Sustaining The King’s Life - Chapter 242

Faustina had gone out of the room and Orwell now propped to the couch with head leaned to the cushion. Orwell was the one who told Faustina to get out and unwind to refresh her mind first. But now that she’s taking quite a bit long, Orwell realized that it might have been a bad idea after all. He stood up and then ambled his way outside the room. It was quite a chilly noon, because autumn was nearing. Orwell realized he had the wrong pair of clothes.

Orwell had been wondering for a while now; about Magierstadt’s decisions and the reason why Faustina had a sealed mana and was chased by a marionette. He wondered some happenstances seem to connect, but their links are missing. All resided into mere predictions. Orwell guessed that their hypotheses lack evidence and proof but… “They’re still plausible.”

He walked towards the hallway with only one thing in mind.

Faustina.

There was something about her that puts her into something in between everything. Orwell couldn’t narrow down whether that was coincidence or not. But whatever it is—he was certain that Faustina was involved in some way.

The sun was up, and the world was still welcoming the day ahead. Two days from now they should be getting back to Magierstadt. He was sent all Faustina’s lessons so she wouldn’t be far behind. What was good about the school of magic was that they are more on magical application rather than lectures, so it wasn’t that difficult. Just a few hiccups and they should be done. Orwell then stopped to his tracks to bow down to the walking priestess who was with her Diener des Lichts.

“Priestess,”

“You were just the person I was going to meet.”

Orwell lifted his head.

“Did you find out anything about the red crystal?”

The red crystal. “I’ve encountered some materials from Zweitian books,”

Although Orwell found it rather uncomfortable to speak out in the open, Sheila gestured him to continue.

“I figured that some had called the red crystal ‘Warlock blood,’ ‘Warlock tears,’ and ‘Warlock curse’.”

“So, they’re all different contexts,” Sheila caressed her chin. “But all the same from a Warlock.”

Orwell nodded.

Fragments of a crystal had fallen into the concrete next to the corpse of one of the Warlock general that the first king annihilated in Zweite.

“The tincture.” Sheila exclaimed. “That is the common name for the philosopher’s stone, right? But its origin varies within regions in Zweite. How are your research going?”

“I still am on the progress, priestess.”

“I am expecting good results.” The priestess smiled, and left.

Orwell continued to walk ahead, to search for Faustina. That’s right—he was given the fragments of the tincture. The tincture which had the color of a cyan gem. Orwell had an eerie feeling about the similarities it posed to Faustina’s staff. But that might be just a color.

But none of things seemed to be coincidental—as Faustina seemed to be caught in the middle of it all.

Orwell had hypotheses that also revolted him beyond bounds, so he chose to dismiss them. No entirely so, but he would think of them as the least possible predictions…

Orwell had searched for Faustina in all the possible places she could be. In the end he got tired to guessing and so he thumped his staff to the floor, evoking a magic circle. He closed his eyes, sensing her mana.

“Found you.”

He then summoned a magic circle that had markings that depicted a certain spell:

Teleportation.

—

Orwell had silently teleported a meter away where Faustina is.

She was standing in front of the king’s office, peeking at the door.

“What are you doing?”

Tears poured down to Faustina’s face and Orwell felt a painful tug on his chest as he sees her in tears. He immediately went closer to her, consoling her, asking her what was wrong. Was she in pain? What’s going on?

Orwell blinked, realizing something else.

What was Faustina looking at the crack on the door?

Through Orwell’s olive-green eyes that was made clearer from his glasses he saw it.

A woman that was half-undressed and a man hovering before her.

Those familiar figures.

The king… and Lilianne?

“What… the hell…” It wasn’t Orwell who said these words.

“What the hell is happening here?” Sheila then opened the door with her grim tone. Lilianne’s eyes widened as she hastily and abruptly rearranged her clothes.

The crying Faustina only bowed her head down, unable to look at the king’s face, nor anyone else’s.

And Orwell who was confused and bewildered by the situation stood by Faustina’s side, holding her by her hand.

