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Brought to ‌‌‌you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org
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Chapter 49 ‌‌

The story begins with the tragic plight of a princess locked away in a Tower.
The young heroine lost her parents and grew up confined within the Tower under the care of her adoptive guardians.
On the brink of starvation from severe abuse, she is discovered by chance by the ‌‌‌‌male protagonist passing through the Tower, and the two rapidly grow close.
However, when her adoptive parents learn of this, they ‌‌become enraged and attempt to kill the male protagonist.
The male protagonist uses his influence to ‌‌‌eliminate her adoptive parents and rescue her.
Yet an unexpected trial befalls the male protagonist. ‌‌‌
"The author of this book is someone called Madame Cozette, and her works vary greatly in subject matter and setting with each publication. It's intriguing enough to make one ‌‌‌‌curious about who she is."
"Would you ‌‌‌like to meet her?"
"I'm curious, but it would probably be difficult. Neither her face nor her name is publicly known. I'm not even certain if Cozette is her real name. Her last work was published ten years ago."
"She's retired, then."
Given that she hadn't published ‌‌‌a book in ten years, it seemed she had no intention of writing again.
"Moreover, her final work was left incomplete. It was a rather unconventional piece dealing with a love story between a noblewoman and a male ghost...."
Crash! ‌‌‌
At that moment, a loud sound echoed from outside the ‌Reception Room. The sharp sound of something shattering.
Dale's eyes narrowed as he ‌‌‌‌fixed his gaze on the door.
"Dale, could it be—"
"All the servants have left for the day."
Dale had driven the point home ‌quite clearly.
Then ‌‌‌what was that sound?
"...A burglar?"
As Dale rose from his seat and moved toward the door, I rushed over and grabbed him.
"Dale!"
"I'll be fine. Stay here, Enya."
"Wait, just a moment! If you leave me, I'm in danger too! I can't protect myself! My strength is worthless!"
"...."
Dale regarded me quietly for ‌‌‌a moment, then nodded. Was he conceding the point?
"This will be uncomfortable."
Dale grasped my side and hoisted me up effortlessly.
...Was this right?
Being carried like this, as if I ‌‌‌were a rolled-up blanket tucked under his arm—was this the proper way?
While I remained bewildered, Dale held his breath and surveyed the Corridor. His eyes gleamed like ‌‌a beast lurking in a cave.
He peered outside while still holding me aloft.
No one was there.
When Dale removed the cufflinks from his shirt and tossed ‌‌‌them into the Corridor, they struck the wall and shattered into fragments. There was no ‌‌second impact whatsoever.
Confirming our safety, Dale set me down and furrowed his brow.
"We'll need to install magical lamps."
"They take a long time to manufacture, apparently."
All the other furniture ‌had been prepared quickly, but the magical lamps couldn't be procured due to insufficient stock.
Dale exhaled a sigh and looked at me with an apologetic expression, demonstrating what ‌‌‌‌a handsome face full of melancholy truly looked like. ‌‌
"I'm terribly sorry. Would it be better to station a servant here instead?"
Dale asked seriously.
He was looking at my shoulder. I ‌‌was trembling without realizing it, and he hadn't noticed at all.
Why was I trembling?
"I'm truly sorry."
"No, no, it's ‌‌‌‌not your fault at all, and there's nothing we can do about it. Even with servants, nothing would have changed. Really. I'm not ‌‌‌‍afraid of thieves or anything."
"You're welcome to speak honestly."
"What I actually dislike is...."
But Dale still ‌wore a dark expression.
"Actually, the magical ‌lamp broke suddenly a few days ago too. So...."
"So."
Dale listened intently to my words. He gazed at ‌‌me with such gravity, as if he ‌‌were eavesdropping on classified matters upon which the nation's very survival depended.
He seemed to open all his senses and focus entirely on me.
"...So I thought it was a ghost and got scared!"
"A ghost?"
Dale's eyes widened.
"...A ghost?"
"You can ‌‌‌kill people by striking them down, but ghosts are already dead, so you can't ‌kill them again! Even with many servants, you can't kill a ghost, so it doesn't matter."
"...."
"I hate ghosts more than anything else in this world."
Dale looked at ‌‌‌me with a dawning ‌‌expression of understanding. He clearly hadn't anticipated this reason at all.
"Why is ‌‌that?"
"...No, I ‌‌didn't know that."
Dale tilted his head ‌‌‌‌in confusion.
"The Enya I knew before certainly...."
"We never met back then anyway."
"...I suppose not."
Dale trailed off and turned his head away. He seemed to sway slightly.
"Wait a ‌‌‌moment. Dale. Something's definitely wrong."
I grabbed Dale's arm as he moved ahead.
In that instant, I felt his thick forearm stiffen. Dale turned to face me, his face flushed.
As I thought. I knew he'd blush, because——
"Dale. You have a fever!"
‌
* * *

