Chapter 71: The Unspoken Self

Blood bloomed.

Lamia’s crimson eyes mirrored the crimson hue – no, just as crimson eyes could not truly reflect crimson, Lamia remained unconcerned.

She gently squeezed the tiny red dot on her fingertip, a flicker of curiosity in her gaze.

The scent of blood was faint, almost imperceptible.

The prick of the needle on her fingertip felt unremarkable, the pain a mere whisper in her mind.

She paused, not due to the sensation on her finger, but because the blood had bloomed across the handkerchief.

Mere minutes earlier, Wade had insisted Lamia eat cake first, ensuring her rumbling stomach was satisfied before allowing her curious hands near the needle and thread.

Threading a needle was no simple task, yet Lamia learned with astonishing speed. One might even say she was flawless.

Her hands were steady, her reactions swift. She could guide the thread through the needle’s eye without even wetting the tip with her tongue.

‘Hmph~ I knew it~ I’m a genius!’

From the corner of her eye, Lamia noticed Wade watching her, and a hint of pride swelled in her chest.

Wade was indeed surprised. As a Demon Lord, Lamia’s fighting style had always been expansive and unrestrained, her steps so broad she seemed intent on stomping directly onto his face.

He had expected the intricate task of threading a needle to be a challenge for this “Great Demon Lord.” Yet, unexpectedly, she accomplished it with remarkable ease.

While it wasn’t enough for Wade to declare her a “genius” for such a simple feat, he did nod in genuine approval.

Though it seemed a rather childish exchange, “recognition” held a special significance for Lamia. Thus, Wade was not stingy with his praise.

Next came the actual sewing.

Lamia had initially wanted the garment in Wade’s hands. After all, her interest in sewing had sparked precisely because of that particular piece of clothing.

However, Wade had refused, vehemently so. He cherished that item; even if it had been cut, he could still fashion it into an ordinary undershirt to wear beneath his jacket.

He knew how difficult it was to acquire a garment that fit perfectly, one he could wear for years without replacement. This particular piece had been by his side for longer than Lamia’s cumulative sleeping hours!

Therefore, Wade had declined her request. Instead of the half-altered garment, he instructed a servant to bring a handkerchief, already cut in half. It was made of common fabric, making it simpler for a beginner.

“In any case… your task is to stitch this cut handkerchief back together. This is the simplest stitch.”

Wade demonstrated the most basic stitch, covering the handkerchief as he did so. It was a simple up-and-down, left-and-right motion, completely devoid of technical skill, yet sufficient for a bit of amusement.

– Then what about the clothes? What about your method?

She might be easily amused, but Lamia was no fool. She could clearly see that Wade’s own method differed from the one he was teaching her.

“Ah—that’s an advanced version.”

“I want to learn that.”

“No, I said that’s an advanced version.”

“I *can* learn that!”

Lamia’s voice rose, her lips pursed, giving her an indignant, puffed-up appearance.

Since the sewing lesson required her to lean in, the two of them were remarkably close, able to feel the warmth of each other’s breath.

They were so near that a slight lean forward seemed as though it would allow him to kiss Lamia’s lips, still sweet with the taste of cake—

– Ahem, his thoughts were straying.

Perhaps because they had remained in the same room, without a change of scenery, a subtle, almost ambiguous atmosphere had lingered around them, refusing to dissipate.

Wade even felt a pang of regret. He wished he had brought Lamia to see the old man’s reaction when Orlan was still here. After all, wasn’t that Lamia’s entire purpose…

…No, what was he thinking? He would address it later, later.

‘What could the King possibly not learn? Bring forth your most cutting-edge techniques!’

Lamia remained defiant, utterly oblivious to the momentary impulse that had flashed in Wade’s eyes.

She had spoken of becoming the perfect wife, one capable of winning over the White Knight… Ha, was she truly going to squabble over such a trivial matter and miss her chance? How utterly typical!

“It’s too advanced for you to learn.”

“I *can* learn it.”

– Learn it, of course she could.

It was her duty.

She was the embodiment of “The Tower”; she was everything.

She didn’t create everything, but she *could become* anything.

The role she currently embodied was that of the Demon Lord—a Demon Lord capable of fulfilling most desires.

