MPNS Ch 15

Chapter 15

To be perfectly honest, Raymond was somewhat dazed. At that very moment, a stray shaft of light, escaping the dominion of Solius’ divine radiance, slanted across Nikiel’s lashes and illuminated half of his iris — a blue gleam, glimmering like sunlight rippling across the surface of a lake.

The sight was less beautiful than it was awe‑inspiring, like stumbling upon some breathtaking marvel of nature.

Lost in wonder, Raymond noticed, as Nikiel slipped free of his grasp, the faint scent of lotus drifting from him. Everything about the moment unfolded as though time itself had slowed.

Lotus? When had Nikiel abandoned the anonanilang1 perfume — a notorious aphrodisiac — that he used to seduce an endless string of lovers one could scarcely count on ten fingers?

The thought left Raymond feeling oddly wronged. Could losing one’s memories truly transform a person so completely?

The Nikiel he knew before was vulgar, indolent, petty — a small‑minded man whose inner rot belied his striking exterior. However exquisite the porcelain vessel, filth within was never welcome; Nikiel’s humanity stank.

Yet now, bereft of his memories, he evoked instead the image of a clear blue lake — tranquil, pure. The beast caged within Raymond’s body, too, quieted merely from Nikiel’s presence.

The feeling was wholly unlike before. A profound calm suffused Raymond’s chest, as refreshing as drawing in a lungful of crisp mountain air.

But when he grasped Nikiel’s wrist to test the reaction, he felt… nothing. If just standing beside him felt so invigorating, shouldn’t direct contact with his divine power elicit an even stronger response? Confusion gnawed at Raymond.

One thing, however, was undeniable: Nikiel no longer felt the same as before.

Why? Why on earth?

Count Polak’s rumor was wrong. Whatever Nikiel had encountered, it was surely not a demon.

But Raymond was a man born suspicious.

Beneath a gentle exterior lay a damp, shadowy core — a man merciless in throttling his political rivals when the opportunity arose.

Afterward, Raymond resolved to meet Nikiel several more times, today’s audience included. He spoke to him almost experimentally, gauging every reaction.

The king, it seemed, wished to suppress rumors that Nikiel’s memory loss was caused by contact with a demon, lest whispers spread that the prince’s divine power had been tainted.

Thus Raymond probed, testing Nikiel with veiled references to that infamous winter banquet — the very incident where Nikiel had brazenly declared that Raymond lived with something “horse‑sized” between his legs.

If Nikiel remembered, he would surely call Raymond out — accusing him of harboring anger over his prior lewd behavior, while Nikiel himself nursed resentment over being spurned.

But Nikiel’s reaction was nothing like he expected.

Upon hearing of his supposed misconduct, Nikiel bit his lip, stole sidelong glances at Raymond — eyelashes damp as though dipped in honey — lowering them shyly, unaware that the petal‑soft lips he bit between pearly teeth had flushed crimson.

In that moment, Raymond felt an inexplicable thirst. A parching ache unrelieved even when he ran his tongue over his own lips.

True, Nikiel had always gauged the moods of others — not just Raymond, but all the other house heads as well.

But that was born of servility, not shame. The old Nikiel never averted his eyes from someone because he felt embarrassed; he observed everyone while remaining brazenly insolent.

For such a contradictory man to now avert his gaze, abashed by his own misstep?

The sight set a weight low in Raymond’s abdomen. His throat parched, as though life‑giving nectar hung just beyond reach.

Why did I feel that way? Was it just pent‑up desire?

Though unlike the northern bastard who fought daily, Raymond still had to remain battle‑ready for monster hunts; physical training was essential. Unless overwhelmingly busy, he never skipped morning drills. Between those and leading the Boltwick knight regiment, he rarely had leisure — yet his urges surfaced often enough.

The beast sealed within him by Nashiu’s curse left him perpetually aflame, his body burning like molten steel year‑round.

He did not know how the other house heads managed theirs, but Raymond sought out noblewomen. Occasionally he indulged in brief romances — tender love suited him. Recently, though, preparations for the extermination tournament left him no time for even that.

Naturally, he chalked up his agitation to simple frustration. There was no way it had anything to do with Nikiel.

