PCP – 234

Akkard felt his acute pain from his wounds fade away. Suddenly, she was right beside him, inspecting his wounds with a grave expression.

“It seems to be bleeding again. What should we do… … .”

Damia’s profile, examining his thigh, was so lovely that his heart burst. Then, additionally, a gentle breeze blew her long hair and tickled his cheek and collarbone, giving off a wonderfully pleasant scent.

A sweet and soft aroma, a mixture of her warm body and floral incense. When he registered all these overwhelming sensations, he became terribly aware of her hand on his thigh.

His skin was so hot it was scalding. But even if his skin was scorched and he gained a disgusting scar, he wanted to stay like this forever.

As he was growing increasingly delirious with insane and incoherent introspections, Damia raised her head. She appeared right before his nose, filling his vision, and asked anxiously:

“How are you? Are you still in a lot of pain?”

The instant he met those deer-like eyes, he almost got an erection. He certainly would have if he hadn’t spotted Kurd staring at him with pity from behind Damia.

“… … no. It’s all right now.”

Hoping he would die, Akkard bit his tongue and responded. Then, Damia let out a sigh of relief.

“Lady Damia! Come and see me for a moment.”

Injecting, Heinrich called out from afar. Although the on-site clean-up ended quickly, the full-fledged ‘post-processing’ started now.

Although it was called a prayer room, it resided inside the royal palace. Yet, armed paladins fought and stabbed Akkard, the commander of the Royal Palace Knights, and a man masquerading as the saint plotted to frame the Prince’s allies with his suicide.

Since all those plans had failed, it was now Heinrich’s turn to counterattack. But he needed to gather information from Damia before going on a full-scale pursuit.

“I am coming, your Highness.”

The quick Damia realized what the Crown Prince wanted. Brushing her messy hair back, she turned to Akkard.

“Stay here for now, I have to go for a moment.”

She was about to go to Heinrich and inform him of the story she had gathered from the fake saint. But just as she was about to get up, Akkard grabbed her hand.

“… … Sir Akkard?”

The big, hard hand that clutched her was strangely desperate. She looked down at his pale face, wondering what this was about.

Akkard, exhausted from his injuries and his eyes slightly watery and contorted by pain, exuded an unusually sybaritic aura. Yet contradictorily, what appeared on that sensual countenance was a soft and tender bearing.


Biting his red lips and looking up at her, Akkard’s eyes clung to her: Don’t go. Stay by my side.

For a brief moment, the sight of such an invariably arrogant man displaying his desperate wishes caught her attention. Damia hesitated.

Akkard, staring at her without blinking, then belatedly slowly fluttered his eyelids. At the same time, the boiling-hot hand that had gripped her’s slipped away.

“… … I’m fine, so go.”

After saying that, he closed his lips, pressing them together tightly as if he was putting up with something with immense effort.

His eyes radiating a sticky and intense heat hid behind his pale eyelashes. Then, the mysterious magic that tied Damia down disappeared.

But it was very bizarre. She could not walk away. Nothing held her back, but Damia stood there blankly for a moment.

“Lady Damia!”

Heinrich called her again. Damia had no choice but to walk away.

She didn’t dare make the Crown Prince wait. Despite that, her heart was strangely uncomfortable, and she felt compelled to say something.

“Wait for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she uttered that she regretted it. Why did I say this? She didn’t have anything to do with him.

But unexpectedly, when Akkard heard this, he smiled softly. As if he couldn’t help but be happy even in the midst of pain.

“Yes, come back quickly.”

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