Ch.198Migration (3)

As far as Llewellyn knew, disease did not exist among the Three Clans.

That made sense, as the “Three” were fundamentally immortal races.

The Shapeshifters, due to their bodily transformations and vitality, experienced neither illness nor aging.

The Necromancers, though through unconventional means, had extracted death itself and thus did not suffer from disease.

And then the Blood Clan.

They were born nearly immortal, a completely new race far removed from humans.

Unlike Necromancers who were fundamentally dragons, or Shapeshifters who resembled beastfolk, they were an entirely new species with no similar race in this land.

Therefore, they knew no illness. If even wound infections didn’t occur among them, how could they possibly contract minor diseases?

That’s why Llewellyn showed a puzzled reaction to Isla’s words.

“Lorian?”

“Yes.”

“Has fallen ill?”

“Yes.”

“That’s nonsense…”

“Lu, don’t you believe me?”

Isla stared at Llewellyn with an expressionless face. Even so, Llewellyn could read her expression.

A faintly perceptible disappointment.

He had been planning to have a “big conversation” with her soon anyway.

So for Llewellyn, who had been deep in thought, this was an expression he couldn’t ignore.

“No, I believe you. I do… it’s just such an outlandish story.”

After speaking, he wondered if his words would translate properly, but the message was conveyed accurately. Isla perked up her ears and stared at him intently.

Her expression seemed to say, “But it’s all true.”

It was a phenomenon incomprehensible by normal standards.

Lorian, a Blood Knight who couldn’t get sick, had fallen ill. If the typically expressionless Isla was saying it was serious, then it must be quite grave indeed.

‘Could it be… because of the curse?’

Llewellyn could only think of that possibility.

The ring named “Husk,” whose name was now barely memorable to Llewellyn—perhaps its effects had caused Lorian to be classified as not truly of the Blood Clan, making her susceptible to illness.

Either way, verification was needed. After contemplating, Llewellyn spoke.

“Could you tell me the exact symptoms?”

“Do you know something?”

Though much was omitted, it was also a question asking if he could determine anything just from hearing the symptoms.

The suggestion that it might be better to bring Ortemilia was implied but unspoken.

‘She should still be here.’

Thinking this, Llewellyn turned his head to see Ortemilia raising an eyebrow.

“First… shouldn’t we hear about the symptoms?”

It didn’t feel like she was taking his side.

Rather, it seemed she didn’t think this was an issue that required her involvement.

Llewellyn was about to think that Lorian was a comrade too, when—

“From what I can tell, it doesn’t appear to be a serious physical illness.”

At Ortemilia’s continued words, Llewellyn looked questioningly at Isla.

Asking if that was correct.

Isla perked up her ears and said:

“Yes, that’s right.”

Only then did he realize something:

“Lorian’s soul has fallen ill.”

In medieval times, there was no concept of mental illness.

“I think Lorian is going insane.”

*

After Ortemilia withdrew with her newly acquired assistants, saying soul and mind weren’t her field, and his sister left saying she would handle the aftermath—

Llewellyn lay down with Isla in the flower garden, just the two of them.

There were things they needed to discuss anyway.

For instance, the relationship he had formed with his sister, and how Isla wished to participate in that relationship as well.

The glance his sister had given Llewellyn before leaving had carried that meaning.

So Llewellyn remained, unable to leave. He wondered when and how he should bring up the topic.

Of course, there was something else that needed to be discussed first.

“What do you mean Lorian is going insane?”

As he lay down, Isla’s tail smoothly slid under his neck.

When he lifted his head slightly, her tail settled beneath, serving as a pillow.

Llewellyn gazed blankly at the sky, enjoying the softness and pleasant scent.

“Going insane… perhaps.”

“It’s not a serious situation yet.”

Isla, curled up beside Llewellyn, perked up her ears.

“But I think it could become serious at any moment.”

“What’s it like?”

Isla explained slowly.

The explanation was lengthy despite coming from the typically taciturn Isla, and it seemed so detailed that it was questionable whether these were truly signs of mental illness.

After hearing it all and reflecting, one might wonder if there was really a problem at all.

However, while listening, Llewellyn did consider that it might be a somewhat serious issue.

“…She’s depressed, you say.”

“Yes. She sits blankly on the terrace for hours every day.”

“I suppose she’s not eating…”

While not exactly a method to confirm depression, not eating would be a clear sign.

But since she wasn’t a species that needed to eat in the first place, that method of verification wouldn’t work.

Her only “meal” was Llewellyn’s blood anyway.

“What else?”

“She sighs.”

“…That Lorian?”

When they first met, Lorian had swung her sword without hesitation despite having become a woman.

Later, she joined Llewellyn because she deemed it necessary, and she was always bright, quirky, and displayed knightly qualities.

Sighing seemed unlike her. When troubled, she would usually just smile awkwardly.

So Llewellyn thought that perhaps there really was a problem.

“She doesn’t talk much either. When I ask if she’s okay, she just smiles. Even when Melody tries to talk to her, she just brushes it off.”

These are typical signs that someone is not okay.

‘Hmm, is it really that serious?’

That’s how it usually is. When someone who’s always bright and smiling suddenly starts sighing, you think, “What’s up with them?”

Llewellyn felt the same. Lorian was one of two people he thought would never need mental care.

