MPSN Ch 2

Chapter 2

“Nikiel, my child. Now that you’re of age, shouldn’t you be choosing a husband?”

“Choose what?”

Not only did Nikiel speak with a total lack of etiquette expected in the royal palace, but even the most insolent son of a common family wouldn’t dare speak so rudely to his father. The attendants and the king himself gasped in shock; yet Nikiel had to question whether he had truly heard correctly. Marriage? To a man?

Having just completed mandatory military service as a sergeant, must I now be married off in this other world? And in a male body at that?

No way in hell. Nikiel attempted to ‘log out’ once more—slamming his forehead onto the marble floor and fainting right there on the spot.

The effect was immediate.

“Your Majesty, you must never do such a thing again! Better to kill the boy outright!”

The ever-staunch attendant Paul declared firmly. Nikiel could do nothing but nod—a wretched look plastered on Paul’s face from being harshly rebuked for failing to protect the prince, all because Nikiel had knocked himself out on the palace wall.

“Remember, Your Highness: your body does not belong to you alone! Copy this text—here to here—by hand, now!”

Paul snapped, holding out the Sacred Scriptures of the Solar God—the revered holy book of Ossinis’ bishop in the novel’s setting.

Nikiel, who had been a Buddhist before plunging into this world, hesitated to disregard Paul’s words, especially with the bandage tied around both their foreheads. The dark expression on Paul’s face discouraged him from dismissing someone’s religion merely to champion religious diversity.

It felt like being silently scolded by a fellow conscript: “I had to do group punishment because of you.”

For three days—no, four, counting the time after waking up from slamming his head—Nikiel had mostly completed his phase of denying reality. Seeing Paul’s battered brow, equally punished for failing in his attendant’s duties, Nikiel began to feel a moral responsibility.

More importantly, there was simply no time for denial.

“Hrk, khak—!”

He coughed up blood once again for no apparent reason. No matter what, Nikiel’s body tended to expel blood at regular intervals. Paul, sympathy stamped across his face, could only explain matter-of-factly,

“Your Highness’s holy power is simply too vast for a human body to contain. It is best to release it from time to time, but as you have yet to be wed…”

What did holy power have to do with marriage? And why did I have to contain it in my body? I’m Buddhist! I even have a Dharma name from Bongeunsa Temple!* Why saddle a Buddhist’s body with some random deity’s holy power?

(*note: Bongeunsa Temple is a prominent Buddhist temple in Seoul, South Korea.)

Nikiel wanted to protest, but was too busy sputtering blood to form words. Once his coughing subsided, he was so weak that pondering the absurd link between marriage and holy power felt pointless; the only real thought was how subtly different this world was from the novel.

In the novel The Golden Bough of Sansbrian, Nikiel was never this frail. He wasn’t superhuman but was born healthy, met legendary heroes, honed his body, and awakened hidden talents—a classic fantasy template.

But the “real” Nikiel’s body was different. He was so weak, even a sparrow would trounce him, forcing him to treat a sparrow as his elder brother.

“Wasn’t that just a dream?”

Nikiel pondered the dream he had. In it, surrounded by characters from the novel destined to join him on adventures, something felt askew. Their manner was peculiar—less like loyal subjects, more like…

Pausing at the memory, Nikiel frowned and asked Paul,

“By the way… I recall His Majesty also mentioned marriage. What exactly is this ‘wedding’ everyone keeps talking about?”

“Oh, Solius above! Has Your Highness lost your memory from hitting your head on the marble? Why would you ask such a thing…?”

Midway through setting a kettle atop the brazier to help stifle Nikiel’s cough, Paul halted, then whirled around, face aghast.

Why stop mid-sentence? With one eyebrow raised, Nikiel fixed Paul with a look. Paul’s voice trembled as he asked,

“Could it be… have you truly lost your sanity?!”

Is he asking whether I’ve gone mad, outright? For a moment, Nikiel considered arguing, but then caught himself. Actually, wouldn’t pretending to have amnesia speed up the process of gathering intel in this absurd world?

After a pause, Nikiel pressed a hand to his forehead and collapsed artfully onto the bed. His platinum hair—like spun thread soaked in starlight—cascaded down, accentuating his pitiful appearance.

He’d only meant to feign infirmity, but his looks made even a quick bow of his head look tragically poetic.

“…My memory seems to come and go,” he muttered.

Unaware of the impact of his appearance, Nikiel worried his acting was terribly unconvincing.

But the result was instant, once again.

“So that’s why! Instead of kicking me or dragging me behind a horse as you usually do, you even worried over my head wound! You mustn’t have had your full memory!”

…Wait. Kicking? Tying servants to horses and dragging them? Just how much of a scoundrel was I to give a servant the “petit quartering” treatment for minor slights?

