Chapter 69

“Blood?”

Caldeon asked with a puzzled look.

Enria nodded once, then realized she had caught Fyoren’s strange gaze and quickly added an explanation.

“I read some old texts about black mana once, and it said so there. Since your blood has black mana mixed into it, if someone comes into contact with that blood… like getting a little on their palm or something simple like that.”

She continued, explaining that doing so would allow one to absorb a small amount of Caldeon’s black mana and temporarily see things revealed by black magic. As she finished, she cautiously watched Caldeon and Fyoren’s reactions, worried they might question how she knew this.

“Oho.”

But Caldeon simply nodded, looking more impressed than suspicious.

“If it’s true, it’s a very useful method.”

Fyoren agreed that it would be better for him to step in rather than Caldeon personally going to the Magic Tower, and asked if he could have some of Caldeon’s blood.

“You can have as much of my blood as you want.”

“Just a small amount first, so I can test—”

“No need. Everything Enria says is accurate.”

When Fyoren suggested giving only a little to test if it worked, Caldeon firmly shook his head. Enria’s gaze immediately shot toward him.

“Then I’ll prepare a bottle for the blood.”

After Fyoren left, Enria stared at Caldeon and asked:

“Did you also read that text?”

She doubted it—Caldeon only learned that fact much later in the original story, and by coincidence. So how…?

His answer was ridiculous.

“No. What you said is true.”

“…What?”

“You wouldn’t lie, and if you said you saw it in a text, then you saw it.”

“…Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”

“Everything you say is correct.”

Caldeon’s blind trust stung the tip of Enria’s nose. He believed her without conditions, even though she had been nothing but a burden up till now. Gratitude and guilt welled up together.

Not wanting him to notice, she forced her emotions down and spoke with a deliberately flustered face: “I might be mistaken, though. You shouldn’t just trust me blindly—”

“I trust you. Married couples trust each other.”

“We’re not married yet.”

“We will be soon.”

Enria bowed her head. The mask she had worn shattered instantly. What had only tingled at her nose spread until even her fingertips trembled.

She turned her head away so he wouldn’t see her dampening eyes, forcing a strained smile.

Caldeon watched her quietly, then asked: “You’re losing confidence because you’re not sure about what you read?”

“…No. I’m sure.”

“Then it’s fine.”

Caldeon nodded slowly and examined his palm closely. Enria blinked, confused by what he was doing.

He murmured calmly: “Where should I cut to get the most blood?”

Enria’s face went pale.

“You can’t cut yourself! That’s not what I meant!”

***

Twisted at the ankle by Caldeon’s black mana, Pahomel barely escaped to the Magic Tower’s hidden refuge, gasping for breath.

He collapsed onto a chair, carefully lifting his warped ankle onto another. Then he poured black magic into it.

“Ghh—!”

Agony shot through him the moment the black smoke touched his skin. It wasn’t healing magic; his twisted ankle didn’t mend, but the pain eased a little. Even that felt like salvation.

Panting, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

He’d known his black magic had no effect on someone with black mana, but he hadn’t expected such an overwhelming difference in strength.

‘If they stay alive, all my plans will collapse.’

For Pahomel’s black magic to become the strongest magic in the world, black mana—immune to it—had to be eradicated.

‘That woman isn’t the Oracle’s true owner. But she has the holy power to suppress mana rampages. She must die all the same.’

Caldeon, Enria… and her unexpected child.

From Pahomel’s perspective, all of them needed to die.

Absolution power resembled black mana—capable of nullifying some Magic Tower spells and even reviving the dead. Black mana was immune to black magic; atonement nullified his painstakingly crafted spells.

Both powers were massive obstacles.

Pahomel stared at his twisted ankle.

‘Without black mana in the way, killing the saint would be simple.’

He remembered his black-magic blade slicing through holy barriers and striking Caldeon’s shoulder. First, he needed to separate Caldeon and Enria.

That led him to Enria’s son—the potential Oracle heir, Hayden.

‘The boy must be hiding somewhere in the Grand Duchy.’

Causing chaos and snatching the child amid the confusion wouldn’t be difficult. With Fyoren searching for Groen, he had to finish everything before Groen realized he wasn’t the real Pahomel.

To do that, he needed to eliminate black mana, holy power, and the child.

Pahomel considered the spirits guarding Hayden. Could he kidnap the boy with black magic alone? Or would he need Panz’s help?

***

Caldeon’s blood fell into the glass vial in slow drops.

Enria stared at it intensely, already mentally listing iron-rich foods he would need afterward. Beef and pork existed in this world, so that was fine—but vegetables were different here. She’d have to check what counted as iron-rich.

Beef was best, but vegetables were necessary.

Caldeon, unaware she was planning his recovery meal, mistook her staring for worry.

“Don’t look like that, Enria. I’m fine.”

She blinked—had her face looked that distressed? Embarrassed, she covered her cheek with a hand.

“It didn’t look like worry,” Fyoren said, sharp-eyed. “More like she was thinking about something.”

Caldeon glanced at Fyoren, then back at Enria.

“Thinking?”

“Not thinking, exactly. I just wanted to prepare iron-rich food since you’re bleeding a lot. Not that I’m not worried.”

Fyoren nodded.

“Then it’s obvious. Only one food fits that situation—Havaro liver.”

“…Havaro?”

“Yes. You don’t know?”

Enria forced a smile, pretending she knew what a Havaro was but not that its liver was rich in iron.

“Knights eat it the most after injuries. Havaro horns, boiled, are good for bone mending.”

Seeing Fyoren praise Havaro as an all-purpose restorative animal, Enria decided she absolutely needed to find out what it looked like.

“Then I should have some Havaro liver prepared.”

Caldeon lifted his gaze to her.

“You don’t need to prepare my meals, Enria.”

He explained that the butler and cooks already had everything ready and a physician waiting to treat him.

Enria nodded, expression saying she already knew that.

“But I want to.”

Taking care of him, worrying for him, feeding him—she wanted to do it herself. When Caldeon questioned why she should trouble herself when servants existed, Enria raised a brow.

“This is normal, you know. Most people do this for someone they love.”

“…”

“Servants have their jobs, but personally wanting to take care of someone’s comfort and health is—”

“Love.”

Caldeon interrupted softly. The word seemed to please him—his smile was brilliant.

“You must love me a great deal.”

“Then don’t reject what I want to do for you.”

“I’m not rejecting it. I just don’t want you stressing over me.”

“I stress because I love you.”

Fyoren’s brows pinched tighter and tighter as he listened. Hearing them exchange love-filled lines in this situation was absurd enough—but seeing Caldeon look like a man basking in the greatest romance of the century was even stranger.

He had never seen his superior wear such a gentle, affectionate expression.

Listening to the two of them go back and forth about how caring for a loved one was natural, Fyoren let out a faint, involuntary sigh.

A single thought crossed his mind—one he would never dare speak aloud: They’re in the sweet phase.