“Your majesty,” Sheila thumped her staff to the floor as golden threads wrapped around the king. “Explain yourself!”

The king smiled.

“I was about to do her.” He smirked. “Until you came in. Priestess.”

And in a matter of second Sheila’s staff was in the king’s left chest—in the clock seal.

“As I thought,” Sheila gritted her teeth. “Get out of the king’s body this instant, Second king, Julius!”

The king smirked as he closed his eyes. And the next thing that they knew, there was another soul in the body.

Slowly opening his eyes was the ninth king of Feuersturm. He stared at the spectacle before him. And that’s when he saw Faustina with head bowed down and was being held in Orwell’s arm. Orwell was looking at him with sheer bewilderment, surprise, and emotions he couldn’t narrow down. Whereas Sheila…

“You’re back.” She said coldly. “Maids.”

The maids then ambled their way towards Lilianne, escorting her out of the office. Lilianne then looked at the king with one confused look. The king met her eyes, and noticed her disheveled hair and clothes, flushed face, and the red spots by her neck.

The king froze in his spot as the doors shut tight. Silence surrounded the study and the king couldn’t even hide his pale face.

“I…” The king murmured. “What happened?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sheila said as she crossed her arms. “You dug your own grave.”

The king then stared at her clothes. He was half-n.a.k.e.d. He then begun to rearrange himself.

“Julius took over your body and then saw a pretty woman. What else could he have done, knowing how his personality is?” Sheila said. “All of this happened because you said you can handle yourself better now!”

The king stared at Sheila.

“In the end, you still need me to assist you. You’re still not ready to be alone all the time. Just because a crack in her seal is formed doesn’t mean you have a full control of yourself.” Sheila then turned to Faustina, “This girl is still incapable of fully sustaining your life. I don’t even want to know what Julius did to that girl. I am going to come up with excuses to her. Fix your mess, your majesty.”

And with that, Sheila took her leave with a loud shut on the door.

The king couldn’t help but look at Faustina who was still in Orwell’s arms.

“Then, we’ll take out leave too, Your majesty.” Orwell politely exclaimed as he tentatively held Faustina.

“I,” the king said. “I want to talk to Faustina.”

Faustina flinched in response.

“I have something to—”

“No!” Faustina refused without lifting her head.

“Faustina…” Orwell murmured. He then stared straight at the king. “I’m afraid she needs some rest, your majesty.”

The king knew he couldn’t force Faustina to stay. And he doesn’t even know why he was doing this. She wasn’t looking at him in the eye, and the tone of her voice was so different. The king flt as if he had to tell her something.

Something.

“We’ll take our leave.” Orwell said. “Glory upon the Feuersturm Empire.”

**

Faustina was sobbing.

The moment they returned, Faustina sat down to the couch and let her tears flow down to her face. And Orwell had wiped her tears with a handkerchief, “here. Blow your nose.”

And so she did.

Faustina felt better after a while, but her eyes were still swollen.

“Are you alright?”

Orwell was looking at her with eyes that are filled with concern. Faustina felt better after he wiped the left over tears on the corner of her eyes with his thumb.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “The future Eulalia shouldn’t cry on trivial things.”

Faustina then turned to Orwell who then warmly smiled at her. He then gently embraced her, patting her back.

“Don’t cry anymore, Faustina.”

Faustina’s tears began to resurface, but they weren’t the painful tears anymore.

She then hugged Orwell back gently.

“Thank you, Orwell.”

—

Nighttime.

The king was now in the throne room, back in his own body after the first king talked to Sheila.

“Shall I assist you to—”

The ninth king stared blankly. “No.”

Sheila stared at the king, and then headed out of the throne room.

Alexander Octavius IX leaned his back to the throne, staring at the dark of the night. Sheila had fixed everything for him, but not entirely.

“So she was announced as the official consort, huh…”

He used to not care about these things before.

But now…

“Faustina.” The king murmured in the dark.