With the decision made to ensure she ate, even if it meant force-feeding her, I followed the Head Maid to the kitchen.
Within the kitchen, the two chefs, the sole culinary staff of the estate, were busily engaged in preparing lunch.
Although I felt apologetic for the sudden request, I asked them to prepare gruel for the Saintess before they started on lunch.
Given that the Saintess had been unable to ingest anything for over three days, it was highly probable she wouldn’t even be able to swallow regular porridge.
The food particles needed to be as finely ground as possible.
Fortunately, grains had already been soaking for the Saintess’s porridge, thus resolving the most time-consuming step in preparing the gruel.
-Thump-thump-thump.
The chefs, bringing forth the soaked barley and wheat, began to diligently pound the grains in turns.
Had this been the modern era, where blenders existed, grinding the grains would have been a swift and simple task. However, in this age, preparing gruel necessitated pounding or mashing each grain by hand.
Transforming the grains into a near-powder consistency was, by no means, an easy feat.
While I observed, unconsciously biting my fingernails, the Butler hastily approached, his face ashen.
“It appears the Saintess’s condition is even graver than we anticipated…”
“How bad is it?”
“Despite our continuous inquiries, only faint moans echo from within the room.”
“Ha…”
The realization that even communication was now impossible sent a shiver down my spine, and beads of sweat trickled down my forehead.
As if sensing the direness of the situation, the chefs’ hands moved with renewed urgency.
Though they hadn’t managed to grind the grains into a perfect powder, they swiftly moved to the next stage, sifting the pounded grains through a fine mesh.
Thankfully, this particular step did not consume much time.
The final step was to slowly boil the gruel.
This required continuous, slow stirring to prevent the gruel from sticking to the pot.
“Even if it’s a little lumpy, hand it over as swiftly as you can.”
“Yes, Master.”
Should any lumps form within the gruel, we could simply discard them and feed her only the smoother portions first.
As if sensing my profound anxiety, the chefs swiftly completed the preparation and handed over the gruel, even though it still possessed a slight graininess.
Clutching the bowl, I dashed without a moment’s hesitation toward the Saintess’s chambers.
The lord’s castle, which typically felt rather modest in size, seemed to expand into an enormous labyrinth today.
Even the creaking stairs, which I usually traversed with cautious steps, were disregarded as I ran, heedless, up them today.
For I believed that every single second might prove critical.
Upon finally reaching the Saintess’s door, I found a cluster of servants already assembled, murmuring anxiously amongst themselves.
“Master, you have arrived?”
Approximately ten retainers, led by the Head Maid who stood at the forefront, bowed their heads in unison.
Casually acknowledging their greetings, I approached the slightly aged door.
-Knock-knock.
“Saintess? It’s Raden. Are you inside?”
“Ugh…”
Pricking my ears to listen, I could discern only the faint groans of the Saintess from within.
Judging by the Saintess’s current state, it was clear she lacked the strength to open the door and emerge, even if she wished to.
“Wait, can you take this?”
“Ye…yes.”
Passing the container of gruel to a maid who appeared quite young, I closed my eyes, channeled mana, and infused it around my fist.
Though my mastery was still nascent, the disparity in power between imbuing mana and merely striking was substantial.
“Hoo…”
Taking a shallow breath and steeling my resolve, I unleashed a punch with all my might against the chamber door.
Bang!
With a single, forceful blow, the Saintess’s door splintered into fragments.
I reclaimed the gruel from the maid and advanced into the room.
‘Oh my God…’
The sight within the room was utterly devastating.
The Saintess, having apparently fallen from her bed in an attempt to open the door, lay collapsed and twitching midway between the bed and the entrance.
The room’s furnishings were strewn about in disarray, creating a chaotic scene, and the floor was slick with an unknown liquid.
I knelt beside the Saintess, disregarding the unsettling liquid that soaked the bottom of my trousers.
“Saintess? Saintess?”
“Ugh…”
The Saintess lay unresponsive, her eyes unfocused, unable to answer my calls.
I urgently settled her onto my lap, supporting the nape of her neck to facilitate swallowing, then carefully brought a spoonful of gruel to her lips.
The Saintess’s tongue flickered, as if unconsciously attempting to take the food, yet.
Her vitality was so diminished that she couldn’t even fully swallow the gruel, allowing it to dribble uncontrollably from the corners of her mouth.
As it couldn’t be perfectly pureed like modern gruel, it seemed even this refined texture proved too challenging for her to swallow.
As I deliberated on my next course of action, a particular scene, one I had frequently encountered in films and dramas, suddenly flashed through my mind.
Whether this action held any genuine efficacy, or was merely a dramatic flourish designed to captivate audiences in works of fiction, I could not say.
Nevertheless, in this dire emergency, attempting it seemed the only sensible course.
