Chapter 25

“Seriously… where is my life even going?”

Lino hadn’t left his bed, though noon had long since passed. His entire morning consisted of a pathetic cycle: sighing, bolting upright to kick his blankets in frustration, and collapsing back into the mattress with yet another heavy sigh.

He released another breath, snatching a pill from his nightstand and swallowing it down with a gulp of water. Despite diligently taking the potent cold medicine three times a day, the illness clung to him stubbornly. A mild fever still simmered beneath his skin, leaving his limbs heavy and a persistent, tickling cough rattling in his chest. Wiping his damp mouth with the back of his hand, he wriggled back beneath the heavy covers.

He was sleeping soundly, eating nourishing meals, and taking high-quality medicine. Yet, his stamina refused to return. Catching the flu while thoroughly exhausted and malnourished was bad enough, but the true culprit was the vicious aphrodisiac he had been subjected to at the Baron Merchant Guild’s underground auction.

Had it ended there, he would have dragged himself out of bed two days ago. The real problem was what happened after the aphrodisiac took hold. The Duke had cornered him, dragging him into scalding bathwater and subjecting him to countless rounds of hand-delivered release. To make matters worse, as the water grew tepid, Lino found his very mind and body threatened by the Duke’s living, breathing weapon.

Though he lamented the tragic state of his life, the “accident” in the bathroom four days ago had actually concluded quite well.

Or maybe not quite well…?

Pondering the situation, Lino recalled the unexpected curveball that had ended that chaotic day, mentally revising his assessment. It hadn’t ended entirely well—saying it was a half-success was much closer to the truth.

First and foremost, Lino’s greatest fear—that the Duke would hand his information over to Baron Haklan—never materialized. This miracle was solely due to the fact that the Duke had taken an intense liking to Lino’s body. The man had satisfied himself by merely grinding his fully erect member against Lino’s back. No, he had endured it. Grondil became the first noble to shatter Lino’s deeply ingrained stereotype that aristocrats were incapable of waiting or holding back.

Of course, the Duke’s rational mind and his lower half never quite reached a consensus. Even as Grondil promised to protect Lino from Baron Haklan, he had wedged his rigid length between Lino’s thighs, rubbing relentlessly against him.

“Ugh…” A pained groan slipped from Lino’s lips. Three days had passed, yet the skin between his thighs still felt as though it were burning.

Throwing off the blankets, he tugged at his waistband to inspect his inner thighs. Visually, everything appeared perfectly fine. So why does it still sting? Is it just in my head? As he glared intently at his own legs, the phantom image of that massive monstrosity thrusting between them flashed before his eyes.

“Ack!” Startled by his own vivid imagination, Lino hurriedly fixed his pants, snatching the discarded blanket and yanking it all the way up to his waist.

“What was that? Such an uncharming scream.”

“Y-Your Highness?!”

Lino practically tumbled out of bed, immediately dropping into a deep bow. While bent over, he took the opportunity to ensure his previously disturbed waistband was securely in place. Given permission to rise, he straightened up in a flash. His gaze darted frantically between the wide-open bedroom door and Grondil’s imposing figure.

“To what do I owe the pleasure today…?” he asked cautiously.

“Whether I have business or not, do I need a reason to wander my own home?” the Duke replied smoothly.

“Ah… that is true. My apologies.”

Thoroughly cowed, Lino averted his eyes, unable to meet the Duke’s intense stare. Ever since the incident in the bath, looking the man directly in the face felt agonizingly awkward. Though they hadn’t kissed or gone all the way, they had engaged in acts so heavy and intimate they might as well have been sex. He had been pinned down, shaken, thoroughly used for the man’s release, and mercilessly bitten. He had been blackmailed with his past identity, culminating in the painfully embarrassing question of whether his body was to the Duke’s liking.

“Usually, people look at my face first,” Grondil noted dryly. “But it seems Sir Cliff prefers this area over my face?”

“P-Pardon?”

