A Painful Cure

Several days later, Roland received a vial of injection fluid from Rudios, along with a metal syringe. Clutching the vial of black fluid, Roland mused that it was truly the work of an Alchemy Master. Within the diminutive syringe, a potent dark elemental aura pulsed, yet its power felt remarkably gentle, leaving him to wonder how such a delicate balance had been achieved.

“How exactly does one use this thing?” Roland had asked, weighing the vial in his hand at the time.

“The method is quite simple,” Rudios explained, pausing for a moment. “Place the black vial inside the syringe, allowing the fluid to flow through the internal needle into the tip of the syringe. The person holding it merely needs to insert the needle into the patient’s skin, then push the plunger to inject the fluid into their body.”

“You can administer it anywhere on the body, though the limbs are generally preferred. If you’re unfamiliar with the process, you could ask Roxy for assistance; she…”

“No need,” Roland had interjected, shaking his head with a confident smile. “I’m quite skilled with needles and thread.”

****

Returning to the inn room, Roland followed the instructions he had received. He inserted the vial into the syringe and gently pushed the plunger, watching as a hint of black liquid slowly seeped from the cold needle.

Nodding in satisfaction, he approached Freya, who was huddled in the corner, a benevolent smile gracing his lips.

“Come now, let’s get a shot, alright?” He tried his best to soften his smile, speaking as one would to a child.

“Mmmph—”

Huddled in the corner, Freya shook her head, her face etched with terror as she eyed the approaching metal needle.

“The medicine…” she stammered, clutching the sides of her hair, enduring the tearing pain within her body. Her consciousness was hazy, yet she managed to continue, “The white… that vial…”

“Oh, don’t rush now,” Roland said, slowly closing the distance to the corner. He brought the glinting, cold needle closer. “Once this shot is done, you can have your medicine.”

“Mmmph…” Even in her clouded state, the sharp metal needle instilled immense fear in Freya. As it drew nearer, she began to frantically search for an escape route.

Left with no choice, Roland seized her by the collar with his left hand, a helpless smile on his face. “Why run?”

“No…” Freya pushed against Roland’s chest with both hands, trying to shove him away. “Too many… injections… no…”

“Hold on, have you had a lot of injections before?” Roland applied more force with his left hand, pinning her body against the edge of the bed.

In terms of raw strength, the young Demon Lord, devoid of her magic, was no match for him. With a slight exertion of force, he pressed his upper body against Freya’s back, pinning her hands beneath her chest. His left arm bent across her spine, while his lower body pressed against her hips, his legs locking her lower limbs to prevent her struggling.

Administering an injection, it seemed, required a bit of effort.

“Mmm…” Freya’s head was buried in the bedsheets, her voice muffled, her body trembling with fear.

“Hey, hey, don’t squirm…” Roland steadied her, his brow furrowed. ‘Where exactly was I supposed to inject?’

Roland pondered for a moment, looking at the struggling figure beneath him. ‘Her arm? If she keeps thrashing, it’s impossible; I might injure her. Her thigh? That might work…’

‘I’ll try it.’

Roland reached out and lifted the hem of Freya’s skirt, exposing the pristine, slender curve of her upper thigh. Her thighs were not overly thin; they possessed a slight plumpness, with skin so smooth and tender, like a delicate lamb’s-wool sphere.

He briefly imagined her in the Grey Academy of Magic uniform, convinced that black stockings would beautifully accentuate the curve of her thighs. ‘The Grey Academy of Magic uniform is truly a magnificent invention. My thanks to the designer; what a truly great individual!’

“Mmmph—” The person beneath him struggled a little more violently. Roland shook his head, casting aside the inexplicable fantasy, and tried to press the cold needle against her warm skin.

The instant the icy needle touched Freya’s thigh, Roland felt the young Demon Lord’s body tremor. He could even discern the faint rise of goosebumps on her skin.

Perhaps due to his nervousness, he hadn’t paid close attention to the exact spot, positioning the needle’s tip on the back of her thigh, almost near her gluteus. Before he could react, the sharp tip had already pierced Freya’s skin. At this point, he decided to simply proceed, slowly pressing the needle deeper.

He had witnessed doctors giving injections before, but lacking practical experience, he dared not move too quickly. He could only recall those past scenes, gently depressing the metal syringe. “Mmm-hmm—”

Freya’s body stiffened with pain, yet whether from fear or instinct, she ceased struggling. Roland breathed a slight sigh of relief. ‘As expected of a metal needle,’ he thought. ‘After breaking through the skin’s barrier, it easily pierced into the deeper muscle tissue.’

He carefully watched the needle as it sank in, estimating the depth. Only when the tip was almost fully submerged did he slowly ease his pressure. ‘This depth should suffice.’

He gently stroked Freya’s back with his left hand, attempting to soothe her. With his right, he seized the opportunity to push the plunger, allowing the black fluid to enter her body through the needle.

“Ah…”

Freya felt a sudden numbness in her muscles, followed by an intense cold in a specific area of her gluteus. An unknown dark elemental force seemed to invade her body, disrupting its internal balance. She instinctively bit down on the bedsheet, emitting a soft whimper.

“It’s just an injection, why are you so nervous?”

In mere moments, Roland had pressed the plunger all the way down, the vial, once teeming with dark elemental power, now completely empty. He carefully withdrew the needle from her muscle tissue; the process was smooth, yet he suddenly realized he had forgotten one crucial step: hemostasis.

