Chapter 72: The Bloody Smile and the Complex Heart

By the time Wade returned, the small red pinprick of a wound had expanded into a glistening pool on Lamia’s fingertip, now dripping steadily down her hand.

The scene that greeted his eyes could only be described as horrifying.

Lamia’s hands were covered in blood, as was her face. Even her lips were stained crimson.

“Lamia…?”

For a moment, Wade was utterly seized by panic.

His breath hitched sharply. The cotton swab in his hand snapped with a crisp *crack*, breaking into two pieces.

‘What was happening? Blood? Why?’

‘Was there an enemy? Where?’

‘An enemy powerful enough to harm Lamia? Had they fled, or were they hiding? What was Lamia doing? Why hadn’t she called for help?’

‘There was no lingering scent of magic nearby. Was this a master I couldn’t even detect? Could Orlan have returned? No, that’s impossible; he wouldn’t directly attack Lamia. Was she his subordinate? No, that makes no sense at all.’

‘Had Lamia been exposed? If so, why wasn’t she simply killed?’

‘Or… had Lamia turned the tables and killed them? The blood on her lips—had she *eaten* it?!’

Taking a moment to steady his breathing, Wade quickly forced his mind to analyze the situation. He cycled through numerous possibilities. Initially, he worried for Lamia, then rapidly searched for the culprit, wondering where they might be hiding.

Yet, a new thought arose: ‘Could anyone truly go toe-to-toe with Lamia and inflict such damage?’ His focus shifted. ‘Had Lamia been the one to injure someone else?’

‘Should he, perhaps, hang a sign above her head that read, ‘Beware: Demon Within,’ much like those warnings he’d seen?’

‘He’s finally back. If he didn’t return soon, I’d have squeezed all the blood onto the floor.’

‘……?’

However, the subsequent thought that echoed in his mind caused Wade to freeze.

‘Why does it feel like there’s something smeared on my face? It’s quite uncomfortable. Why isn’t there a mirror in this room…?’

‘Wait?’

Wade, still clutching the now-broken cotton swab, began to ponder.

“Wade? What’s wrong?”

Then, his gaze met Lamia’s expectant smile—a smile that was, in a very literal sense, stained with blood.

“Are you… alright?”

Wade swallowed hard, moved to Lamia’s side, and sat back down in the spot where he had been mending clothes just moments before.

“I’m fine—”

Upon hearing Wade’s question, Lamia instinctively began to reply, “I’m fine,” but before the last syllable could escape her lips, she abruptly clamped her mouth shut and paused to think.

‘Fine? Am I really fine?’

‘No, if I say I’m fine, won’t he just pack up? Wouldn’t all this waiting have been for nothing?’

‘Lilith mentioned that sometimes, a touch of feminine fragility can awaken a human male’s protective instincts. I’ve worked so hard to keep this wound from closing, even using a needle to poke it twice and make it larger…’

‘If I say I’m fine, won’t all my efforts be in vain?’

‘And besides—I’m currently playing the role of a delicate wife awaiting her husband’s treatment. Since he wants to treat me, I’ll naturally create the opportunity!’

‘Hehe, if I make the wound a bit bigger, will he feel a sense of accomplishment? Like, say, healing a particularly severe injury? Even though it’s not actually severe right now.’

“Ah, it hurts so much, darling. Yes, something’s wrong, something’s definitely wrong.”

Thus, after this rapid internal deliberation, Lamia’s words took an immediate turn. Yet, the smile on her face seemed to linger, still present as she claimed to be in agony.

It was as if she had deliberately created the wound simply to give Wade a reason to treat her.

‘This… isn’t the cause and effect completely reversed?’

For a split second, Wade could barely believe his own ears. It wasn’t Lamia’s sudden shift in words that stunned him, but rather the thoughts he’d overheard from her mind.

‘She kept the blood flowing?’

‘And even poked it a few times with a needle?’

‘Has she gone mad? Is she… self-harming?’

Pondering this, Wade extended a hand, carefully drawing Lamia’s hand closer to his own.

Indeed, if it had been a normal pinprick, it would have been difficult to draw so much blood. Lamia, however, had effectively carved a line. No, not carved; a sewing needle wasn’t sharp enough for that.

It was more like she had pricked, or rather, *picked*. Like a child connecting dots, she had apparently poked several holes in her finger and then used the needle to tear open the flesh between them.

‘What was she doing? Merely for… that so-called… sense of accomplishment?’

‘Who could possibly feel accomplished by such a thing? Who would be happy about this?’

“I’ll just disinfect it for you quickly. Don’t move.”

Wade held the cotton swab and antiseptic solution, wiping away the blood as he observed Lamia. She was looking down at the blood on her hand.

Having just woken up, Lamia’s hair was disheveled. As she lowered her head, a lock fell forward, tickling her cheek. It seemed she hadn’t quite adjusted to her long hair, for she instinctively raised a hand to brush it away.

As she did, Wade noticed her hand landed precisely where the bloody handprint was on her face. ‘So that’s it?’ he wondered. ‘And the blood on her lips must have been brushed on accidentally, too? Or… did she actually lick it?’

‘There are quite a few steps. He’s not just pouring the antiseptic directly on, is he? Like I do when I put medicine on him…’

Watching Wade clean the blood and wipe her hand, Lamia remained somewhat curious, as if the bloody appendage wasn’t her own.

“I’m going to apply the medicine now. It might sting a bit, so bear with it.”

After clearing away the blood, Wade pressed the antiseptic-soaked cotton swab onto Lamia’s wound. When treating himself, he habitually used a firm hand, a practice ingrained from years in the Knights’ Order.

He had instinctively pressed down hard on Lamia’s finger wound with the swab, only realizing a moment later that he might have used too much force.

Yet—Lamia’s expression remained utterly unchanged.

Her self-inflicted pricks had been quite severe, but even with such pressure and disinfection, she showed no reaction, not even a shallow breath.

‘Is that all?’

Instead, she seemed entirely at ease, as if this were an everyday occurrence.

‘Hmm, I don’t really feel much…’

Hearing Lamia’s inner voice, Wade finally understood. For Lamia, for a Demon Lord like Kares Lux, this was utterly insignificant.

Such a minor wound, such negligible pain, was not worth a moment’s notice to her.

Wade had overthought the situation, treating her as if she were mere flesh and blood.

But even so, to prick, poke, and squeeze blood from her own finger with a needle without so much as a twitch of her brow—

‘…This is far less painful than when that despicable White Knight hit me before.’

“—”

‘The true culprit… was I myself, in a way?’

“I’ll… put a bandage on for you.”

For a moment, after Wade uttered the word “I,” he felt as though he should have followed it with something else. Ultimately, however, his words dissolved into nothing more than the simple act of applying a bandage to seal the wound.

He gently placed the bandage on Lamia’s finger. The sensation of being wrapped seemed somewhat novel to her.

‘It’s just a tiny cut, yet it has so many treatment steps. How interesting.’

‘Interesting?’

‘Injury, bleeding—were these truly *interesting* things?’

As he processed this thought, and all the preceding ones,

Wade couldn’t shake the feeling that his emotions had grown incredibly complex.