Taming The Villainesses
Chapter 440: Inheritance (1)

Shff.

Saint Priga’s hand gently brushed over the small half-fairy’s cheek and forehead.

Maybe because her touch was cool, the child’s tightly scrunched-up face relaxed a little.

Having once suffered from fever myself, I knew all too well how comforting a cool hand could feel against burning skin. Seeing the child ease even slightly set my mind a bit at ease.

Shff, shff, shff.

As her hand continued to smooth over the small child’s brow and cheeks, it suddenly stopped. Saint Priga tied back her long, trailing hair and lightly offered her diagnosis.

“He’s sick. His small body can’t keep up with the rapid growth of the magic surging within. It’s called Scarlet Fever. It’s a disease where the entire body turns red...”

Scarlet Fever.

A very intuitive name.

According to Priga, the disease the child was suffering from was actually a fairly common one.

It seems everyone in this world is born carrying a certain amount of innate red mana, and sometimes that mana could lead to illness.

“It’s especially common in Angmar.”

If it was that common, wouldn’t the cure already be well known too?

It seemed that not only I had that question—nymph Trish, the child’s mother, wore the same expression of cautious hope as she asked, unable to fully hide her distrust of Saint Priga, who had just been attacking us moments ago.

“If it’s Scarlet Fever... is there a way to cure it?”

Shake, shake.

Priga shook her head.

“There isn’t. At best, you can only delay it. You can, for example, burn the magic circuits and blood vessels where mana flows to temporarily halt its movement.”

Burning the magic circuits...

A thought occurred to me.

“You mean using something like Pallasgas' Red Seal.”

Pallasgas' Red Seal.

Originally, my own body had had its magic circuits sealed off to prevent me from using magic at all. It was only thanks to the antidote I received from Lady Kalira, the pharmacist of the underground market, that I was able to heal from that.

Priga nodded.

“You’re well informed, Lord Teo. You seal the magic circuits, wait until the body matures to a certain extent, and then release the seal so the body can safely channel magic.”

It was exactly the same method I had undergone.

Now I understood why my own magic circuits had been seared—it had been to save me as a small half-fairy child.

But Trish shook her head.

“The circuits were sealed long ago. And still, his condition hasn’t improved. What should we do in a case like this?”

It seemed the half-fairy child’s circuits had already been sealed using the Red Seal. His growing dark brown hair, inherited from his mother, was proof enough.

Once the seal on his magic was lifted, crimson hair like mine would slowly start to grow. Even now, atop my own head, small patches of red stood out like little maple leaves—an omen, they said, of the unsealing magic beginning to bloom, following the color of the powerful red mana running through me.

“......”

Priga fell silent, her eyes of deep cosmic color closing as if sinking into thought.

At that moment, Narmee raised her hand and smacked the Saint hard on the back.

Smack!

“Quit stalling and talk!”

“......”

But Priga only remained silent.

I realized then: she was the same kind of person as Ayra. Someone who would rather say nothing than lie.

I spoke.

“...There’s no cure, is there?”

Slide.

Priga’s long, thin eyelashes lifted.

“...That’s right. They say geniuses and beauties die young. Sometimes, overwhelming talent and skill can become a curse that gnaws away at one’s very life.”

“A curse...”

“That child has the greatest innate magical talent I’ve ever seen. But he won’t live to realize it. He’ll die before he reaches the age of ten.”

It was at that moment.

Fwoosh—!

Elga, who had been quietly listening, grabbed Priga by the collar and lifted her up.

“You—! What the hell are you saying?! Die before ten?! You know how absurd that sounds! Don’t you?!”

“......”

At Elga’s outburst, Priga’s cosmic eyes shifted between me and the small child. Closing her eyes, she muttered softly, “...I don’t know anymore.”

I understood how she felt.

With the insight of the mind’s eye, someone like Saint Priga would have already seen through the truth: that I and that half-fairy child were the same person.

And yet, here I was, alive and far beyond ten years old.

The discrepancy must have shaken her deeply.

I was the ❀ ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) result of something. An equation like:

Small Half-Fairy + Something = Teo Gospel of Today

Whatever that "something" was, I had no way of knowing yet. But instinctively, I knew it was incredibly important to me.

I asked Saint Priga.

“That Scarlet Fever... is it... inheritable?”

Everyone’s gaze turned to me at once. I had wanted to ask in one breath, but the words stuck stubbornly in my throat.

I couldn’t say it.

I just couldn’t say it.

But Saint Priga was quick—and merciless.

“Yes.”

She answered without hesitation.

“It’s hereditary.”

***

Children resemble their mothers and fathers.

In the shape of their nose, in the color of their hair. Maybe even in bad habits—like snoring or grinding their teeth while sleeping.

Elga’s daughter, Leonoi, would surely resemble Elga.

Maybe she'd grow up so lively she'd be a handful, a little rascal. Maybe her personality would be blunt and unrefined, prickly like a thorn.

I had never raised a daughter before. But if I were to raise a daughter who resembled Elga, I could easily imagine the exhaustion—the endless attention she would demand.

Reinhardt would understand that hardship better than anyone.

Of course, she might not take after Elga perfectly. Half of her would come from me, after all. One thing was certain: her magical ability would be outstanding. Even before being born, while still inside her mother’s womb, she had enough power to protect her.

“......”

In magic, bloodlines were said to be the most crucial factor.

While everyone else remained silent, Ayra spoke quietly.

