Free Web NovelThis time, Keith moved first.
Straightening from where he’d been leaning back, he lowered his head toward Ian.
Ian could feel the vitality humming beneath Keith’s skin. To meet his height, he tilted his chin up and closed his eyes.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind—We already confirmed purification doesn’t work like this, so what exactly are we doing?—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Then Keith kissed him.
It was enough to overwhelm his senses completely. With Keith’s arms supporting him, Ian didn’t have to do anything at all. He only had to accept what Keith was giving him.
Ian justified it to himself.
He was touching Keith’s body. Considering how absurdly explicit this game’s purification methods were, physical contact ought to count toward the “conditions” somehow.
Keith’s body was firm beneath his hands, solid and unexpectedly well-defined. Just touching him sent an unfamiliar thrill through Ian. He refused to think of it as sensual.
Still, touching Keith felt... indecent. There was no other word for it. Ian’s thoughts grew hazy, slipping out of focus. Before he lost himself any further, he activated his skill.
“<Purification>.”
[Curse Progression: 61%]
“Keith.”
“Yes?”
Keith answered against his lips, making it difficult for Ian to speak before his lower lip was captured once more.
“This isn’t working either.”
“That’s troublesome.”
Only then did Keith finally pull away.
An odd sense of emptiness washed over Ian.
What is this?
As though someone else’s body belonged to him. As though something that had once been his had suddenly been taken away. The feeling was ridiculous.
Ian forced himself to regain his composure.
Whether Keith—still absently toying with Ian’s waist—was in his right mind was another matter entirely.
“I can’t exactly wear your cloak, Lord Ian.”
“Try it on.”
“My arms won’t fit.”
It wasn’t until Ian saw the faint curve of Keith’s smile that he realized it had been a joke.
He was impossible to understand.
Ian wasn’t particularly gifted with humor himself, but Keith’s sense of humor was genuinely catastrophic.
“So the only option left is for you to take it off.”
“That’s absurd. Think about it. During surgery, who’s the one that undresses?”
“The patient, obviously. Though, Lord Ian, that comparison is a little... strange.”
Keith possessed at least a basic understanding of medical treatment. He had once performed emergency aid on injured subordinate knights—cutting away poisoned flesh and pouring healing magic into the wound. Crude, but practical.
In one particularly desperate situation, he’d had no choice but to tear apart a poisoned knight’s clothing.
He also knew that in villages without priests, experienced seamstresses often stitched wounds in place of healers. In those cases, naturally, the patient’s clothes would be removed first.
Still, calling it undressing felt oddly inappropriate.
“What’s strange about it? It’s true. In this situation, who’s the doctor and who’s the patient?”
“That would be you and me.”
“So who has to undress?”
“That would be me.”
Keith laughed softly, then let out a quiet sigh.
Even after their lips had parted, it felt as though he was the only one still intoxicated.
Holding someone warm and perfectly sized in his arms filled him with a strange mix of longing and contentment. It made him want to indulge everything Ian said.
“You’re very logical, Lord Ian.”
“Yeah. Since you understand, stop talking and do it already.”
“What exactly should I do?”
“Take off your clothes.”
Ian sounded faintly irritated now. Keith wasn’t entirely sure the other man even realized what he was saying anymore.
“You mean here?”
“Do you only own one layer? There’s plenty you can remove.” ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm
Ian was referring to boots, swords, and the rest of his equipment. In the game’s character menu, several of those items were categorized as attire.
Ian’s theory was that once a certain percentage of “attire” had been removed, the game would recognize the target as being in a “purification-ready state.” Accessories counted too, and removing them lowered the percentage threshold, likely broadening the area where purification could be performed.
But instead of answering, Keith lifted Ian off his lap.
Only then did Ian fully realize he’d been sitting across Keith’s ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) thighs the entire time.
And at the same moment, he understood exactly what Keith was thinking.
“If there’s more I can take off...” Keith glanced downward.
