She Who Became Immortal

Ten days had passed, during which there had been two battles.

Despite this, Mizetta hadn’t witnessed the fighting firsthand, nor had she been involved in any strategic meetings like she had been when she was with the Blitz faction. Her awareness of the battles came only from the wounded who arrived seeking her healing, making her realize that there had indeed been conflicts.

Once, Zonda Pauga, an orc-like beastman with arrows protruding from his shoulders, back, and thighs, had come to Mizetta’s room on his own two feet.

“I was too reckless,” he muttered gruffly, standing imposingly before Mizetta. Despite his intimidating size and fearsome presence, there was an oddly endearing quality to him.

A kobold accompanying Zonda extracted the arrows, and Mizetta healed the wounds with her magic. If it had been a human who had been shot thirteen times, they would have been dead long ago, but the beastman's body was remarkably resilient.

“I hear you’ve been asking everyone you’ve healed what they think of Euphemia. Why do you want to know that?” Zonda inquired, glaring at Mizetta.

Mizetta had no reason to hide her thoughts, so she spoke candidly.

“It’s because I don’t understand Lady Euphemia.”

“Don’t understand?”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Lady Euphemia’s former fiance abandoned her and chose me instead. It was because Lady Euphemia lacked the ‘magical talent’ necessary for nobility. The nobles insisted that ‘Euphemia was never truly noble’ and decided to execute her by burning at the stake.”

“So in the human world, it’s the strong who dominate?” Zonda said, showing neither disgust nor anger at the injustice that had befallen Euphemia. It was as if he accepted that the strong have the right to treat the weak as they please.

It seemed his resolve towards the world was fundamentally different. He appeared to have no belief in the possibility of surviving while remaining weak.

“The standards for ‘strength’ are probably different from those you’re familiar with,” Mizetta said.

“Indeed. There are various forms of strength. Euphemia is undoubtedly weak. However, among us, that young woman is the strongest.”

Zonda smiled with a satisfied grin.

“So, you believe Lady Euphemia is ‘strong’?”

“You’re impressively strong on your own. Whether you are a saint or not, someone who can heal so easily is surely a rarity even among humans.”

Zonda’s response was somewhat off-topic. Mizetta waited silently for him to continue. After a brief pause, Zonda spoke again.

“However, you are weak. You understand that, don’t you? Your remarkable abilities do not help you. You can’t live as you please; you are swept along by others.”

'Therefore, I am weak'

Such a thing isn’t what one would call strength.

Of course, Mizetta was already aware of this.

“...Not everyone can live exactly as they wish.”

Had she not been discovered by the Muller family, Mizetta would have continued healing villagers in her home village without ever leaving. Whether she still desired that life was uncertain.

Upon reflection, the villagers themselves were similar. Especially the young ones, who often left the village to escape a life they didn’t want. Mizetta doubted whether they had achieved the lives they wished for.

Most people are weak.

That is not something to be ashamed of.

“Maybe so. I’m the same. Despite my size and strength, I couldn’t entertain the Beast King or even ensure his safety,” Zonda murmured, as if lamenting his own shortcomings.

Despite their differing species, genders, and ways of life, Mizetta found a certain similarity in their reflections. She couldn’t help but smile softly. Sometimes, there’s nothing to do but laugh at such truths.

 

---

Fourteen days had passed since Mizetta’s abduction.

Having been taken away in nothing but her current attire, Mizetta had no change of clothes. However, this wasn’t a problem for her. Her healing magic included a spell called "Purification," which had the effect of keeping her surroundings clean.

Whether she was traveling, waiting at a base, or now confined within the fortress where she had been abducted, Mizetta regularly used "Purification" to maintain her body and clothing.

"Heehee, it’s quite fascinating, isn’t it? This 'Purification' magic of yours... heehee!"

The magic user Carozza Grimoire, a demon woman, observed Mizetta’s "Purification" with a peculiar laugh.

In the room assigned to Mizetta, there was always someone stationed there in shifts, but Carozza was the one who stayed the most.

