Whispers on Paper
As he woke from his sleep, warm sunlight gently nudged at his eyes. He rubbed the blurriness away and slowly turned his head toward the chair. No one sat there. The chair had been returned to its proper place, and on the desk rested a carefully prepared meal... along with a fountain pen and paper.
If there is anything you desire, write it on this paper.
They had taken him. Imprisoned him in this room after the mistake Erika had made. What had they intended to do, watching over him through the night? He could not easily read their intentions.
Given how much his body had recovered, perhaps they had brought him here to heal him. Or was there another reason? The words on this paper at least suggested they were approaching him with kindness. Yet they also carried the implication that they would not let him leave this room.
In any case, he had no desire to leave. This was a golden opportunity to reunite with them, even in this manner. Above all else, he worried for their wounds.
They had suffered the Demon King's touch and been filled with hatred they never wanted. One could not blame the puppets for the puppeteer's crimes. He repeated the thought to himself, etching it deeper into his heart.
The warm steam and the fragrant aroma rising from the food. Vegetable soup today, it seemed. Unable to resist his hunger, he slowly picked up the spoon.
If he didn't eat, he probably wouldn't be able to sleep. He had already guessed they had laced the food with a sleeping agent. Since escaping death, had he ever truly found proper rest? Besides, he couldn't even remember finishing yesterday's meal. It bothered him that he hadn't eaten all of that freshly baked bread.
"Pfft."
The fact that he could entertain such idle thoughts showed just how much he welcomed being held in their arms. Had this been a few days ago, he would likely have been screaming in protest. But after being forcibly taken from the forest, living in a comfortable room, and receiving their devoted care, when he considered the situation objectively, it felt more accurate to say he had been rescued by them—if one overlooked the coercion.
A soft bed. Fine blankets. A house so quiet that only the sounds beyond the window could be heard. He wasn't sure whether they were deliberately avoiding conversation or had taken measures to soundproof the room. Either way, he felt a fresh wave of gratitude toward them.
For now, he would eat the soup. He had no wish for it to grow cold.
"Hah."
The moment the spoon entered his mouth, he tasted a perfectly brewed broth and fluffy potatoes. Smack. Smack. Falling asleep without finishing such a delicious soup was out of the question. He hurriedly spooned more into his mouth, then meticulously wiped his messy lips and the desk with the handkerchief provided.
The comfort and satisfaction far surpassed any meal he had eaten in the forest. Feeling the pleasant warmth settle in his stomach, he leaned back comfortably in the chair. Soon drowsiness washed over him. His eyelids grew heavy, his vision beginning to blur.
But he could not sleep yet. He quickly picked up the fountain pen and began writing his request on the paper.
"...This should be enough."
He should have written first before touching the soup. Still—this would suffice. This much would allow him to grow a little closer to them.
"Mmph."
Woojin let out a short groan and collapsed onto the desk.
The sleeping draught was supposed to be taken with a separate glass of water, but he hadn't finished writing that part of the note. Foolishly, it seemed he had eaten the soup before completing the letter. Seeing him like that was incredibly endearing.
Carefully, Erika removed the fountain pen from his slack hand and gently wiped away the ink stains. She then lifted his body with great caution. He was still so light. She laid him down, shook out the tangled blanket, and covered him once more.
"Sleep well."
She stroked his hair once, gathered the cleaned dishes, and quietly slipped out of the room. For dinner tonight, she would simply hand him the pills as he had requested.
"Has he fallen asleep?"
"Yes, you may go in now."
"If the hero returns, will you quietly let me know?"
"Understood. I'll head out to the vegetable garden in the meantime."
"Very well..."
Sirke gave a small bow and disappeared into the room.
"Daeun will probably return around evening..."
Their cabin was quite a distance from town, after all. While checking on the thriving vegetables, she needed to decide where to plant the new seeds. After that, she would draw water from the well, boil some in advance, and prepare dinner for everyone. And tonight, she would see his face again.
Just thinking about it brought a faint smile to her lips.
"Yes. Now I can see him."
With a bucket in one hand and a basket in the other, Erika left the house.
Meanwhile, Sirke was examining his body with careful eyes.
"He's lost so much muscle."
