The Immortal Had a Guardian Spirit Chapter 27

Knock, knock.

‘They won’t even let me rest.’

Without lowering his hand, he answered with his mouth alone.

“Come in.”

“Sir Starve.”

“…Saerin?”

Starve straightened his upper body and looked toward where the voice came from. At the end of his gaze stood a woman holding a bundle of documents.

“I have news to deliver to you.”

“You’re busy—you could have sent someone lower down. Why come yourself… What news?”

“One of our funding sources…”

“Got hit again, I see.”

I heard the slavers got hit not long ago.

Nothing new. He calmly took the documents.

As he read through the lines to grasp the details, a hesitant voice followed—as if that wasn’t all.

“Yes, but the problem is… they say there was a transaction ledger there.”

“…Ha.”

He’d just read that part.

Having quickly grasped the contents through speed-reading honed by paperwork, Starve let out a sneer.

“That slaver who got hit recently was under his jurisdiction too, wasn’t he…”

Of all things, now the ledger gets taken. Unbelievable. Sure, he was a disposable piece, but there are limits to stupidity—to think he’d kept such an idiot who couldn’t even guard his own tail under him all this time.

“This won’t directly harm us, but we can’t just let this slide.”

It wasn’t the only funding source, and he’d made sure there was an escape route. Since it was merely a matter of making a small investment and collecting a commission, he could just play dumb and it wouldn’t be a problem—but if the home country wanted to make an issue of it, it would become quite troublesome.

“I’ll have that fool brought before me.”

“I’ll relay the message.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Raven’s second disciple, Liv, who obtained information as quickly as her earnestness demanded, let out an incredulous laugh upon hearing that Deceiver had brought the one presumed to be their master to the palace.

“The quiet cat climbs the chimney first, they say…”

He’d been unusually quiet—who would have thought he was preparing to snatch the master from behind?

After muttering a southern proverb she’d heard from Hwan, she couldn’t just stay still now that the master’s whereabouts were known. She moved immediately.

‘I need someone who can quietly spirit the master away.’

Who would be suitable?

The palace forbade the use of unapproved sorcery, so Hwan, a sorcerer, would be useless. Rowina, a warrior, would surely cause a ruckus and create problems. …Besides, both of them were currently away anyway.

‘I sent them to the most promising lead among the discovery reports of those presumed to be the master, but neither turned out to be him. It’s going to be quite noisy when they get back.’

Either way, the conclusion was clear.

“So it has to be you.”

Liv secretly summoned Altair.

The man, called in abruptly with word that it concerned ‘Raven’ and having heard the situation, tilted his head askew.

“You seem to trust me too much. Don’t you think I might kill him?”

“No matter how you are, you’d want to avoid making enemies of all the other Association heads.”

It didn’t matter if they were equally on bad terms with each other, but becoming a sole target would be troublesome.

“Besides, Deceiver won’t stay still either. You know—we can only handle that bastard if we all unite.”

And even that is holding on through circumstance, not power. The fact that we’d all die is something even Deceiver would want to avoid.

“You wouldn’t want to earn that bastard’s grudge while having us as enemies.”

“…Fine, whatever. Besides, you lot need to finish your business quickly so my turn comes around anyway.”

In the first place, even if they tried to entrust it to someone else, he’d intended to step forward himself. In a bad way, but still—no one wanted to see the master’s face more than he did.

That was why Altair nodded readily.

“I’ll bring the master. Just wait.”

∞ ∞ ∞

Raven dismissed all attendants, rinsed his body lightly, and stepped into the bathtub.

Normally, one shouldn’t soak when wounded, but so what? It wasn’t like he’d die anyway.

Still, the bloodstained water was unpleasant to look at, and he knew it would be a hassle to clean up later. He was staring at it with a troubled expression, wondering whether he should get out now, when the door opened and someone barged in without permission.

“I knew it.”

Raven frowned immediately upon seeing the familiar face.

“Get out.”

“I told you, it hurts my feelings when you’re so cold.”

“I said get out.”

“I’ve come to treat you, Master.”

Deceiver smiled brightly and waved some elven herbs.

“Didn’t I tell you? That I would never forget this debt of gratitude.”

“Thank you so much, Sir Raven. I will never forget this kindness!”

“…You bastard.”

Recalling the words he’d said when he was Diddy—truly shameless. Was he deliberately provoking him, or did he genuinely not understand, being not human?

Either way, the remark was grating, and Raven let his sharp anger show without restraint, raising his voice.

“I don’t need it, so get out this instant—! Urgh!”

“You must have sustained internal injuries when you saved me. I noticed you weren’t spitting up blood except from the guardian spirit’s effect.”

Before he could even form a complete sentence, the herbs for internal injuries were shoved into his mouth.

No—it seemed there were also herbs mixed in to induce vomiting, not just for internal injuries. True to the potent elven herbs, the reaction was immediate.

“Hurk, ugh—!”

“You were swallowing the refluxing blood, weren’t you? You knew you needed to expel it, but you left it because it was a hassle.”

“You damned— ugh!”

“With a body that can’t even digest because time is stopped, what makes you so confident?”

Deceiver calmly tilted Raven’s head out of the bathtub.

Raven, roughly shaking off the hand, stuck his head out and spat blood. Deceiver looked at his momentarily brushed-off hand, then reached toward Raven again.

His injured leg was grabbed, and the bandages were undone.

