Chapter 26

When Iberin collapsed, Lecashe went into full crisis mode.

She'd lost consciousness, and even so, her body kept shaking with the pain.

She couldn't breathe properly, just choked on every gasp, her color drained to a sick white.

"Is she still hurting?"

"…This is the best I can do, Your Highness."

The physician barely got the answer out, his face gone pale under the killing pressure Lyssel was giving off.

All the physician could do was use medicine to dull the symptoms.

There was nothing else.

Because what was eating away at Iberin was her contaminated holy power.

For that, she needed either a priest's help, or holy power transferred to her with someone else's life as collateral.

"A f-full cure isn't possible."

Lyssel squeezed his eyes shut.

He'd known, really.

Iberin had ended up this way because the holy power she'd been born with had been muddied by demonic energy when she conceived a Lecashe heir—there was no way Lyssel didn't know that.

Lyssel just looked down at Iberin in silence.

Up until now, whether Iberin was sick or not was somebody else's problem.

Sure, the imperial family arranged the matches, but he'd always figured no one married into Lecashe without some serious compensation, and that she'd grabbed a hefty payout.

Even if that payout came at the cost of her own life.

If the old Iberin had been the one suffering, Lyssel wouldn't have so much as blinked.

So why was his chest aching like this, why was the panic clawing at him like he'd lose his mind?

Ether seemed to be feeling something similar—he couldn't sit still either.

Lyssel had been just as indifferent to Ether as he had been to Iberin.

The only thing that had changed was that, with Iberin, it wasn't like that anymore.

Lyssel didn't know how deep the feeling ran.

He'd just come to his senses and found her already settled in his heart, and he wanted her to keep being there.

But now, looking at Iberin collapsed like this, fear hit him hard.

That was it.

This woman could die at any time.

The first person he'd ever let near him, and her fate was to die because of him.

"Ha."

A hollow laugh slipped out of him.

"Waaaaah!"

Just then, maybe sensing that the air had shifted, Ether burst into wailing sobs.

A startled Tami tried to scoop him into her arms and soothe him, but he shoved her off and clung to Iberin's side, refusing to leave.

Horrible.

Lyssel thought it was horrible.

What was devouring Iberin's life was the energy of Lecashe.

She'd lost her memory, sure, but how had Iberin ever decided to come close to a Lecashe?

If anything, with no memory, she should've found him more revolting.

She'd been turned into a dying woman without even knowing it.

"The temple…"

Lyssel murmured.

The most effective way to ease Iberin's pain right now was to bring in a priest.

"Pardon?"

The butler jerked his head up, startled at the single word.

"I'll go to the temple and ask."

"…But, Your Highness."

The butler, whose family had served Lecashe for generations, knew.

That Lecashe and the temple weren't on good terms.

And asking—that meant lowering his head.

He'd sensed lately that Lyssel had changed, but he hadn't imagined he'd go this far.

If there'd been any guarantee that bowing his head would actually ease Iberin's condition even slightly, the butler wouldn't have hesitated.

"…They'll refuse."

The temple, help Lecashe?

To the temple, take away the Forest of the World Tree and a Lecashe was nothing more than a cursed, filthy thing that should be wiped out.

There was no chance they'd cooperate.

"I'll go anyway."

Lyssel didn't argue.

He just moved.

---

The front of the temple was packed with people.

Mostly people in finely tailored clothes.

Commoners didn't dare set foot inside.

The Holy Empire worshipped its god, but not once since the Holy-Demonic War had anyone heard the god's voice or received a divine oracle.

It had been ages since a Saintess or saint had been born, and the priests' powers had been steadily weakening.

Which meant the pope's authority was rather thin, his position tangled up in messy political dealings with the nobility.

In short, the place was rotted through.

The priests' use of holy power for healing was limited to nobles too.

The more a noble donated, the further up the priority list they climbed for everything.

"Welcome. What business brings you?"

When Lyssel stopped at the temple's entrance, the priest standing there bowed and asked his purpose.

"……. There's someone I'd like healed with holy power."

Lyssel's voice was tight, and the priest gave him a quick up-and-down look, brows knitting slightly.

The priests had every capital noble committed to memory, and Lyssel wasn't a face he recognized.

"If it's not too forward, may I ask your house?"

He was being polite on the chance it was a noble of decent means.

"……. Lecashe."

"Pardon?"

The priest thought for a moment he'd misheard and asked again, but the answer came back the same.

The priest blinked a few times, his face going cold and flat, and walked back inside—emerging shortly with the high priest and a small force of holy knights.

"You said who?"

The high priest didn't bother with any courtesy.

"My wife is ill."

"Wife? Ah, that wife of yours—the one cursed and dying because of you?"

