A brief silence descended between them.
Owen simply stared at Sylvia, his expression unreadable.
She expected him to push her away, to ask her to stop, with the detached air of someone who could not be bothered.
But he did not.
Instead, he leaned closer, like a teacher interrogating a student caught hiding a secret.
“Tell me plainly.”
“Um…”
“What, precisely, does this Mana Sharing entail?
Does some part of you hurt, other than your hand?
I feel no pain at present, so how could you?”
“How could you not be in pain when your entire body is covered in wounds?
Did you take something to dull it?” She meant it as a genuine question, curious if he had taken a powerful analgesic, but her sharp tone made it sound like a biting accusation.
Owen simply nodded.
“So that is how you saw.
You are not in pain; you can merely perceive it.”
“The medicine…”
“I took Paractin.”
For a drug he mentioned so casually, it was one whispered to be notoriously addictive.
She had heard of a knight in a neighboring division who had resorted to self-harm just to obtain it.
“What?
That is…”
“It is not so dangerous, so long as one does not take it often.” He swept a hand through his hair, then flexed his fingers as if gauging his body’s senses.
His hand moved without impairment, but his expression was strangely vacant.
In that moment, Sylvia understood.
He had taken such a large dose that he could no longer feel a thing.
She recalled him on past dispatches; when injured, he would accept only the barest of treatments, always offering his share of medicine to the knights around him.
For him to have swallowed a handful of Paractin was deeply unsettling.
A profound discomfort settled over her as she replayed their conversation.
“Does some part of you hurt?
I feel no pain at present, so how could you?”
“What is it?
Why that expression?
Does it hurt?
You see?
This is why I said not to…”
He had seen her frown and had twice asked if she was in pain.
Could it be that he had taken that drug solely to prevent his own agony from being shared with her?
“You…” Sylvia began, her voice distant.
“What?” He snapped.
“…You are, in fact, a truly kind person.”
“What?” Owen let out a short, incredulous breath.
It was absurd how she had suddenly drifted into her own sentimental world.
But Sylvia was completely lost in this newfound revelation.
“So that is why… their underthings… Now that I think of it, you spoke of it, but aside from that one time, you never did anything truly strange… The feelings must have been transmitted.
Yesterday, and today as well… You threatened me, yes, but after that, you…”
Muttering to herself, she suddenly became aware of Owen standing before her and placed a hand on his arm.
“I thought you were a madman.”
“What have you been rambling about?”
“The medicine.
You took it so the pain would not be transferred to me, did you not?”
Her question struck the truth with such sudden, piercing accuracy that Owen was taken aback.
He had been careless, it was true, having no real reason to hide it, but he had not expected her to discern it so quickly.
More to the point, he had done it because he was ‘kind’?
How hopelessly naive was this woman?
The notion was so preposterous it was almost insulting.
What sort of fool would do such a thing out of simple kindness?
But then, Owen’s own thoughts froze.
‘Come to think of it, why did I do that?’
Even as the blows had rained down on him, his only thought had been a frantic, ‘Ah, hells.
This cannot be transmitted to her.’ That was why he had clenched his fists until his palms were raw, willing his mind to a place of calm.
He had erected a wall around his thoughts, had even resorted to singing the imperial anthem on a loop—something he did not do even to quell an unwanted erection in public.
Why in the world had he done that?
A damnable, skin-crawling sensation crept over him, and he scratched his arm furiously.
What was this now?
Could it be Sylvia?
Was she feeling some thrill on the inside, even while spouting such simple-minded nonsense as, “You’re so kind”?
He scrutinized her face, searching every feature for a clue.
But she only slapped his arm on an uninjured area, and began to chide him.
“What are you doing, scratching at a wound!
You may not be able to see it, but it is not healed.
You must be careful!” Her face was scrunched in disapproval.
‘Then this wretched feeling is…’
A distant realization began to spread like a fog, threatening to envelop him.
In that instant, Owen doused the thought in ice water, bringing it to a dead stop.
Halting a thought in the midst of a terrible conclusion was a specialty of his.
His composure regained, he admitted coolly, “I suppose I was.
Rather kind of me.”
Looking back, perhaps he had been living a rather decent life.
After a brief moment of introspection, Owen found his past self to be surprisingly altruistic and nodded in agreement.
The thought was so plainly written on his face that Sylvia’s earlier admiration curdled into an expression of distaste.
“To admit it so readily makes you seem like a madman again, you know.”
“You are rather fickle.
One moment I am kind, the next a madman.”
“Well, I only mean…” She pouted for a moment before her expression turned serious again.
“Still, do not do it again.
And do not take such reckless amounts of medicine.
How can you go on a dispatch with your senses so dulled?
What if something were to happen and you could not fight properly?
Who would protect me then?
You must abandon this habit of undertaking missions alone.
I will only be your support this once, of course, but it may continue after this.
The Commander seemed to hope for it.
And speaking of which, your lack of a partner—you have been arranging that yourself all this time, have you not?
Why must you be so peculiar?
No, never mind.
You need not tell me, but you have been in the order long enough.
It is time to abandon such useless stubbornness…”
Her lecture went on and on.
Sylvia’s scolding was relentless.
Letting her words wash over him, Owen gathered his belongings and fell into formation.
‘I, the kind one, will simply have to endure it,’ he thought.