Chapter 42

“Are you really okay? Do you feel any discomfort?”

Freyme still looked uneasy, worried Herbert might be suffering some adverse reaction.

“I’m truly fine, really, believe me!”

Herbert was growing weary of the questions and had no patience for jokes—he surrendered outright.

“Miss Freyme, you’ve asked this thirteen times already. I’m truly fine! If I were hurt, I’d tell you.”

Not only would I tell you—I’d exploit it to extort something from you!

Let me properly stroke your tail… ah! Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

Lost.

Totally lost!

But since it had already happened, he couldn’t shamelessly use it as an excuse to demand more benefits—why not?

Herbert forced a solemn expression and began lying with perfect seriousness: “No, I just realized I’ve suffered a grave injury—I must touch your tail to be healed.”

Skin thickness is worthless.

Whether in work, daily life, or emotional exchanges, it’s always the same.

“That’s right—I’ve contracted a terminal illness that can only be cured by touching a sea witch’s tail.”

After speaking, Herbert nodded seriously with a look of deep sorrow, as if it were truly the case.

He didn’t care whether others believed him—he himself had already convinced himself.

It was absolutely true!

Freyme: ???

“Huh?”

She, who had been anxiously fretting moments before, paused, then suddenly realized—somehow, her pressure lifted, and she burst into laughter.

“Hahaha, you little rascal, you’re so funny!”

She laughed uncontrollably, slapping her tail hard against the waves.

Splash splash~

After laughing for a long while, she wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded at the boy, who was now struggling to keep his expression neutral.

“You really want to touch my tail, huh?”

“Fine, I’ll satisfy you.”

To his surprise, she didn’t refuse—she calmly extended her tail out of the water sphere and placed it directly before Herbert.

“Here, touch it—but don’t go too far.”

Huh?

Herbert stared at the seven-colored fish tail, inches from his face, eyes wide.

It’s really allowed!

She’s so kind.

Far more generous than that Valentina.

With her tail right before him, Herbert had no intention of being polite—he gladly accepted what he saw as his rightful compensation.

He wiped his hands on his clothes, then grabbed it outright.

Slippery.

That was the most immediate sensation.

Extremely slippery, soft, with a faint coolness—like touching a smooth, chilled jelly, or a stream of clear spring water.

Yet the tail was surprisingly dry, leaving not a single drop of moisture—its surface seemed coated with a hydrophobic layer.

Wow.

Gently caressing it, Herbert’s expression grew languid.

So comfortable.

If I could sleep hugging this, I’d have the best summer nights ever!

Whoosh—

Just as Herbert prepared to explore further, tracing upward to compare textures, the tail snapped back instantly.

“Ah, my tail ran away—”

He raised his hand, helplessly grasping at the space where the tail had vanished.

Come back~ I can’t bear this alone~

Herbert pouted, muttering unhappily: “Why did you pull it away? I hadn’t finished studying it yet.”

“No, no more. You’re not allowed to touch it again.”

Freyme’s cheeks flushed an unusual crimson; she turned her head away shyly, murmuring: “Y-your technique… it’s too strange… it tickles too much!”

She didn’t even know why she’d agreed to such a bizarre request—but somehow, letting him touch it didn’t seem wrong.

After all, he might be the only person in the world who could listen to her song without harm.

But the moment Herbert actually began touching her, she regretted it.

That sensation… was just too strange.

He was touching her tail, yet it felt as if he were touching other parts of her body.

Gentle strokes, careful observation, sliding softly along every delicate scale pattern.

Rubbing, rubbing—on the smooth scales—rubbing—

!!?

Those strange sensations made Freyme’s entire body itch—every inch of her skin prickled!!

But it wasn’t unbearable itching—she only pulled back when she could no longer endure it.

No, no more.

If I let it continue, I might really become… strange…

“Not this time? Oh okay, then I’ll touch it next time!”

Herbert seized the loophole in her words and immediately locked it in: “It’s settled—I’ll get to touch your tail properly next time!”

“….”

Freyme’s lips moved, intending to refuse—but for some reason, she didn’t argue. She silently accepted Herbert’s agreement.

Though Freyme hated to admit it, she thought a little itching wasn’t so bad—she could endure it…

Freyme shook her head, forcefully clearing the distracting thoughts from her mind.

Forget it—deal with this later.

Suppressing her turbulent thoughts, Freyme forcibly steered the conversation back on track: “You—you suddenly appeared? Isn’t it midnight?”

“Haha, I just had a sudden idea—I wanted to see what you all do at night. Did I disturb your rest?”

Herbert didn’t tell the truth—after all, the abstract reason “to protect the hook from others” was impossible to explain to anyone.

Freyme, of course, never thought of that. After hearing him, she shook her head: “Sleep has long been unnecessary for me. Besides, here, night and day make no difference.”

She spoke lightly, but Herbert’s lips twitched slightly.

Yes.

For prisoners like her, what meaning did day and night hold? They were all equally trapped in this prison.

Herbert searched for words to comfort her, but Freyme herself didn’t care—instead, she asked softly, shyly: “Will… will you come again?”

“Maybe? Why?”

Freyme took a deep breath, gathering all her courage: “I’ll… I’ll sing again next time. Do you still want to hear it?”

Will he refuse?

Will he?

He…

“Of course.”

Herbert smiled without hesitation, gladly accepting the sea witch’s invitation.

“Hearing such beautiful music is my honor.”

He looked at Freyme, who visibly relaxed, and smiled gently:

“Next time, please sing several songs for me.”

“He got away.”

“I was too late—he’s already fallen completely.”

Under the bright moonlight, the Thorn Bishop stared down at the slime and blood on the ground, slowly shaking his head.

“Where did he run to? The Misty Mountains?”

But the Inquisitor General did not know.

Even as he pondered, a hunched figure trembled as he pressed his hand against the door of the Third Edict Hall.

Creak.

By the way, the Third Edict Hall has another simple, well-known name within the monastery—

Alien Prison.

This Sunday is the second round of recommendations—I’m so nervous… My last book died in the second round. Even with good retention, it got killed by an immature AI that just launched, because it wasn’t “engaging enough.”

My current opening is stronger than last time, but I’m still so nervous aaaaaa—

Please save me!

I love you!

Be sure to follow along—



(End of Chapter)