MPSN Ch 8

Chapter 8

It was only after they had already come within sight of the Prince’s Palace that Nikiel realized the phrase “play with him” might sound strange to Raymond.

‘Come to think of it, people here probably think I’m some kind of depraved pervert.’

What Nikiel had meant was simply play in the sense of humoring a child—his only intention had been to irritate. But now, realizing Raymond might interpret it differently, a chill ran down his spine.

‘He doesn’t seriously think I was trying to seduce him… does he? Ugh.’

Nikiel involuntarily shuddered. No matter how ridiculously handsome Raymond was—handsome enough for even another man to pause and admire—Nikiel had no intention of being the one to make a move.

After much coaxing and threatening, Nikiel had finally wrung the truth from Paul, who had been reluctant to reveal just how bad Nikiel’s reputation really was. As it turned out, the “real Nikiel” had been an infamous libertine, leaving a trail of romantic scandals wherever he went.

Of course, as a man himself, Nikiel could understand a certain fondness for the pleasures of the flesh, so when he first heard about those escapades, he had shrugged it off as unsurprising.

But the true extent of “Nikiel’s” debauchery—according to Paul’s testimony—was far worse than even the rumors suggested.

To summarize Paul’s words:

“Your Highness, of all the womanizers I’ve ever known, you were the worst.”

In other words, the body Nikiel now inhabited had belonged to someone utterly shameless. Not only had he seduced noblewomen invited to royal banquets, but once they had fainted from exhaustion, he’d then moved on to their grooms or stablehands. His tastes disregarded age or gender, and despite being born into royalty under a strict class system, he’d been startlingly egalitarian in his conquests, unfazed by differences in social rank.

The only people he had not touched were the attendants—though even that, Paul explained, was merely because the king would have nagged him otherwise. At noble family banquets, Nikiel had thought nothing of sneaking off with household servants for a tryst.

But what baffled the current Nikiel most was this:

“With this kind of stamina, how on earth did he manage it?”

Yes, the palace was large, but still under the same sky—how could someone this easily winded after a short walk possibly sustain such vigorous activity? Despite a month of exercise, this body still became breathless after minimal exertion.

The royal palace was sprawling—so vast, in fact, that the path to the Prince’s Palace passed through a forest. Once he crossed this forest, Nikiel planned to wash up with cold water and take a nap. Everyone knew that post-exercise naps boosted immunity and restored vitality—basic health wisdom.

It was in this optimistic mindset, determined to push himself just a little further, that it happened:

Chiririri, chiriririri—

The call of a bird sounded from somewhere nearby. It was no small sparrow or pigeon, but a cry belonging to a much larger bird. Judging by the volume of the sound, the bird itself had to be enormous.

Nikiel glanced around, following the low cry. Grabbing a branch, he pushed aside undergrowth barely reaching his boots—and there, he found it: a young black eagle sprawled on the ground, an arrow lodged in its wing joint.

It was still immature, far smaller than a full-grown black eagle—barely the size of a mountain pigeon. Its black feathers gleamed faintly, and its obsidian-like eyes shone with a striking brilliance. It was, in short, a very handsome juvenile eagle.

“Oh dear…”

At this point, it’s worth mentioning that Nikiel’s major back on Earth had been zoology—specifically, animal ecology. His specialty had been mammals, but that didn’t mean he knew nothing about the life history of black eagles.

Nikiel slowly approached the struggling bird.

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

The arrow’s shaft had snapped, leaving no clue as to its origin, but the head remained deeply embedded in the wing joint.

As Nikiel neared, the eagle rolled its dark eyes toward him warily. Its high-pitched screeching sounded threatening, but Nikiel wasn’t deterred.

The closer he came, the more the eagle flapped its uninjured wing, though even that movement must have hurt, given the lodged arrowhead. Its struggles only intensified.

Nikiel sighed and spoke softly, knowing the eagle couldn’t understand him anyway.

“Stop fussing. Do you want to hurt your wing even more?”

Unexpectedly, the words seemed to have some effect. The eagle rolled its obsidian eyes once more, then ceased flapping—as though resigning itself.

Its limp body was both pitiful and endearing. Judging by the wound, it had likely been shot some time ago. The bleeding hadn’t stopped completely, and fresh blood continued to seep around the arrowhead.

Nikiel wasn’t a veterinarian, so rather than remove the arrow, he carefully stripped off his outer shirt and wrapped the eagle’s wings gently in the fabric before cradling it against his chest.

