episode_0040

40. Peek-a-Boo

Drenched in exhaustion and pain, it felt like I had been asleep for a long time.

Maybe it was because I hadn’t slept for three days while researching sterilization methods for canned food, and the overwork had knocked me out.

But one thing was certain—my current physical condition was in peak form.

Moving my body, which overflowed with vigor for the first time in a while, I struggled against the temptation of the fluffy bed that coaxed me into laziness before barely managing to open my eyes.

“An unfamiliar ceiling…”

I uttered the obligatory line.

What entered my vision was none other than a ceiling densely covered with paintings.

You know how historically famous cathedrals have their ceilings crammed with artistic murals? It was like that.

When I turned my head to the side, the room was indeed filled with religious paraphernalia in a style resembling Christianity.

“Awake, are you?”

At the unfamiliar, gentle voice, I shifted my gaze.

A nun stepping in through the door.

Following this world’s obligatory tropes, despite being a pure and pristine nun, her habit exposed a voluptuous chest and deep cleavage.

With dazzling golden hair, a beauty mark beneath her eyes, and another on her cleavage, she was a remarkably alluring woman.

She felt less like an actual nun and more like a lascivious temptress cosplaying as one.

Perhaps because this was a world of gender equality, Erica and other women all wore clothing that prioritized ease of movement.

To put it politely, it was practical attire—though to be blunt, it was basically swimwear-level indecency…

She gently touched my right hand, tightly wrapped in bandages, and checked my condition.

“Luckily, your wounds have healed well. Though you’ve recovered, please don’t push yourself.”

The lewdly dressed nun smiled benevolently at me as she assessed my health.

(Sorry for the misunderstanding, amen…)

Feeling guilty internally, I checked my right hand.

Opening and closing my mummy-like, bandaged fist confirmed that it moved just fine.

There was some lingering soreness, but it didn’t hinder movement.

“Your knuckles went from being in 4 pieces to 31.

And you even have an arrow wound on your shoulder—seems you’re quite careless with your body.”

“Heh…”

The nun smiled warmly while sarcastically prodding.

Thinking back, when I got hit by an arrow in Penrose, I just let it heal naturally, didn’t I?

In other words, I never sought professional treatment from a nun or priest…

(Seriously, how am I even alive…)

I clenched and unclenched my hand, then rotated my previously messed-up shoulder to check its condition once more.

Confirmed that everything was functioning perfectly, then replied appreciatively to the nun.

“It healed well. Impressive, really.

If this skill were widespread, nobody would die from injuries.”

A nun who could instantly heal even a hand shattered into 31 pieces.

Even with modern medical technology, operating on delicate areas like hands would have been grueling.

As I voiced that thought, the nun’s expression darkened slightly.

“That’s not the case. The church’s healing techniques aren’t omnipotent.

While injuries can be healed easily…

If wounds fester or rot, amputation is the only option.

And once disease takes hold, even divine miracles can’t restore health…”

The nun wore a gloomy expression, as if saddened by the limitations of the aid she could provide.

Seemed she wasn’t just generously endowed in the chest—her heart was generous, too.

Anyway, long story short: while they could heal injuries, diseases were untreatable.

Likely because they lacked antibiotics, other medicines… no, even basic knowledge of bacteria.

As I pondered this, the nun let slip something unsettling.

“Of course, there are those called ‘doctors’ who try to cure illness.

Especially one named ‘Sana,’ who claimed that invisible little demons plague our bodies.

She’s skilled with herbs, though… strange woman. Repairs people without divine energy, but by slicing skin instead—”

“Wait, invisible little demons?”

(Is she… talking about germs?)

And “slicing skin to heal” sounds like surgery?

Could she be from the same world as me?

Or just a weirdo…

“She’s a bit… eccentric.

But she’s undoubtedly skilled. If you ever meet her, having her examine you wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

The nun wrinkled her smooth brow as if the thought alone was a headache.

After receiving some advice about resting properly, I left the room without issue.

