible catastrophe, careless of whether innocent lives were ruined just because his own was falling apart! But I’m fine!”
Debbie addressed me as I vented my wrath, her eyes trembling with uncharacteristic panic.
“Umm, Imperial Princess. You’re saying you’re fine, but you don’t look fine in the slightest!”
“So even when standing in front of a piece of human garbage who kidnaps an innocent woman in the dead of night without a word of explanation while she’s sound asleep, I’m still raising my hands to save the bastard!”
“Imperial Princess, if you could please explain the situation… What do you mean by ‘better to suffer agony within an inch of your life than actually die’…?”
A faint dread pooled in Phlux’s eyes. Even after stirring up such a colossal mess, at least his instincts were sharp. Well, to be fair, anyone who stayed calm when someone advanced toward them clutching a scabbarded sword with a deranged grin would have to be out of their mind.
“You’ve heard what happened at the Imperial Palace, haven't you? Consider this a chance to experience the rumors firsthand in the flesh! I will heal you, Young Count Phlux, personally… with this Holy Sword…!”
Phlux shook his head frantically on sheer survival instinct.
“I—I beg your pardon, but in what… manner, exactly?”
“Like this!”
THWACK!
Dull, heavy impacts echoed relentlessly throughout the chamber until the inky night sky began to bleach into the pale light of dawn.
For a certain someone, it was an endlessly grueling, sorrowful night.
Utterly exhausted, Phlux found himself wondering:
‘What on earth is that princess’s deal?’
In truth, demanding to see the imperial princess had been entirely Phlux’s own decision. Even now, the current Count of Cortez was scrambling in every direction, desperate to find a solution, having expressly ordered Phlux not to make any reckless moves and to stay quiet, lest his condition deteriorate further.
Yet the moment he had seen the resolute look in the count's eyes, Phlux had realized the truth.
‘Father intends to save me, no matter the sacrifice.’
Until now, Count Cortez had maintained strict neutrality. As long as he occupied a position akin to a representative for the merchant class, leaning toward either faction was a precarious proposition.
Although Imperial Consort Cleo had flaunted her favor, entrusting the count with procuring all manner of rare luxuries and curiosities, they had never formed a complete alliance. He had carefully engaged in a diplomatic tug-of-war, keeping an arm’s length while leaving open just enough possibility for some distant future.
Then came that monumental incident at the Imperial Palace: Demonic beasts invading the palace, a prince cast out in disgrace, and an unloved nuisance of an imperial princess saving everyone—rumors that sounded almost like fairy tales.
Even when word spread that the Imperial Consort had been practically confined to her palace while joyous laughter echoed through the Empress’s court for the first time in ages, the high nobility focused on something else entirely: the Castrein Duchy had backed the Empress and Princess Titania, and Imperial Consort Cleo and Prince Brian had been defeated.
Whatever curses, demonic beasts, pieces of evidence, or swords were involved were deemed secondary matters. Even when talk circulated that the princess had obtained a bizarre sword and vanquished the beasts, most dismissed it casually. After all, if the princess had rescued the Castrein family's youngest daughter, who was to say that sword wasn't also connected to the duchy?
Yet even if the Imperial Consort was lying low now, it was only a matter of time. Eventually, she would bare her fangs again, and a clash would be inevitable. The machinations employed in the shadows of the high nobility often defied imagination. If Count Cortez forged a direct connection with Cleo, perhaps a way to cure Phlux might emerge.
The reason the Castrein Duchy had been ruled out was that they showed no mercy when it came to demonic beasts. Even if the offender was a high-ranking noble, they swung their blades without hesitation. Count Cortez feared that Duke Castrein would execute his son rather than save him—especially given the count's own culpability in turning a blind eye to the subterranean black market and back-alley auctions.
But Phlux had hesitated.
In the end, wasn’t all of this his fault?
Even if Count Cortez was well into middle age, he was not too old to sire another child. If his father gave up on him and had another heir, the estate and this city could be preserved and carried into the future. Yet because his father couldn’t bring himself to abandon him...
The Holy Relic of the Southern Barrier had yielded only a fleeting effect before shattering. What, then, of the barrier's origin—the Holy Relic of the Northern Barrier?
A chilling shudder had run down Phlux’s spine at that thought.
To save him, his father’s desperation might even reach for the relic of the north. But a relic guarded by the Castrein Duchy could never be stolen as easily as the one in the south. Which meant Count Cortez might ally with Imperial Consort Cleo in an attempt to bring down the Castrein family altogether…
A suffocating sense of crisis had clamped around his throat.
Because of me?
Because of me, will the Cortez family, my father, and this beautiful city we built with our own hands crumble into ruins?
He wanted to stop him. Yet looking into his father’s tear-stricken face as the man vowed, “I will do whatever it takes for you,” Phlux simply couldn’t bring himself to say no.
Ever since his body fell into decay, he hadn’t even been able to step outside. Even upon hearing that the imperial princess, backed by the mighty Castrein Duchy, was descending to the temple to conduct the Offering Festival, he had agonized until the very last moment.
Going behind his father’s back to plead with his personal knights to abduct the princess had been half-desperation, half-gamble. She might have ordered the immediate execution of the insolent wretch who dared kidnap her. Or if she were truly as foolish as the rumors claimed, she might have offered to smash the Holy Relic herself in exchange for lavish dresses and jewels…
And yet.
“The black energy has completely cleared from your feet too.”
At the tips of his toes, where the agony had grown so numb that he could no longer feel sensation, a strange warmth bloomed. It was the touch of small, delicate fingers. Without thinking, Phlux curled his toes. The tips of his ears burned hot.
“Moves nicely now.”
Seemingly unconcerned, she stood up and gently nudged his knee—the very knee that had turned pitch-black with bruises, faded to yellow, and finally returned to fair, healthy skin.
When Titania had rained relentless blows upon him with the sheathed sword, calling it a “Holy Clubbing Massage,” he had screamed at the top of his lungs. Each strike of the sword felt like his flesh was being branded with white-hot iron. When the maid named Debbie asked from the side, “Um, what if he bites his tongue?”, Titania paused briefly, sliced off a strip of bedsheet with her blade, balled it up, and shoved it into Phlux’s mouth.
Then she resumed beating him…
For a fleeting instant, Phlux had genuinely harbored homicidal intent toward her. Naturally, that didn’t last long.
When had that nerve-searing pain begun to recede? Titania had hammered away without pause. At times, she inspected him closely, as if verifying something. Whenever her gentle touch brushed over him between bouts of unbearable pain, he had to clench his jaw involuntarily. Had he not been gagged with cloth, he would have shattered his own teeth.
He had lost all track of time. Now, Titania observed him with sharp, assessing eyes. Occasionally, she muttered under her breath, words like, “Is it done now? Hmm, almost?” as if confirming details with someone invisible.
“Look at your eyes.”
Phlux looked into the mirror thrust before his face.
Drenched in sweat, his face was pale and haggard. Yet there they were: clear, uncorrupted whites and rich brown irises…
The reflection of Phlux widened its eyes in utter shock.