Chapter 85: What I Mean Is “Love”

“We know, Poirot.” Fred walked over to comfort our delirious friend. “Eli won’t die, she never will. She is the most beautiful violet, blooming forever in our hearts…”

“Pah…” Poirot shoved the grief-stricken Fred away, struggling to catch his breath.

“Eli… my Eli… isn’t… isn’t dead, really…”

I couldn’t spare any more thought for the dead. Right now, saving Poirot, who had completely lost his mind, was the most important thing. We had already lost a friend forever, and we didn’t want to lose another because of it.

“Poirot, I understand how you feel,” I said to him slowly. “I can’t accept this fact either. But since it has already happened, I hope we can stand with you and share your pain and sorrow together.”

“Happened… happened my ass!” Poirot spat out a crude curse, exhausted. That was exactly a sign of his delirium. He had always considered himself an elegant scholar and viewed rudeness as a tremendous sin.

“Look at me, look at… huff… my eyes!” He shook my shoulders and shoved his face close to mine, his eyes wide open. “These eyes are clear, bright, and full of wisdom. Do these look like the eyes of a madman who has lost his mind?” His eyes were murky and chaotic, his gaze unfocused—exactly the eyes of a madman who had lost his mind. I really didn’t want to use that word to describe my friend. Fortunately, his madness struck just right and didn’t give him terrible thoughts like “dying together” or “being buried with the dead.” If only that could protect his life, we wouldn’t mind letting him live the rest of his life in a lie.

We all looked at him with sympathy. Every time he looked at someone, that person kindly shook their head in denial. But our expressions betrayed us. So what? Who could expect a madman to see through our good-natured lies?

“I’m not going to talk to you idiots anymore.” Finally, Poirot gave up his attempt. He seemed to feel a bit more clear-headed and turned to run back toward Eliot’s sickroom. “Follow me and you’ll understand, especially you, Fred. If you don’t come, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Hurry up!”

Great sorrow surged in my heart: not being able to see the corpse of one’s beloved would make someone regret it for life. It seemed Poirot’s mind was even more confused than before. Perhaps he would never have the chance to become a normal person again.

From my friends’ eyes, I saw the same feeling in them.

Anyway, we really should go to Eliot’s room now. The young Dark Elf had lost her family, and we were her only remaining friends. We had the duty to handle matters after her death.

I wondered how the Dark Elves dealt with their dead. Cremation? I didn’t like that. It would be too cruel for Eli. The thought of her beautiful body slowly turning into ashes in the fire filled me with grief. We might not be able to save her life, but I hoped we could at least preserve her beautiful face in this world, letting her beauty last as long as possible.

Burial? No. Eli was a Dark Elf who had defected from underground. Her happiness was not underground, but above ground, in those sunny places covered with flowers. Yes, flowers. Only the place where flowers grew most abundantly should be her eternal resting place.

I called over a guard and ordered him to prepare a raft as soon as possible, piled high with lilies symbolizing eternal purity and beauty, and place it beside the moat outside the city. Although I couldn’t bear it, Eliot’s body should be handled as soon as possible. Although the weather in late autumn wasn’t very hot, a corpse left for too long would still rot…

We found our formal military uniforms and dressed ourselves neatly, pinning a pure white flower on the left side of our chests. Red Flame dripped a drop of vermilion medicinal liquid at the corner of his right eye, and the liquid instantly melted into his skin, becoming a blood-red tear stain that couldn’t be wiped away—this was the most solemn ritual of the Elves to express grief over the passing of a friend.

Everything was ready. Holding flowers in our hands, we walked toward Eliot’s sickroom. Our heavy hearts were like sharp blades, twisting our hearts with pain. We were going to bid farewell to our beautiful friend, someone we never wanted to lose. I didn’t know how I would face Eliot, who had lost her life and breath. Deep in my heart, I only wished this path would be longer, and longer, so long that it would never reach its end.

But today, this path suddenly became so short, so short that we couldn’t even compose our thoughts.

Standing at the door of the sickroom, we looked at one another, not knowing who should take the heavy first step. Suddenly, without any disagreement, we all turned our eyes to Fred. Yes, only him, my noble friend. Only he was qualified to represent every one of us.

Though flustered, though grief-stricken, my dear friend still summoned his sense of responsibility at this moment. His movements were stiff and uncoordinated, and his breathing was short, sounding like a dying patient. Just moments ago, he had calmly and decisively stopped a fight between two big men, but now, weak sweat covered his forehead. He reached out his right hand, placed it on the heavy door panel, and pushed hard…

…

“…She was very lucky. Her heart wasn’t injured, only her lungs were slightly damaged, and a few veins had ruptured, causing excessive blood loss. The main reason she remained unconscious was that the wound was too large and kept getting infected. The doctors here just couldn’t figure out her injuries and didn’t dare to make a diagnosis, which caused the delay. Fortunately, I once studied medical texts about the physiological structures of various races. Now she is out of danger and just needs time to recover. Actually, the body structures of humans and Dark Elves aren’t very different—there are just understandable differences in subcutaneous tissue, bones, and the internal microcirculation system…”

A calm, gentle voice passed through the crack of the opened door and reached our ears. From behind, I saw Fred’s whole body suddenly tremble, then freeze stiff. I couldn’t see his face or expression, but he really did seem excited—a deep red flush spread all the way up the back of his neck.

