I Slept with the Villain Holding My Hand Chapter 110

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The two were able to leave the bedroom without much delay—thanks to Nethesia having fallen asleep in the same robes she’d worn for the morning assembly. 

 

Normally, Zen would have grumbled about her not changing clothes properly, but this time, he kept his mouth shut.  

 

As they walked down the temple’s long corridor, Nethesia stole a glance at Zen’s profile. 

 

Even though he clearly sensed her gaze, he kept his eyes stubbornly forward. 

 

‘Typical Zen.’  

 

“So he’s not planning to speak until we arrive, huh?”  

 

She glared at her insolent aide and bodyguard before abruptly turning her head away.  

 

At the same time, Zen’s steps halted in front of a certain door.  

 

Nethesia’s eyes slowly widened. She was already slightly startled even before the door opened—because the place they now stood was one of the most heavily secured rooms in the entire temple.  

 

Outwardly, it looked like an ordinary chamber, but this was where the high priests conducted their prayers.  

 

Inside lay an altar that had existed since the temple’s founding.  

 

Unless explicitly permitted, ordinary people weren’t even allowed near it—let alone inside. Most didn’t even know its true significance.  

 

The fact that Zen had brought her here could only mean one thing: A permitted one had arrived at the temple.

 

She already felt a sigh threatening to escape. She’d known from the moment Zen barged into her bedroom that this wasn’t some trivial matter.  

 

‘Frankly, I’d rather run away before that door opens.’  

 

Whatever awaited her on the other side was guaranteed to give her a headache.  

 

But Zen acted faster.  

 

He knocked twice on the firmly shut door and announced in a clear voice:  

 

“High Priest, I’ve brought Lady Nethesia.”  

 

“…Let her in.”  

 

Zen slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open.  

 

Nethesia lifted her gaze and reluctantly stepped forward.  

 

It didn’t take long for her to fully enter the room, nor for Zen to securely lock the door behind them.  

 

As she surveyed the scene inside, a dry laugh escaped her lips.  

 

*”Ha… What in the world is this?”  

 

A blood-soaked emperor, a crown prince covered in ash, and a grand duke who looked as pristine as if he’d just stepped out of a bath.  

 

Nethesia stared at the three before turning her gaze back to Zen.  

 

“Did that terrifying crown prince finally stage a coup?”  

 

‘Ahem.’

 

Zen cleared his throat pointedly, drowning out her words.  

 

Nethesia shot him a frosty glare. 

 

‘If it’s not true, just say so.’  

 

She shrugged and turned back around.  

 

“High Priest, it’s been a while.”  

 

Altheon, who had already approached her, greeted her first.  

 

Nethesia quickly slipped into her High Priest persona and nodded.  

 

“His Majesty’s condition looks urgent. Let’s hear the explanation after treatment.”  

 

She strode past Altheon toward the center of the room.  

 

The circular stone slab placed there was the altar that had existed since the temple’s founding.  

 

When the high priests took turns offering prayers upon it, the altar absorbed a fixed amount of divine energy.  

 

Over time, this accumulated power had become the temple’s lifeblood—its greatest treasure.  

 

And so, on very rare occasions, it was also used for another purpose.  

 

Like a bed that slowly restored the dying.  

 

Of course, not just anyone was allowed to lie upon it. But for the Emperor of the Tristan Empire? More than qualified.  

 

Though the temple wasn’t directly under the imperial palace like the Ministry of Magic, it still existed within the empire’s borders.  

 

The Emperor’s condition, laid out upon the altar, was far from ideal.  

 

His face was deathly pale, and beneath the cloak, his severed arm lay nearby.  

 

Having seen far more grotesque sights in her time, Nethesia paid it no mind and checked his breathing.  

 

“…”  

 

Faint, but not yet fatal. She exhaled slightly in relief before glancing up.  

 

Judging by appearances, only the Crown Prince and Emperor had been caught in whatever incident occurred.  

 

“The Grand Duke must have teleported them here.”  

 

The Frederick family had inherited the power of dark sorcerers—teleportation would be child’s play for him.  

 

It was unlikely he’d moved the Emperor on his own authority.  

 

Which meant the order had come from ‘him’—the Crown Prince.  

 

It was common knowledge among palace insiders that Altheon had grown up neglected compared to the Second Prince.  

 

As a child, he’d at least enjoyed the privileges befitting an imperial heir—but after losing both Empress Christine and the former Grand Duke, even that much was stripped from him.  

 

Drafted onto the battlefield, Altheon had spent years fighting on the front lines, well into adulthood.  

 

All while holding nothing but the hollow title of Crown Prince.  

 

“I thought he’d despise the Emperor—a man who never acted like a father to him.”