Now clad only in the thin muslin undershirt he wore beneath, Nikiel walked slowly so as not to jostle the bird’s injury.

Pirolo, chiriri—

The bird chirped faintly, almost as if mumbling something. Nikiel soothed it with a soft murmur.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll treat you. You’ve suffered enough.”

Its feathers, once soaked in blood, were now stiff and matted. Even so, Nikiel held the eagle gently against him as he walked. The bird didn’t blink, its obsidian eyes fixed on him unceasingly. Nikiel, like comforting a child, spoke to it again.

“How did this happen to you? You must have been so scared.”

He could feel the bird’s chilled body slowly warming against his own. Careful to avoid jostling it, Nikiel quickened his pace toward the Prince’s Palace.

“Paul!”

Paul, who had returned to the palace after escorting Nikiel to the banquet hall, rushed out at the call—and froze in shock.

Not only had Nikiel returned alone—having sent the royal attendants back—but he was wearing only a thin, translucent muslin shirt. The white outer shirt he’d worn earlier was nowhere to be seen. Worse, the muslin shirt was smeared with dark red stains, as though soaked in blood.

Paul’s knees nearly buckled—until he realized the blood wasn’t Nikiel’s, but rather that of the small creature nestled in his arms.

“Y-Your Highness, what is that?”

“There’s probably no veterinarian here, is there? Do they at least do falconry?”

“Falconry…?”

Indeed, many nobles enjoyed falconry. Paul, still bewildered, nodded vaguely.

Nikiel shouted urgently,

“Then call a falconer! It’s a black eagle—not a falcon, but they’re both raptors, so he should know how to treat it!”

“Y-Yes. I’ll also summon the homing pigeon master, just in case!”

Finally snapping out of his shock, Paul barked orders to the servants, and they scattered at once.

Nikiel remained still, holding the eagle with utmost care. Against his chest, he could feel the faint rise and fall of shallow breaths. Slowly, he made his way toward his chambers.

“This is my home now. Someone will come to help you soon. Once we treat your wound, I’ll give you beef, and you can rest all you want.”

Paul returned after dispatching the servants.

“Bring boiled water—cooled to lukewarm—and clean linen cloths. …Do they even have disinfectants here?”

“You mean spirits for sterilization? I’ll fetch them right away.”

Apparently, distilled alcohol was available in this world, specifically for sterilizing wounds.

Thinking that their medical knowledge was surprisingly advanced, Nikiel entered his room. Carefully, he laid the eagle upon the bed, ignoring the mess of blood and dirt.

“Rest here a moment. We’ll treat you soon.”

The once-quiet Prince’s Palace soon bustled with activity for this unexpected guest.

Though clearly untamed, the black eagle remained strangely docile. It simply gazed at Nikiel with gentle eyes, unbothered by the noise.

Finding it adorable, Nikiel lay on his stomach beside it—resting his chin on one hand, and with the other, softly scratching under its beak.

“You’re such a good, gentle one. What’s your name?”

“……”

Of course, the bird didn’t reply. Nikiel chuckled and continued scratching its beak. Despite knowing that a raptor’s beak could shear through a finger bone in an instant, he felt oddly certain this particular bird would never harm him.

When he stroked its head, the eagle closed its eyes and made a soft rumbling noise, reminiscent of a purring housecat.

“You’re not usually this docile. You must be very clever—you can tell who’s trying to help you.”

Nikiel continued to praise the bird. Its calm acceptance of his touch was endearing, and those obsidian eyes staring up at him were mesmerizing. Overcome by affection, he pressed a soft kiss to its feathered cheek.

For Nikiel, who had loved animals since childhood and become an ecologist because of it, this was a natural gesture. But startled, the eagle suddenly let out a loud cry—shockingly loud for such a small creature.

“Oh, did I scare you? I wasn’t trying to eat you—that was affection. You’re just too cute not to kiss.”

Nikiel whispered with a wry smile, speaking softly enough that only the bird could hear. His ash-blond hair slipped forward, brushing against the eagle’s body.

The eagle rolled its eyes again, then fixed him with an intense, unwavering stare. It was different now—piercing, restless, impossible to read. Like the parched gaze of someone who hadn’t drunk water for days.

Nikiel tilted his head, puzzled. At that moment, a knock sounded at the door—Paul announcing the arrival of the falconer.

“Hmm, let them in.”

Nikiel rose from the bed without hesitation. A tingling sensation prickled between his shoulder blades. Glancing back, he found the eagle staring straight at him. But then, his attention was drawn away as the newcomers entered the room.