I shook the hatchet hidden behind my back, the coils of scarlet blood-flame dispersing from the blade. The axe was far too dull, so I had no choice but to call upon the Abyss’s secret art, enchanting it with my own blood.
Because it was black magic of the Evil God, I couldn’t let anyone see.
At the thought, the gash in my right palm throbbed like fire. I sucked in a sharp breath—yes, I had cut it open myself. To trigger the blood-flame enchantment, one had to smear a weapon with their own blood.
I held my left hand suspended in the air, savoring the boy’s wide-eyed shock. That’s right—even if he was only a farm boy, descending like a god’s weapon to slay the enemy and earn another’s awe—this was what counted as another world. In his eyes, I must look like a hero.
Yet, against my expectations, the boy didn’t stay dumbstruck—he reached out, trying to pull me up.
“Ah!” His hand brushed my wound. I screamed without thinking. Truthfully, I’d only kept it raised because it looked cool, and because holding it up made the bleeding a little easier to bear.
The boy recoiled in alarm.
“S-sorry! Your hand’s hurt? No, this needs to be bound up, stop the bleeding—!”
He straightened, meaning to examine my palm. The jackal corpse tumbled aside with him—
“Leave it!” I yanked my left hand back and hid it behind me. “Compared to me, you’d better worry about yourself!”
“M-me…?”
Only then did Nolan notice the searing agony in his left arm. He tried to move it, but it wouldn’t respond. He knew the jackal’s fangs had torn all the way to the bone. Bracing himself, he forced his eyes downward—
One glance was enough. He couldn’t look again.
I saw it too—the boy’s forearm, skin split away, sinew and tendon laid bare with white bone showing through. My brow furrowed. Honestly, it was disgusting, but I’d just split a jackal’s skull with my own hands. To feel squeamish now was a little late.
“How do you feel…?”
“I… a little dizzy. Just now I was fine…”
Nolan breathed heavily, then slumped back against the tree. I knew what that was—the instinct to survive had forced his body into overdrive in the moment of danger. Now that the threat had passed, blood loss and pain were claiming him.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep—”
He needed treatment. But I had no training. Clytia had never been taught first aid either. All I could do was scrape together scraps of memory from my prior life.
“They say you have to tie off above the wound… a tourniquet…” My mind raced. “Where the hell am I supposed to find a tourniquet—”
Rope. The hemp rope for his snares. I dropped the axe, yanked loose the belt holding my trousers.
“W-wait, what are you doing? Don’t—don’t do that!” Nolan, already fading, snapped awake at the sight, trying weakly to back away.
“Stay still! Struggling will only make the bleeding worse.” Rope in hand, I stepped out of the discarded trousers. My shirt only hung to mid-thigh, so I dropped to my knees beside him.
At any other time, shame and propriety might have surfaced, but with my legs chilled to the bone, all I could think of was finishing the job fast and getting back to the fire. My mind was empty of anything else.
“Hey… don’t sleep. Stay with me. Let’s talk.” I spoke quickly. I’d heard that if someone bleeding out fell asleep, they might simply slip away. Keep them talking—keep them awake.
“O-okay,” Nolan stammered.
“Why were you outside at this hour?” I asked, watching his wound. Somewhere in there was an artery, but I couldn’t tell where. Tying it down hard was the best I could do.
“I set snares in the woods. You have to check them at night sometimes…”
“Why?”
“Because something might break loose…”
“Fair. Catch anything?”
“No…”
We traded trifles as I looped the rope tight around the upper arm, then snatched up the trousers, measuring them against his wound. A moment’s thought, and I began wrapping them around his forearm.
“Urgh—” He must have realized then that I was dressing his injury. His body calmed. The old linen tore easily in my hands, yielding strips of cloth I wound snugly over the mangled flesh.
“There. That should slow the bleeding.” I rose. “I think. Hold it steady yourself.”
“I will…” Nolan’s breath rasped. Slowly, he forced himself upright.
“This is only a stopgap. He needs real care—and I need to bandage my hand, too. Where’s the doctor?”
“Berli… at the church…”
“Then we’re going.”
