~Chapter 47~
“Thank you, my lady. Thanks to you, my father… opened his eyes. He even talks with me and eats a little.”
Hearing Banshee’s trembling voice, Esther looked above her head.
The exclamation mark was still there. Just as Larksa had said, the matter wasn’t fully solved.
‘…I think something similar happened before.’
But all those memories were from more than a thousand years ago, so they were hazy.
“Larksa, can you show me the last form of that human you remember?”
“Of course, my noble one. If it is your command, anything.”
Larksa smiled and flicked his finger. Black smoke gathered and then an image appeared inside.
Esther narrowed her eyes.
The man lying still like the dead—his whole skin covered in a black shell, his eyeballs yellow and lifeless, and strangely blue fingernails.
“…This is poisoning from miasma.”
“Miasma?”
“When magic gathers in one place too long, it becomes miasma. If it seeps slowly into a human over a long time… they end up like this.”
“I knew old magic becomes miasma, but I didn’t know it turned humans like that. I haven’t watched humans that long… oh, excuse me.”
Larksa smiled knowingly at Banshee and Shipon, then fell silent. It was clearly intentional.
“This can be cured by feeding herbs and fruits consistently.”
“Herbs? Which ones…?”
“Ros, the fruit of Simila.”
“Yes!”
Ros, who was playing near the window, ran over—this time not as a squirrel, but in human form.
‘Is my power slowly coming back?’
Ros cracked open an acorn, swallowed it, then clapped. A parchment spread open in front of them.
[The Fruit of Simila]
Simila prayed for 100 days after her lover was wounded in a battle with demons and poisoned by magic.
On the 100th night, the god gave her a pouch of seeds.
She planted and cared for them, and they grew into grass with sharp ends like hedgehog spines.
She boiled and crushed them, kissed her lover, but he didn’t wake.
A week later, small red fruits grew from the grass.
She crushed the fruit and fed him, boiling the whole grass every night.
After half a year, her lover finally opened his eyes.
That grass still grows in the mountains, treated as weeds or animal feed.
Esther blinked slowly.
‘Why give me useless myths instead of just the information? Really at Migael Enoch’s level.’
She clicked her tongue at the gods’ habit of attaching pompous stories.
“Do you know Simila grass?”
“Oh, yes… that weed, right?”
“Right. Crush the red fruit and feed it, boil the leaves as tea. For half a year.”
Banshee’s eyes widened, trembling as she asked carefully:
“…Such a simple weed can cure him?”
“Yeah. If you don’t want to believe it, then don’t.”
But of course, there was no other choice.
Banshee bowed her head.
“No… I believe. If it’s what my lady says, anything.”
Esther’s lips curved gently. She reached out and brushed Banshee’s hair.
“Good. Because there’s no other way.”
With this, if it worked, the request would be complete. Esther sighed.
‘Now what’s left… the grandmother with the black exclamation mark, those two boys, and the imperial palace visit.’
“So much to do.”
She signaled to Banshee, sending her away, then looked to Shipon.
“Shipon, dress me up.”
“Hm? Where are you going?”
“Cute. I need to visit the grandmother.”
Strangely, Larksa flushed red and leaned in.
“Why must you be dressed cutely?”
“For a request. I need to break Migael Enoch’s seal. That god set it up as a trick.”
“A trick?”
“The seal weakens the more good deeds I do. Good deeds show up as exclamation marks above humans who need help. The darker the mark, the bigger the release.”
Larksa rubbed his chin, white gloves wrinkling.
“How much so far?”
“About 13 out of 100.”
“Still a long way.”
“Yeah. And the grandmother dislikes me so much that I can’t even see her request. Annoying.”
Larksa’s face lit with a brilliant smile, almost glowing with fake holy light.
“…What?”
“I, Larksa, deeply understand your difficult situation, my lady.”
“…Sure.”
Esther sighed. Why was he so dramatic about everything?
“Then leave the cute clothes to me this time. I have something prepared.”
“You?” Esther frowned, pointing at him.
“Yes. I just happen to have the right outfit.”
“…What is it?”
“Ehem. Will you entrust it to me?”
She glanced at Shipon, who stood stiff, her face oddly frozen.
“Shipon?”
“….”
“Shipon!”
“Ah—yes? Yes!”
Esther narrowed her eyes.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“No, no. Just… if you need something ordered—”
“No, he’ll prepare it. Go rest.”
“Ah… then I’ll arrange meals for today, check supplies, and confirm the budget assigned to you now that we’re in the main estate.”
She spoke so fluently it seemed rehearsed. Esther blinked but nodded.
“If there’s a problem, tell me.”
“…Yes.”
Shipon smiled faintly and left.
Larksa watched her back with a meaningful grin.
Once Shipon was gone, he asked:
“One question, may I? Why keep a human as your subordinate?”
“Ah… back then, I had no other choice.”
Food and survival came first, and half of it was venting.
“Now that I’ve been summoned, why not consume her instead?”
Esther froze mid-step. Her sharp glare made Larksa shudder like in pleasure.
He whispered like a tempter:
“If that girl gets scared and reports you to the temple… these peaceful days will end.”
Esther’s eyes glowed red.
“It’s not your concern. Do your own work. Unless you’re challenging my authority.”
“Of course not. I only worry.”
He backed down, bowing.
“So what is this cute thing?”
“Ah, this.”
Larksa smiled brightly and pulled something from a floating subspace.
Esther’s face went completely pale.
