The Potion’s Embrace

“Husband!”

Thud—

Freya pressed Roland’s body onto the bed, her hands gripping his shoulders. Her legs straddled his waist, positioning herself above him.

Roland was stunned. He stared blankly at Freya, completely at a loss as to what had gotten into her.

He had no idea what was happening. He had just returned from Rudios’s place, only to be tackled onto the bed the moment he stepped through the door.

“This is…” Freya felt a needle-like pain stinging inside her body, making it almost impossible to think. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s going on’?”

“My body! Ah, ugh…” Freya’s face contorted slightly. She had to cover half her face with one hand, hiding her twisted expression. “It hurts, it’s so strange…”

“Oh… it’s withdrawal. You need your medicine.” Roland suddenly remembered it was time for her dose. He pointed to the cabinet on the right. “The white vial in the cabinet, take three drops.”

Hearing his reply, Freya didn’t hesitate. She pushed off his chest, got up from the bed, and retrieved the vial from the cabinet.

It was a white potion, somewhat cloudy, perhaps due to certain added ingredients.

She uncorked the vial and brought it to her nose. A peculiar scent wafted up.

But she couldn’t afford to care about that now. The pain in her body tormented her relentlessly. Closing her eyes, she brought the potion to her lips and took a sip.

A refreshing sensation, like a gentle breeze, soothed every pore of her body.

Every pore on her body seemed to hum with pleasure. Her previously contorted, pained expression softened, and the areas that had throbbed with pain now felt only a faint tingle. This tingle, like tiny sprites, slowly ascended to her mind, massaging her with soothing comfort.

Unconsciously, she couldn’t help but take a few more sips.

“Hey, that’s too much!”

Roland’s expression stiffened. He quickly flipped off the bed, remembering Rudios’s earlier instruction that only three drops could be consumed at a time. Any more would lead to…

Sure enough, after she had consumed an excessive amount of the potion, a flush crept across Freya’s cheeks. Her eyes grew hazy, and her grip loosened. The vial slipped from her fingers, falling to the ground. After rolling a few times, the meager remaining liquid spilled out.

Roland glanced at the glass vial on the floor. A pang of heartache struck him.

He quickly picked up the glass vial, examining it closely, only to find a mere trace of the potion left at the bottom.

Sighing, he decided to seek out Rudios again tomorrow, to see if he could procure more.

“You blockhead!”

Seeing Freya still standing there blankly, he grew increasingly irritated. This was a potion an Alchemy Master had painstakingly concocted, and it was being wasted just like this?

He abruptly stood up, one hand on his hip and the other extended. His finger jabbed repeatedly at Freya’s head, as if poking a stone, seemingly intent on venting all his frustration.

“You, you, you! Didn’t I tell you to only drink three drops? Why did you drink so much? Do you know this stuff has side effects, huh? And what’s wrong with you? Can’t even hold a vial steady? Now look, you’ve spilled the potion all over the floor. I’ll have to go ask someone for more tomorrow, do you have any idea how much trouble that is…?”

Freya mechanically lowered her head, allowing Roland to poke her head repeatedly. Even as he messed up her bangs, she showed no reaction, save for the slight trembling of her exposed shoulders.

Noticing a subtle abnormality, Roland furrowed his brow. After a moment’s thought, his poking finger changed to a supportive palm, gently cupping her left cheek.

“Mmm—hoo hoo hoo—”

At that moment, Freya’s upper teeth bit into her lower lip. Her moist, glistening eyes were slightly red, and tears welled in the corners, each one full and round. As her face lifted, they rolled down like ripe grains of wheat.

Her hands clutched the hem of her clothes, squeezing tightly as if trying to hold back her tears, but she was unable to control them. She simply pursed her lips, gazing at Roland with a stubborn look, a faint sniffle escaping her nose.

‘It can’t be,’ Roland thought, seeing the Little Demon Lord like this for the first time. The hand cupping her cheek trembled, and his mind briefly froze. “Why are you crying?”

“W-hmph—”

Freya’s face flushed even deeper. Her nose gave a small sniffle, as if she was trying to suppress the urge to sob loudly.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, fixing a piercing gaze on Roland.

‘Are you blaming me?’

Seeing the resentment and stubbornness in her pale purple eyes, Roland’s heart skipped a beat. His left hand unconsciously flexed. After a moment’s thought, he extended his left hand, placing his index finger at the corner of her eye, intending to wipe away her tears.

This time, the Little Demon Lord was unusually quiet. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed back the liquid in her nasal cavity. She subtly turned her face away, signaling her disdain for Roland’s comfort.

