A Dead Body's Rebound
No matter how sturdy a Castrein man was, sleeping in a posture like that guaranteed his joints would crack and pop like dry twigs when he woke.
Straighten your back, or spinal surgery will cost you at least seventeen million won… As the reincarnated soul of a former modern person who had lived under the constant shadow of that dire warning, I felt a moral obligation to intervene. He was my lifesaver, after all; the least I could do was fix his posture. If he spent the entire day slumped over like that, his neck would surely seize up permanently.
Should I lean him back against the chair? Or just heave him straight onto the bed? The trouble was, a sleeping or unconscious body always weighed far more than expected. Could these scrawny little arms of mine even budge him?
Ah, whatever. Let's just try. At the very least, I have to turn his head. Hesitating over whether to grab his neck or simply adjust his jaw, I reached out and gently cupped Raymon's cheek. He had collapsed with one side of his face buried in the mattress, so when I pressed softly with my palm, his head turned easily enough, but…
…This feels really weird.
Raymon Castrein, resting his cheek in the palm of my hand without the slightest hint of resistance, felt so entirely alien that an odd shiver ran through me. Heat rushed up into my cheeks.
M-maybe I should have just grabbed his neck or shoulder and roughly rolled him over? But the man was fast asleep. I had only been trying my best not to wake him. Ugh, who am I even making excuses to? There's no one here to listen!
Taking painstaking care, I somehow managed to shift Raymon into a decent position. The posture that had previously looked destined to ruin his cervical and lumbar discs now appeared far more restful. At the very least, he wouldn't roll out of bed groaning that his entire body was falling apart the moment he opened his eyes. A small sense of pride swelled in my chest.
Carefully avoiding another look at his bare cheek or the nape of his neck, I slipped out from under the covers. Finding the slippers scattered on the floor, I padded softly across the plush carpet, cracked the door open, and peeked out to see what lay beyond.
Fortunately, the adjoining room opened onto a balcony.
Hoping the cool night breeze might soothe my fluttering heart, I slipped outside without looking back, quietly pulling the door shut behind me with a gentle click.
Click.
Soft, muffled footsteps receded into the silence.
Only after the faint rustle of her movements faded entirely did Raymon slowly open his eyes.
The closing of the door, the cautious steps across the carpet—every motion of hers had been endlessly delicate, born of an agonizing fear that she might disturb his slumber.
Yet she was the one who had teetered on the brink of death, only just opening her eyes after receiving desperate treatment.
While she had hovered over him with anxious sighs, fretting over what to do before carefully adjusting his posture, Raymon had felt every brush of her fingertips against his skin. In truth, he had never been asleep to begin with.
His awkward, ridiculous sprawl had happened because he had been holding his fingers beneath her nose to monitor her breathing right up until the moment she stirred. When she began to react, he had frozen in sheer panic and tumbled into that clumsy heap.
Before he could even compose himself, he had seen her flutter her eyelashes and look around. Paralyzed by the thought of being caught hovering, he had shut his eyes tight and desperately played possum.
He had brought her back alive. High Priest Ilian had panicked, pouring every ounce of his sacred power into saving Titania's life. Yet the old priest had left behind words that gnawed relentlessly at Raymon's soul.
"Well… it is not as though divine healing has no effect on Her Highness," the High Priest had murmured, tilting his head as if troubled by something he could neither explain nor dismiss. "Yet just like last time…"
Raymon, gripped by a sudden surge of anxiety, had pressed him without thinking. "What do you mean by that? What happened last time?"
"It is strange… That is to say, her wounds clearly knit together, and her breathing returned to normal, but…" Ilian had looked deeply unsettled—bearing the face of a man who sensed something terrible lurking in the dark, yet found the truth too abominable to put into words.
"Whatever your suspicions are, speak plainly. I would be grateful for your honesty."
"…Very well. It may sound cruel, but there is one lesson I drill into every fledging priest before they set foot on a battlefield," Ilian had said, his gaze turning solemn and profound. It was the look of a mentor who had dedicated his life to preserving life, yet had personally sent countless disciples into blood-soaked quagmires of death. "Sever your attachments to the dead."
Raymon had remained silent, his breath catching.
"Divine power is not omnipotent," Ilian had continued quietly. "Once someone has truly breathed their last, they cannot be brought back. That, too, is the will of the heavens… Healing has no purchase on a corpse. When you pour your strength into someone, your instincts tell you immediately: Ah, this soul is gone. My power has nowhere to land."
"……."