I scooped a minuscule amount of gruel with the spoon and ingested it myself.
Perhaps owing to its complete lack of seasoning, it tasted rather bland, yet it possessed a faint savoriness.
Chewing slowly, further refining the already thin gruel, I cautiously leaned toward the Saintess’s lips.
To kiss someone who, despite being a former Saintess, was once the epitome of purity.
Under ordinary circumstances, such an act would have been utterly unthinkable. Yet, with a life hanging in the balance, I felt no significant aversion.
As the Saintess’s parched lips met mine, I slowly, carefully, transferred the gruel, ensuring not a drop entered her windpipe.
“Ugh…”
As the nourishment passed into her severely parched throat, the Saintess’s face contorted in a grimace of pain. Nevertheless, having successfully compelled her to swallow, I repeated the process without hesitation.
Though I had managed to transfer some gruel, the absolute quantity was still minuscule.
I had to continue moving swiftly, without a single moment’s respite.
“Ugh…”
With each spoonful of gruel I managed to administer, the Saintess’s vitality seemed to gradually return; her complexion regained some color, and she began to accept the gruel with less difficulty.
Confirming that she had regained some strength to swallow, I shouted toward the outside.
“Bring some honeyed water!”
“Yes!”
The servants, who had been observing me in stunned silence, finally began to stir into action.
A quick-witted maid, sensing the need, brought a warm, damp towel. I took it and gently wiped the Saintess’s body.
After an hour of feeding her gruel and honeyed water, what then?
“Fu…ck…” (TL Note: A strong expletive, similar to the Korean ‘ssibal,’ conveying intense frustration or pain.)
The Saintess, still resting her head upon my lap, murmured a low curse.
Remaining in the same posture for an entire hour had grown uncomfortable, yet I concealed my discomfort, offering a gentle smile instead.
“Are you awake?”
“Ye…ah…”
Goodness, saliva was still trickling from the Saintess’s lips.
I gently wiped her mouth with the wet towel.
The Saintess, allowing her mouth to be gently wiped, regarded me with an inscrutable gaze, her voice still hoarse and ragged from her weakened state as she murmured.
“Why… did you… save me?”
The Saintess’s voice, once clear and beautiful, was now strained and ragged, emitting a harsh, unpleasant sound.
Although I felt a pang of human sympathy, I masked it with a playful smile to avoid showing my true feelings.
“Saintess, you may not be aware, but if you were to perish, our barony would also face considerable difficulties.”
“Bull…shit…who…would…care if a wretch…like me…were to die?”
Feeling a pang of pity for her struggling words, I gently covered her mouth with my hand.
I couldn’t fathom why someone with such a sore throat insisted on attempting to speak.
“Saintess, you undeniably toiled diligently, did you not? The very people you assisted back then might still harbor profound gratitude for you.”
“…”
The Saintess attempted to speak, but, thwarted by my hand still covering her mouth, she seemed to concede, falling into silence.
“And despite your pronouncements of wanting to die, your will to survive appears remarkably strong, wouldn’t you agree?”
“…”
The Saintess’s cheeks flushed crimson, perhaps recalling her desperate attempt to crawl for help.
‘It seems the dangerous crisis has passed.’
I exhaled a silent sigh of relief, then carefully drew the Saintess into my arms.
It was the classic “princess carry” posture.
“Wh…what?”
“You can’t simply remain resting on my lap indefinitely, can you? Let’s get you to the bed.”
“You celibate bastard…you perverted…”
“What on earth are you suddenly blathering about?”
“To a woman…suggesting ‘let’s go to bed’ means…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s nothing of the sort.”
I truly couldn’t fathom how this person had ever held the title of Saintess.
To think that the Saintess, who ought to embody the utmost nobility, harbored such lewd thoughts within her mind.
With genuinely no ulterior thoughts, I carefully laid her down upon the bed.
The Saintess, a grown woman whose cheeks flushed with apparent shame at being subjected to a princess carry, thankfully offered no significant resistance.
After tucking her warmly under the blankets, I perched on the edge of the bed and gently placed a hand on her forehead.
The Saintess’s forehead, which had been chillingly cold like that of a corpse, now radiated a faint, welcome warmth.
“Sleep well, and recover. I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat.”
“Ugh…mm…”
Confirming that the Saintess had closed her eyes, I slowly exited the room.
She truly was a high-maintenance woman.
****
As Raden departed the room, Rainy cautiously opened her eyes.
Though her mind was still half-hazy, the scene from moments ago remained vividly clear.
Raden’s frantic expression as he kissed her, seemingly genuinely concerned for her.
For someone who had never truly experienced sincere worry from another, it was a strange and unfamiliar sensation.
‘Not bad.’
A faint, unconscious smile spread across Rainy’s face.