Beep, beep, beep, beep.
Beep, beep, beep, beep.
"39.4 degrees." ‌
The numbers on the mana-stone ‌‌thermometer climbed rapidly before settling at an alarmingly high reading.
I stared at Dale, who lay rigidly ‌‌still.
He was so motionless, like a doll, that one might suspect his limbs were bound.
Seated at Dale's bedside, I exhaled a heavy ‌‌‌sigh. His dark hair was damp with perspiration, and his face and body radiated heat so intensely they seemed to shimmer.
'He must be overexerting himself somewhere in secret....'
I administered fever-reducing medicine to him and sighed again. ‌‌‌‌
I couldn't believe he'd endured a fever this severe without saying a word.
Tolerating such a high fever could only be attributed to sheer willpower. An ordinary person would have collapsed long ago. How did he manage it?
"Dale. Why ‌‌‌didn't you say anything? You should have told me you were in pain!"
The ornate bed arranged in our newlywed bedroom now held its first occupant—Dale, though not by design.
He gazed up at me with anxious eyes, as though uncomfortable occupying the bed alone.
...Or was he worried about what I might do while he was ill?
Why was he looking at me with such restless unease? ‌‌‌
Today, Dale appeared unusually fragile, like a vulnerable puppy, his eyes darting quietly before he finally spoke.
"I'm sorry."
"To me? You have nothing to apologize for. You should apologize to your own body for being pushed so hard."
I replaced the cool compress ‌‌on Dale's forehead.
The fever was so ‌‌‌intense that even a brief moment of contact warmed ‌‌‌‌the cloth, requiring frequent changes.
When I thought about it, Dale had every reason ‌‌to be ill.
In fact, it was stranger ‌‌‌that he hadn't fallen sick until now.
He'd endured ‌‌‌an exhaustingly demanding schedule—enough that getting sick now seemed almost miraculous.
It had always been this way since meeting me, and perhaps it had been so long before that as well.
'Overwork shouldn't be Dale's burden.... Why is The Emperor so robust while Dale falls ill? It's infuriating.'
I gazed at Dale and struck my own chest.
Thump, ‌‌thump.
'A delicate beauty does look pitifully vulnerable....'
...But why didn't I notice Dale was ill?
'Shouldn't I have known?'
I could smell illness.
Dale wasn't suffering from a simple cold or body aches.
'His shoulder wound wasn't properly treated—it nearly progressed into a severe infection.'
He still ‌‌‌refused to reveal where he'd been injured, but the blade wound on his shoulder was deteriorating. Seriously.
Yet I hadn't noticed.
A simple cut might be forgivable.
But Dale's wound was on the verge of infection. In such cases, my sense of smell should have been more than sufficient to detect it.
I'd sensed it when my own brother was injured.
So why didn't I detect it in Dale?
'Does it not work on Dale?'
Why?
"Enya."
"Oh, ah. Yes? What is it, Dale?"
I had nearly drifted into thought when Dale's voice pulled me back to reality.
Dale looked at me with an embarrassed expression.
"I'm sweating quite heavily, so I'm afraid I'm rather unclean."
"Do I smell bad?"
Sniff, sniff.
I thought I'd washed thoroughly, yet when I sniffed my wrist, there was no strange odor at all.
"It's not you, Enya. It's me who smells."
"Don't say such things. A handsome man sleeping in the forest doesn't have any odor ‌‌to speak of."
"..."
Dale's face flushed even deeper ‌‌‌as he gazed at me, then squeezed his eyes shut. He exhaled in short, labored breaths.
"Your body is fighting hard ‌‌for you, Dale. That's what the sweating means. So don't worry about it."
"It's not me—it's you, Enya."
"I'm fine. I've taken the medicine, so things should get easier soon. Don't worry too much and get some rest. I swear I'll save you, Dale."
"That's not what I meant..."
"Whatever happens, I've sworn it?"
"I'd like to... change my clothes."
Dale's face flushed crimson as he lowered his voice.

---------------
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To ‌‌‌support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our ‌official site: valirscans.org
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