Everything happened too suddenly.
Bell had prepared meticulously and counterattacked the very instant the assault began. Yet the assailant's dagger still managed to slice across his arm. The cut wasn't deep, yet blood gushed out uncontrollably. Neither healing potions nor antidotes had any effect.
As his vision blurred, the attacker let out a crazed laugh and triggered a violent explosion. Shredded flesh erupted into a storm, sweeping through the entire passageway.
Bell had no time to think about who the attacker was. Even after wrapping the wound tightly with his clothes, blood continued pouring from his arm. His consciousness drifted away along with the flowing blood.
"Firebolt!"
Gritting his teeth, Bell scraped a streak of flaming lightning across the wound. Burning pain surged through him—yet beneath the twisted, festering skin, blood still seeped out endlessly.
The pain grew distant. Monsters roared somewhere far away, and the world dimmed.
Bell collapsed into a pool of blood. The last thing he saw was a pair of white stockings patterned with blue, and slender feet slowly approaching.
Then his consciousness fell into darkness.
...
"The wound won't stop bleeding no matter what we do. We're out of options."
One of the healers spoke helplessly.
Airmid frowned. A cursed weapon? Evilus had already been wiped out, yet someone was still using such an ominous curse?
"Any other symptoms?" Airmid asked urgently as she ran down the hall.
"He's unconscious. At this rate, he won't last long," another healer replied.
Airmid burst out of the alchemy room. If it truly was a cursed artifact, then the boy was in grave danger.
She pushed the door open—and the moment she saw the wounded youth, her mind went blank.
Why… why…
Airmid didn't take time to examine the frail, blood-soaked body. Standing beside the crimson-stained floor, she immediately began chanting Magic.
"Healing droplets, tears of light, eternal sanctuary.—"
Her clear voice trembled. The Dea Saint's magic was overflowing with desperate resolve.
Only when the light enveloped the youth and the cursed wound finally began to mend did Airmid allow herself a breath of relief.
Bell slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the Dea Saint's tear-streaked face. Her delicate, doll-like features—paired with the soft drizzle outside the window—were unbearably gentle, heartbreakingly beautiful.
"Cranel-san, can you tell me what happened?" Airmid asked, still wiping tears away.
"I was attacked by a man in the Dungeon. I managed to defeat him, but the wound just wouldn't stop bleeding."
Bell recounted the events honestly.
Airmid furrowed her brow, deep in thought.
"Airmid-san, thank you. Looks like you've saved me again," Bell admitted.
"..."
Airmid was suddenly struck by a vague premonition. If she confessed to him now, she was certain he would accept her feelings. But she still couldn't say the words.
The day she heard news of his death, she had cried her heart out. When he appeared again, alive and well, the overwhelming relief made her realize just how deeply she had fallen for him. Even exchanging only a few casual, ordinary lines with him filled her with happiness.
Over these past few days, a tavern girl had been staying by his side. Airmid felt a stab of jealousy, but more than that, she was simply glad for him. Liking the boy was one thing; accepting such a blunt declaration of a harem was another. Yet that girl had openly accepted it.
Airmid didn't care about her place or ranking. It was enough if he would just accept her feelings. But now, with him so close, her own shyness and tangled emotions kept her from saying anything.
Airmid wanted to help him. She wanted to see his dreams come true. And yet her "song" ended here. If only she could reach him sooner. If only she could take away his pain... Airmid resented her own helplessness and naïve wishful thinking.
The boy was clearly being targeted by someone wielding a cursed weapon. What she wanted was not to sing Dia Fratel over him when he was weak, then use the moment to confess. A romance born that way would be far too pathetic. She wanted to speak with a smile, embrace him, and kiss his lips.
Because of that, Airmid kept her feelings to herself. Syr seemed to hear about the incident before Hestia, and she gently led the boy away. The room, now empty, still held traces of deep red blood.
Airmid looked at the ominous cursed dagger and made up her mind. Besides magic, the Dea Saint possessed a mysterious Development Ability—one that allowed her to craft secret remedies capable of lifting curses. Like creating antidotes: if a poison existed, a matching cure could be made.
But what Airmid planned was far from simple. She would let her own body serve as the curse's vessel, then use her evaporated blood as the base to craft the anti-curse remedy. As a Healer, she couldn't always stay by the boy's side. This secret antidote would serve as her resolve, a talisman the Dea Saint prepared for him.
Airmid stepped into the alchemy chamber and drove the pitch-black blade into her own skin. Pain, to her, was only a bridge that led toward him. When she finally handed him the secret antidote herself, she would surely be able to speak her heart...
Rain poured endlessly outside. Holding her love close, the Dea Saint let the curse gnaw at her body.
...
A narrow, unnoticed alley.
Raindrops fell onto the hood of Goddess Freya.
"No guards, and this is the outcome."
Her voice was quiet, yet filled with a wrath no mortal could endure.
"All for the boy's growth. This is my failure. I accept the punishment."
The King lowered his head.
Freya let out a soft sigh. A caged bird can't spread its wings; anyone would understand that. How could she truly blame him? Her anger was aimed at herself, and at the one hiding in the shadows behind it all.
"Have you found the source of the curse?"
"The perpetrator self-detonated. According to eyewitness accounts, he was just a low-level remnant of the Evilus."
Ottar answered honestly.
"Using a nameless pawn to avoid drawing fire onto himself..."
Freya looked off into the distance. For a moment, she had the urge to simply unleash her Charm and investigate every suspect one by one. But overturning Orario's current balance would do the boy no good.
"Forget it..."
Freya let the thought go and settled her resolve. If the culprit was that persistent, then she had no reason to hesitate either. She would simply follow her heart and let her love color everything...
Freya pushed back her hood and slowly stepped out into the rain.
...
The rain washed away the bloodstains, giving Orario a faint, misty veil.
Bell decided to keep what happened secret for now. Aside from the Loki Familia and Freya Familia, the fewer people involved, the better. To his surprise, not long after he'd healed, Syr rushed over and wrapped him in a worried embrace.
Hand in hand, they walked slowly through the drizzle.
Bell never got the chance to ask how she'd found out. Or rather, Syr didn't give him the time to think. In the rain, she held Bell's hand tightly. Her adorable face was soaked, tears seemingly mixed into the falling drops.
Then Syr spoke.
"Tonight... will you stay with me?"