Whatever her subjects needed, she would transform into. Whatever skills they required, she would acquire.

After synthesizing these demands, Orlan would guide her, and she would act accordingly, thus becoming the perfect “King” in everyone’s hearts.

The very essence of “The Tower” was to aid all beings. However, with the ceaseless accumulation of wishes, Lamia found herself with more and more to do.

Consequently, she gradually transformed into a manifestation of the “demonic” will.

It wasn’t a boast of, “The King knows everything, isn’t that impressive?” but rather, “For the sake of everyone’s desires, I *must* possess this ability.”

Just as now, Lamia required this skill.

Not because *she* needed it, but because Wade’s wife did.

‘—I need to become the perfect wife, so I can learn even the most advanced techniques.’

Such a being had no “self.”

She was merely a “wish-granting machine,” built from countless accumulated desires.

****

In that instant, Wade seemed to sense this emotion, the sentiment embedded within her unspoken thoughts.

She appeared eager, seemingly thrilled to tackle this technique, yet…

“Are you truly happy learning this?”

Wade had uttered the words instinctively.

“……Hmm?”

Lamia paused, equally bewildered.

“What?”

****

Seeing Lamia’s confused expression, Wade realized he had spoken the words unconsciously, and they could not be unsaid.

“……Ah, I mean… are you happy sewing?”

****

Silence fell, followed by confusion.

Or rather, both emotions arose simultaneously within Lamia’s heart.

‘Sewing? Am I happy?’

‘—I don’t know.’

In her mind, Lamia’s answer to herself was a period where a question mark should have been.

It wasn’t, “I wonder?” but rather, “I don’t care.”

‘As a perfect wife, I need this skill. I must learn it and achieve perfection in one go—’

As her unspoken thoughts reached their peak, Wade extended his hand, still offering the needle and handkerchief for the simple stitch.

Then, as if by some irresistible impulse, he reached out and embraced Lamia’s neck.

Gently, he pressed a kiss upon her forehead.

He knew that whenever he kissed her, she would always quiet down.

This way, he could finally speak to her.

This underhanded tactic had proven effective every time he’d employed it.

“Don’t rush.”

Wade ruffled Lamia’s head, disarraying a few strands of her light purple hair.

“Don’t treat it like a task. Let’s just pass the time, play around a bit. Don’t worry about the magic stone powder Lilith sent. We’ll go eat afterward.

We can’t finish anything too complicated, so how about we just do a few simple stitches and wait for dinner?”

Wade didn’t seem to be very good at persuading people, but he tried his best.

He was always one to prove things through action.

It had been true when he was the White Knight, and it was true in the Knight Order. Yet, when facing Lamia, he felt a sense of bewilderment, unsure of what he should do.

Let things take their natural course?

No… that wouldn’t do. Wade had always felt that Lamia’s path seemed to have strayed too far.

Lamia indeed quieted, both her voice and her unspoken thoughts. Then she blinked and pouted.

“Alright, I suppose that works.”

‘Just treat it as playing around…’

‘Playing around… really?’

For her, it was an unfamiliar concept.

Nevertheless, Lamia withdrew her hand that had been poised to refuse, taking the handkerchief and needle to begin sewing simply.

It wasn’t until she accidentally pricked her fingertip a moment later that she felt pain, saw blood, but found it didn’t matter.

She endured far greater pain daily in battle, rendering this slight prick meaningless. Originally, as an armor, she possessed no blood.

The crimson now was merely because her current body had been crafted based on fundamental human physiology.

Therefore—it didn’t matter.

‘After all… it had always been this way. If I don’t speak of it, no one else will care, and I will still have to become the perfect—’ Her stubborn, unspoken thought, though meant for herself, somehow reached Wade’s ears.

“You’re hurt?”

“Hm? It’s nothing, just a small prick.”

“Being hurt *is* a big deal.”

Wade set down the garment in his hands and stood up.

“I’ll go get some cotton swabs.”

Lamia watched Wade’s retreating back in a daze, then glanced at her fingertip. Her self-healing abilities were decent; the small wound should disappear on its own in a moment.

Yet, observing Wade’s back as he went for the cotton swabs, Lamia blinked. Then, with a slight press, she squeezed out more blood.

This way, it shouldn’t heal before he returned.