The torrential rain finally stopped after several hours.
Elent carried the unconscious Celia back to the carriage and hurried all the way back to the Village.
After settling Celia back in her room, Elent went to take care of Old Horse and the goods piled in the cart.
The next day, Elent swept the water that had pooled in the courtyard with a broom.
According to the usual routine, by this time Celia should have already opened her window, either pointing and scolding him or calling out for breakfast.
But today, that window remained tightly shut.
Elent stopped what he was doing and looked up at that room.
Breakfast time had already passed.
Something felt off.
Elent put down the broom and walked to Celia’s door, raising his hand to knock.
“Priestess? The sun’s already up, you know.”
There was no response from inside.
“I’m coming in, then.”
Elent pushed open the door. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight.
Celia lay curled up on the bed, wrapped in blankets with only her face showing.
Her normally fair cheeks were now flushed, and a few locks of light green hair were damp with sweat, sticking to her forehead.
“Ugh… cold…”
A muffled voice came from under the blanket.
Celia curled up even tighter, trying to wrap herself up more.
Elent walked to the bedside and reached out to touch the Priestess’s forehead.
It was burning hot.
The heat radiating to his palm made Elent’s heart sink.
Last night’s rain, plus the cold wind, had clearly been too much for the Priestess, whose body wasn’t used to such strain.
Celia seemed to sense the coolness of his hand on her forehead. She instinctively rubbed against it, letting out a comfortable little sigh.
Elent withdrew his hand, fetched a basin of cold water, soaked a towel, and placed it on Celia’s forehead.
After finishing this, he headed to the kitchen.
A sick person needed to replenish their strength.
There were still a few Golden Potatoes left from last night, and a bag of eggs given by the Boss Lady.
Elent expertly started a fire, peeled and diced the potatoes, and washed the rice.
Once the water boiled, he poured in the rice and simmered it on a low flame.
When the rice grains blossomed, he added in the diced potatoes and beaten eggs.
No extra seasonings—just a pinch of salt for flavor.
Half an hour later, a pot of thick, golden porridge was ready.
Elent ladled out a bowl, stirring it constantly to let it cool to an edible temperature, then carried it back to the room.
Celia was still asleep, though her breathing seemed steadier now.
“Priestess, wake up and have something to eat.”
Elent called softly, but the person on the bed made no response.
No choice but to be a bit forceful.
Elent set the bowl on the nightstand and slipped an arm behind Celia’s neck, lifting her up.
Celia was limp and powerless, her head drooping as she leaned against Elent’s chest.
Even through her thin clothes, Elent could feel the heat radiating from her body.
He adjusted his position so Celia could lean more comfortably, then picked up the bowl and brought a spoonful of porridge to her lips.
“Open up.”
Celia parted her lips drowsily, and the warm porridge slid into her mouth.
Perhaps tasting the food woke her up a bit, as she began to swallow in cooperation.
The bowl was soon empty.
Elent set the empty bowl aside and wiped away the porridge at the corner of Celia’s mouth with a handkerchief, about to lay her back down to rest.
Just as he started to move away, a hand suddenly reached out from under the blanket and grabbed his sleeve.
“Don’t go…”
Celia wasn’t awake. Her eyes remained closed as she mumbled.
“FUFU… don’t go…”
Elent froze.
FUFU? This was the second time he’d heard that word. Just what exactly was FUFU?
Before Elent could puzzle it out, the girl in his arms snuggled closer, rubbing her cheek against his chest as if searching for a comfortable spot.
“Being alone… is so lonely…”
This was a far cry from the Priestess who usually talked about retiring and loafing around, acting cool and indifferent toward everyone.
Elent looked down at the girl in his arms.
With her calm facade peeled away, Celia seemed so small and fragile now.
Come to think of it, he actually knew nothing about the Priestess’s past.
The Priestess was very mature, nothing like other girls her age. She knew so much—Elent thought even the Church’s Saintess might not have as much knowledge as Celia.
And the Priestess didn’t really care for pretty clothes. The only thing she had in common with her peers was her love of sweets.
Beneath this exterior, perhaps she was hiding a loneliness unimaginable to most.
Elent sighed, sitting down again and letting Celia lean against him.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Elent gently patted Celia’s back, though his movements were a bit clumsy.
“I’m right here.”
Maybe she heard him, because the tension in Celia’s brow slowly eased, her breathing growing long and steady.
No one knew how much time had passed.
The light outside the window faded from bright to dim.
Celia felt as though she’d had a long dream.
In it, she returned to that tiny rental room, barely a dozen square meters, rain pouring outside and the room bitterly cold.
She wanted to find her old companion, the FUFU plushie, for warmth, but no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find it.
Just when she was about to cry from frustration, a warm stove appeared.
She hugged that stove tightly, refusing to let go.
The stove could talk too, its voice gentle, saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”
How nice.
Celia slowly opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was a piece of gray fabric.
Her gaze dropped.
She saw her own arms wrapped tightly around someone’s waist, and above her head came the steady thump of a heartbeat.
Celia froze.
Her stalled brain slowly rebooted, and the fragments of memory before she fell ill trickled back in.
Rain, fever, porridge being fed to her, and then—those mortifying words: Don’t go.
Crap. Social death.
Celia released her hold, trying to escape Elent’s embrace, only to bump into the headboard.
The commotion startled Elent, who had been dozing.
“Priestess? You’re awake!”
Elent looked at her in delight, reaching out to feel her forehead again.
“Seems like the fever’s broken.”
Celia slapped his hand away, grabbing the blanket to wrap herself up like a ball, with only her eyes showing, glaring at him warily.
“Hero, what just happened?”
Celia asked.
“You had a fever, so I fed you some porridge.”
Elent replied.
“Then you grabbed onto me and wouldn’t let go, even calling out for FUFU…”
“Stop!”
Celia cut him off loudly.
“I don’t remember any of that.”
She stared right into Elent’s eyes, her tone firm.
“That wasn’t me, that was the Demon of illness taking over my body.”
“That Demon is not only greedy, but afraid of the cold, and it might say all kinds of nonsense too.”
“But it absolutely wasn’t the real Celia.”
“Do you understand?”
Elent looked at the half-hidden face peeking out from the blanket and recalled the fragile, dependent girl from earlier.
He still didn’t know who—or what—FUFU was, but he basically understood what the Priestess meant.
“Understood.”
Elent nodded, a gentle smile on his face.
“It was the sick Demon’s doing.”
“But honestly, that Demon wasn’t so bad.”
Celia paused for a moment, then quickly retreated under the covers, even pulling the blanket over her head, turning herself into a cocoon.
After a while, a voice finally came from beneath the covers.
“The porridge was pretty good.”
Celia buried her face in the pillow, realizing her fever-weakened body actually missed the warmth of that embrace just now.
How disgraceful.