He had a nightmare.
In the dream, Inas, who had been talking with Nigel, suddenly flattened like paper and turned into a picture. Though the image of Inas smiled and spoke to Nigel, no voice came out. His words only appeared in a small text box beneath him.
Inas
Nigel. I love you.
Nigel, flustered, tried to respond. But even his own voice, like Inas’s, was trapped inside a strange little box, appearing only as text.
Nigel
Inas…….
He couldn’t remember what he’d been trying to say after that. The dream ended there, and Nigel awoke.
“…Phew.”
What an unpleasant dream.
Nigel was used to nightmares. In most of them, he was either trapped somewhere or bound. Those dreams were always horrific and exhausting, but right now, he almost missed them.
He still couldn’t believe what he’d heard yesterday. It didn’t feel real.
Nigel raised his hand and stared at it. Long fingers, the whorls of his fingerprints, the faintly visible veins at his wrist—all of it looked so vivid. And yet, this place was supposed to be inside a game.
He blinked slowly. If he let his mind drift, he feared he’d fall back into the delusion that this wasn’t real. He didn’t want to accept it, but if it was the truth, then he had no choice. Nigel wasn’t the type to run from reality forever and pretend nothing was happening.
“……”
Still, maybe it was okay to take things a little slower.
Nigel submerged himself in hot water thick with bubbles, letting the warmth ease his unsettled thoughts.
He remained in the bath until nearly overheated, prompting the butler to come looking for him. Understandably alarmed by his sickly master skipping breakfast and soaking in scalding water, the butler’s concern forced Nigel to climb out in a hurry. Donning a thin indoor robe, he gave a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you. I’m fine.”
“No, it’s quite alright. But Lord Nigel…”
“Mm?”
“Sir Schumacher has come to see you. He’s been waiting since this morning.”
Nigel quickly checked the time. He wasn’t an early riser to begin with, and it was already near noon. Considering how much Schumacher likely wanted to say, the fact that he’d waited this long was admirable.
“Tell him I’ll be there soon.”
“Will you go like that?”
His loose, casual robe might have been acceptable for servants, but it was hardly proper attire for greeting a guest, especially one he didn’t usually associate with. Still, Nigel didn’t care and nodded.
He only towel-dried his hair enough to stop it from dripping, then headed straight for the drawing room.
When Nigel entered, Schumacher, who had sprung up at the sound of the door, stared at him with wide eyes. His gaze swept up and down Nigel’s rather disheveled appearance, and his face turned crimson.
“Duke. What… what in the world are you wearing? This is how you greet a guest?!”
“We’ve already seen everything there is to see, so what’s the point of modesty?”
“Wh-what…?!”
Weren’t they well past that, after threatening to kill each other and all? Nigel didn’t feel the need for formalities and casually took a seat opposite Schumacher.
Schumacher glared at him with a dark expression, his gaze unwavering. It was a bit intense, so Nigel tried to defuse it with an explanation.
“Sorry for making you wait. I wasn’t avoiding you—I only just heard you were here. Are you mad?”
“I am mad, but… never mind.”
Whatever was bothering him, Schumacher let out a heavy sigh, his brows furrowed.
“Right. We should finish our conversation from yesterday. You up and vanished on me, and then… cough!”
He suddenly broke into a coughing fit. Not just once, but several times, covering his mouth as he kept hacking. Nigel finally noticed the faint blush on Schumacher’s cheeks and ears.
“You caught a cold?”
“You bastards just left me there, soaking wet and asleep—cough, cough…”
It sounded pretty serious. Nigel looked at him with guilt as Schumacher turned his head and kept coughing.
Well… even though it was technically spring, the nights were still chilly. Getting soaked in seawater and falling asleep like that—no matter how strong a swordsman he was—of course he’d catch a cold. Nigel called out to a servant outside the room.
“Bring in a brazier. And a blanket. Heat up the tea nice and hot—the one I drink when I’m sick. Something light to eat, too.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“It’s for me too. If I catch a cold, I’ll end up bedridden for ten days. Look at how thinly I’m dressed.”
“You should dress more modestly, then!”
Though annoyed, Schumacher settled down quickly. When the brazier and steaming tea arrived, he visibly relaxed, clearly struggling more than he let on. Warmth really did soothe both beasts and men alike.
Nigel stretched out the time with idle chatter. Only once the thorns had dulled in Schumacher’s demeanor did he bring up yesterday.