Ian’s gaze followed instinctively.
Toward Keith’s trousers.
“......”
Night had already fallen.
The village chief quietly climbed the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to the room nearest the staircase—his daughter’s old room.
It was larger than the storage room being used for luggage, but cluttered with piled belongings, leaving little usable space.
At most, one person could sleep there comfortably.
There had been three guests in total: the tall aristocrat, the pretty servant, and the elf knight.
If one of them had been given a separate room, it was most likely the knight.
The chief’s assumption was correct.
Inside, one figure slept beneath his daughter’s blanket. The pointed ears made the elf’s identity obvious at a glance.
Then the aristocrat must be sharing a room with the servant.
That would make things easier.
The knight had to be dealt with first. If he started rampaging, it wouldn’t merely become troublesome—it would turn catastrophic.
The chief didn’t believe the exaggerated tales of knights soaring through the skies or cleaving mountains apart, but he knew well enough that they were monsters in human form. The nobles and knights who had fled into the desert had proven that countless times already.
Still, even monsters could not overcome the wisdom of the village.
Tonight would be no exception.
They had used enough sleeping agent to bring down wild beasts.
Just to be safe, the chief called out softly.
“Sir Knight. Elf Knight. Is the bedding uncomfortable?”
Even half-asleep, a knight should have reacted to the sound.
But the elf remained motionless. His breathing stayed slow and even.
Completely unconscious.
The sleeping agent had worked. There was no need to even check the other room.
The chief leaned out the window and knocked twice.
Knock, knock.
The sharp sound echoed through the darkness, and villagers waiting nearby hurried into the house.
“Hey, look at this bag. It’s enchanted! Small and light—only high-ranking nobles carry things like this. And inside...”
“That cloak’s expensive too. His clothes must be worth a fortune.”
“Take the sword first. Even if they’re unconscious, we shouldn’t get careless. Tie him up, strip him, then move on to the next room. We can sort through valuables later.”
The chief spoke calmly.
He was a cautious, intelligent man. When the village needed a new leader, everyone had recommended him unanimously.
Because he was the one who had returned alive from the tower.
The man who had once journeyed there to save the village.
Many young people sought the tower for personal ambition or glory.
The chief had gone for only one reason: to find a way to save everyone.
But before they had even reached the tower itself, his companions died one after another. Watching them perish, the chief realized he would share their fate if he continued forward.
So he turned back.
Instead, he fortified the village and devised a way to survive by taking from travelers.
Climbing the tower was impossible.
So he sought salvation elsewhere.
For a village lacking both manpower and resources, the belongings travelers carried were invaluable.
The journey hadn’t been entirely meaningless, however.
During his travels, he had discovered a plant with potent sleeping properties. His companions, mistaking it for an edible herb, had eaten it and fallen asleep almost immediately.
The chief, chewing on dried jerky instead, had remained awake.
That was how he noticed the sandstorm approaching.
No matter how desperately he shouted, his companions never woke.
After surviving by sheer miracle, the chief resolved to use the same plant that had killed his friends to keep the village alive.
“Chief, you really are overly cautious.”
“He’s right, though. Tie up the elf first, then we’ll head to the other room.”
“Alright. Huh? Why’s this elf so damn heavy...?”
As one of the men strained to drag the elf, two pale lights flickered open in the darkness.
Moonlight reflected in the elf’s eyes.
“How is he awake—?!”
“Shh.”
The elf pressed a finger lightly to his lips.
“Quiet. You’re being far too loud.”
The room fell silent instantly, as though some invisible force had swallowed every sound. One of the men tried to scream, but no voice emerged—as if unseen hands were wrapped tightly around his throat.
Smiling sweetly, the elf spoke.
“My clients in the next room are making love. It’s a very important moment. You really shouldn’t interrupt them.”
“......?!”
“One interruption or two might make the fire burn hotter,” he continued pleasantly, “but too much ruins the mood entirely.”
