MTO C51

Chapter 51

“Heart, run!”

But this was no time to writhe in pain. Michel shouted at the boy, whose face had gone pale as snow.

Yet Heart did not move. Frozen in terror, deaf to everything.

By then the snake‑monster had recovered, raising its triple heads, fangs bared as it lunged at Michel.

Reflexively, Michel shoved his basket into the central maw. The wooden frame shattered instantly, but in that brief hiccup of resistance, the creature slowed.

Michel seized the chance. He twisted his body, vaulting atop the serpent’s torso like a rider on a maddened bull. Clamping thighs tight, he wrapped both arms around the three necks, constricting with all his might.

SSSKKREEE!

The beast shrieked, thrashing violently. Its massive hide was slick as oil, its muscles taut and springy. Michel forced down with his full weight, but strength ebbed fast. Instinct screamed that he could not hold for long. He had to at least get the child away.

“Heart! Snap out of it! Ha—agh!”

His cry broke off in agony. Fire lanced across his right shoulder, searing as if struck by a whip. Glancing back, he saw the monster’s barb‑hook tail withdrawing, dripping black venom.

Venom.

Ice crawled outward from the wound, his muscles locking. Vision blurred. When the serpent twisted again, Michel lost his hold and was hurled aside, crashing to the ground.

BAMM!

“N‑No!” Heart’s scream fractured the air.

Michel could no longer tell him to flee. Paralysis seized his tongue, heavy and numb. He forced himself up, but his limbs obeyed sluggishly. The serpent loomed, heads reared to strike.

SSSAAA!

Michel willed his arms to rise—but they remained leaden. As the jaws gaped wide above him, he simply closed his eyes.

SHRACK!

THUMP!

Heat splattered across his face, iron tang flooding the cold air. Strange sounds rang around him: the shrill neigh of a horse, the clatter of armored boots.

Half‑lidded eyes fluttered open. The serpent’s massive corpse sprawled broken before him, black blood staining snow crimson. Its three heads, severed, rolled lifeless across the frost.

A long sword dripped steadily above. Michel wanted to look up, to see its master, but even breathing was a burden. Blood trickled from his nose, his whole world dimming.

The figure knelt, lifting him gently into strong arms.

Through blurred vision he recognized those obsidian eyes—normally so sharp, now quaking.

“Kai…dan…”

So you received the invitation.

Michel’s lips curved faintly as darkness closed in.

The Headmaster—reborn as a true Saint, or merely pretending? Would he keep his purity even when fortune smiled?

Kaidan had come only to find that answer. Responding to the invitation had been a test, nothing more.

But not like this.

He had been riding through the forest with supply wagons when he heard a scream. Spurring his horse, he carved through the snow just in time to see an impossible sight: the orphanage headmaster grappling on the ground with a naga.

A naga—a “low‑tier” monster of the north, but deadly nonetheless. Venom coated its hook‑tail, petrifying victims until death.

Kaidan wasted no instant. His blade severed its necks in one arc. But the child’s caretaker had already been stung.

“Kai…dan…” The Saint whispered faintly, then collapsed unconscious.

Kaidan immediately poured antidote to his lips. Every northern knight carried such for naga hunts. But though the antidote was common, its side effects were dire.

“Commander!”

“Fetch the physician—NOW!”

He barked at the soldiers following, still shaken. Michel’s breath rasped harshly. Already the antidote fever was taking hold. And then—

“D‑dead? He’s dead? No—he can’t be dead, right? You poisoned him, didn’t you?! What did you just feed him? Put him down!!”

A child, sobbing, flung himself at Michel’s limp body. Kaidan seized him by the collar, yanking him up to eye level.

“What happened?! Speak!”

“L‑Let go!”

“If you don’t, he dies. Do you want that?”

The boy trembled, defiance crumbling. His face twisted with anguish.

“H‑He… told me to run, but… I couldn’t… My legs…!” Tears streamed, words garbled but enough.

Protecting the child? Impossible to imagine—and yet. He shoved the boy into a soldier’s arms.

“We return. To the orphanage.”

Mounting swiftly, Michel cradled against him, Kaidan galloped back.

Chaos erupted as they burst into the yard. Adults shrieked, children bawled. “The Saint! He’s covered in blood!”

“It’s naga venom! Take me to his chamber!” Kaidan’s thunder silenced them.

David led the way.

Kaidan stripped Michel bare, laying him upon bedlinen soaked with heat. Pupils unfocused, his pale skin flushed boiling crimson, blotched with fever rash.

The antidote burned like fire, a perilous cure. Many survived; many went blind; many died regardless.

“Buckets of water! Clean cloths!”

Orders barked, carried out. Kaidan himself pressed cold rags upon brow, nape, armpits, thighs—renewing them as they warmed. David massaged limbs to keep muscles from petrifying.

But despite their efforts, the fever raged. The room sweltered with heat pouring off his body. Sweat sluiced down Kaidan’s armor.

Only hours later did the physician arrive.

“We’ve done all possible. Only God’s mercy may decide now.”

Expected, yet hollow. And strange that disappointment gnawed so sharply at him. Was it exhaustion? Or something else?

By grace or sheer labor, Michel’s temperature eased somewhat at last. But he remained motionless, eyes closed. Kaidan had seen too many never rise again.

“I failed… to guard him,” David muttered, vacant. He recounted every detail, bitterly. Kaidan agreed, he had erred—but the knight’s choice was understandable. For decades this forest had been free of monsters. To build an orphanage within monster‑lands would defy logic.

Thus—where had the naga come from?

The sudden emergence of monsters after decades of calm was no blessing. Kaidan ordered soldiers to scour the surrounding forest until its origin was known.

David he dispatched with them—the man’s guilt too deep to be useful in the sickroom.

So Kaidan alone stood vigil.

Barbara knelt beside the bed, whispering prayer after prayer.

“O Lord, look with mercy upon this sinner. Show Your wondrous grace. Grant a miracle…”

Her low chant throbbed like a funeral dirge. Irritating to Kaidan’s ears—but he did not stop her. He had no right. He was only a guest beneath this roof.

Once, she urged him to go rest. He refused.