The moment I stepped out, I saw Liliana—silver-haired with crimson eyes, dressed in attire even skimpier than the nun’s.

“Caine! You’re safe!”

Spotting me, she excitedly spread her arms wide and rushed in for a hug.

Though flustered by the lover-like gesture, I patted her back reassuringly.

Scanning our surroundings while doing so, I noticed Erica and Vivian were nowhere in sight.

Just then, a sharp pain shot up from my side.

“Eyes on me.”

“It’s not what you—”

Liliana pinched my flank in silent warning.

Then, taking my hand, she naturally led me on a stroll outside the church.

After small talk about my condition, I asked about what I’d been wondering.

“So, how did things turn out?”

“…Peek-a-boo happened.”

While I was out cold for two days, the Imperial Palace had been in total chaos.

I mean, openly attempting to assassinate the child emperor with soldiers? Not even poison, just straight-up murder?

The culprit, predictably, was Oh Yeong-je.

Though all the knights involved in the attempt had burned themselves alive in a pit—destroying evidence and testimony—there were still witnesses who recognized the faces of Oh Yeong-je’s usual soldiers.

But strangely, the case was quickly buried.

Well, more accurately, it *had* to be buried.

“How embarrassing for them.

Had it not been for our three sisters and you, the emperor would’ve actually died—under the watch of those useless old attendants.”

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason.

Politics isn’t just about emotions—it’s about interests and benefits.

Liliana, being highly adept in these matters, summed it up concisely.

**One.** If Oh Yeong-je falls now, things get messy.

If the public enemy Oh Yeong-je (fresh from overplaying his hand) disappears, the Imperial Palace becomes prey for circling wolves.

As the saying goes: “When the tiger’s gone, the fox rules.” If minor troublemakers try to become the next Oh Yeong-je, it’ll only get worse.

**Two.** Oh Yeong-je is now a powerless old man in the backroom.

Though the incident was glossed over, even a child knows he tried to kill the emperor by force.

Even his own faction is in disarray, debating whether he went too far while simultaneously scrambling to cut ties.

Barely anyone’s left following him now.

**Three.** Both Erica and Cecilia have urgent priorities.

No matter how tempting the emperor or the Imperial Palace seems, they’re hollow prizes.

Even if they could freely manipulate the emperor, it’d be pointless if their bases were wrecked.

Erica, newly demoted to Countess, must reunify the fractured Redmain territory.

Cecilia must gain recognition as Arcadia’s heir.

In short—both must leave the Imperial Palace temporarily to gather strength.

Having a powerless Oh Yeong-je remain as the palace’s public enemy suits them perfectly.

Even weakened, he’s still no pushover for opportunistic lowlifes.

**Four.** Nobles hate sudden change.

The higher their status, the more they resist upheaval.

This world isn’t like China or Korea with strong centralized authority—it’s feudal, where nobles rule regions like kings.

Erica and Cecilia forcefully bending the Imperial Palace and crushing other nobles isn’t welcome.

If it becomes inevitable, nobles will try cozying up to them, forging connections before it’s too late.

After hearing all this, I had one question for Liliana.

“But how could something like an emperor’s assassination—no, outright attempted murder—just be swept under the rug?”

“Easy. They threw one person under the carriage as a scapegoat.

Since the young emperor survived, it was possible.”

So everyone quietly let it slide despite knowing Oh Yeong-je was responsible—each faction acting in their own interests.

“Then, who was it?”

Scratching my chin, I asked for the name of the poor soul saddled with the “emperor’s would-be assassin” title.

Liliana tilted her head, dredging up the scapegoat’s name from memory.

−

“Hmm… Mmm… Some noble from the northwestern borderlands… I think it was Baltazar Blackthorn?”

“That free-spirited old man?”

At this point, I had no idea.

Not even Liliana, sensitive to worldly shifts, knew much about him.

Nor could I have guessed that in weeks, he’d turn the entire empire upside down…