“The talent for magic is mostly determined by the blood that flows through you. And as the generations continue, that power becomes stronger, the talent more fully awakened. My child will surely become a greater magician than me.”

Ayra was right.

The sensitivity to mana sharpened with each successive generation. That was part of why I had the potential to surpass Solomon—the Demon King himself.

How many times had that potential saved my life already? In truth, I was grateful for it. But right now... that gratitude turned bitter.

Still.

Elga, unwilling to accept it, spoke stubbornly.

“But... that doesn’t mean it’s definitely inherited, right? I mean, I was healthy growing up. Never caught a cold, not even once! People from Leones are built tough! Maybe it’ll just pass like a mild fever!”

She was rambling, and I understood all too well how much her heart was shaking. If your unborn child had already been sentenced to death...

I looked at the half-fairy, clutched tight in Trish’s arms.

He looked terribly sick.

Imagining Leonoi enduring that kind of pain, only to wither away like a crimson autumn leaf—it tore at my heart.

For someone like Elga, who loved her family fiercely, who carried her child in her own body—it would be an unbearable pain.

“Don’t be ridiculous...! I won’t accept it. There has to be a way. There has to be some way!”

Elga shouted, but none of us could say anything. We could only wear heavy, grim expressions.

It was then that Ayra spoke.

“You’re right, Erganes. There is a way.”

“...What are you talking about?”

“Think about it carefully. Talent is something bestowed by the heavens. So—if we bring down the heavens, that’s the end of it.”

Her words were ambiguous, trailing off.

Bring down the heavens?

Elga, who had started to retort, froze mid-sentence with a shocked look.

“Ayra, you’re not saying—?”

“Yes. Why do you think we’re sitting here in this absurd flower field? We didn’t come for a picnic. We came to touch the sky. To drag it down.”

Crack.

It felt as if a bolt of lightning struck my head.

Yes, Ayra was right.

The talent for magic was innate. Magic itself existed only because there was a god—the God of Flame.

If that god were to disappear from this world—then mana, and the very concept of magic, would vanish too.

No magic.

No mana.

No Scarlet Fever.

It was a painfully clear solution.

But Saint Priga looked horrified.

“To erase mana... Do you even understand the catastrophe that would unleash?! How hard do you think humanity fought to drive out the monsters?! You want to return us to a time when we cowered behind walls, hiding from beasts?!”

Right. Priga had appeared here in the first place to stop us.

If we were to confront the God of Flame—and kill him—the chaos that would sweep the world would not be something that could be explained away with a word like “revolution.”

Before magic, the world had been ruled by giant beasts, fairies, and monsters. Humans had been no more than mice, scurrying in the shadows.

If magic disappeared, humanity would once again have to flee—into the mountains, into the deep forests, to survive.

Priga said:

“Teo Gospel. For your personal desire, countless people may die or suffer. Can you bear that weight?”

It felt like a cruel balance game.

Will you sacrifice the one you love to save countless faceless strangers? Or will you forsake everything to save the one you love?

I had always thought those kinds of dilemmas were just cheap jokes.

But now I was standing at the crossroads myself.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced—a story I had heard long ago, like a dream.

The Demon King Solomon.

He, too, had once sacrificed everything to try to bring back a nymph he loved. Perhaps that desire, that fate, had been passed down in my blood.

Only now did I feel like I could understand his heart.

But.

At the same time, I was also very different from Solomon.

Where he would have pressed the button without hesitation—I stopped, my hand hovering.

Was that weakness?

Compassion?

An evolved form of something deeper?

Or perhaps, simply degeneration.

It felt like Priga had sensed that hesitation in me—and was trying to wedge her way in.

“I’ll find a way through the Church. We’ll try everything. We have many healers. So please, I beg you...”

Shff.

She knelt down before me, placing her forehead on the ground.

Discarding all pride, Saint Priga pleaded.

And to me... that sight, her on her knees, was far harder to deal with than when she had attacked us as a rampaging monster.

If only we could have just fought and settled things through brute force—it would’ve been so much easier.

While everyone’s eyes bore into me—

“Please... just give me a little time.”

I cowardly bought myself some breathing room.

Step, step.

I walked away from them, into the quiet ruins of the temple. The eternal flower field, untouched by the flow of time, was the perfect place to clear my head.

But my mind was a tangled mess of the conversations we had just shared.

If I wanted a family—I might have to take away someone else's families.

Could I really bear the hatred of countless people?

Would the child I saved grow up happy, knowing all that had been lost for her?

They would curse her. They would point at her. Far worse than what I had endured.

Thinking of Leonoi facing that kind of hatred—I could barely breathe.

In this moment—what choice was the right one?

I...

It was then.

Someone approached me.

“You.”

“...You’re...”

It was nymph Trish.

It seemed she had left the child in the care of the others for a moment—glancing back, I could see the noble ladies cooling the boy’s forehead and arms with their cool hands.

Trish must have seized the moment to follow me.

“Your name... you said it’s Teo Gospel, right?”

“......”

“I’ve never heard that name before. But—you knew my name. Beatrice. There’s only one person who’s ever called me that.”

The woman slowly circled me.

I answered her bluntly.

“...I can’t tell you anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

She smiled faintly.

“We’re nymphs. Sometimes, nymphs don’t need words to understand each other.”

Trish’s hand touched my forehead.

Her touch was exactly as I remembered it.

No—exactly as I remembered it: cool and gentle.