Wendy gently pulled Greg's hand and led him to the side. The two of them bypassed a pile of collapsed timber and several broken walls, arriving at a relatively secluded corner.
Discarded wooden crates and worn clay pots were piled here, with a slanted tarp overhead providing cover, forming a semi-enclosed small space.
Although the sounds of battle and explosions in the distance were still clearly audible, at least here, they wouldn't be disturbed by phantom enemies or members of the Demon King Cult for the time being.
Greg watched her stop, waiting with some confusion for her to explain.
But Wendy didn't speak right away. She kept her head lowered, her hands clasped in front of her, her fingers nervously twisting together.
Her lips parted and closed a few times, yet she couldn't make a sound.
Her hesitant, tongue-tied appearance made Greg even more curious about what she wanted to say.
“Wendy, what exactly is this method you mentioned?” Greg prompted gently.
Wendy took a deep breath, as if having made up her mind, and looked up at Greg.
Her eyes held a hint of shyness, and her voice trembled slightly. “If the Lord Bishop is willing to believe me... please close your eyes.”
“Hmm?”
Greg was taken aback.
These words sounded incredibly familiar to him. The last time they were in the Magic Tower's emergency exit and Vivian said she wanted to give him a reward, she had also asked him to close his eyes.
But Greg's rationality told him that Wendy wasn't the type of person who would think about doing that kind of thing at such a critical moment.
After all, Victoria, Vivian, Lilith, and Veronica were still fighting hard up ahead.
She must have some unspeakable reason for doing this.
So Greg suppressed his doubts and closed his eyes just as Wendy had requested.
Wendy looked at Greg's closed eyes, her heart hammering wildly in her chest, almost bursting out of her ribs.
A single thought kept echoing in her mind—what if the method in her head didn't work?
If this was just a delusion born of desperation, not only would she have wasted precious time, but she might even make Greg dislike her.
But when she thought about those moments of déjà vu, they had all been real so far.
Everything that had happened in the dungeon cell, including the steward's faked death earlier and the appearance of those phantom enemies, had confirmed the accuracy of the blurry images in her mind.
Those images were like fragments accidentally gathered from the river of time; though fragmented, they had never been wrong.
So this time, she should trust her intuition as well.
Wendy finally made up her mind. She gently pressed her hands against Greg's shoulders, feeling the firm muscle lines beneath his clothing, and then stood on her tiptoes.
Greg was waiting with his eyes closed for the method Wendy spoke of, but he suddenly felt a warm breath gradually approaching, carrying a faint floral scent.
Then, a soft and warm sensation pressed against his lips.
Before he could react, something sweet, soft, and agile gently pried open his closed defenses, sliding in with an innocent and clumsy probing.
Surprised, Greg opened his eyes.
Meeting his gaze was Wendy's face, mere inches away. Her eyes were tightly shut, her eyelashes trembling slightly from nervousness, and her cheeks were flushed crimson like a rose blooming under the setting sun.
Reflected in the surrounding firelight, he saw a transparent thread of saliva break between their lips, like a brief and brilliant bridge connecting two worlds that should never have crossed paths.
“...”
Greg was momentarily speechless.
He had never expected Wendy to take the initiative to do something like this to him.
In his impression, Wendy had always been that intelligent and proper girl who could maintain her calm and rationality even in desperate situations.
But at this moment, the impact of this contrast caused his brain to go blank for a split second.
Feeling Greg's gaze, Wendy shyly averted her eyes. Her voice was as soft as a mosquito's buzz, yet it carried a serious plea:
“T-That... Although it might be a bit much to ask... please swallow it all, Lord Bishop... It should be useful.”
“Is that so...?”
Wendy stood on her tiptoes once more in front of him. Greg did not dodge—or rather, he had no intention of dodging in the first place.
Wendy not only possessed the looks of a heroine, but she had also shown outstanding capability in handling various matters.
To achieve his dreams in the future, he would naturally need talents like Wendy to assist him.
And now that she was willing to take the initiative to join his side, Greg was quite pleased.
After all, he had already developed that kind of relationship with the Kingdom's First Princess, the Holy Church's Candidate Saintess, and a silly maid with peerless swordsmanship. Adding an Imperial Princess to the mix didn't seem to make much of a difference anymore.
Moreover, he believed that Wendy was by no means simply love-brained; there had to be a reason behind her actions.
Thus, he did not resist, and his Adam's apple began to bob slowly.
“Gulp, gulp.”
As the gentle liquid entered his stomach, Greg suddenly felt the dark mana within his body begin to boil.
The sensation was not unfamiliar. It was just like... when he had swallowed the Mother of Fragmentation's severed finger last time. A wild and pure energy surged and churned within him, slamming into every corner of his limbs and bones.
His blood seemed to catch fire at this moment, and the mana flowing through his meridians raged like an ignited blaze, rampaging through his body with an almost savage power.
Just as Greg was reeling from this shock, yellowed images suddenly flashed across his mind.
Like long-buried film reels, those images carried a dusty, blurry quality, playing slowly frame by frame in his consciousness.
A setting sun.
A maple forest dyed golden-red.
The maple leaves swayed in the autumn wind, rustling like a melodious ancient ballad.
The ground was blanketed with a thick layer of fallen leaves, which would surely make a crisp crunching sound when stepped on.
As a gentle breeze swept through, the maple leaves danced in the air like butterflies, spinning and drifting down, enveloping the entire world in dreamlike colors.
A girl stood in the maple forest with her back turned to him.
She wore a beautiful long dress, its hem swaying gently in the breeze.
Her hands were clasped behind her back in a calm and elegant posture. Her honey-colored hair drifted softly in the wind, the tips of her locks gleaming with a soft golden luster under the setting sun.
She seemed to sense his presence and began to turn her head, frame by frame.
But at the exact moment Greg was about to clearly see her full face, the image blurred like smoke dispersed by the wind.
In the end, he could only see the faint smile lingering on the corner of her lips—gentle and restrained, carrying a sense of familiarity that spanned vast stretches of time, as if they had known each other for a very, very long time, so long that even memories had begun to fade.
The smile seemed to say to him: “You're finally here.”
Then, the vision ended, cutting off abruptly like a snapped film reel.
Rate on N.U.