“This way…” Nolan nodded, and tried to lead, but his steps faltered, head lolling. He nearly pitched face-first into the dirt—
Until a soft body steadied him.
I slipped an arm under his and murmured,
“Walk slowly.”
“Y-yeah…” He tried to speak more, but only leaned his good hand on my shoulder. Together, step by uneven step, we headed for the village.
His eyes widened as we walked. All through the trees lay jackal corpses, sprawled in the moonlight, black-red blood soaking the earth. A dozen, maybe more.
All felled by this frail-looking girl?
His gaze fell on the silver-haired figure at his side—
I felt his stare and said,
“These carcasses have to be burned, or more may come. Same with the bear.”
Truthfully, I didn’t know if it would attract more jackals. But in the Abyss’s black knowledge, burning was the safest way to dispose of the tainted.
“…I understand,” Nolan said after a pause.
We passed through the woods into the village. Midnight lay in still silence.
Before the chapel, Nolan raised his good hand and rapped on the door.
“Berli! Sorry, but we need you—!”
“What’s this…?”
The door creaked open at last. Berli blinked sleep from his eyes—then froze at the sight of the blood-stained boy.
“What happened—?” His eyes widened.
“Berli, jackals. We were attacked,” Nolan said.
“Jackals? At this time? Where—” Then Berli saw the crude wrappings on the arm. “Oh heavens. Get inside.”
Nolan started in, then glanced back at the girl outside the fence. Since they’d entered the village she’d let go, following alone. The roads here were smoother, so she’d managed without holding him.
“Here we are,” he told her, seeing her hesitate.
To go in? I wavered only a moment, then stepped through the gate. Yes, I carried the Abyss’s mark, but surely a little chapel like this couldn’t detect it.
Guilt? What mattered more was avoiding trouble. In the novel, Abyss cultists were lunatics. I had no intention of sharing their fate. The Church and nobility burned anything Abyss-tainted without hesitation.
“…Did the novel ever say how to break an Abyss contract…?”
One day, I’d have to find a way out. So thinking, I crossed into the chapel.
Berli lit a lamp. The place was bare—a lectern, a few benches. His black robe marked him a catechist, the lowest rank. In the countryside, that was expected.
“Quiet now—save it until after.” He seated Nolan and fetched a kit. But Nolan said,
“Berli—she’s hurt too. Please look at her first.”
“M-me?”
Leaning against the doorframe, I looked at my palm. The blood had clotted. I spread my fingers and showed him.
“See? Hardly anything. Better treat the serious one first.”
“This young lady—ah, you’re…”
He squinted, then nodded. “Nolan, your wound is grave. I’ll tend to you first. Apologies, little miss, but I’m alone. Here, press this cloth to your cut.”
“Press it… alright.” Distracted, I took the gauze. “By the way… what did he call this boy? Roland? Nolan?”
The sound jolted me. My hand shook, nearly dropping the cloth.
Berli had already stripped away my hasty binding, filling a basin with water, washing the mangled arm. The flax-haired boy gritted his teeth in silence.
In the novel, the protagonist’s name—yes. It was the same. Different script or not, I could still hear it.
It couldn’t be that much of a coincidence.
I almost stepped forward to ask whether it was Roland or Nolan—then suddenly, my body froze.
No doubt about it—Clytia had awakened. By now I’d learned the rhythm: ever since the Seed of the Evil God, whenever Clytia sank into deep sleep or fainted, I could seize control. But her own consciousness always took precedence. The moment she woke, I was locked out.
Waking to an unknown place, with strange wounds—she must be panicked, I thought. But what I felt through her was something else.
Not fear. Not confusion. A strange, restless tangle of… wonder? Exhilaration? Something I had never known, in any life. Through our shared senses, I caught a glimpse of it.
Clytia stared blankly at her pale palm, oblivious as the gauze slipped from her fingers.
I thought she was frozen in shock. But instead, she slowly raised her hand to her lips, extended her tongue—
And licked.
The scab tore open under the wetness. Pain tingled, itch flared. The sweet iron tang spread across her tongue…