Mixed Bath (3)

Vikir was a little, well, a lot, embarrassed.

"Choco, your sister is here, too. Let's wash together!"

Saintess Dolores came into the bathroom.

Dolores L Quovadis, who is she?

A saintess of the former world who appeared during the Age of Destruction.

A hero of the ages, healing the wounded and slaying evil.

During the Warring States Period, when many small countries were proliferating, she was evaluated as much more than Saint Joan de Arc or Saint Helena, the classical saints whose names were widely known across the continent.

The authority and sanctity of Dolores' name in the Age of Destruction, when blood flowed like rivers and corpses made mountains, was comparable to that of a goddess.

...And?

I never thought I'd see Dolores with my own eyes as she entered the bathroom to bathe.

Vikir closed his eyes tightly and swallowed hard.

'Of course I don't have any unholy feelings of lust or anything.'

'... But regardless of that, if my comrades saw this, they would try to kill me.'

For those comrades who shared the battle against the Demon World, Dolores was an object of worship.

In those days, everyone owed her their lives at one time or another, great or small.

So, knowing that Vikir is now sharing a bathroom with Dolores in the form of a dog would certainly raise eyebrows.

Especially those of the Paladin class, who would surely draw their swords at the blasphemy.

'I apologize, comrades. I'll get out of here as soon as I can.'

Vikir felt a surge of guilt and quickly tried to get out of the bathtub.

Of course.

"Choco, where are you going, you should be bathing with your sister!"

Dolores smiled brightly and grabbed Vikir's body, pulling him back into the tub.

Dolores then began to scrub Vikir's body with a light lather of soap.

"What are you, a little kid, with all these scars, did you get into a fight with the other kids?"

"...."

Vikir closed his eyes and tried to stay as still as possible.

But there was no way to escape the gentle touch as it ravaged every inch of his body.

'It is said that the Rune Gods are manipulators of cause and effect. If so, the god of this world must be a delusional man with a grim ego.'

Vikir gritted his teeth in internal blasphemy.

Dolores, meanwhile, pulled Vikir into her arms and soaked in the herbal bath.

"Ah, it's warm. Choco, right?"

"...."

"I work so hard to clean you, and you don't clean me? It's a little unfair, isn't it?"

"...."

Meanwhile, Vikir was forced to blaspheme once more.

Regardless, Vikir felt his body recovering.

The wounds inflicted by the Lich and the Ragged Golem, two high-ranking undead, were healing quickly.

Internal wounds that were not easily healed, even with the resilience of a dog's flesh, were healing, and his depleted mana was rapidly replenishing.

When Vikir closed his eyes and remained motionless, Dolores said curiously.

"What? You closed your eyes, that feels good, my choco, huh? Ooooooo~"

"...."

But Vikir was thinking of something else entirely.

'If I want to reach Swordmaster, I need to change my training methods a bit.'

A good idea... no, a thought for the Path of salvation.

Vikir began to closely analyze his mana and sword skills.

His current aura was at the level of a sticky liquid, the highest level of the Graduator.

My swordsmanship is at the level of a Baskerville Sixth Form Master, barely scratching the surface of the Seventh Form.

To reach the level of Swordmaster, you must be able to solidify the density of your aura to the level of a solid, and you must also master the Seventh Form.

'...Baskerville 7th Form.'

Currently, the only person who has mastered the Seventh Form is the head of the family, Hugo Baskerville.

Considering the prowess he displayed when he slaughtered Andromalius, there was a huge gap between Hugo's 7th and Vikir's 7th.

'Baskerville's teeth are used for biting, chewing, cutting, crushing, and mincing prey. The sword itself resembles the upper and lower jaws of a hunting dog. The seventh tooth, in particular, is crucial in its connection to the sixth, and to fully realize the look of this 'ambush horizontal bicuspid canine'....'

Vikir is deliberately and diligently rolling his hair.

But Vikir's preconceptions are quickly shattered.

"Wow – look at the pink jelly on his paws."

Dolores lifted Vikir's front paw and kissed the pads.

She stroked his head, pressed his cheeks, touched his chin, and rubbed his belly, and Vikir couldn't think straight.

Finally, Dolores wiped the foam from the tip of Vikir's nose with the tip of her own and said.

"Dogs usually kiss often."

"...."

"You don't give me kisses. It's a shame."

"...."

"Are you sure you're a dog? This is suspicious."

Dolores cupped Vikir's cheeks and laughed.

And the moment he heard the words.

The words-

Vikir's heart sank.