Grondil’s voice violently yanked Lino’s consciousness out of his steamy memories of the bathtub. With half his mind still trapped four days in the past and the other half processing the Duke’s words, the realization of what had just been asked hit him a second too late.

The Duke was slowly sweeping a hand down his own crotch. Only then did Lino realize that, in his desperate attempt to avoid making eye contact, he had lowered his gaze a bit too far. By some cruel twist of fate, his eyes were locked dead center on Grondil’s groin. Because the man’s shirt was meticulously tucked into his trousers, the prominent, bulging weight nestled beneath the fabric was undeniably visible.

Ducking his furiously blushing face, Lino immediately launched into a panicked defense. Usually, apologies and excuses demanded eye contact, but if he looked at Grondil now, his face wouldn’t just flush—it would spontaneously combust.

“Uh, well… the thing is,” Lino stammered. “I wasn’t actually trying to stare at your… you know, Your Highness.”

“If not there, then where were you planning to look?”

“Um… I hadn’t exactly picked a specific spot…”

Just as Lino noted how dangerously close the man’s voice sounded, a pair of plush indoor slippers invaded his field of vision. Startled by the sudden proximity, he instinctively jerked his head up, momentarily bewildered. Is the sun already setting?

“Your Highness…?”

“Yes, Sir Cliff?”

The afternoon sun blazed just as brightly outside the window as it had moments ago. The sudden gloom descending over Lino was entirely unnatural—it was the massive shadow cast by Grondil’s towering physique.

Ugh… why is it so cold all of a sudden? Summers in the northern regions were cool, but never freezing. Simply being deprived of sunlight by Grondil’s shadow shouldn’t have induced a chill. The sensation was entirely psychological. Having personally experienced the Duke’s overwhelming martial prowess and merciless methods, the fear was more than justified. Those massive hands could snap his spine as effortlessly as bending an iron rod at any given moment.

“Are you cold? Why are you trembling?” the Duke asked.

“Ha, haha… I suppose the cold hasn’t completely left me yet.”

“Is that so? What about your medicine?”

“Huh? Oh? I just took it a moment ago, but…” Lino trailed off nervously. “Excuse me, Your Highness. You are a bit too close.”

Lino took a cautious step backward, desperate to create some breathing room. Undeterred, Grondil matched his pace, smoothly erasing the distance and stepping even closer, rendering the effort completely pointless.

What the hell is he doing? Does he find it amusing to mess with me? Retreating step by step, Lino scrambled to analyze the man’s bizarre behavior. However, even Enoch—the Duke’s closest aide—failed to predict his master’s erratic actions. There was absolutely no way Lino, who had barely known the man’s face for over a month, could possibly decipher his motives.

“I am cold as well,” Grondil stated plainly.

“…Excuse me?”

“It appears I have caught Sir Cliff’s cold.”

“Y-You did?!”

Whipping his head up in alarm, Lino finally scrutinized the Duke’s complexion. He hadn’t managed a proper look at the man’s face since he entered the room. Complaining of the cold in the middle of summer? Was he running a fever? Lino tried to check if the man’s face was flushed or if he was sweating, but before his eyes could even focus, Grondil abruptly lunged at him.

“This is the first time I’ve ever contracted a cold in my life. I have no idea how to handle it, so I came to you.”

“No, if it’s a cold, you should visit the hospital and get examined…” Lino mumbled the most basic, logical advice, feeling utterly trapped within the Duke’s muscular embrace. “If you take prescribed medicine, you’ll recover quickly.”

“Highly unlikely. You’ve been suffering for three days, and not even your cough has improved.”

“That’s only because my condition was already terrible to begin with.”

“And why was your condition so terrible?”

“…”

At the pointed question, Lino’s mouth snapped shut. This was absolutely not a conversation to be having while ensnared in Grondil’s arms. Explaining it would inevitably require bringing up Yuneria. Furthermore, mentioning the aphrodisiac or the steamy escapade in the bathtub… none of these topics were remotely appropriate to discuss in such an intimate posture.