“I understand if you don’t trust me after what happened. But when I said I wanted to help, I meant it.”
“Yeah. I don’t trust you, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll help however I can.”
“I don’t need anything right now.”
He figured Schumacher would reject help outright. After everything, there was no way the man would just obediently cooperate.
“Just don’t get in the way.”
“Got it.”
As expected, this visit felt more like a warning than a request for help. But that was fine. Even without Nigel’s involvement, Schumacher would end up gathering the Relics.
Having exchanged only a few words, Schumacher stood up, seemingly done. Contrary to Nigel’s expectations, though, he paused at the door, turned around, and hesitated before speaking.
“By the way… are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Nigel lied. He was a bit unwell from the shock, but then again, his body was always frail. He was pretty much always feeling some degree of “not okay.”
Whether Schumacher picked up on the lie or didn’t believe it to begin with, he scowled and strode forward, grabbing Nigel’s wrist without warning. Without any regard for Nigel’s surprise or discomfort, he began inspecting him—his arms, his neck. But when he tried to lift Nigel’s robe to check his chest, Nigel sharply slapped his hand away.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Just… checking for marks.”
“What marks?”
“You passed out yesterday. That bastard carried you off, didn’t he?”
So he had seen. Nigel had indeed collapsed, but that didn’t explain why Schumacher was checking him like this. Nigel gave him a baffled look.
“I’m fine now.”
“You say you’re fine?”
“Yeah. I appreciate the concern, but I’d prefer if you didn’t get so handsy.”
Passing out doesn’t automatically mean you’d have physical marks. Schumacher, frustrated by Nigel’s response, frowned deeply.
“You sure your back doesn’t hurt or anything?”
“My back does hurt, actually.”
He had curled up on the bed after vomiting all night. Honestly, his whole body ached. Schumacher nodded gravely.
“Did you call a physician?”
“No, it’s not that serious.”
“No. You need a physician. And a priest, too, if possible.”
A physician and a priest?
Nigel couldn’t see the point.
He already invested more in his health than the royal family. The Magnus estate had a private doctor as skilled as any royal healer, and their relationship with the temple ensured that any top-tier priest would come running for the right donation.
“I don’t know what you’re worried about, but I regularly get check-ups. I’m careful.”
“What kind of check-ups? How thorough are they?”
“Don’t pry. That’s private…”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Schumacher shook his head, then leaned in close, lowering his voice as if afraid of being overheard.
“If it’s because of Idenbach… and you can’t call for help…”
He was far too close.
That’s when Nigel realized the full extent of Schumacher’s misunderstanding. It had taken him a while—because it was just that absurd.
The man suspected that Inas, with all his power, might be coercing or controlling Nigel. Maybe with drugs. Maybe with magic.
“No. It’s not like that.”
It wasn’t the first time Nigel had noticed Schumacher’s wild imagination. Even now, despite Nigel’s serious tone, Schumacher clearly wasn’t convinced.
“I may be gathering the Relics of Glarus, but I have no intention of using that power to oppress the weak. And that goes for you too, Duke. You’re not weak, obviously, but what happened was unjust. You can trust me.”
Nigel had tried to correct the ridiculous assumption, but it seemed Schumacher had already convinced himself of his delusion.
“I said it’s not like that.”
“It could be poison. Or magic. You might not even realize it. If he were a commoner, I’d drag him out myself…”
“It’s not! Gods, you’re driving me insane.”
No matter how much Nigel protested, Schumacher remained solemn—like a model knight delivering a grave warning.
“Inas Idenbach is dangerous.”
“Stop picking fights.”
Nigel scowled, annoyed at the insult toward his knight. But Schumacher only grew more serious.
“I’m not picking a fight. It’s a gut feeling. I suspected he was hiding his strength, but I didn’t think he could use magic. That man is nothing but trouble.”
Calling it a gut feeling didn’t make it wrong. Inas did have immense power hidden beneath the surface. Most people would’ve run away from someone like that a long time ago.
“Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll help however I can.”
Nigel couldn’t bring himself to say no.
Schumacher gave him a strange look before turning and walking out of the room.
He hadn’t thought of it at first, but… this always happened. Every time someone got close to Nigel, the pattern repeated.
He already knew what would come next.
“I don’t doubt Inas.”
Nigel muttered his own wish aloud as he looked around.
And just as expected, Inas appeared out of thin air.