"And yet… I thought it was mere fancy the first time. But when I first channeled holy power into Princess Titania… there was this bizarre rebound, identical to what one feels when attempting to force vitality into a dead body. It lasted only a fleeting moment before her flesh began to mend properly, so I wondered if I had imagined it, but…"
Having heard such a horrifying thing, how could Raymon have possibly fallen asleep before she opened her eyes? His heart had been shriveling in his chest, burning to cinders with every passing second.
Yet what had her reaction been when she finally woke?
She had worried that his back might ache. She had gazed at him for a long while before tenderly brushing the hair from his brow. The instant her fingers grazed his skin, Raymon had nearly gasped aloud, the shell of his ear burning as if scorched by flame.
Whenever he was awake, she acted like a skittish hedgehog, desperately puffing up her quills to keep him at arm's length. Yet the moment she thought he was asleep, she flattened all her spines, creeping close and purring like a tame creature seeking comfort beside its guardian. What cruel irony was this?
And yet, he did not dislike it. If anything, the problem was that he liked it far too much. His heart thundered with such violence against his ribs that he had genuinely terrified himself, fearing the sound would betray his charade.
…Does she not hate me after all?
Does she care for me, even a little?
When those soft fingers caressed his cheek, nudging him gently before she began huffing and puffing with all her might, straining with her small arms and shoulders to roll his heavy frame over—Raymon had nearly parted his lips in utter bewilderment. In fact, he had flinched slightly from the sheer shock of it.
Fortunately, Titania, completely absorbed in the herculean task of shifting his weight, hadn't noticed.
Having laid him down in a far more comfortable position right beside the bed where she had rested moments before, she had slipped away, practically radiating satisfaction.
She had neatly found her slippers, bounding toward the door with light, hopping steps like a rabbit skipping through the underbrush. The fleeting thought that she was terribly endearing struck Raymon, startling him to his core.
"…Titania."
Confirming that the door was shut tight, Raymon buried his eyes in his palms. A storm of heavy, conflicting emotions churned within his chest, so dense and overwhelming that he had no words to describe it.
Brilliant sunlight warmed her eyelids.
The weather was astonishingly pleasant—doubly so considering the war-like turmoil they had weathered just yesterday.
A gentle breeze drifted through the open window, lightly rustling the hair of the girl sitting propped up in bed. Yet on this splendid afternoon, the maid Barbara was directing an icy glare at the bright, platinum-blonde princess who sat smiling awkwardly before her.
"You must drink every last drop, Your Highness."
Titania stared down at her lap with a tearful grimace. A pristine white porcelain bowl sat there, filled to the brim with a pitch-black liquid that sloshed ominously with the slightest movement. Her pale face held an expression of pure dread, as if she couldn't even fathom what horrifying ingredients had been brewed into it—and Barbara, who had boiled the concoction strictly according to High Priest Ilian's instructions, was certain that if Titania ever learned the truth, she would never take another sip. It was a look of pure terror that hadn't surfaced even when the princess threw herself before hordes of demonic beasts at the Imperial Palace.
"……It's way too bitter."
"You almost vomited last time after eating far too many sweets. This is all the dessert you are permitted."
Barbara pointed firmly to a small glass dish placed beside the bowl, which held a single chocolate roughly the size of a pea. Titania's expression crumpled further into misery, but Barbara had no intention of yielding.
Having tended to Titania since her days recuperating in the Empress's palace, Barbara was an imperial maid trained in the matriarch's household from an early age. As the daughter of a trusted attendant whom the Empress had brought from her maiden house, the Marquisate of Integria, her loyalty and lineage were beyond reproach.
She was more capable than most noble-born ladies-in-waiting and thoroughly versed in imperial etiquette. The Empress had dispatched Barbara with the full expectation that her presence would be of immense help to the wandering princess.
Indeed, Barbara herself had thought so too. That was, of course, before she realized that this accident-prone princess would constantly throw herself into mortal danger without a shred of regard for her own well-being—all while leaving Barbara behind under the convenient excuse that she was 'just an ordinary maid, a person of the Empress who must be kept safe'!
Barbara was no fool.
From the moment the princess began swinging an unheard-of divine sword and cleaving demonic beasts into pieces, believing she had no secrets was nothing short of laughable. The way the entire Castrein family trailed behind her like ducklings following their mother; the way they assigned their own trusted retainers to her side; and the way Titania seemed to trust the Castreins, yet maintained a subtle, unyielding wall between them…
Barbara saw through all of it.