“If you don’t wish to speak of it, you don’t have to,” Grondil offered softly.

Lino’s expression twisted into a complicated grimace. Being spared from vocalizing such uncomfortable memories was certainly a relief, yet remaining silent meant he had to stay locked in this suffocating embrace. Emotional discomfort versus physical discomfort. He was forced to choose the lesser of two evils, though in his heart, he desperately wanted to discard them both.

“I have a personal physician, so there is no need for a hospital,” the Duke continued, breaking the silence. “I’ve already tried the prescribed medicine, but it hasn’t… worked. That is why I came to ask a favor of you, Sir Cliff.”

“A favor? What could I possibly do…”

Hoping the man would finally step back, Lino gently pushed against Grondil’s solid chest as he mumbled his protest. Shouldn’t favors only be asked when there was a realistic chance of the other person fulfilling them? What could a Duke of the Empire possibly want from a breathtakingly average commoner like himself?

“I want you to pray for me.”

“…A prayer?”

The word sent Lino’s heart plummeting into his stomach. He possessed absolutely no divine power. He used to, but it had vanished. Damned gods. If you’re going to give someone a gift, let them keep it! Why snatch it back and leave me in this agonizing predicament? The gods definitely hate me. Or maybe they just enjoy watching me suffer. Regardless of the divine intent, Lino acutely recognized that the current situation was catastrophically disadvantageous.

The Duke wasn’t demanding a simple, verbal prayer for his recovery. It was a thinly veiled command disguised as a favor—a demand to cure his illness using divine power. Completely oblivious—or perhaps entirely indifferent—to Lino’s internal panic, Grondil flashed a refreshingly bright smile and declared with absolute confidence.

“Sir Cliff, surely you know the saying. Diagnoses belong to doctors, medicines to pharmacists… and prayers to Paladins?”

Prayers belong to priests! Why on earth are you coming to a Holy Knight for a prayer? The old adage claimed that the loudest, most shameless, and most stubborn customer always won the argument. Grondil was currently demonstrating the absolute pinnacle of that obnoxious behavior.

Lino desperately reined in his emotions. He had to maintain his composure if he wanted to keep his complete lack of divine power a secret.

“Um… shouldn’t prayers be handled by the clergy? Rather than a Holy Knight,” Lino countered, using the gentlest tone he could muster to mask his mounting anxiety.

He certainly wasn’t trying to pick a fight over semantics. While doctors and pharmacists were universally acknowledged, offering prayers was unequivocally a priest’s sacred duty. True, both orders wielded divine power, but fundamentally, a Holy Knight’s purpose was to fight and protect, not to preach. Priests listened to confessions, healed the mind and body, and spread the benevolent love and laws of the gods. Prayer was undeniably their domain. It was basic common sense that even a snot-nosed child would know.

“Paladins possess divine power as well, so it should still have a healing effect,” Grondil insisted, brazenly ignoring basic logic like a tyrannical client. “Therefore, Sir Cliff, please pray for me.”

Ahaha… Lino forced a strained, awkward laugh, desperately searching the Duke’s eyes for an escape. Bathed in the harsh backlight pouring through the window, the Duke’s expression—let alone his eyes—was entirely obscured in shadow. Conversely, Lino knew his own panicked face was illuminated perfectly.

Terrified that his inner turmoil was being broadcast clearly, Lino boldly tore his gaze away and launched another desperate attempt at persuasion. “Your Highness, the quality of a Holy Knight’s prayer and a priest’s prayer are fundamentally different. It would be much better for you to visit the nearest temple.”

“There isn’t a single trustworthy temple in the Zetina Kingdom.”

“What do you mean by trustworthy?”

Who evaluates trustworthiness when going to a temple? It’s not like the priests are con artists. Well, perhaps not outright swindlers, but the vast majority were certainly money-grubbing hypocrites devoid of actual faith. Still, if a Duke of the Empire arrived seeking treatment, they would scrape together every last ounce of their non-existent piety to deliver a fervent prayer.