Where had those once-thick arms and legs gone? The source of the power that let him lift heavy loads, the foundation of his incredible stamina—it had all vanished. Woojin looked so frail it pained her heart to see.
His cheeks were no longer quite so hollow, his face a little less tense. He was improving, bit by bit, thanks to her care.
"First, the joints..."
Patients in prolonged comas often grow stiff. The same is true for those who cannot move freely. Sirke, though you are a saint and need not perform such tasks... should the day come when you must care for someone, this knowledge will prove useful. The head nun's words seemed to echo beside her ear once more.
She began with his slender arm, massaging each muscle diligently with her small hands. Beads of sweat formed on her face. Her once-quiet breathing grew labored. Though his frame had shrunk considerably from before, he was still a grown man. For a saint with a delicate constitution, the simple act of massaging proved exhausting.
"Huff... haa... haaa..."
After thoroughly working every inch of his body, she murmured, "Now... I should wipe him down..."
Perhaps because she had been touching him for so long, his skin was damp with sweat as well. She needed to change his clothes and clean him properly with a damp towel, but doing so alone felt impossible right now.
"Should I call Lady Erika after all...?"
But when his brow furrowed in his sleep as if he felt too warm—
"No, it must be done now."
Her demeanor shifted entirely as she began to undress him. She unfastened each button one by one. The skeletal frame and arms that emerged were expected, yet seeing them directly with her own eyes drove a sharp dagger into her chest.
Holding back tears, Sirke hastened her work. She left his undergarments in place, neatly folded his clothes, then struggled outside to fetch a bucket of water and towels. She soaked the cloth and began wiping his body with both hands.
When a cool breeze drifted in, she smiled at the refreshing sensation. As his complexion gradually improved, her own eyes softened and curved with quiet joy.
Once his body was spotless, she felt a surge of pride and began dressing him again—sliding the garments beneath his back, guiding his arms through the sleeves, fastening each button, then supporting his back to pull on his pants. Only then was her task complete.
"Whew... It would have been easier if the hero were here."
But only Daeun could visit the town. A well-known figure like herself would arouse suspicion the moment her voice was heard. The archer already had to hide her ears beneath a hood and was being tracked. Any rumors would surely bring pursuers straight to their door. The hero, on the other hand, could simply claim to be an ordinary knight from the borderlands and avoid suspicion. Unless the kingdom itself was searching for her, visiting town posed little difficulty.
When she came back to herself, she realized she was stroking his hair.
"...!"
This would not do. She needed to leave so he could rest comfortably. Hurriedly organizing the items, she quietly slipped from the room. His warmth still lingered on her hand. She pressed it to her cheek and closed her eyes.
"I missed this warmth... so much."
"I'm back—"
The metallic clank of armor rang out. It was evening; the hero had finished purchasing ingredients and daily necessities.
"Daeun, you've worked hard."
The archer now addressed her more casually. She greeted the hero with a bright smile.
"You look much brighter. Woojin's condition must have improved greatly."
"Yes, both his body and heart seem to be healing little by little."
"That's wonderful... What about the saintess—Sirke?"
"She's sleeping. She said massaging and wiping him by herself was quite exhausting."
The sound of deep, even breathing filled the air. It was only natural after she had cared for him so devotedly with her delicate hands. Still, after exerting herself, she needed to eat something delicious and regain her strength.
"Shouldn't we have dinner?"
"I was just about to wake her."
"I'll do it. What's on the menu?"
"Well-roasted chicken tonight."
"That sounds delicious. I'll wake her quickly."
"Then I'll bring the food out."
"...For roasted chicken? What about the sleeping draught?"
"I was going to mention that."
She handed Daeun the note Woojin had written. The hero examined it, demanding an explanation.
"What exactly is this?"
"I told him to write down anything he wanted. This is his reply. It seems... he wishes to communicate through letters."
"Exchanging letters?"
"Yes."
"...What did Sirke say?"
"Since we won't be meeting face-to-face, she said it would be fine as long as we choose our words carefully."
"..."
The woman in the helmet remained silent for a long moment. Though her expression was hidden, it was clear she looked on the verge of tears.
"I'll do it. By when must it be ready?"
Her voice was thick and strained, as though she had barely swallowed a sob. Erika chose not to comment on it.
