Ciel Midford Felt Pain
The discordant symphony of his severed organs reverberated along his spine, burrowing straight into his brain. Even as he was carefully carried away, excruciating pain seeped into him relentlessly.
Blood had spilled so profusely that his vision blurred even behind his glasses. The dark night sky seemed to shimmer with a faint purple hue.
The only reason he hadn't lost consciousness amid all this was the asymmetry from the single puncture wound on one side of his flank.
Should he ask the surgeon, upon entering the operating room, to slice open the other side as well and leave identical scars?
Such trivial thoughts flickered through his mind briefly, but they were interrupted when the cautious footsteps of those carrying him halted. He turned his head.
And at the end of that gaze… he let out a hollow, bitter laugh upon seeing Ciel Midford emerging through the prison of fire crafted by the elder of the Roswell ducal family—an Apollyon-rank elemental mage.
'Euphemia…'
You said that if I inflicted despair on Ciel Midford… he would submit to reality.
But look…
That's what protagonists are. Even in situations that would make ordinary people despair and crumble.
They overcome it, carrying the miracle of radiant light, standing at the antipode of fate to defeat evil.
'Yes…'
Whether embracing a happy ending.
Or a bad one.
Regardless of the protagonist's life's form.
'This world…'
…desires the death of me, the villain.
But the Netherworld did not desire his death.
Thud!
Screeech…!
A massive Netherworld gate descended before Ferzen against his will, forcing itself open as intangible chains burrowed inward.
At the same time, the nameplate engraved atop the Netherworld gate locked into place forcibly.
And what was dragged forth from beyond…
──Meeeh!
…devoured Ciel Midford's sword, which bore an imperfect anti-magic aura, with a bleat that could almost be called endearing—a goat's cry.
Flutter!
Flutter!
Flutter!
Though no wind blew, a book suddenly appeared, exuding an ominous aura. It flipped to a specific page, illuminating a peculiarly long name as if demanding Ferzen read it aloud.
“ξμφφ……”
A language he surely didn't know.
Yet Ferzen could read it naturally.
And the moment Ferzen uttered the name, a liquid darker than shadow dripped from the moon overhead, drenching the Netherworld gate.
At the same time, the aberration from the Netherworld—which had only peeked its head out, bleating like a goat—used it as lubricant to slither forth smoothly.
Its cry resembled a goat's, yet it bore no resemblance to one whatsoever. An aberration dwelling in the Netherworld's second layer—Raurava.
'An aberration we wouldn't normally encounter… why…'
Some aberrations rose from the first layer through promotion, earning names and building transaction records to ascend layers gradually.
Others, born through reproduction, inherited the trait of naturally 'growing' up to their mother's layer.
It took immense time, but because of this, such aberrations rarely responded to black mages' requests…
Throb!
Ferzen's head ached.
This knowledge wasn't widespread in the world.
No black mage knew it.
Yet why could he discern that this aberration was one born through reproduction?
And recognize the associated facts the instant he did?
He didn't know. He hadn't sought to know…
His mind, barely holding on, began to fray. His eyes grew heavy.
With the flank wound and massive blood loss.
His scant remaining mana forcibly depleted by the Netherworld gate, mana exhaustion set in, and Ferzen finally dropped his head.
As the summoner Ferzen lost consciousness, the aberration—which had pierced Ciel's body with its tentacles—naturally vanished back into the Netherworld…
“Hmmm…”
Gazing at the chaotic aftermath of the banquet's conclusion, Gremory quietly turned her head.
Inas den Proissen Robelium—she knew all too well why he had deliberately insulted and provoked Ferzen.
She knew so well that she inwardly praised his resolve while enjoying the play he staged for her sake…
But witnessing his attempt to harm the Brutein bloodline left her unsure where the act ended and reality began.
Fortunately, that doubt was resolved by the desperate wails of Inas the prince as he was dragged to the dungeon.
It was all pre-arranged with Ferzen von Schweig Brutein.
And the assassination attempt was the sole act of the knight, Ciel Midford.
'If that's all true…'
Assuming Ferzen awakens safely.
It seems like a situation that can be neatly managed.
Depending on how things progress, it might even yield twice the benefit.
“……”
A thick stench of blood wafted through the air.
The long trail of Ferzen's blood stretching into the operating room.
And watching the doctors extract blood from people and pass it inside for him, Euphemia felt like an unwelcome intruder despite being his wife.
When would the surgery end?
It was nearly 3 a.m. already.
Euphemia knew nothing of medicine, but she could tell from the atmosphere that things were far from normal.
Creak…
A weary-faced doctor in surgical garb emerged.
His disinfected gown was stained crimson with blood, and his hollow eyes resembled those of a dead man.
“Relieve me…”
“How's it going…?”
“You'll see when you go in.”
Major surgeries like this accumulated immense fatigue.
Especially when the patient was of Brutein blood…
The doctors' burden must have been indescribable, far beyond that of ordinary patients.
Clench!
As the relieving doctor entered, the outgoing one peeled off his gloves and forced down a cookie piled high with whipped cream.
Consuming high-calorie food for the most efficient stamina recovery.
“Extract more blood…”
“Haven't we already taken plenty and delivered it?”
“Not enough… We can't staunch the bleeding at all… It's a miracle the patient's held out this long. Honestly, I'm bracing for the worst—even decapitation.”
Though they spoke in hushed tones with guardian Euphemia nearby…
In the deathly quiet space, their words pierced her ears faintly yet clearly.
“I-I…!”
She sprang up desperately from her seat, approaching the doctor, rolling up her sleeve, and thrusting out her pale white arm.
“T-Take… my blood… please…”
“……Is your blood type compatible?”
“……”
The doctor posed the most basic question, puzzled by Euphemia—who had sat silently until now—suddenly offering this, but she couldn't utter a word.
Not because it mattered if it matched or not…
But because she had no idea of Ferzen's blood type.
“Lord Ruerg is… type B.”
“Ah…”
At the doctor's words, Euphemia carefully withdrew her trembling arm.
Then, with unsteady steps, she returned to her seat, collapsing weakly and bowing her head.
Why did this aching pain gnaw at her heart—the reality that she couldn't help him in the operating room even slightly?
……Guilt, perhaps.
She had clearly defended and protected Ciel to the end—the one who tried to kill him.
But truly, Euphemia…
…had never imagined Ciel Midford would go that far.
That he would throw away his life for her sake…
…to kill Ferzen.
And Euphemia felt not the slightest joy at his sacrifice.
It only bred sorrow—and even anger.
What was the point of going this far? What remained?
In the worst possible way, they only inflicted pain on each other.
Ciel Midford, imprisoned in the imperial palace dungeon awaiting execution.
Ferzen von Schweig Brutein, teetering between life and death in the operating room.
And the powerless her—Euphemia el Lerenne Ruerg.
Drip.
Tears spilled from her golden eyes.
'Ciel…'
I don't know what you're trying to give me.
But… if the path forward is this painful.
Then… living tamed by Ferzen is far better.
Euphemia clutched the hem of her dress tightly and wept bitterly.
And so.
At 6 a.m.
Ferzen still hadn't emerged from the operating room.
The sun alone rose silently, heralding the dawn.