Chapter 74: A Whisper in the Deep Night

A peculiar melancholy settled over him, even on an otherwise ordinary afternoon, or perhaps an ordinary evening. At that moment, he had indeed uttered the words, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He had practically mustered every ounce of courage to speak such words, even bracing himself for the possibility of instantly becoming a traitor to humanity.

Every other time, his resolve had been set on piercing the Demon Lord’s chest. Yet now, merely hearing Lamia mention the scratches and falls she endured in her thoughts sent a shiver down Wade’s spine.

He had already begun to ponder the implications. After all, he had seemingly expressed concern quite abruptly.

Would Lamia then harbor new questions, or perhaps haughtily voice her thoughts once more?

Wade had even prepared his internal monologue, anticipating what he should think. He considered being terse and concise—yes, that was his plan.

He believed such brevity would be easiest to mislead Lamia, as she often sought out such interactions. With just a few artful words, Lamia would believe he cared, deem his plan a success, and then become utterly compliant.

[True… injuries would affect her appearance, and carelessly erasing scars would look too suspicious. That definitely won’t do.]

However, Lamia offered Wade no such opportunity.

Upon hearing Wade’s words, Lamia swiftly rationalized them in her mind, providing herself with a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Consequently, Wade’s pre-prepared artful words found no need to be uttered.

“Alright, I’ll be careful.”

Lamia offered Wade a smile, and in a gesture she seemed to have learned from someone unknown, she gave him a ‘V’ sign, as if to reassure him.

But…

“Ah, well…”

Wade felt his emotions were incredibly complex.

It wasn’t because his cunning words had remained unsaid—absolutely not! Those trivialities were irrelevant!

It was simply… that Lamia… hadn’t she… how to put it… completely misunderstood?

What he truly wished to convey was ‘don’t get hurt, don’t bleed, don’t leave scars.’ Yet, in her perception, it merely meant ‘don’t leave difficult-to-manage marks.’

The concept of ‘don’t harm yourself’ seemed utterly lost on her.

To Lamia, wounds were hardly a significant matter. Even to Wade, they weren’t a big deal.

Though he occasionally bore bruises, his self-healing capabilities far surpassed those of ordinary humans. The injuries Lamia inflicted last night had already mended; the pain was gone.

Even if a blade were truly plunged into his shoulder, it would merely cause a day or two of discomfort when lifting his arm.

Nevertheless, Wade wouldn’t idly stab himself—even knowing it would heal, he wouldn’t. This was the sound judgment of an adult.

Therefore… it truly was as he suspected…

Lamia possessed no concept of ‘self.’ Her mind was preoccupied solely with ‘matters,’ never with ‘herself.’

She was composed of countless tasks she had to consider and complete, devoid of a true ‘self’ that merely represented her own thoughts.

This seemed like a rather complex philosophical dilemma… and Wade was at a loss. While Lamia made things clear, Wade felt it shouldn’t be this way; at least, normal people shouldn’t be like this.

How could one dismiss the harm inflicted upon oneself, the pain endured, as inconsequential?

Too much suffering and excessive pressure from past events had directly led to a numbness, both physical and mental.

****

Pondering this, Wade fretfully ran a hand through his hair once more.

Regarding the excessive pain, Wade could take the blame himself. The physical agony in Lamia’s half of the body was likely his own doing.

As for the overwhelming pressure… that must stem from the Demon Lord’s Castle, especially from Great General Orlan, who, even when departing, had worn an expression that seemed to say, ‘Don’t forget your unfinished work.’

But what could Wade possibly say?

Should he tell her to be kinder to herself? To avoid carelessly harming herself, as it would be detrimental to her psychological well-being?

He felt that saying all this was far less effective than simply shouting at her, ‘Orlan is a piece of trash! You’re my wife now, so listen to me! Don’t you dare tell him the truth!’

Of course, Wade couldn’t speak to her like that. Not yet, at least.

Thus, Wade spent the entire afternoon carefully choosing his words, contemplating what he should do.

He even found himself waiting for an unexpected event, one that might present an opportunity to speak with Lamia. Yet, to his greater surprise, the afternoon unfolded without a single incident!

It was merely a tranquil afternoon, a tranquil evening, and a tranquil… deep night!

Yes, indeed, it was already the deep night, and Wade was awake again, his mind burdened with unspoken concerns.

As a White Knight, his profession demanded that he awaken once every night, a precautionary measure against sleeping through any urgent matters requiring his attention.

The soft sound of breathing, the rhythmic thump of a heartbeat, and the occasional rustle of sheets as a finger twitched.

These faint sounds seemed remarkably loud in the quiet depths of the night. Yet, conspicuously absent was the sound of Lamia’s inner voice.

Did the Demon Lord not dream? Perhaps. Even if she did, her thoughts would likely not manifest through her inner voice.

Click.

In an unconscious, instinctive movement, Wade gently touched Lamia’s hand, his fingers tracing the spot where the sewing needle had caused an injury that afternoon.

He couldn’t feel the wound itself, only the bandage. It was only by detecting the ‘There’s a bandage here’ thought that he could confirm she had indeed been injured that afternoon.

The bleeding had been too insignificant, the healing too swift. Everything had settled so calmly, as if nothing had ever happened.

First, he touched her fingers, the location of the bandage.

Then, his hand moved to her palm, feeling its softness, yet noting the coolness of her fingertips.

He gently clasped Lamia’s hand, just as they had done when he was vexed by Orlan, their fingers intertwining.

Wade was unsure of the meaning behind his spontaneous action, feeling as though he had simply been disoriented by sleep. Yet, he still chose to hold Lamia’s hand, just as she had once thought, wanting to pull her back.

“Hmmn…”

Lamia seemed to register the touch with a soft hum, yet she neither awoke nor struggled. Instead, she merely tightened her clasped fingers, as if dreaming of something, though Wade, of course, couldn’t glimpse the Demon Lord’s dreams.

“Haaah…”

Whenever Wade found himself at a loss, Lamia invariably offered a somewhat endearing response, leaving him even more unsure of what to do.

“Lamia…”

Wade murmured her name softly, knowing she was asleep and couldn’t hear him. Yet, he emulated what Lamia had once done to him—

His voice was a mere whisper.

Last time, Lamia had spoken into his ear while feigning sleep, intending to enter his dreams.

This time, Wade followed suit.

“Lamia.”

He leaned close to her ear, calling her name, waiting for her consciousness to carry those words into her dreams.

“Go on… pursue choices that are truly your own, Lamia. Here, by my side… simply be Lamia.”

Having said this, he let out a self-deprecating chuckle, then lay back weakly on his pillow. It was as if he were mocking himself, a White Knight, for uttering such a phrase as ‘by my side’ to the Demon Lord.

Yet, he did not release her hand, holding on tightly, as if grasping a child who might wander lost amidst a myriad of desires.