'If she's found out I'm not a dog, it's over.'

He couldn't imagine what terrible things would happen then.

Perhaps I'd have to wage a bloody slaughter against the entire Inquisition of Quovadis, who would be enraged....

'If that were to happen, Baskerville might be moved.'

The Baskervilles and the Quovadis are the backbone of the Empire.

If war were to break out between these two families, it would be on a scale as large as any of the nation-state wars of the Warring States period before the unification of the Empire.

In that case, it might be better to close your eyes once and for all.

We can't afford to cause internal strife among mankind in the face of an annihilation war with the demons.

...In many ways, I can't help it.

'I'm sorry, comrades.'

Vikir closed his eyes and did something he had never done before in his entire life: deviate.

jjog-

He ran his tongue across Dolores's cheek once.

And Dolores, who was kissed by Vikir, said.

"Awww, how cute!"

She hugged Vikir tightly and bombarded him with kisses.

This was also an unexpected accident.

* * *

The long but short bath was over.

Dolores stepped out of the bathroom, dried herself off, and went straight to bed.

In the third year, everyone is in a single-occupancy room, and the bed is narrow for a single person.

Dolores pulled the blankets over her and hugged Vikir tightly.

"It's good to have someone to talk to and fall asleep with tonight."

Vikir did not escape her lips on his nose again.

After a while, Dolores lay down with Vikir in her arms and opened her mouth.

"Many people come to me for counseling, confessing their vices and misdeeds, seeking indulgence and repentance."

"...."

"But I have no one to whom I can confide my troubles or misdeeds. Where can I go to confess?"

Vikir closed his eyes and thought.

Once, while fighting Dantalian, Vikir had experienced a strong connection with her spirit when the Awakened Dolores had buffed him.

Dolores' words from that time came back to her now.

'Everyone in the world confesses their sins and pours out their troubles to me,... but to whom do I confess my sins and pour out my troubles?'

Sometimes it's not enough to talk to God. There are moments when you want to talk to a fellow human being.

Coincidentally, Dolores was confiding in the Night Hound about the same thing.

Although she doesn't recognize them as the same person.

Dolores' relationship with her father, who was divided between the Old and New Testaments. Tired of always being the model student, the one who is expected to do well. Always having to be good, always having to perform well, and only being good enough. A life where one slip-up is met with consternation and undue criticism....

All of this pressure weighs heavily on Dolores' shoulders.

Dolores looked at Vikir and said.

"It's strange that I'm saying all this to you, it feels strangely familiar."

"...."

Vikir closed his eyes wordlessly.

Hadn't she been told once that she could read the souls of her subjects?

Her ability, though still faint, seems to be growing.

Is that why?

Dolores confided to Vikir one of the biggest questions that had been on her mind lately.

"Am I going to die a virgin, never having held a man's hand in my life?"

At the same time, Dolores squeezed Vikir's front paw.

She closed her eyes and whispered in Vikir's ear.

"Actually, there's a guy who's been bothering me a bit lately."

The words came as a surprise. Vikir perked up one ear.

What kind of man could be on the mind of Dolores of all people?

'I don't know who it is, but... must be the enemy of many men.'

Vikir thought quietly to himself.

If Dolores had spoken these words during the Age of Destruction, many men would have been outraged.

After all, she was the idol of the age.

Meanwhile.

Dolores held Vikir tightly in her arms and pictured a nameless, faceless man in her mind.

The Night Hound.

A man who had saved her from a terrifying demon, who had kept a terrible plague at bay, who had taken her under his wing when she felt unappreciated and unwanted.

If he wasn't that kind of man, was there any man in the world who could handle herself?

Dolores thought so.

An unknown, but good man. A handsome man.

A man with enough power to defeat a mighty demon, but who would still help the sick and poor, covered in filth and profanity, and who understood their pain.

'And... then the demon said he was handsome, too.'

Dolores blushed for a moment.

She didn't think a person's appearance was important, but... well, it couldn't hurt to be good-looking, could it? She decided to think so.

After taking a bath and lying naked on the fluffy bedding, she drifted off to sleep.

'Oh well. I still have some work to do today. I need to write to the Pope and ask him about the phenomena of 'awakening' and 'resonance' in saints....'

But at dawn, when the weight of her eyelids was the heaviest in the world, Dolores finally fell asleep.

She fell into a deep sleep, her face glowing.

And.

"...."

A hound stares down at her sleeping face.

And then.

Beep-.

The window opened.

"I owe you ...."

The hound, now fully recovered, began to melt into the darkness once more.