That voice, that tone, that way of describing the human body with profound and complex terminology—all of it left us, standing at the door, utterly astonished. Everything was so familiar, yet so impossible. As the wooden door slowly opened, both our eyes and ears were telling us this reality, but my mind hadn’t caught up yet—I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Sitting at the bedside, calmly and carefully giving Poirot a lesson on medical knowledge, was precisely the devout follower of the good god Daremoth, the embodiment of kindness and beauty in the army, the Monk with the famous reputation of “Dignified Divine Countenance,” our good friend, the only woman Fred adored, the Diocesan Saintess of the Rostock United Kingdom who should have been somewhere far away right now: Millia Batesfield.

Hearing the creaking sound of the door turning, Millia turned her head. What she saw was Fred’s dazed expression, frozen in excitement. Instantly, a layer of mist covered her eyes. An expression interweaving longing, determination, sweetness, and pain appeared on her face, letting everyone feel her complicated emotions at this moment. She just sat there, not moving, not saying a word, gazing deeply at Fred, completely ignoring our presence. I stood beside Fred, not daring to take a big breath, afraid that a single deep breath would shatter this dream that had come too suddenly, blowing away this woman who combined the majesty of Deities and the beauty of the mortal world, causing my friend to fall back into the hell of eternal longing.

“You… came…” After a long while, Fred finally managed these words. This was truly the worst greeting between lovers, yet it was the only way he could express his sincere feelings. His voice was hollow and hazy, as if he still hadn’t woken up.

“I… came!” Millia nodded forcefully. She still had that calm, proud, holy appearance, but two trails of tears had already slid down her cheeks.

They slowly walked toward each other. Fred tremblingly lifted Millia’s extended right hand, gently kissed the back of it, then gently set it down. This simple action seemed extremely difficult for the two of them at this moment, as if it took all their strength just to pull their fingertips away from each other’s hands. In the wonderful silence, their eyes intertwined, expressing their truest selves in place of words.

Suddenly, Fred reached out both hands, rushed forward, and hugged Millia tightly in his arms. He held her so tightly that he almost melted Millia into his flesh and bones. This sudden intense emotion made Millia cry out in surprise, and then she responded naturally: her head pressed against Fred’s chest, her eyes slightly closed, her jade-white flawless arms reaching out from her wide robe to tightly embrace her lover’s back.

“I thought I had chosen a firm faith. I thought I had truly abandoned my feelings for you. I thought I had completely devoted my life to the supreme deity, and no one could share it anymore…” Millia whispered softly, as if murmuring in a dream, gentle and sweet, seeming to carry a certain power of the soul.

“I deceived my heart, but I couldn’t deceive the deity. During the last prayer before accepting the appointment as Saintess, I lost the deity’s response. Do you know what kind of emptiness that was? I was like a drowning person, struggling helplessly in a rushing river, unable to grab anything. I was abandoned by my faith.”

“In fear and panic, I thought of you—your face, your arms, your smile, and your heroic bearing in battle. Then, I found peace, and the deity responded to my voice again. Only when I was thinking of you did my prayers get answered. Only when I was with you did the deity affirm my faith and loyalty. I know my prayers will no longer represent only my own faith, but must also include your voice. The deity cleared away the fog before my eyes and let me see my own soul clearly. I must be honest with myself—my love for you surpasses my devotion to my faith. Being by your side brings me more happiness than serving before the deity’s throne…”

“I… love you. I don’t want to… leave you… anymore…”

Fred seemed to be struck by some invisible force. His eyes turned red, holding glistening tears as he cupped Millia’s face and answered in a strange tone I couldn’t quite understand: “I swear, I will forever be loyal to your life and love. I will never leave you, and I will never let you leave me. No matter what happens, as long as I have a single breath left, my heart will beat along with yours.”

Only when their lips pressed together did I realize what had just happened. This was the first kiss I had ever witnessed with my own eyes. It wasn’t as passionate and intense as the romantic affairs of Knights and ladies, princes and princesses in the back gardens, deep forests, or balconies described in novels, but the emotion it contained could only be deeper and more moving.

Even in a kiss, Fred’s expression was still restrained and moderate. He only gently touched Millia’s lips, without making any more intimate gestures. But that was already enough to shock our eyes. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed that my overly upright, even somewhat pedantic friend would express his love so openly in front of everyone. Fred, who had never wavered even slightly on the blood-soaked battlefield, now completely lost control of his emotions. I didn’t know what kind of blazing passion could turn him into this.

I blessed him. I believed everyone present would deeply bless him. Fred had received a beautiful love worth cherishing forever, and his loss of composure at this moment precisely proved how precious and important this love was.

For the first time in my life, I felt goodwill toward the so-called “Deities.” In those lousy knight novels, they always seemed to be the culprits who tore apart happy couples in love, and never once had they shown as much humanity as this time. In that very brief instant, I even wavered in my preference for the God of Wealth, Shillemdoa—of course, only for a very brief instant.

