Ch#89
“My body hurts a lot? It doesn't feel like I'm dying… No, actually, it hurts more than when my stomach was pierced.”
Yeremia grumbled as she twisted Azazel's body this way and that, causing Pudding, who had returned to cat form, to avert his eyes. Yeah. Our Pudding must have had a deep, physical conversation with Azazel in the meantime.
“Are you okay?”
Realizing my question implied several things, Yeremia paused, glanced at her original body lying on the bed, then nodded.
“I've survived somehow, so that's enough. Thank you, Lady Rohanson.”
Yeremia had a remarkably strong spirit. She was the type to cling to even the faintest thread of life until she found a way out.
“Lady Rohanson kept holding my hand the whole time, right? The rumors were right that you're a witch, but unlike the rumors, you're kind.”
Um… I'm not a witch, I'm a villainess. No, not even that. As I tried to correct her, Yeremia grasped the hand from her uninjured side. For reference, Kanna had just finished tearfully treating the injured one after realizing it too late.
Pudding glared sharply at Yeremia before snorting and looking away, as if belatedly realizing a young princess was inside Azazel's shell.
“Acting so innocently in Astaroth's body—why is it so repulsive?”
Jelly muttered to himself, as if understanding Pudding's feelings. Pudding and Jelly seemed to be experiencing cognitive dissonance from Yeremia being in Azazel's body. I pushed the two aside—they kept picking on Yeremia—and asked her what I'd been dying to know.
“Yeremia, now will you tell me what happened that you, of all people, were being chased instead of the wanted Princess Tenebrey?”
Yeremia glanced at me and Gabriel before nodding.
“Yes. You and Sir Gabriel saved me, so you deserve to hear it.”
And Yeremia's story went back to the banquet where the Crown Prince was assassinated. From Tenebrey's scheme of swapping necklaces to Azazel, who had inflicted a fatal wound on her, being Bishop Marik's guard—I heard the whole tale. It was a tragedy that had unfolded in just a few days.
“So I lost not only my name but my body too.”
Yeremia finished calmly, pretending to be composed. As someone who had helped transfer her soul and thus contributed to her losing her body, I felt a pang of conscience. No, it wasn't me—Bishop Marik was the one at fault.
It wasn't surprising that Bishop Marik was the mastermind who framed Yeremia and got me thrown in prison.
“Lady Rohanson, thank you.”
The little girl's voice from when she deliberately bumped into me in the dark to stain me with blood and then greeted me was still vivid.
“Now that something corrupt is entangled, I suppose I can intervene.”
“Right, milady?”
Bishop Marik's voice, pointing out the sorcery circle drawn blatantly where the Crown Prince died and questioning me specifically.
At this point, I was convinced the sword I gifted and the one embedded in the Crown Prince were the same because of Bishop Marik's scheme.
Both Yeremia and I had been thoroughly played. With skills this sharp, she wasn't just the black幕—she was the final boss, right? No, romance fantasies don't have final bosses like that. Usually, it's the dad or the male lead disguised as the black幕. Hey, our world's final boss is a kindly nun. Isn't there some glitch here?
As Yeremia's explanation ended, Gabriel spoke up.
“I'm sorry to Yeremia, but it's best if your body is discovered by the Emperor. That way, Bishop Marik and Princess Tenebrey won't suspect Yeremia's death.”
Yeremia, overflowing with attachment, couldn't tear her eyes from her original body on the bed but nodded obediently.
Unlike how she had belittled herself as dull for not noticing Tenebrey's intentions, she grasped the situation quickly. In my opinion, Yeremia wasn't dull—she just trusted people too much, which led to the tragedy.
As she explained, recalling the situation made her—Azazel's—eyes well up with tears. Watching a grown man whimper like a child was disconcerting. Now I understood why Pudding and Jelly were picking on her.
That's Yer