"Shall we give it to him with tomorrow's breakfast?"
"Yes. I'll have it ready by morning."
"Understood. I'll return shortly."
With those words, Erika placed a generous portion of chicken thigh, mashed potatoes, and honey-simmered sauce into a bowl. She set it on a tray already laden with other items and headed for the room.
Knock, knock. After rapping lightly, she cracked the door open, gently slid the bowl and paper inside, then quickly closed it again.
Daeun watched her in silence, holding her breath.
"He must have been awake... right?"
"Yes."
"He didn't see us, did he?"
"I only opened it a sliver. No."
With a sigh of relief, Daeun finally settled comfortably into her seat. A plump chicken leg was placed before her.
"Wow, this looks incredible... Are you sure I can have this?"
"There's another whole chicken, so eat to your heart's content."
The two additional bowls she brought out each contained a chicken leg as well.
"By the way, Sirke."
The hero paused as she reached to lift her helmet and instead stepped into the room where Sirke slept.
"Sirke, it's time for dinner."
"Mmm... Ah, Hero-nim."
"Call me Daeun, Sirke."
"Ehh... Habits are hard to break..."
"Chicken leg—"
"Chicken leg? Chicken leg!"
The drowsy child vanished, replaced by a girl whose eyes sparkled as she dashed toward the living room.
"Goodness, she really does love it."
Chuckling softly, Daeun made her way to the beautifully set dinner table. Without realizing it, the three of them had created a bright, warm atmosphere. It was vastly different from the heavy gloom of depression, pessimism, and self-loathing that had swirled around them not long ago.
Once again, the evening sunset bathed them in its light. If the setting sun had once illuminated only sorrow, now it brought peace, rest, and relief.
The sound of knocking, followed by the door opening slightly. Woojin withdrew the unconscious glance he had directed toward it. A soft clatter, then a thud. The bowl was set down, and the door closed once more.
Outside, darkness was falling. A beautiful sunset. Clouds dyed crimson. A scene like a painting. He felt profound gratitude for being able to view it now with peaceful reminiscence rather than pain.
"You've truly come a long way."
The resentment, agony, and rage he once held toward them had somehow faded. In their place rose happy memories. The jokes and idle chatter shared while camping. Stories of the paths they had walked together. The sunset seemed to draw those memories from the depths of his heart and present them to him.
The rich, savory aroma teased his nose.
"No way."
That plump, glossy appearance. It was chicken thigh and a perfectly deboned leg.
"...Gulp."
He carefully lifted the tray containing the food and other items and placed it on the desk. Upon inspection, he found utensils, the fountain pen and inkwell, neatly lined letter paper, a bowl of water, a cup, several pills, and a palm-sized slip bearing a short magic spell, all arranged with care.
Come to think of it, a candle sat beside the bed. It would soon be too dark to see without it. He retrieved the candle holder, gave the slip a shake, and with a soft whoosh, a gentle flame bloomed. He transferred the fire to the candlewick and set the burning paper in the bowl. Once the flame died, he turned his full attention to the meal.
"Thank you for the food."
He dipped the meat in the sauce and took a bite.
"Haaaa."
A sigh of pure delight escaped him. He remembered how Erika's first attempt at roasting chicken had been nothing but charcoal. A small laugh slipped out.
The table was filled with her sincerity. He savored not only the tender chicken but the mashed potatoes as well, chewing each bite thoroughly. The richly sweet sauce prevented his throat from feeling dry.
Once his stomach was full, he placed the empty bowl outside the door. Relying on the candlelight, he refilled the fountain pen with ink and slowly began to write.
How much time had passed? The night had grown completely dark. The birds had fallen silent, replaced by the chorus of crickets. Chirp, chirp.
He blew gently across the paper. The ink must be fully dry by now. He folded it neatly, placed it atop the bowl, then picked up the pill beside it.
"Gulp."
He swallowed it in one go with water, carefully moved to the bed, and laid his weary body down. His body was not yet fully healed—perhaps writing the letter had been too much. With that final thought, his consciousness slipped away.
"Sss..."
Quiet, even breathing filled the room. For the first time in a long while, a truly peaceful night had come to him as well.