Yet, she didn’t strongly resist. Roland adjusted his position, and eventually touched the corner of her eye.

Comforting a girl was simple. It didn’t require many words, just a few significant gestures.

Roland placed his bent knuckle beneath the plump tear, gently sliding it downwards, slowly tracing the path of the falling tear across her smooth cheek. Finally, he opened his palm and caressed her chin twice.

After all this, Freya couldn’t help but let out two more sobs. Her eyelids drooped, and irregular tears slowly streamed down the same paths as before.

There was no way to slowly wipe her tears now. Roland sighed. He switched from using a finger to his whole hand, repeatedly wiping her tears away.

It didn’t seem to help much, as the more he wiped, the more tears seemed to flow.

Roland noticed her small nostrils twitching, as if she was trying to suppress something.

“There, there, no more crying~”

His hand, which had been cupping her cheek, gently moved to her head. He stroked her hair, attempting to calm her with this gesture.

“W-w-w… you… you…” Freya looked up, her teeth loosening their grip as her soft pink lips trembled. Tears still streamed down, but her shoulders twitched twice from a sob. “Why… why were you so fierce… huh?”

After saying this, her throat bobbed again. She then lowered her head, unwilling to let Roland see her expression.

“Was I that fierce?”

Roland placed both hands on Freya’s shoulders, asking softly. His hands were wet with tears, making her already smooth shoulders even slicker.

She didn’t answer immediately; only her tears continued to stream down. Then, she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Sigh…”

Roland sighed. Upon reflection, he realized he had indeed been too focused on venting his frustration earlier, without paying much attention to his tone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

He could only apologize for now; it wouldn’t cost him anything. But seeing Freya cry ceaselessly always filled him with an inexplicable sense of guilt.

He began to ponder. The Little Demon Lord had lost some memories, and her personality seemed to have changed significantly. Could even a Demon Lord develop human-like qualities after prolonged contact with normal people?

How should he treat her going forward?

Pulling Freya into his embrace, a conflicted expression crossed his face. His left arm encircled her waist, while his right hand gently stroked her long, snowy hair. A peculiar emotion swirled within him. The person in his arms tried to struggle for a moment, but gave up after two attempts. Instead, she reached up, clutched Roland’s collar, and buried her face in his chest.

Faint sobs, almost imperceptible…

They were like the gentle morning rain outside a window: unnoticed, yet undeniably present, and subtly dampening everything.

“W-w-w…” Freya’s grip on his collar tightened, her face pressed against Roland’s chest, her tears almost soaking his shirt. “I… I didn’t want to… cry, but… I just… couldn’t… stop…”

“It’s alright.”

Roland patted her back, his gaze briefly meeting hers, his mind already formulating plans for dealing with her in the future.

“I feel… w-w-w—I… I’ve become… w-w-w—very, very strange…” Freya swallowed again, a whimpering sound escaping her as her slender neck trembled. She tried to hold her breath. “I can’t even… control… w-w-w—myself anymore.”

“Mm.”

“I really, really want to… w-w-w—recover my memories soon… w-w-w—” Her sobs grew a little louder. “This feeling of being out of control… w-w-w—makes me feel like… I’m not myself anymore… w-w-w—”

His stroking hand paused. Roland’s lips moved slightly, and his brow furrowed.

‘Honestly, even if you’ve lost your memories, do you still want to become the former Demon Lord? To constantly fight against the Hero and the Church again? To reignite the war between the two realms? Forget it, what’s the point?

The war is already over. Your demon race is severely weakened, with hardly any complete tribes left. I’ve heard that in a few years, the Church plans to mobilize its armies, unite all kingdoms, and thoroughly scour the entire demon domain, utterly eradicating the demon race.

If you revert, what purpose would it serve? You couldn’t even defeat me, who wields the Holy Sword. What could you do against such a powerful Church? Forget it… Don’t become the original Demon Lord again…’

Roland slowly weighed his options. He wasn’t sure if he could truly transform Freya’s nature into that of a normal human. Although she was currently amnesiac, she might recover her memories someday. She had promised him before not to covet the Holy Sword, but she had still gone after it…

‘You fool, that sword is dangerous. Didn’t you sense it at all? The reason I don’t often use the Holy Sword is because the power of the divine artifact seems…’

He suddenly hesitated to inject the black vial Rudios had given him into the Little Demon Lord. He worried that even if he diligently guided her, it might not counteract the influence of recovering her memories. What if she truly reverted to her former self?