“As you know, Father’s wounds can only be healed with herbs personally infused with power by the elven chief.”

“Huff… ptooey, I told you not to call me Father.”

“As the race most friendly to the world, the world is kind to them in return.”

And death is the world’s proxy.

It was only natural that the world’s kindness would have a slight effect on contracts with death.

Of course, even that didn’t produce perfect results—scars remained large, as if hastily forced together—but that was still something. For Raven, elven herbs were the only treatment available.

Deceiver slathered the herbs thickly over the deep, blood-gushing wound.

“That’s why when you prioritized delivering ‘Diddy’ over your own significant injuries, I was quite happy.”

“…”

“Because you put me before your own body.”

Of course, it was kindness directed at ‘Diddy,’ not ‘Deceiver’—but ultimately, they were the same person. Deceiver deliberately drew no distinction between the two.

“So this is my gratitude and repayment for delaying your journey to the elven territory for my sake. Accept it without burden.”

“Nonsense.”

Raven snatched the herbs thrust before him savagely.

“Protecting children is a natural duty of an adult, and you touched that part. That’s all.”

He took out some herbs, examined their condition, then rubbed and mashed them. He could feel the small wound on his fingertip closing. He moved his hand and applied it to the scratch caused by Diddy’s nails.

There was quite a lot left over—even after applying it to every small scrape, there’d still be some. Applying it one by one was a hassle; maybe he’d just dissolve it all in water and take a medicated bath, even if the effect was somewhat reduced.

Musing idly, he muttered to himself.

“You managed to get elven herbs. The Elven King wouldn’t have given them to you easily.”

“Just mortals who live a little longer, that’s all.”

After finishing the treatment on the leg wound, Deceiver shifted his target and began applying herbs to the knife marks on Raven’s neck left by the bandit leader. A low, mocking laugh followed.

“In the end, they’re powerless before a god, aren’t they?”

“God?”

This time, a sneer escaped Raven.

“Don’t talk about gods.”

“…”

“A being infinitely beneath comparison to a god.”

The hand applying the herbs stopped.

Deceiver didn’t bother to answer. Instead—

“Ugh!”

—he dug his finger into the wound.

Raven’s body stiffened reflexively at the sharp pain. Seeming somewhat satisfied, Deceiver smiled faintly and resumed applying the mashed herbs as if nothing had happened.

“Father, Master. You seem to keep forgetting…”

“…”

“I am the only one who can remember you in your entirety.”

“…”

Raven silently dumped all the herbs he’d received into the bathtub. Green herbs floated atop the already crimson water.

“In ten years, I never forgot you even once. I kept searching for you. Unlike those fools who forgot even which of their own skills came from you, I remember everything ‘Father taught me.'”

He felt like he’d said not to call him Father several times already.

He didn’t even want to deal with him anymore. Death had told him to return to the starting point and meet his youngest disciple, but what could he possibly gain from this bastard?

When he remembered the traces he’d found while examining the corpses in the forest—when the bastard boasted about using techniques learned from Father—Raven simply closed his eyes.

“Of course, there are others looking for you. But they’re searching based on old records for their own purposes—not truly remembering and missing you. Besides, their lifespans are short, so someday they’ll leave you.”

“…So.”

His eyelids rose slowly.

Green eyes, glowing distinctly with demonic energy, utterly unlike any ordinary human’s, fixed straight on Deceiver.

“Are you telling me now to lean on you?”

“…Father and I both live long, tedious lives that could be called eternal. If those who won’t easily leave this world want to remember each other, that wouldn’t be bad… but I know you won’t.”

“You know well.”

I’d rather die than lean on you. Eternal life? Just hearing it is dreadful.

The neck wound seemed to be treated as well—the hand withdrew. Raven leaned his back against the bathtub, draped his arms over the edge, and tilted his head back.

It seemed he was about to rattle off his purpose, but unexpectedly, Deceiver didn’t speak right away. At the tail end of the silence, a quiet apology dropped.

“I’m sorry.”

Hearing unexpected words, Raven turned his head.

“It wasn’t intentional that I got caught.”

“…”

“That bastard Death spoke to me—and that you were there too… I truly didn’t know.”

There had been a day when Death, who had been seeking Raven, didn’t leave immediately.

Just when it seemed to have finished its purpose and vanished, it appeared before Deceiver again.

Raven, passing through the corridor for a walk with a troubled mind after encountering Death, had witnessed the scene through a slightly open door.

“How long do you intend to keep this up?”

Death’s incomprehensible question.

“None of your business.”

And the cold reply from his youngest disciple.

“Aren’t you considering the backlash when you get caught later?”

“Just don’t get caught.”

“That’s problematic for me. His life ends by killing you. I can’t let him live forever.”

“That’s not my concern.”

The ensuing conversation pointed to the fact that Deceiver was the very enemy he’d been searching for.

His blood ran cold. His fingertips turned white and grew numb.

Raven, not even knowing what expression he wore, flung open the door.

“What did you just say?”

“…Father…!”

“I asked what you said.”

“No wonder you were emanating such strong energy today…! Death, you—!!”

“I’m asking you!!!”

Deceiver, who had been baring his teeth at Death, turned to look at his father, who had raised his voice for the first time, with a startled face.

There stood a man trembling violently with rage and betrayal, as if about to lose his sanity. Though clearly enraged, he looked precarious—as if he might shatter at the slightest touch.