MPNS Ch 27

Chapter 27

In truth, every summer Jikari would often vanish from people’s sight, his nerves frayed from the constant courtship of other birds.

As a bird of prey by nature, females do not initiate courtship — yet Jikari was always the one they chose.

Living closer to a wild bird comfortable among flocks, he found such attentions from females irritating, and so could not mingle during that season, leaving him all the more on edge.

Lucien had assumed from the time of year that the season must have come again and, thinking so to himself, ignored everything Jikari had said.

And now, today—

“Extreme liberation…”

Lucien finally realized what Jikari had been crying out back then.

It was the sensation of Nashiu’s curse — which constantly tormented and boiled inside him — suddenly being washed away in an instant, like standing beneath a drenching summer downpour.

It was a feeling so electrifying that to confine it to the mere words “extreme liberation” felt wasteful.

Simply from touching him, Lucien had to clench his teeth to hold back the moan threatening to escape.

In those few seconds when he caught Nikiel from falling, Lucien — who had, until a moment ago, been resigned to soon burrowing into the earth or sinking into some empty lakeshore to coil into his madness as a serpent — found every such thought scoured clean away in a single rush of elation.

The ecstasy was so intense that even his lower belly felt heavy, an uncomfortable tightness pulling at the fabric around his left thigh.

Lucien ground his teeth, suppressing the impulse — the impulse to slip his fingers into that sunlit-colored hair, pull Nikiel’s nape toward him…

No, in that moment, there was an even greater temptation he had to resist.

Had he acted on it, he might have learned just how intoxicating everything about Nikiel truly was.

Fortunately, the impulse ebbed thanks to Jikari, who was flapping and squawking from within Nikiel’s arms.

Like a bird guarding its nest, Jikari let out a warning cry at Lucien — and the serpent’s instincts that flowed through Lucien’s veins surged up unbidden, his nerves sharpening at the sense his territory was being trespassed upon.

Birds and snakes do not get along. The cry of a mighty raptor like Jikari, issued at such close range, thinned Lucien’s pupils into vertical slits.

It was perhaps lucky that Nikiel interposed himself before his fangs had the chance to sprout.

And then, as if it had never cried out at all, Jikari began preening and cooing for Nikiel’s attention.

Lucien could hardly believe it — how and when had those two met that Jikari, so coy and small like a fledgling, was now huddled into his arms with all the innocence and affectation he possessed?

“I’ve never seen that damn bird so quiet before.”

As a human — Marquis Jikari Griff — he was reserved and taciturn. But when transformed into a bird, he was noisy and bothersome.

Lucien remembered all too well how the enormous bird had torn up his laboratory, and how irritating it was. What’s more, the fledgling was the kind of vicious raptor that pecked out the hearts of monsters five times its size.

And yet here it was, purring away in Nikiel’s arms like a nestling that had just left the egg. The sight was so unbelievable Lucien found it hard to keep his gaze from straying in that direction.

Nikiel, whom he had thought scrawny and unimpressive, had clearly been training, as his chest muscles had firmed slightly. Jikari was burrowing into that chest, rubbing his beak against him.

The familiarity of it was so strange that, without realizing it, Lucien had stared so fixedly it could only be described as watching Nikiel’s chest.

Nikiel was a man — but in Ossinis’ history, every platinum-haired, blue-eyed royal, regardless of gender, had been wed to a commander.

No matter how much Lucien and the others professed to despise him, in their minds Nikiel was little different from a betrothed.

To think he had stared at such a man’s chest… Of course, Lucien could only feel flustered about it after the fact.

At first, his gaze had been meant to silently condemn Jikari for so brazenly nestling in, but later, it became harder to deny that he’d let his eyes wander over Nikiel’s chest.

‘…I’d heard rumors His Highness was working on his physique, but…’

Still, Lucien felt that even the thought was deeply improper, and the fact he had devoted even that much attention to Nikiel made him uncomfortable.

Moments later, all such thoughts were driven from his mind by a deep rumble from afar.

It was unmistakably a magical beast.

Nashiu’s curse allowed the commanders to sense the presence of monsters.

Though each commander’s ability varied slightly, all could detect at least the appearance of a beast from a great distance.

Lucien didn’t hesitate — nor did Jikari, nestled in Nikiel’s arms.

