Chapter 22
“…Sniff.”
Ever since that day, Gremory had curled up under her blankets like a hibernating creature, refusing to emerge. Only Anna could coax her into nibbling on strips of jerky. The maids fretted over their young mistress who neither bathed nor ate—though in truth, witches didn’t require daily meals or washing like humans.
“To think our lady bore such scars… How regret— No! I won’t even mention them! Just please eat one more bite!”
Isollen had her family, the Counts of Sien, deliver luxurious quilts and plush cushions to the ducal estate. Gremory’s bed soon transformed into a cozy nest of warmth.
“Here, eat this apple! The finest from our orchards! I checked—no poison!” She even took a demonstrative bite before offering it.
Only Gremory’s eyes peeked out from the blankets.
“Too much trouble. Go away.” She slithered deeper until not even a glimpse remained.
Watching this, Cheshion felt a pang of guilt. To think I suspected her of being a witch when she’d already suffered so much for that very accusation. Last night’s agonized screams still echoed in his ears, making his chest constrict.
News of the young lady’s grievous wounds spread swiftly. Nuns left soothing incense, the abbess penned a lengthy condolence letter, and knights picked fresh flowers for bouquets. Witnessing this, Gremory delivered a lethal blow to the household’s collective heart:
“Why is everyone being so nice to me?”
Cheshion, who’d come bearing a gift quilt stitched from dragonhide, floundered.
“What do you mean why? You’re family! Our friend!”
“…Family?”
Gremory’s head emerged slightly from her cocoon. Family—what did that entail? She vaguely understood friends after Renia, but family eluded her.
Cheshion’s neck veins bulged as he launched into an impassioned explanation:
“People who eat together! Live together! Cry with you in sorrow, worry with you in hardship, rejoice with you in joy—that’s family!”
“I never grew particularly attached to you all. You might abandon me anytime.”
A chorus of muffled sobs erupted around the room. So her aloofness wasn’t indifference—it was fear of attachment all along…
“Why would we abandon you? We’ll stay with you till death! That’s why we brought you here—not on some whim!”
“…I might leave you first.”
“Then we’d stop you! Clinging to your skirts, begging through tears if we must!”
Gremory didn’t comprehend his fervor. To her, family meant:
“Darling, won’t you die for me?”
She wasn’t ignorant of human familial bonds—she’d observed them in the mortal realm and received demonic “education” about exploiting blood ties. Yet it never resonated.
Because I—
Born to be sacrificed.
Who settled here to use you as shields against the demon realm.
—don’t deserve such extravagant affection.
Like a hermit crab testing warmer waters, Gremory gradually emerged from her quilt. Seizing the moment, Cheshion embraced her.
“You’ve suffered enough. Here, you can lay down all burdens and rest.”
“……”
As he stroked her hair, her initial stiffness melted like cheese over flame.
So warm.
Perhaps… it’s safe to lean on them, just a little.
“Will you come eat now? I had black goat meat prepared.”
“Is feeding me goat meat your wish?”
“Yes.”
“…Then I’ll go.”
If they’re sacrificing goats for wishes, how can I refuse? She shuffled obediently to the dining hall.
Watching her go, Cheshion reflected. Somewhere along the way, he’d grown conscious of her—then worried for her—and now…
“I just don’t want her to hurt.”
He realized he could pet her all day without tiring.
“Ah, lovely weather.”
Gremory enjoyed solo teatime in the gardens—though her “tea cakes” were raw chicken legs. Tilting her head, she admired birds soaring across blue skies.
Peace unparalleled.
That one’s a witch. Scouts? Can’t track me—must be low-rank.
Spotting a blackbird, she flicked a finger. Its head detached mid-flight, snatched by a stray cat.
First time witch scouts reached the estate. Their search radius is narrowing…
She resumed gnawing poultry as the abbess scurried over.
“Lady Mori! Reni lost the recipe notes—could you rewrite them?”
“Sorry. Forgot.”
“Pardon? Truly?”
“Let’s recreate it through trial and error. Come, Abbess.”
“I’ve asked thirty times to call me Louise…”
Her latest experimental potion glowed violent purple but healed wounds flawlessly.
Days passed in excessive peace. People praised how “our lady” let them sleep soundly—whether facing monsters, dragons, eruptions, or injuries, she resolved everything.
Then trouble arrived. News of the duchy’s saintess had leaked, summoning a letter from the archbishop.
“Damn it all.”
Cheshion grimaced. Imperial law required all saintesses to prove their divine power at the Grand Temple by shedding blood—from a silver needle prick—onto holy water. Registration would shackle her with suffocating rules, including near-confinement for a year. Many saintesses hid their gifts to avoid this.
Gremory would loathe the Temple—not just her silver phobia, but their rigid discipline.
The letter’s postscript insisted she be detained like a criminal. Cheshion began drafting refusal: The victim of extreme witch hunts, she cannot endure silver needles due to trauma. Years of confinement make Temple life unbearable—
Mid-sentence, the paper vanished.
Gremory, having slipped in unnoticed, scanned the response.
“You don’t need to handle this. I’ll manage,” Cheshion said.
“Won’t refusal endanger us both?”
“How’d you—?”
Your sister told me. The Temple throws fits over defiance. Swallowing that detail, she continued:
“We just need to disprove my sainthood. As you know, I’m no saintess—just a multi-talented northern warrior-mage.”
“But… won’t it torment you?”
“Come with me. Hold my hand. That’ll help.”
“……!”
Cheshion’s pulse stuttered. She delivers these heart-fluttering lines with zero awareness.
She can’t say such things in front of others.
“Truly alright?”
“Mhm. Pain is endurable. Though avoiding it’s ideal.”
“What about emotional pain?”
“Your hugs fix that. I’ve concluded: petting’s nice, but embracing is superior.”
“…Are you doing this on purpose?”
“? What?”
“N-Nevermind. You should go.”
As she skipped out, Cheshion slumped over his desk, exhaling heavily.