 

Nethesia studied Altheon for a long moment.  

 

He was a man who had mastered self-control—whatever turbulent emotions he’d felt during their journey to the temple had long since settled.  

 

The Crown Prince’s face was calm, though his soot-streaked bangs were soaked with blood.  

 

‘He must have carried the Emperor here himself.’  

 

“I thought he was at odds with His Majesty—but not enough to leave him to die, it seems.”  

 

Her head tilted slightly, as if her thoughts had leaked out.  

 

Noticing her movement, Altheon asked quietly,  

 

“Is his condition that dire?”  

 

Nethesia met his gaze and shook her head.  

 

Not that the Emperor’s state could be called ‘good’, of course.  

 

But thanks to the Grand Duke’s swift actions and the altar’s power, his life was no longer in immediate danger.  

 

“…Don’t worry too much.”  

 

She shook her head again, though she wasn’t entirely sure if that was the right answer.  

 

But it was the only one she had.  

 

At her words, Altheon fell silent—an unspoken promise not to interfere with the treatment.  

 

Nethesia turned back to the Emperor and assessed his injuries.  

 

Two urgent procedures were needed: reattaching the severed arm and treating the burns.  

 

The arm could be reconnected quickly, but the burns covered his entire body and would take more time.  

 

Neither task was particularly difficult for her—just time-consuming.  

 

“This will take a while, so you may attend to other matters. Your Highness, if you’ve sustained any injuries, our priests can—”  

 

“Ah, no need.”  

 

Altheon declined immediately.  

 

To Nethesia, he looked like he’d been through hell himself.  

 

At her puzzled look, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing unmarred skin beneath.  

 

“Fortunately, I’m unharmed. I just look worse for wear.”  

 

He absently touched the bracelet Karina had given him.  

 

From her perspective, more patients meant more work—but when they were ‘this’ important, it was a different story.  

 

Nethesia turned to Reukis.  

 

“Your Grace, if you’ll be staying, please keep your distance.” 

 

Strong magical energy would only disrupt the flow of divine power.  

 

“You should rest elsewhere. You’ll need your strength to return to the palace.”  

 

Altheon leaned against the wall as he spoke.  

 

“You can use that room over there. It has water, chairs, and a cot.”  

 

Nethesia rattled off the amenities before abruptly closing her mouth—Zen’s sharp stare from beside her was impossible to ignore.  

 

Reukis nodded and walked toward the indicated area.  

 

Opposite the corridor door was a small adjoining chamber—Nethesia’s occasional hideout when she needed to escape Zen.  

 

The altar room had no furnishings beyond the sacred slab itself, and the floor wasn’t exactly ideal for resting.  

 

It wasn’t a proper lounge, but over time, she’d smuggled in bits of comfort like a nesting bird.  

 

“Oh well.”  

 

She gazed wistfully at her sanctuary, knowing Zen would strip it bare by tomorrow.  

 

As Reukis disappeared inside, Nethesia cleared her throat pointedly, ignoring Zen’s glare.  

 

She placed her hands first over the Emperor’s shoulders.  

 

Vivid green light spilled from her palms, flooding the room.  

 

Once. Twice. Three times. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.  

 

Zen hovered nearby, ensuring she could focus.  

 

Finally, the light faded.  

 

The severed arm had reattached seamlessly, and Aprion’s charred skin had restored itself.  

 

It was a spectacle worthy of being called divine blessing.  

 

Yet despite appearances, Nethesia didn’t look satisfied.  

 

“What’s wrong?”  

 

Zen, the only one who noticed, whispered the question. She crossed her arms, staring down at the Emperor.  

 

“This wasn’t just an explosion—it was mana-induced. He has internal injuries.”  

 

“Internal?”  

 

Altheon, listening from a distance, echoed the word.  

 

Nethesia undid her tied-up hair as she explained.  

 

“This level of mana backlash would overwhelm most people. Outwardly, he’s healed, but whether he’ll regain consciousness… I honestly don’t know.”  

 

She shook her head slowly.  

 

She was no longer speaking as High Priest to Emperor, but as a healer to patient.  

 

Had the Emperor been a trained knight, there might have been hope—but he was far from a warrior.  

 

His youthful, broad-shouldered frame was natural, not earned. His body was little more than gilded porcelain.  

 

Altheon’s brow furrowed as he processed her words.  

 

“…Is there no other way?”  

 

“Not that I know of.”  

 

At her firm answer, he drew a slow breath.  

 

The Emperor’s survival now hinged on his body’s resilience.  

 

With luck, he might wake—or he might die within days, or never wake at all.  

 

“The capital will be in chaos by tomorrow.”  

 

Nethesia decided to enjoy what little peace remained.