Compared to the majestic temples of the Empire, I’m sure nothing here meets his standards, Lino reasoned internally. But… refusing to visit a hospital or a temple while sick just to harass me? He’s just being malicious, isn’t he?

Faced with a man who had stubbornly bypassed hospitals, temples, and pharmacies purely to torment him, Lino’s vision swam with despair. He had no idea how to handle this. Should I just tell the truth? Confess that my divine power suddenly vanished?

That fleeting burst of honesty evaporated instantly, thoroughly crushed by the terrifying avalanche of consequences that would inevitably follow.

First would come the vicious reprimand: How can you call yourself a Holy Knight without divine power? And a scolding would be a mercy. He could be sued for daring to deceive a nobleman into hiring him as an escort knight. If things escalated, he might even face summary execution on the spot. One might argue that summary executions were barbaric relics of the past, but the reality was grim. To maintain their precious “aristocratic traditions,” high-born nobles still wielded immediate, lethal judgment with alarming frequency.

The only difference was the method. Adapting to modern times, they opted for complete social annihilation rather than physical murder. Unless the victim fled the country entirely, the nobles ensured they could never lead a normal life again. Driven to absolute ruin, most victims of these modern “executions” ultimately ended their own lives. The sole saving grace was that, out of sheer aristocratic pride, nobles rarely bothered issuing summary judgments against commoners without titles.

However.

“Sir Cliff?”

Jolted from his spiraling thoughts by Grondil’s voice, Lino snapped back to reality. Yes, that was the fatal flaw in his logic. That damnable honorific: Sir.

Ever since arriving here, he hadn’t been addressed by his name, but exclusively as “Sir Cliff.” Lino wasn’t a noble. He wasn’t even a fully ordained knight yet. The only reason he enjoyed such an elevated title was his status as the Duke’s personal escort.

“Do you truly loathe the idea of praying for me?” Grondil asked.

“No, absolutely not! Loathe is a strong word. How could I ever dare?”

It was a superficial courtesy, a temporary elevation of Lino’s status simply to avoid tarnishing the Duke’s own prestige. Grondil would probably append “Sir” to a street beggar if he hired one as a bodyguard. But words were easily twisted weapons. Just as an earring could become a nose ring depending on where it was hung, this honorable title could easily become a noose. If the Duke couldn’t execute a commoner, he could simply leverage the fact that Lino had been treated as a nobleman all along.

The conclusion was absolute: he must never, under any circumstances, offend the Duke.

Lino reflected on the agonizing choice he made four days ago—sacrificing his dignity as a man to preserve his life. Unfortunately, that grim determination offered absolutely zero salvation in his current predicament. The old proverb claimed that even if you stumbled into a dragon’s lair, keeping your wits about you would ensure your escape. That was utterly useless advice right now. He could gather his wits a thousand times over, and it still wouldn’t magically resurrect his lost divine power.

Short of dying and being reborn, curing Grondil’s cold through prayer was a physical impossibility. So, what was the play? After running in mental circles, Lino’s frantic brainstorming slammed right back into his initial, terrifying option.

I just have to be honest. It’s the only way out. Taking a beating early was better than delaying the inevitable. The longer he dragged out the deception, the more explosive the Duke’s resulting fury would be. He had to confess, right here, right now—

“Why such a grave expression?” Grondil murmured. “What is it? Do you lack even a single drop of divine power to perform a healing prayer?”

“…”

For a split second, Lino slapped his hands over his mouth, convinced the words had spilled from his own lips. His urge to rip the bandage off had been so overpowering that he assumed he had accidentally blurted out his darkest secret. However, the dark, velvety whisper that subsequently pierced his eardrums shattered that illusion. The terrifying revelation hadn’t come from him.

“Or perhaps you’re terrified I’ll discover you became my escort knight without an ounce of divine power to your name?” the Duke purred. “Do you truly believe I would resort to something as vulgar as a summary execution over that?”