Even if duty bound him to marry Nikiel and break the curse, he could not summon enthusiasm.

Who would ever want to bed a scrawny addict?

He had never lain with a man before, but his tastes leaned toward mature women with fuller figures.

Never once had he desired Nikiel — staggering in drunkenness or drugged stupor, reeling from eastern flower pollen.

Yet lately, Nikiel seemed… different. Had he been training? His body appeared sturdier, and the firm thighs glimpsed beneath his muslin sleepwear betrayed new muscle.

Nikiel — who once sobbed so loudly at his coming‑of‑age ceremony that the entire palace trembled, who dreaded building even the slightest muscle and refused to lift anything heavier than a fan or a champagne glass — was now strengthening his body? The notion defied belief. His complexion, too, was rosier; gone was the pallor he once flaunted as though it were a badge of beauty.

Could amnesia transform not only memories, but one’s very soul? Raymond wondered if Nikiel had not met a demon, but the Divine itself.

“Your Grace, what occupies your thoughts?”

The voice that pulled Raymond from his reverie belonged to Dymus Boltwick, his retainer — and paternal uncle.

Raymond belatedly realized he had spent the entire day dwelling on Nikiel after their audience.

Yet he could not allow Dymus to glimpse such thoughts. No one must ever know he spent his hours pondering that blue‑eyed libertine.

Casually, he set his quill into the inkwell and stacked a few parchments atop his reports, rising with practiced ease.

“When did you arrive, Uncle?”

“I refrained from announcing myself, seeing Your Grace so deep in thought.”

“Next time, please do inform me at once. I would not wish to appear an unfilial nephew who leaves his uncle waiting.”

Raymond smiled, guiding his uncle toward the sofa.

What scent, I wonder, drew the old man here? The kind of geezer who’d lick the hindquarters of a beggar if there were profit in it…

Even as he conjured vicious curses, his expression remained as mild as a spring breeze.

“Bloody hell.”

The curse escaped unbidden.

Nikiel grimaced as he hoisted a copper bar weighted at both ends with pig bladders stuffed full of sand.

Paul’s words still rattled him.

‘There are many kinds of monsters. Some even take human form. Their traits differ, yet they share one thing in common: they crave the darkest of human emotions.’

Nikiel had assumed Paul was exaggerating. Crave dark emotions? How could that serve as nourishment?

Coming from a world where life fed on carbohydrates, proteins, and fats composed of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, and sulfur, the notion was absurd.

‘Most are mindless, but some are intelligent. They even form packs, kidnapping children to attack human settlements.’

Nikiel realized he needed to learn more about these so‑called monsters.

Monsters, it was said, were born of shadows. Thus the hunts were always conducted in forests at midday; come night, no monsters appeared.

Darkness and shadow were not the same: shadows were birthed by the sun, and so the people of Ossinis believed monsters were once servants of the Sun God, cursed by the Light Dragon Nashiu2.

‘Isn’t that strange? Wasn’t it said monsters were born from Nashiu’s bones, flesh, and blood?’

Yet since their emergence from shadows was undeniable, Nikiel resolved to consult the sacred texts of Solius, the god of Ossinis, to reconcile myth with reality.

‘Do the people here not find this contradictory?’

He pondered as he alternated legs in jump lunges. His thighs burned, but the sensation — promising hypertrophy — brought a fleeting happiness.

Nikiel’s body was notoriously resistant to building muscle. He was not unpleasantly skinny, but his efforts rarely yielded results.

Pumping his arms for momentum, Nikiel recalled Paul’s explanation once more:

‘Only the heads of the Four Houses may compete in the extermination tournament. Their power surpasses ordinary humans, enabling them to stand against monsters. Regular knights serve only as beaters in the hunts.’

Were monsters truly so formidable? They were still just beasts, weren’t they? Nikiel exhaled sharply, contracting his muscles as he breathed out, inhaling again as he relaxed, focusing strength into his core.

Resolved to study these monsters further, Nikiel concluded his leg workout for the day.

Footnotes

1. Anonanilang — A fictional flower in this world, often distilled into perfume; notorious as an aphrodisiac.
2. Nashiu — The Light Dragon of Ossinis mythology, believed to have cursed the monsters and given them their current form.