‘This little one would be very dangerous…’

He touched the black vial tucked away in his embrace, considering whether he should simply destroy it.

“I…” Freya’s crying gradually subsided. She looked up, her eyes wide and watery, her breathing growing heavier. “What’s wrong with me…?”

She looked down at herself, feeling a distinct surge of passion.

“It’s the aphrodisiac effect of the Rofenia Herb.”

Roland explained, unable to resist reaching out and touching her.

“Haaah—huh—”

Under the potion’s influence, the woman in his arms was clearly growing aroused. Freya’s eyes flickered. Gathering her courage, she tilted her head back and slowly wrapped her arms around Roland’s neck, climbing up from below.

“What is it?”

Roland’s heart pounded, a sense of unease washing over him. His body, it seemed, was far too honest.

“I don’t know why right now…” Freya’s face was flushed. “I don’t feel disgusted anymore.”

Closing her eyes, her long, narrow lashes glistened with tears. She rose onto her tiptoes, pulled him closer with a forceful tug of her arms, and aimed her lips at his.

Roland couldn’t remember how many times he had tasted the Little Demon Lord’s lips, but this time felt different. Their previous kisses had been born of life-or-death situations or sheer necessity, tense and fleeting. This time, however, there were no distractions or external influences. In this confined space, he could feel her burning body aggressively pressing against him. Though he knew this wasn’t out of affection for him, but rather the potion’s effect, he felt an incredible, unbelievable pleasure surge from his toes to the crown of his head.

‘What’s wrong with me? Why, even after having seen her true form before, can I not resist her now?’

His brows furrowed deeply, and the hands resting behind Freya’s back clenched, as if struggling.

After a long while, he was the first to succumb to the suffocating sensation, breaking the kiss.

“Ha…” “Hoo…”

Separated, they both gasped for air, their faces flushed crimson from the lack of oxygen.

Freya took a few breaths, then said, “I don’t quite understand…”

“What?”

“What do we do next?” She looked at Roland with an innocent gaze, panting softly in nervousness, her long, narrow lashes fluttering delicately. She looked just like a pure and lovely lamb, foolishly wandering into a pack of wolves. “I don’t quite understand…”

‘You, you idiot…’

“…”

Roland swallowed, his eyes filled with a complex emotion.

“You…” He turned his face slightly, unwilling to meet Freya’s gaze. “Will you regret this?”

“Regret what?”

Freya looked confused, her head tilted slightly at an adorable angle.

“If we continue, I’m afraid you might regret it.”

Roland looked at her seriously, a hint of hesitation mixed with desire in his heart.

“I don’t understand…” Freya placed her hands on her chest. “I don’t understand what you’re saying…”

“…”

Roland fell silent for a moment, lost in thought.

‘If you recover your memories and realize you are the Demon Lord, and I, the Hero, took your purity, what would you do? How could I possibly ask that?’

“Um…”

Before Roland could speak, Freya called out, placing both hands on either side of Roland’s face, staring at him intently.

“Hm?”

“As long as… you truly like me…” Freya bit her lip shyly, her gaze shifting left and right. “Then no matter what happens, I… I… I won’t regret it!”

After saying this, she gently lowered her head, falling silent.

‘Like you… I…’

Roland fell into a reverie, recalling his past life, his current one, the battle in the Thunderous Ruins, the life-or-death struggle beneath the Holy Sword, the near-miss on that rainy night, the separation from the frozen undead, and the night after they met again.

What was the Demon Lord like in her past life?

He settled his mind again, trying to remember.

He remembered her snapping her fingers, turning Archery Master Bright into a monster.

He remembered her being terrified by Sword Saint Reid, nearly getting cut down.

He remembered her laughing triumphantly after trapping him in a magic circle, only to accidentally sacrifice herself.

But her appearance…

Strangely, only Freya’s current appearance was imprinted in his memories.

‘Tsk… Impossible. I am the Hero. I couldn’t possibly fall for the Demon Lord. Even if she takes on a woman’s form, even if she… Damn it, could she have been faking it all along? When exactly was I influenced? Was it when the Holy Sword took over my body? Or that rainy night when I fell ill?’

Thump, thump, thump—

While he was deep in thought, an urgent knocking came from outside the door.

“Big news, big news, Mr. Roland—”

It was Roxy’s voice.

“The Church demands everyone gather in the plaza in front of the cathedral immediately! They have something extremely important to announce!”

“What is it?”

Freya’s voice was strangely low. She held Roland tightly, with great force.

“It’s the Hero! The Hero has appeared!”