Realizing this might be a truly serious problem created two issues:

First, he had missed the opportunity to explain his relationship with his sister, which he had planned to address casually after resolving this.

Second, Isla wasn’t foolish enough not to notice that Llewellyn had been about to say something but stopped.

Llewellyn met Isla’s blue-gray eyes that were fixed on him.

Eyes that seemed to urge him to speak, to say what he had been about to say.

Though she was simply looking at him silently, he could almost hear her thoughts now that he had come to understand her better.

Llewellyn hesitated. Should he speak now, without proper preparation and without confidence in his ability to persuade?

The longer he thought, the more suspicious Isla would become, naturally.

Perhaps she was even eavesdropping on his thoughts right now, and this was a time to be bold rather than cautious…

Llewellyn stopped mid-thought as he noticed Isla’s lips moving slightly.

With eyes wide open, he could see her lips continuously moving.

‘Is Isla reading my thoughts right now?’ The moment he formed this thought, her lips stopped moving.

Isla laughed cheerfully.

“Yes.”

“…That’s scary, please stop reading them.”

Isla, still lying on her side, smiled sweetly at the genuinely frightened Llewellyn.

The necklace around her neck trembled slightly, and Llewellyn felt her tail brush against the nape of his neck, which seemed to be breaking out in cold sweat.

‘Let’s talk about this another time. I don’t have confidence in persuading her right now.’

Llewellyn sat up, and Isla stretched like a cat.

It was a seductive pose that would be perfect for dragging straight to the bedroom, if she hadn’t already been rolling around in bed with his sister.

“Make sure to tell me when you get back. After you’ve sorted it out.”

Isla finished her stretch and rose nimbly, and Llewellyn nodded.

In any case, he had been thinking that he needed to meet and talk directly with Lorian for verification.

Llewellyn rose from the flower bed and headed toward the nest, the center of the temple.

More precisely, toward the terrace of the nest where Lorian was waiting.

*

The terrace was bathed in sunset. Llewellyn easily found Lorian there.

After all, he’d been told she wasn’t running away or avoiding people.

So finding her wasn’t the problem. The problem was that, just as Isla had said, she didn’t look quite right.

The horizon was dyed crimson. Perhaps because the nest itself was elevated, Lorian was resting her chin on her hand, watching a brock flying in the distance.

The sigh she exhaled was heavy enough to make Llewellyn, who was approaching, pause momentarily.

Lorian glanced beyond her elongated shadow and spoke.

“Come and sit. I don’t have the habit of keeping my future lord standing.”

Llewellyn approached awkwardly and examined Lorian’s face under the setting sun.

Unlike her usual bright and somewhat silly demeanor, her current attitude matched her appearance.

Sorrowful, dignified, and somehow fragile and delicate.

Llewellyn stared blankly at Lorian’s profile as he sat on the terrace. The seat, soaked in spring sunshine, was warm.

“Did you return safely? I can’t tell from looking since you don’t retain wounds.”

“I returned well. I gained some things, had some fun… there were some achievements too.”

“That’s good.”

The response might have seemed curt, but her voice didn’t sound that way.

Llewellyn looked at Lorian with confusion, and she stared blankly at the sunset under his gaze.

With her chin resting on her red prosthetic hand, she maintained a detached attitude as if uninterested in worldly matters.

But watching her, Llewellyn felt an inexplicable sense of dissonance.

It wasn’t that she was truly uninterested, but rather that she was pretending to be uninterested, trying to maintain an attitude of indifference.

And Llewellyn’s intuition was rarely wrong.

“I…”

Lorian stopped after uttering a single word. She fell silent as if she had never spoken.

Llewellyn didn’t press her for an answer, and Lorian, perhaps growing anxious on her own, soon lowered her eyes.

“Say something. You didn’t come just to stare at my face.”

She revealed her impatience when he remained silent. Lorian trembled her leg slightly while still resting her chin on her hand.

“If you have some business, or something for me to do… if there’s something you want to command me to do…”

“Are you okay?”

Lorian froze. Her red eyes trembled slightly.

It was a moment when the sense of dissonance became certain.

Lorian.

She was clearly harboring something that everyone recognized as a problem, but she hadn’t given the impression of being curt to Melody or Isla.

Yet facing Llewellyn, she was conspicuously maintaining a brusque attitude.

Pretending to be uninterested, urging him to get to the point quickly.

In the past, she would have joked around or made small talk.

If not that, she would have boasted about herself or genuinely rejoiced in Llewellyn’s achievements.

She wasn’t doing any of that. Llewellyn felt a strong sense of dissonance there.

“Is something wrong? Or did I do something wrong?”

Though it might easily sound accusatory, Llewellyn had a technique.

A seemingly pitiful expression combined with a voice tinged with sadness was enough. This had worked even on his peers, not just his sister.

Sure enough, Lorian flinched visibly at Llewellyn’s appearance and tone, then bit her lip.

A clear gesture of swallowing guilt. She examined Llewellyn with eyes deeply filled with conflict, then clenched her fist.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

Her voice trailed off as she let out a breath close to a sigh.

After great hesitation, she faced Llewellyn.

When their eyes met, Lorian finally spoke after a long hesitation.

“…I started menstruating recently.”

Once again, it was something Llewellyn had not expected at all.