Crimson blood slowly seeped from the needle wound, starkly conspicuous against her pale skin. Roland instantly panicked, quickly setting down the syringe and frantically searching for something to stop the bleeding. Freya, meanwhile, lay prone on the bed, her chest heaving, hands clutching the sheets, her body rigid.

The injection seemed to be taking effect already. The dark elements within her were relentlessly eroding the Mandrake’s properties, and her pale skin was gradually flushing red. “Bandages, cotton balls…” Roland muttered, growing anxious. “Why is there nothing… I should have asked Roxy for some earlier.”

Watching the continuous seep of blood from the wound, he acted on impulse. ‘Don’t blame me,’ he thought, before decisively covering the wound with his mouth. ‘Truly worthy of a body reshaped by the Demon Lord,’ he mused. ‘Even this area of her skin is so smooth and flawless.’

He secretly glanced upward. ‘Fortunately, the young Demon Lord hasn’t regained full consciousness yet. If she knew what I’d done, even if she couldn’t beat me, she’d fight me to the death, wouldn’t she?’

‘Sigh, this is all for stopping the bleeding, not because I have any ulterior motives, alright?’ The blood of high-ranking demons possessed an inexplicable sweetness. He mentally chastised himself for his grave sins while meticulously licking away the overflowing blood.

Only after confirming that the bleeding had ceased did he nervously conclude his treatment. During the hemostasis, Freya exhibited no particular reaction, simply lying on the bed as if utterly drained, her body gradually growing warm.

Roland knew this was the dark elements slowly encroaching upon the wood elements. Once the Mandrake’s effects were dispelled, the young Demon Lord’s memories would gradually return. ‘Apparently, dark elements can also nourish a demon’s body, right? Not bad, not bad, two birds with one stone.’

“Giving this one a shot was truly a monumental effort…” He wiped his forehead, realizing he was drenched in sweat without knowing when it had started. “Phew… I might as well take a bath.”

Thus, he paid no mind to Freya, who lay on the bed, stimulated by the medicine. He casually grabbed a white bath towel and entered the room’s washroom. Activating the magic shower, Roland, who had never enjoyed a shower in Green Village before, finally experienced the luxurious life of a noble lord.

“This is utterly decadent!” he exclaimed, squeezing a dollop of cleaning incense liquid, manufactured by Mondstadt’s alchemy workshop, and rubbing it evenly over his body. “This feels absolutely fantastic!”

Warm water continuously washed over his weary body, and Roland finally felt an indescribable sense of comfort and ease. As he scrubbed his body with both hands, his thoughts drifted back to the person lying on the bed. ‘The young Demon Lord… Freya…’

“This girl…” He couldn’t help but recall that night in the forest, his face flushing, whether from the steam or something else entirely. “She truly came to torment me.”

He then remembered the scene of giving her the injection earlier; the memory of that soft, warm touch rippled through his mind like water. “Sigh…” He gently bumped his head against the wall, using the pain to remind himself. “No, no, no! She’s the Demon Lord, the Demon Lord, the Demon Lord! We’re impossible, impossible, impossible—”

But his body was honest, as a certain part of him began to stir. He slapped that area, then cried out in pain. “Ow—you useless thing! Do you get excited every time you see a woman?!”

That particular part of him answered his question with its actions. “Tch…” After a few curses, he gave up arguing with his ‘little brother’ and tried to make peace with himself instead. “Roland, don’t rush. This is a normal phenomenon. You’ve done well to hold out this long.”

He increased the power of the magic shower, closed his eyes, and began to wash his hair, muttering to himself all the while. “Even if you went out now and thoroughly ‘devoured’ that young Demon Lord, you couldn’t be blamed. After all, it’s the enemy’s cunning, and the bad apples among the populace.”

Finding a reason to comfort himself, he actually felt quite a bit better. “Spending every day with that girl, it’s inevitable that desire would flare up like this. I’ve almost forgotten what she looked like before…” He scrubbed the hair at his temples. “How wonderful if she had always been like this… wait, no, how could I have such thoughts?”

He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying from his wet hair. “Perhaps I should just go out and find a hostess to release some tension? Save myself from being so restless because of her all the time.”

*Thump—*

Suddenly, a figure opened the washroom door. Roland instinctively covered his vital areas (though he couldn’t cover everything) and peered out the door. However, the washroom was shrouded in a white mist from the recent shower, making it difficult to see clearly.

Still, he could vaguely discern the long, white hair. “Freya…?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “How are you feeling?”

He heard no reply, only observing the figure, shorter than himself, slowly approaching. Just as he was about to relax, he noticed magic slowly coalescing behind her. Through the hazy mist, a somewhat terrifying phantom began to form.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Roland’s heart leaped into his throat. He instinctively wanted to grab something, but Thunder’s Fury and the Holy Sword were both in the bedroom cabinet. Searching frantically, he found only a wooden scrubbing brush.

Treating a dead horse as if it were alive, he wielded the wooden brush like a sword, holding it defensively before his chest. “What are you doing?!” he demanded, his voice sharp.

*Poof!* Freya channeled her magic, dispelling the surrounding mist, and in an instant, she flashed directly in front of Roland. Roland saw her pale purple demonic eyes, shimmering with an unsettling light.

Before he could react, Freya made a grasping motion in the empty space towards a certain part of Roland. [Dark Magic: Void Grasp]

“Mmph—” With little room to struggle, Roland was lifted by her, his feet dangling in the air, his brain slowly beginning to be deprived of oxygen. Then, he heard Freya’s first words after her treatment.

“Husband… why do I… feel like… killing you?!”