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With a sickening thud that made me want to cover my ears, Igoronak’s spear arm thrust through the center of Cestlavie’s chest.

As if dismissing the thing it had pierced as worthless, the arm instantly retracted, leaving a wet, squelching sound in its wake as blood poured from the wound.

“Guh…!”

Bright red blood spilled from Cestlavie’s mouth as he let out a faint groan.

“No… Cestlavie… Cestlavie…”

A weak, wordless cry escaped my lips, one I could hardly believe was my own.

“No…” “No—ice! Well done, commoner!”

Beside me, Coppelia’s voice rang out with an utterly heartless cheer. Blood from Cestlavie’s wound had splattered across my face and hair, but at that moment, such minor things didn’t matter at all.

I was simply overwhelmed by the sudden act of violence.

“…Honestly. Why’d I go and do something like this on instinct?”
“I-I’m… s-sorry…”
“Don’t make that face. I did it of my own accord. Maybe, I really am…”

Looking at me, Cestlavie gave a bitter smile—no, was it a self-mocking smile? But before he could finish his words, he abruptly fell silent, his eyes closing as he sank to his knees.

Naturally, with him no longer holding me, I, too, was cast down to the ground.

Without a second thought, I forced myself to my knees. Though I had thought I had no strength left, somehow, in this desperate moment, my body moved. Pointing my staff at Cestlavie’s wound, I began chanting a healing spell in a frantic, rapid voice.

“「The Great Healing Hand shall kindle your flame of life.」—「Regeneration!」”

When the high-level healing spell failed to activate, I bit my lip and switched to a lower spell.

“「I am the cure to your ail」—「Heal」”

My staff glowed for a brief moment, but that was all.

“「I am the cure to your ail」—「Heal」”

A faint pull of pain, as though from deep within my core, accompanied the small trace of magic drawn forth, but it dissipated before it could take form as a spell.

“「I am the cure to your ail」—「Heal」”

I tried to draw mana from the air around me, but I could barely absorb anything.

Suddenly, I remembered (too late) the Amrita I had stored away with my Close magic. Taking them all out, I poured them generously over Cestlavie. It seemed to slightly stem the blood flow, and I thought I could see his faint breathing grow just a bit steadier. I also took a dose myself, hoping to restore my magic power.

“「Heal」”

At that moment, I felt a pounding headache, as though someone had struck me.

“「Heal」”

A wave of nausea washed over me, and my consciousness flickered briefly.

“「Heal」”

A freezing cold spread from my fingertips, encasing my entire body as my vision faded to shadow.

“Hea…”

In the darkness, only the intent to cast the healing spell remained.

“Lady Clara, it’s impossible now. Even with potions, there’s a limit to the amount of magic power one can recover at once. And, considering your weakened state, the effects are prioritizing your own life functions. There’s no way you could restore enough magic to transfer it to another.”

Coppelia’s calm analysis, even at this point, sparked a helpless frustration within me. I shot her a glare, but realizing it was just a futile outburst, I clenched my teeth and tried to think of something… anything.

If only we could get him somewhere far enough to find someone capable of casting a healing spell… But it’s no good; cyanosis is already setting in, with his skin turning a dark purplish blue. Even if I found help now, it would take at least Regeneration to possibly save him in this state.

Only a few people, including my master in healing magic, the Grand Priestess of the beastfolk, can wield such a spell. I’d heard in passing that healing arts were more advanced in the Eunice Theocracy, the stronghold of the Saintess Order. But even so, no ordinary healer, or a town doctor with only basic surgery skills, would be able to treat him now.

Then I thought of using a potion… but unfortunately, those fantasy-like “Full-Recovery Elixirs” that can even revive the dead don’t exist, at least as far as I know.

To add to that, there are no miraculous “healing potions” effective against any illness, nor “antidotes” that nullify all poisons. The potions I learned to make from Regina are sensible remedies crafted to suit specific illnesses or types of poison—none of which can bring about any dramatic change. (The one I used earlier was a tonic to boost life force and magic power.)

If I abandoned his treatment and focused on merely prolonging his life… perhaps I could place him in a suspended state with ice magic until a high-level healer could reach him or until my own magic recovered—except that’s impossible. This isn’t a comic book; freezing him would destroy his cells, killing him instantly. If I were to finish him off with my own hands, it would be the ultimate irony. Bringing someone back from the dead isn’t feasible—unless you’re the legendary Saintess Snow herself, capable of miracles.