The high priest scoffed.

Did you hear? He says he's Lecashe!

Eek.

That cursed house is in the capital?

Even the commoners outside—the ones not allowed inside the temple, praying out front—recoiled in horror and edged away from Lyssel.

"Get out!"

The high priest didn't hesitate—he flung handfuls of salt at Lyssel.

In case he might strike back, the holy knights drew their swords and held their guard.

"Please. Just look at her, once."

Lyssel pressed despite the abuse.

"My wife needs holy power."

"You think we'd help a cursed thing? Not for any sum of money! Get out!"

When he didn't seem about to leave easily, a priest behind the high priest tossed water at him.

Splash—

"And risk catching the curse? How dare you!"

Soaked through like a drowned rat, Lyssel's eyes flared a cold, vivid blue.

The priests and even the holy knights flinched, an involuntary shudder running through them.

"W-what are you going to do, looking at us like that!"

Honestly, if he'd wanted, Lyssel could've cut them down in a single stroke and called it even—but Iberin wouldn't want that.

"As expected."

The old Lyssel, the one before Iberin, would've given up and taken it.

No—the old Lyssel wouldn't have come to the temple on his own feet in the first place.

Anyway, Lyssel decided he wasn't going to take it anymore.

"You'll regret not just healing her when you had the chance."

"What kind of bullshi— aaargh!"

He couldn't kill them, so the only thing Lyssel could do was rip away the very energy they believed made them superior.

"It was already shit… anyway."

"Wh-what are you doing!"

"Nothing left to ruin."

Lyssel pulled the demonic energy seated in his own body up and planted it inside them.

Of course, they hadn't taken in demonic energy directly the way Iberin had, so it would fade fairly quickly—but they'd suffer for a few days.

Though for temple priests, the holy power in them seemed even thinner than what a regular citizen carried.

"Aaargh! Th-this is—!"

"Impossible!"

Maybe they'd felt their holy power get fouled, because they writhed on the ground like worms, gasping in agony. Lyssel walked away without looking back.

Everyone who'd witnessed it just stood there shaking, faced with proof that the cursed grand duke they'd only heard rumors about had shown his power.

---

Several days passed, and Iberin showed no improvement at all.

In the meantime, the rumors about Lecashe were spiraling far past anything containable.

The priests' holy power had been polluted by demonic energy, even if only briefly.

Somehow people had learned which estate Lecashe was staying in, and now no one would even walk past it.

But the staff actually working at the capital estate were a little different.

No—truthfully, they were scared too, scared the curse might rub off on them, but they thought of how kind Iberin had been and stayed by her side.

And privately, they felt a certain satisfaction at what Lyssel had done.

The temple had always ignored commoners, treated them like vermin.

Plus, when you looked at it from a certain angle, Lyssel was pretty pitiful.

He'd gone to ask the temple for help and gotten back the salt treatment and a bucket of water for his trouble—honestly, his reaction wasn't hard to understand.

If anything, from the staff's perspective, it was the temple lot who'd been heartless.

Add to that, Lyssel was a walking mass of demonic energy, so he couldn't stay at her side for long.

Ether was the same.

What must it feel like, worrying that much and not being able to stay close?

"God, I really hope the mistress wakes up soon."

"Really."

The staff threw themselves into nursing her, hoping she'd recover even a little sooner.

But instead of getting better, she only seemed to be getting worse.

"Khh—! Krgh!"

After a brief stretch of quiet, Iberin's seizures started up again.

Just twisting and choking would've been manageable.

The pain was so bad she couldn't hold still for a second—rolling, slamming into things like she meant to break her own body—so the staff had no choice but to pin her arms and legs down.

"Hhk."

One of the maids broke and started sobbing.

The Iberin who'd first walked into this estate came back to her.

Her color had been off, dark enough that you could tell she was ill, but she'd been so bright that the energy off her almost canceled it out.

She must have caught their fear, but she'd come up to them apologizing for the sudden visit, treating them with such care.

The Lecashe family had been warmer and closer than anyone expected.

The actually warm, gentle mistress and the gruff grand duke had been an unlikely match that somehow worked.

Even the young master, who took after his mother, had been so sweet and lovable—and the staff had realized Lecashe wasn't the terrifying thing they'd imagined.

The bond between the family, and their relationship with the butler and staff who'd come up with them from the Lecashe estate—all of it had looked good.

But now, looking back, all of that had been because of the mistress.

That was what made sense, given how everyone had changed since Iberin collapsed.

Ether cried himself to exhaustion and slept, over and over, and the gruff grand duke now gave off a piercing, lethal pressure that wouldn't let anyone near.

Everyone wished, hard, for this hell to pass.