The Healing Hero Wants to Investigate the Demon King

Syldra immediately pulled her head back inside.

Her heart pounded violently.

If she had to rank the most shocking moments of her life, seeing Samael—of all people—kneeling on one knee beneath her window, proposing to someone, would easily make it into the top three.

She was certain it was him. The sharp, cold profile and those unmistakable crimson pupils matched the Demon King’s face in her memories perfectly.

…… The Demon King’s features were defined and severe; his aloof expression alone made anyone who looked at him feel uneasy. And those blood-red eyes—filled with a gaze so unsettling it chilled the soul.

That was Ludwig’s first impression when he and the other Heroes stormed Samael’s throne hall.

When they burst in, Samael had been seated calmly on his throne, his face turned slightly aside. His eye—half-open—hadn’t even bothered to look directly at them at first.

The sheer coldness and indifference in that single glance sent a shiver down Syldra’s spine even now, just recalling it.

But…

Samael fifteen years ago?

Syldra cautiously peeked out again.

Down in the shadows beneath the trees, Samael had risen to his feet and was still speaking with the woman.

The guesthouse remained brightly lit and noisy, but from the fourth floor, there was no way to hear their conversation. Syldra decided to simply observe.

She didn’t recognize the woman’s face. She looked about twenty—around the same age as this younger Samael.

Samael’s expression was tense, his youthful face flushed with nervousness—and perhaps a trace of… irritation?

Yet despite seeming angry, his body language and lip movements suggested he wasn’t truly agitated.

He only spoke after the woman finished, replying in what looked like an earnest attempt to communicate.

It was the same face, yet this Samael was nothing like the arrogant, merciless tyrant she had faced.

Syldra mentally pictured how the Demon King Samael would react to being rejected.

—“Woman, you are an annoyance.” Cold words, black hair fluttering as dark magic surged, purple flames erupting from his palms as he tore her apart limb from limb—

Syldra shook her head violently to dispel the image.

No such horror unfolded below. But then—she saw the woman pout, raise her hand, and slap Samael across the face.

Syldra clapped a hand over her mouth.

Good heavens!

Someone actually dared to slap the Demon King?!

…… Witnessing Samael getting slapped could comfortably rank among the top ten most shocking things she’d ever seen.

After delivering the slap, the woman turned and walked away, vanishing around the corner of the building. Samael stood frozen for a moment, then moved straight toward the entrance below Syldra’s window—disappearing into the first floor of the guesthouse.

Syldra retreated back into the fourth-floor corridor.

…… Does Samael live here? In this luxury guesthouse built by Wylding specifically for dignitaries?

Was he invited to the anniversary banquet?

Or—could he possibly be staff here?

Syldra frowned.

…… Samael’s origins had always been unknown. Shortly after he rose to power, the southern superpower Dalabi Empire fell, cutting off all intelligence from the south. After that, war reports came only from frontline scouts and surviving soldiers.

The Anti-Demon King Central Command had investigated Samael’s past, but found nothing.

In truth, the entire southern region had collapsed into an information vacuum.

Later, as Samael’s military campaigns intensified, the Command became overwhelmed managing battlefield crises, and the investigation was quietly abandoned.

She recalled these details silently, fingers gently curling a strand of crimson hair behind her ear.

Wylding was located in southern Neuin. Guests eligible for the anniversary banquet included: the Aetelarma imperial family, other noble houses related by blood to the empire, local high-ranking aristocrats, and ruling families from neighboring nations.

Which category did Samael belong to?

He had returned to the guesthouse tonight—would he check out tomorrow?

…… If he was just passing through, and she missed this chance, would she ever find him again?

—Should she go downstairs to confront him? Ask the staff which room he was staying in?

A cool breeze slipped through the window, brushing against Syldra’s slender frame, making her shiver—and snap back to reason.

“…… I should return to my room first.”

When she reentered the suite, Rosetta still wore a guilty expression, though concern for her mistress outweighed it.

She had already unpacked their week’s worth of luggage and tidied the room spotlessly.

“Rosetta, you didn’t have to do all this. The staff could’ve handled it.”

“…… Miss, let me give you a massage!”

Instead, Rosetta blurted out.

“There’s no need to feel guilty, Rosetta. It was just a mix-up with clothes,” Syldra said, gently patting the maid’s fluffy brown head.

“But Miss, I made a mistake. Even if you won’t punish me, please let me massage you,” Rosetta insisted. “This has always been how it’s been, ever since we were little.”

Huh.

Ludwig had occasionally let Rosetta give him massages before.

But as a priest, he’d maintained strict discipline over his body, so there was rarely any fatigue to speak of—meaning Rosetta hardly ever did it.

It had been nearly twenty years since the last time.

…… Strange. It felt nostalgic.

Now, dressed in her nightgown and sitting on the bed, back facing the small girl, Syldra felt Rosetta’s fingers gently kneading her shoulders.

For Syldra’s delicate body, Rosetta’s pressure was perfect—firm enough to soothe, gentle enough not to hurt her soft skin.

No doubt thanks to years of training to become an impeccable lady’s maid.

However—

After finishing her shoulders, Rosetta’s fingers traced down the side of Syldra’s neck, sliding over her collarbone—and then pressed lightly onto the tender, intimate curves of her chest.

Syldra’s face darkened instantly. She grabbed Rosetta’s hands.

Rosetta blinked, staring blankly back at her mistress.

“R-Rosetta, you don’t need to massage there—”

“But Miss, if you don’t massage this area properly, your development will be affected!”

“Development?! What development?!!”

“Why… Miss, don’t move, I can’t reach properly!”

“That’s exactly why you should stop!”

“I’ve been doing this for two years already!”

“Y-You’ve been doing this for two years?! That’s indecent! So indecent! Rosetta! This is all my fault—I failed to raise you properly, turning you into such a shameless girl—”

“What are you talking about, Miss?!”

The commotion continued for quite some time.