With her unkempt, face-obscuring long hair and her strange way of speaking and laughing, Carozza didn’t exude the confidence that one might associate with other Grimoire demon members, like Junos.

"Fascinating... you say?" Mizetta responded.

"Yes! I mean, you clean with cloths and such, right? I don't do much cleaning myself, but when you clean a desk, the cloth gets dirty. To clean something, you have to dirty something else... or so they say!"

Carozza chuckled to herself, her laughter fading as she caught herself. Mizetta, who had initially been taken aback by Carozza’s quirks, had never disliked her from the start.

"Are you asking where the dirt goes after it’s been purified?"

"Yes! It shines and becomes clean, but there must be something that’s been removed. It’s not like you’re tossing it somewhere else... so where does it go?"

Carozza’s unique way of expressing herself was evident, but she was clear and coherent when discussing such topics. Mizetta found the perspective refreshing, though it didn’t particularly trouble her.

In truth, Mizetta herself didn’t fully understand why her healing magic was so powerful.

"It seems to be a different system of magic compared to the four elemental types. The use of magical power is quite distinct. The pathways? The circuits? The flow of magic is completely different from attack magic. For someone who has practiced magic, using healing magic might be more challenging—"

Suddenly, Carozza let out a sharp cry. Mizetta flinched slightly, only for the door to open and the most beautiful girl in the world to enter, smiling cheerfully.

It was Euphemia Grimwood.

It had been more than ten days since Mizetta had last seen her.

"Well, well, it’s me. I’m quite grateful for your cooperation, even your healing of my companions. It’s a pity that we can't spend more time together, but alas, we have other matters to attend to."

"...Lady Euphemia."

Mizetta couldn’t tell if Euphemia was genuinely disappointed. What was of greater concern was the implication of "other matters."

Even after Mizetta’s kidnapping, the Blitz faction had attacked the fortress twice.

There was no way they were unaware of Mizetta’s abduction. Thus, Blitz Orse Louisse must have continued the assaults with the stance that it was acceptable for the "Saint of Healing" to be killed. They likely had no intention of negotiating with Euphemia’s faction for Mizetta’s return.

...No, the real issue might be that the Blitz side might not even know that Euphemia Grimwood is in the "Beastman’s Fortress."

"The time has come. It was worth the wait. Reinforcements have arrived," Euphemia said, turning on her heel and leaving the room.

Mizetta had already been out of her room to eat in the mess hall the day after her abduction, so walking around the fortress wasn’t new to her.

However, it was her first time going up to the outer wall.

The wall was made of a stone-like material, but its construction was quite different from traditional stonework—an odd and peculiar wall. The top had a wide enough walkway for people to traverse, and there were siege weapons, like the crossbows Jack had reported, lined up.

Looking down from the top—there was an immense number of soldiers forming a camp on the hill opposite.

Not just hundreds or two hundreds. Perhaps six hundred from the entire army?

No, it was even more—far more.

Reinforcements.

They had brought even more soldiers.

"Looks like they’ve added about fifteen hundred more. It’s become so crowded that reconnaissance is nearly impossible, but they were overflowing from their positions about three days ago, camping near the exit of the demon realm," Euphemia said, laughing with an almost sinister delight.

Euphemia’s eyes, as she glared at the enemy army from the outer wall, betrayed no trace of fear.

This is something that can only be accepted, Mizetta thought. Everyone must think the same. No matter how strong a person might be, when faced with such overwhelming numbers, they would be swallowed up.

Yet Euphemia seemed to have been eagerly anticipating this very moment, her face lit up with a joyful, almost sinister smile.

"Now, I can take the stage for negotiations. Wait for it, 'Prodigal Prince.' I’ll crush your trivial schemes and laugh at them."

Euphemia murmured, gazing far beyond the enemy forces.

The scene was so dazzling that Mizetta squinted, like rays of the rising sun over the horizon streaking through her very being.

 

A warmth and calmness she would never understand.