Having been raised in a democracy “of the people, by the people, for the people,” Nikiel simply couldn’t grasp such actions. No wonder Paul, almost as if testing him, frequently breached etiquette in his speech.

In a panic, Paul summoned the royal physician, and Nikiel leveraged his “patchy memory” excuse to extract a diagnosis of memory loss.

“It’s likely from the head trauma. Only time will help… It’s fortunate the prince hasn’t forgotten everything, but remembers people’s faces and certain information. His memory should soon return.”

The royal physician’s look said, “Oh, you and your antics again.” Watching Paul’s attitude, Nikiel confirmed his suspicion: the true body’s owner, a princeling hailed as ‘the Redeemer,’ had lived his life as an utter menace.

Nikiel sighed and told the physician,

“Be sure to inform His Majesty that my mind is not entirely sound.”

“……”

The doctor gave him a sidelong glance that clearly read: “What fresh trouble is he planning now?” But Nikiel was unconcerned.

Figuring out this world came first. Claiming confusion, Nikiel sequestered himself.

From the research he’d compiled, it appeared Nikiel was indeed in a world slightly askew from the original novel. Here, as in the book, the state religion worshiped the solar deity, and the black dragon Nasiu was the source of all evil.

The black dragon, born from the very first night, was slain by four great noble houses—Balt, Boltwick, Griff, and Turun—assembled to protect the founding king; yet, as it perished, it unleashed a primal curse, transforming their heirs into beasts. Thus plagued, each family chose their beast-shaped heir as the new head.

However, with the exception of the first generation, it was rare for all four houses to bear such heirs in the same generation.

Most important: only a royal child, inheriting the pure platinum hair and blue eyes of the first king, could calm a beast—hence, after transformation, a house head from among the four great families had to take the royal child as their spouse to ‘govern’ Nasiu’s curse with affection.

The four pillars of Ossinis—Balt, Boltwick, Griff, and Turun—would pledge absolute loyalty to the kingdom by wedding into royalty.

This world, then, hid layers of lore absent from The Golden Bough of Sansbrian, whose plot was merely about adventure and friendship. Nikiel shook his head.

“Are they kidding? How’s a man supposed to marry another man? What about children?”

“By the grace of Lord Solius, Your Highness possesses a body capable of conception.”

What the hell? So, I, a Korean Army vet, now facing only civil reserve duty, am going to get pregnant? Nikiel was utterly incredulous. Yet Paul’s features radiated such agapic devotion to his god, it brooked no refutation.

That some deranged god would contrive to impregnate a noble son—if Nikiel’s deceased parents knew, they’d claw the Solar God—whatever he was—down by his radiant hair.

But Nikiel reluctantly chose to accept it. Getting sucked into this other world was already impossible by normal means. By comparison, the prospect of male pregnancy began to seem trivial—

“Are you insane?! Pregnancy?! Damn this Solar God!”

“Gasp! Nikiel! Such blasphemy—!”

His attempt at self-control failed entirely. In a fit of rage, Nikiel almost hurled the vase from his bedside, but refrained—the gold overlay looked expensive. He considered tearing the bedsheets but stopped himself; this world’s prized Ashinka silkworm silk covered the bed. The same went for the chair—the ivory frame alone looked pricier than three months of his graduate stipend.

“Argh—!”

A life of lower-middle-class frugality left nothing that could be destroyed without regret. Nikiel pounded the bed in frustration, only for his glass-delicate body to react with another bout of coughing up blood.

“Your Highness!”

Just as Paul rushed to his aid, the door crashed open and a man, cold as frost incarnate, strode in.

Nikiel’s eyes widened in shock—Paul’s did too, but he recovered first.

“Your Highness, this is Grand Duke Yullan Balt.”

Paul whispered this to Nikiel, who, hand still over his bloodied mouth, shot him a “Him?!” look. Paul nodded his reply. A wordless exchange of glances between prince and servant.

Nikiel looked again at the man advancing toward him.

With hair so black as to appear almost blue, he stood nearly twice Nikiel’s slight size. Not dressed in robes fit for royal audience, but clad in a black cape embroidered with a wolf howling skyward. His bearing was nothing short of noble—if he wasn’t gentry, then who?

Is this really Yullan Balt? Nikiel frowned, recalling the original description.

“Yullan was the king’s loyal fangs. He never let his chosen prey escape, and while he was a handsome man with hair and eyes the color of the night sky, his cruelty was entirely at odds with his beautiful appearance; he committed dreadful acts without hesitation.”

…So, of all things, they kept these original aspects?

Looking at the Grand Duke’s face and seeing it match the novel’s description down to the last detail, Nikiel felt as though he’d just spotted a celebrity on the street. One of those moments when it suddenly feels like daylight.