Watching Cestlavie’s face grow paler and seeing his breathing grow weaker, my mind and emotions swirled chaotically, a fractured kaleidoscope of frantic thoughts.

“What should I do… What can I do…?!”

The last time I’d felt this helpless was during the teleportation incident years ago, facing Hubert and then seeing Vier nearly die because of it.

No, perhaps it’s even more shocking now. I thought I had gained confidence through my efforts and training since then.

—How powerless I am… Unable to save the life of even one person right before me…

As I struggled, lost in frustration, time seemed to both stretch on forever and pass in an instant. In reality, it was only a few seconds.

“Thirty-nine seconds left. For now, I’ll carry the fool, so please, Lady Clara, prioritize getting out of here,” Coppelia said, propping herself up on one elbow beside me, turning her back as she spoke.

“Huh…? You’re going to help Cestlavie?” I asked, surprised and doubtful, given her typically dismissive attitude.

“Come now, I’m not so heartless as to beat a dead horse. That would be disrespectful to the deceased,” she replied, almost offended.

She was trying to sound considerate, but… no, he isn’t dead yet! That statement itself is disrespectful!

Before I could object, a sinister, mocking voice echoed from the side.

“…Heh heh… thought I’d failed to finish you off, but seeing you so rattled, that’s an unexpected delight. Do you mourn your own helplessness, Saintess? Your tears of frustration are music to my ears.”

“Igor—ack, aghhh… ahhh!”

In a flash, Coppelia moved between us and took a brutal blow, sending her hurtling backward, her neck twisting three times before she was flung out of the barrier. She landed awkwardly, looking thoroughly dazed after also being struck by lightning.

Unconcerned with Coppelia, Igoronak strode over the crumbling barrier and stood right in front of me, his eyes shifting between Cestlavie, lying barely breathing, and me, cradling him helplessly on the ground. His ruined face twisted into an expression of twisted delight.

Before I knew it, his outstretched arm grabbed my neck, lifting me effortlessly as if uprooting a radish, raising me until our eyes were level.

“Gah… hng…”

His grip crushed my neck, his claws digging into my skin, making it agonizingly hard to breathe.

“…A pointless spectacle, but shall I finish off that half-dead fool first?”
“St… stop…”

I saw Igoronak lift one foot, positioning it right above the head of the unconscious Cestlavie. Crushing a human skull like an overripe fruit would be a trivial task for him if he wished.

Whether he heard my desperate pleas to stop or found my begging unbearably pitiful, his grip around my neck tightened. His sharp claws dug even deeper, causing blood to trickle down, staining the ground and splattering onto Cestlavie’s face.

“Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! Is this truly the fate of the once aloof, graceful Saintess?!”

His hold grew harsher, and the world before me blurred red from the suffocating pressure.

“Now you’re just a pitiful girl, swayed by emotion and sprawled in the dirt! Is this the radiant star I once pursued?! A light that shone beyond reach?!”

His voice, laced with twisted resentment, wasn’t vocalized; it was more of a telepathic echo that reverberated from his fingers digging into my neck. The clarity of his bitterness and regrets pierced through.

“Why?! Why do you care so much for this human?! Why would you bleed for such a weak child, leaving me behind? Why was I given nothing?! Why him?! When I am far more worthy!”

“I transcended human limits for you! Mastered the arcane arts! I didn’t care what I had to sacrifice—everything was to make you mine! But you never saw me. You never looked back. Your attention was always on those trivial humans, never on me!”

“Why wasn’t I enough for you?! I’m the one meant to be by your side! And so, I destroyed it. Your home, your neighbors, everything you held dear! You belong to me! You have no need for unnecessary attachments!”

“…So that’s… your true feelings?”

A hoarse whisper slipped from my lips.

In other words, Igoronak became the No-Life King, wrought havoc, and displayed his disdain for the Saintess not out of jealousy toward her power or resentment from being sealed away, but simply out of obsessive love—spite and resentment born from unrequited feelings. That’s all there was to it.

“How foolish… no, how utterly contemptible…”

Touching on the raw thoughts that exposed Igoronak’s desires and hatred, an inexplicable sense of emptiness filled me, and with it, a faint spark of anger ignited within.

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