Suddenly, they seemed to just realize we were there. They hurriedly released their arms from each other and stepped back. Millia’s usual calm composure disappeared without a trace. In her panic, she accidentally stepped on the hem of her robe and stumbled. Seeing this, Fred hastily rushed over to support her, but then conveniently pulled her into his arms again. Millia’s expression became even more embarrassed. She gently broke free from Fred’s embrace, blushing as she lowered her head. Fred, on the other hand, was like a child who had done something wrong, looking at us one moment and at Millia the next, unable to say a word.

The atmosphere was strange. We looked at one another, using our eyes to silently urge someone to quickly find a way to break the deadlock and turn this awkward scene around. But Millia’s sudden appearance and Fred’s bold move, which exceeded our imagination, had continuously challenged our psychological endurance, leaving our minds blank. We had no preparation for this situation that no one had anticipated, and could only feel embarrassed in this inexplicable awkwardness.

I felt that in the current situation, if I said something like “We didn’t see anything, please continue,” which would only make things worse by trying to cover up, the atmosphere would probably only get worse.

“Millia, if Eli wakes up, what should I do?” Poirot, who had regained his sanity because his beloved was saved, showed his quick-witted side. In this situation, perhaps only this topic could lead us out of the awkwardness. But from this question, we could also tell that his brain wasn’t working too well. If Eliot woke up, even an idiot would know it meant her injuries had improved. Asking “what should I do” at that time seemed a bit stupid.

“Ah… that… give her some liquid food to regain her strength, not too hot or too cold, don’t let her eat too much, and then… um… keep the room ventilated and the wound dry. If the wound bursts open, apply the medicinal liquid I gave you to prevent infection. If she hasn’t gotten over her fever by this time tomorrow, then call me… anyway… anyway… anyway…” Millia’s face was crimson, and she spoke incoherently. While she said all this, she never lifted her head. At the end, it seemed even she forgot what she wanted to say. After “anyway” for a long time, she couldn’t “anyway” out any more content.

“Anyway, you should take good care of her.” Seeing his beloved’s embarrassed state, Fred quickly added a piece of universal truth.

“Ah, right, anyway, you should take good care of her…” Millia shyly glanced back at Fred, expressing her gratitude.

“Okay, thank you, Millia.” Poirot replied with a smile. At this moment, although the Necromantic Warlock was gaunt and covered in stubble, because he had received the news that Eliot was out of danger, his mental state was far better than in the past few days. A spark of life returned to his tired eyes, and the frivolous, slick smile we were familiar with reappeared on his face.

“Huh? Why are you all dressed like that?” Only then did he notice that we were dressed too formally, and the white flowers tucked into our collars looked especially unpleasant. His tone was not as friendly as when he had just spoken to Millia. The veins on his forehead bulged one by one.

“…Ah, it’s like this. We… heard that Eliot… was getting better, so we dressed formally and came over to celebrate… it’s like this, right?” I hurriedly covered up. Rodrick, Dakla, and the others all nodded in agreement.

“And these flowers…” Poirot looked at us with distrust written all over his face.

“These are congratulatory flowers! Isn’t it obvious?” My mind gradually cleared, and I calmly dealt with the current predicament, hastily removing the flower from my collar and gently placing it on the small table by the sickbed. Naturally, those slow-witted fellows benefited from my lead and followed suit one after another.

“Red Flame, what happened to your face?” Along with his sanity, Poirot’s keen observation also returned. May the deity forgive me—seeing how persistent he was being right now, I suddenly felt that letting him stay mad with grief might not be a bad thing after all.

“This is because…”

“It’s because Red Flame was so excited when he heard Eli’s condition was improving that he got scratched by… a button, yes, a button, while getting dressed.” Seeing Red Flame’s dumbfounded expression, Kelsey promptly came to his rescue.

“Really?” Poirot’s face was full of suspicion.

“Really!” Red Flame tried hard to squeeze out his most honest expression and nodded vigorously.

All of this should have passed quietly, but suddenly, a loyal and serious voice rang out at an ill-timed moment.

“Report, sir! The raft and lilies you requested are ready. The funeral can be held at any time. Ah, is the corpse here?”

“Raft? Lilies? Funeral? Corpse…” Poirot glared fiercely at us. His gaze was no friendlier than a vicious wolf’s. He asked the guard who had chosen the wrong time to barge in: “Who told you to do this?”

“It was… Lieutenant Colonel Gid, sir. The Lieutenant Colonel said that although the weather isn’t too hot, the corpse should still be handled as soon as possible to prevent rotting and stinking. We are all very sad about Miss Eliot’s death. Please accept my condolences, Mr. Jonas.” Damn it, why did I pick a guard who had a mouth but no eyes? While he was speaking, Eliot’s chest was still rising and falling with her breathing!

“I can explain, Poirot, believe me. Put down the broom, yes, put it down. Hey, why did you pick up the knife again? You should just keep holding the broom… help!…” I swiftly dodged past the stunned guard. As I passed him, I tried hard to look angry and gave him a fierce glare.

Let’s just consider this kid’s monthly allowance as my medical expenses.