The moment the roar sounded, Jikari shrank in size and slipped free, shooting skyward at speed.

Lucien, quickly assessing the situation, almost scooped Nikiel up — but hesitated. Expanding the points of contact between them would mean feeling that same overwhelming flood of holy power as before.

That was dangerous. Lucien had no wish to know that hellish miracle any better — for it would be like sinking into a golden swamp, impossible ever to escape once immersed.

The commanders could live without Nikiel. One day, yes, the madness would take them — but each of the four had already steeled themselves for that fate.

They did not need to say aloud that they knew one another’s resolve.

Some even considered, if possible, ending Nashiu’s curse in their generation by dying without leaving heirs.

Their greedy families would never allow that willingly — but no retainer could force the prince and a commander into bed together to produce offspring.

Even if a forced marriage was possible, the matter of conception would still belong to the couple alone.

From the moment they sensed Nikiel’s vulgarity and the king’s sinister nature, they had resolved not to experience his holy power — not to feel, deep in their bones, its sheer greatness.

Even knowing it was improper, Lucien lifted Nikiel over his shoulder like a sack.

‘…And even so, my senses are sharp as ever.’

By the time the veins were standing out on his forehead from the effort of ignoring the rapture flooding his body, Lucien was driving every muscle in his legs for maximum speed.

Setting Nikiel down at the Prince’s Palace, he turned and sprinted again toward the western forest.

Better to fight a magical beast until dawn than to endure that.

As he ran, part of him still burned with the urge to seize Nikiel’s wrist, pull him into his arms, and sink his fangs into his neck — every brush with that holy power feeling like the scales along his body were rising, even though he was still in human form.

It was like a contented snake hissing softly. Nikiel was a dangerous being, one who awakened exactly those kinds of instincts.

In comparison, magical beasts were simple: kill them, and that was the end.

With that in mind, Lucien arrived at the scene — where Raymon had already reached before him.

Raymon, noting Lucien looked better than usual, seemed slightly puzzled. Lucien gave him only a sidelong glance.

Beneath Raymon’s eyes was a darkness born of his frequent bouts of madness.

All the commanders shared the same fear — that the moment they slept, the madness would take over completely — and so they treated insomnia as a constant companion.

Raymon was no different. His beauty and striking features hid it well, but the faint blackness around his eyes was an unshakable trace of sleeplessness.

Looking at him now, Lucien had the odd sense that, without even a mirror, he himself would no longer see such shadows beneath his own eyes.

‘No wonder my complexion is better…’

Drawing the whip at his waist, Lucien looked skyward. Above, the giant bird was rending the limbs of a Yollok with its talons, shrieking so loudly it shook the forest. Its overflowing energy poured out into a roar that echoed through the heavens.

Lucien readied the rest of his gear. The thorned whip, made of leather hardened with molten glass, coiled perfectly into his hand.

From the ground came a rhythmic thudding — the rumbling of the earth.

On Lucien’s left, Raymon, lightly holding a sword as tall as an average woman, kept his gaze fixed forward.

Weapons prepared, the two men stationed themselves toward the source of the distant thundering.

Swelling the muscles of their thighs, they braced to spring forward at any moment — waiting for the massive Hiohkan to burst through the ground.

Above, Jikari’s wingbeats whipped up gales, disrupting the scent trails that the nearly-blind Yollok relied on to track their prey.

“Where’s that bastard?” Raymon muttered, his voice irritated as he watched the dust cloud ahead. He was looking for Yullan.

It seemed to annoy him that while they were here working themselves to the bone, Yullan was nowhere in sight.

Had Yullan arrived earlier, Raymon might have found some other reason to pick a fight — but Lucien made no comment on the matter, merely answering flatly:

“The beast’s never reached the capital before — he’s likely investigating the cause. More importantly, shall I take the first strike?”

“No, I’ll go.”

Raymon swung his massive blade through the air, the force of it sending sword energy tearing into the earth, splitting it apart.

The cut was so clean it showed the cross-section as if slicing a dense cake, revealing within the approaching Hiohkan — which screamed as several of its legs were severed.

“You missed.”

“Duke, I have eyes.”

Raymon snapped back irritably — and then vaulted into the air.

Flipping his grip so the hilt pointed down, he plunged toward the ground, driving the blade downward like a stake.