Chapter 70: Wade’s Reminiscence and Lamia’s Awakening

Sometimes, Wade would find himself reminiscing about the past. This was a common habit among adults, particularly world-weary men. Often, late at night, they would light a cigarette or pour a drink. They’d reflect on a terrible day at work, then drift into memories of childhood.

Wade did none of these things, for he neither smoked nor drank. He had never picked up smoking, deeming it too expensive in his youth.

As for alcohol, he abstained because, as a civil servant, loose lips could sink ships. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down and reveal sensitive information while inebriated. Therefore, he never touched anything that might cloud his judgment.

Consequently, his moments of reflection required no such aids. He simply leaned against the balcony railing, feeling the breeze, gazing at the moon, and then took a deep breath.

‘Alright, memory over.’

He barely had anything worth lingering on, as his current life far surpassed his past. He preferred to look to the future, not dwell on what had been.

But then, he seemed to have drifted into a hazy dream, a… suffocating dream. He dreamt of being dragged into an alleyway as a child, a time when fighting for survival was commonplace.

He still vividly remembered the kick to his chest from the ruffian who had pulled him there.

To strike with fists, kick with legs, or wield a makeshift weapon—that was a fight.

But to stomp with a foot, to spit—that was humiliation.

Wade remembered it all: the fury that consumed him, how he desperately struggled to his feet, and then, facing the adult man, used his small stature to his advantage—striking his groin.

A shiver still ran down his spine at the thought, but it had been his legendary first battle. A seven-year-old child had brought down an adult.

Never mind *how* he brought him down; the bruises left by Wade’s ‘finishing blows’ after the man collapsed made it seem as though he’d employed formidable skill or a weapon.

Later, he had fallen in with powerful figures, and then, by a strange twist of fate, became the White Knight. He never spoke of a “tragic childhood,” for he never perceived it as such.

He simply remembered the thrill of fighting as a child, the joy of playing by his grandfather’s side as a youth, and now, as an adult, the satisfaction of living life to the fullest.

‘Life is meant to be enjoyed, isn’t it?’

This was why he loved helping others. Knowing the happiness a fulfilling life could bring, he was willing to be the White Knight, a superhero for all, and willing…

…to extend a helping hand to the weary.

Lamia Talia.

‘I want to pull you up.’

‘Briefly, against all stances, just for you.’

‘Not White Knight and Dark Lord, but simply Wade and Lamia.’

‘I want to pull you up.’

‘Take my hand, Lamia, take it… I’m here.’

****

“Haaah…”

They had fallen asleep.

Yes, they were asleep. Lamia slept, like a cat curled on a stone statue.

Wade, too, had drifted off… likely due to Lamia’s weight causing him slight oxygen deprivation. Perhaps it wasn’t sleep at all, but closer to fainting.

While likened to a cat, she was no mere feline. Her full adult weight pressed upon his chest, making things rather… uncomfortable.

“Mmm…”

Lamia stirred in response to Wade’s subtle struggles. Of course she did; after all, she and Wade were practically sharing the same shirt.

He’d heard of close brothers wearing the same underwear, but never imagined sharing a single garment quite like this.

“Lamia.”

Wade whispered her name.

“Lamia…”

Then, he gently lifted a leg.

…

He pursed his lips, a small habit from childhood he’d never quite shed. Lately, it seemed Lamia was picking it up too.

“Wife?”

He tried a different address, hoping to elicit a reaction from Lamia.

“Madam?”

“My dear?”

He didn’t need to be so cautious, of course. He could simply roll over and tumble off the sofa, which would surely wake her.

But… well, sometimes he indulged in these peculiar little experiments with endearments. Compared to these formal titles, he still preferred “Lamia.”

Yet, in various public settings, he might need to adapt. Gazing at the sleeping Lamia in his arms, Wade reconsidered. Did he really need to wake her? She seemed utterly exhausted.

‘Alright—alright—it’s common knowledge that sometimes, to mend fragile nerves, sleep is the best medicine.’ So, Wade resigned himself to sacrificing his clothing.

His hands were still mobile, though aching from the pressure and the uncomfortable, rigid posture he’d maintained. Normal movement, however, was fine.

He tapped a finger, gathering his magic at the tip. From top to bottom, he carefully slit open his black undershirt—a super-elastic, incredibly comfortable, highly cost-effective garment he’d owned for years.

He then gently, ever so gently, placed Lamia onto the sofa, rising to his feet and draping his jacket over her.

“Hiss…”

Wade stretched his stiff limbs, glanced at the deeply sleeping Lamia, then at his now open-front undershirt.

Was it truly worth it? Lamia hadn’t even been by his side as long as this shirt had.

*Grrr…*

But he decided to let it go. Wade swung his arms, then walked to the door in his odd attire.

He didn’t step out, merely asked the servants for something.

*Grrr…*

Time ticked by. A growl of hunger made Lamia frown in her sleep. She awoke, roused by hunger.

She rolled over and patted her stomach. Then, a sudden realization struck her: ‘Rolled over?’

[Hadn’t she just fallen asleep in that strange position? How could she have rolled over?]

The thought reached Wade, who raised an eyebrow. ‘So you know your position was strange, too.’

She looked well-rested, stretching with a faint blush on her face. Her hair was a bit disheveled, which Lamia haphazardly swept behind her.

“Mm… hmm?”

She opened her eyes to see a cake. A cream cake, bearing her favorite flavor… the taste of magic.

Beside it was a small bottle containing what looked like frosted granules. Lamia was highly sensitive to magic, so one glance told her it was magic stone powder.

“Hoo…”

She was indeed hungry. After spotting the cake, nothing else registered. She picked up the plate and fork, began eating, and only halfway through did she look up and notice someone sitting opposite her.

“Wade?”

[Wade…?]

Her inner thought and spoken question were one. Lamia blinked, staring at the man before her.

“Awake now?”

Wade looked up at her, then returned to manipulating the fabric and needlework in his hands.

“What are you doing?”

Lamia curiously craned her neck, but Wade’s movements were too swift to discern anything clearly. So, she simply stood up, rounded the table, and with a soft ‘plop,’ created a new indentation in the sofa beside Wade as she settled down with her cake.

“Mending a shirt. It’s quite comfortable, so I’m just adding a zipper to modify it.”

This was a skill he’d possessed since childhood. Those who came from his background usually had a knack for self-sufficiency.

“Making clothes?”

Lamia didn’t quite understand, as demons… probably didn’t need to wear proper clothes.

“Mending isn’t making, though I can knit scarves.”

Wade felt a touch of pride as he said this. When he’d given the elder a scarf he’d made as a gift, the elder had seemed utterly delighted.

Wade loved seeing people happy, and he always remembered such moments. “Making clothes… scarves… I recall these are—things humans greatly need, typically done by wives?”

Lamia vaguely understood that tasks like “sewing” were traditionally performed by wives. Making clothes and scarves would likely fall into the same category, wouldn’t they?

However, Lamia wasn’t skilled in such things; she was merely a skeleton emitting dark aura.

“Then, this—can you teach me?”

So, licking the magic stone powder from her cake fork, her face flushed from her nap, she posed the question to the man before her.

“Hmm?”

Wade looked up, seeing the cake she offered him—a cake meant to exchange for what he held in his hands.

“Teach me. As your wife, these things should be my responsibility. I can make your clothes.”

A smile then bloomed on her face. Her words sounded like those of an old couple, married for decades.

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