Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 93

Chapter 93: The Child from the Pay-to-Win Parenting Game (10)

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Ared was the hero of the mission—he had rescued the young master of the Louis family from the hands of the black mages.

 

A messenger from the Holy Court had already carried the news back to the Louis estate in Dockshire.

 

To prevent a counterattack from the black mages, all but the injured members of the scouting knight squad would accompany the priest to ensure Shui Que’s safe return home.

 

Perhaps due to the ascetic lifestyle of the clergy, although the carriage was ornately painted on the outside, its interior was exceedingly plain. All the seats were made of wood—there wasn’t even a goose feather cushion.

 

The carriage was narrow and could only seat four people at most.

 

Ared’s armor was large and heavy. Just him sitting across took up the entire row.

 

Shui Que sat opposite him, sharing the same row as Sylvester.

 

After leaving the city and entering the forest, the road became bumpy.

 

The carriage rocked unsteadily.

 

Shui Que kept bumping into the person beside him. The other man was wearing a rough barley-fiber robe, and even brushing against it through his own clothing made Shui Que’s arm feel numb.

 

Do all clergymen have to wear clothes like this?

 

Even the family priest at the Louis estate dressed better than this.

 

Shui Que recalled Option A that System 77 had mentioned—the one that hadn’t been unlocked at the time. So, it referred to the priest?

 

He secretly sighed in relief. Thank goodness he didn’t choose Option A. Otherwise, he’d have ended up wearing that kind of scratchy outfit.

 

How could a pampered little young master wear such garments?

 

It was obvious that his tender skin would be rubbed raw, and he’d end up crying in secret at night, unable to sleep.

 

While discreetly eyeing Sylvester, Shui Que was wondering how this man could stand wearing such clothes—weren’t they uncomfortable?

 

Suddenly, a cool fingertip touched the center of his forehead.

 

Shui Que blinked.

 

What was that about?

 

The confusion on his face was clear as day.

 

Sylvester remained expressionless and gave no explanation.

 

He had inky black hair, but his eyes were a pale, almost glassy brown, as lifeless as marbles.

 

Shui Que felt a chill in his heart.

 

Luckily, Ared spoke up to explain: “His Holiness is examining your body, expelling any lingering dark magic.”

 

Previously, the magician had cast a silence spell on him, but the effect had already worn off.

 

Otherwise, Ared might still have thought this young master wasn’t just physically weak, but also mute—incapable of speech, with only a pair of expressive eyes to communicate.

 

The fingertip was cold, but the energy flowing into Shui Que’s body was warm and soothing, washing away the traces left behind by the magician.

 

It was precisely because Sylvester had already attained a mastery of white magic—on par with the archbishop despite his youth—that people believed he was the most likely candidate to become the next Pope of Alantia.

 

Even if he didn’t become Pope, once Archbishop Sarre retired in a few years, Sylvester would still be the youngest cardinal in Tuva.

 

It was practically a certainty.

 

“All done,”

 

Sylvester said, withdrawing his hand.

 

Just as Shui Que began to relax, that cold hand suddenly clamped down on his chin.

 

Caught off guard, he had no choice but to open his mouth due to the pressure.

 

The carriage continued moving deep through the forest. Moonlight filtered faintly through the canopy. Holy knights rode alongside, holding lanterns lit with tallow candles.

 

Tree branches overlapped layer upon layer. The woods were shadowy and indistinct.

 

There were hoofbeats, rustling wind—and a wolf’s howl.

 

The captain tensed. “Wolves?!”

 

Given the recent incident with heretics, everyone was on edge. Their minds immediately leapt to werewolves.

 

Swords were swiftly drawn with a metallic hiss, candlelight flickering wildly.

 

The sound of hooves turned chaotic for a moment.

 

Ared pulled aside the carriage curtain, sharply scanning the surroundings.

 

Because of that, no one was paying attention to what was happening inside the carriage.

 

A small face with snowy cheeks tinged pink was being pinched gently between fingers, the soft flesh of his cheeks squished outwards.

 

His mouth was moist and red, and a tiny sharp fang shimmered with a clear layer of saliva.

 

“Mm-mm…”

 

His eyebrows drooped slightly, and the corners of his eyes looked round and dazed.

 

His voice sounded as though he were begging—pitiful to the extreme.

 

Like a fledgling bird that had accidentally fallen into a trap, pleading for the humans to let it go.

 

He looked nothing like the bloodthirsty and vicious vampire of rumor.

 

Sylvester’s fingertip grazed over Shui Que’s lips and moved to the little fang.

 

To the average eye, it just looked like a slightly pointed canine tooth—something that would escape even most clergy’s notice.

 

In early development, the fang would be sharper, but as it matured, it would blunt to hide its predatory nature.

 

Sylvester didn’t have much direct experience with vampires. If Archbishop Sarre were here, even he might hesitate over the child’s tooth.

 

The fingertip pressed against the edge of the fang.

 

Blood surfaced.

 

Even in such a dangerous situation…

 

Shui Que was still thinking at the worst possible time—

 

The priest’s blood… smells really good.

 

Are all clergymen’s blood this fragrant?

 

And it wasn’t like he bit him on purpose. The guy shoved his finger onto Shui Que’s tooth!

 

His small throat moved as he swallowed.

 

Sylvester froze.

 

That soft little tongue… was licking his bleeding finger.

 

Then, as if roles were reversed, Shui Que began lightly biting down on his index finger.

 

But he didn’t dare bite too hard.

 

He looked up reluctantly and said in a whisper, just loud enough for the two of them to hear, “You’re not allowed to grab me—it was you who started it. I actually don’t want to drink human blood. I’m a vegetarian vampire. Your blood tastes awful, really awful…”

 

He kept mumbling like he truly believed he could hypnotize or brainwash a clergyman with his words.

 

Guan He was sweating bullets on his behalf and helplessly tried to intervene again: “Baby… don’t just drink blood from strangers.”

 

What if he got a stomachache?

 

What if the guy turned out to be a bad person, locked him up, and used him to feed a vampire every day, forcing him to drink only his blood until his belly got all swollen?

 

Guan He decided he needed to have a serious discussion with Shui Que’s tonight about this important issue.

 

The wolf howls eventually faded, and no targets were found. Both inside and outside the carriage, things calmed down once again.

 

……

 

The Louis family, who had been terrified and anxious, finally let out a breath of relief upon seeing their young master return safely.

 

Ared carried Shui Que out of the carriage and placed him, perfectly intact and completely unhurt, into Count Louis’s arms.

 

Count Louis’s lips trembled, and after choking up twice, he finally touched Shui Que’s face gently and said, “You’ve gotten thinner… so thin…”

 

He had only been abducted for a day and a night, kept alive with blood by the flute player, and later fed the best food in the Castello district’s inn. He was now perfectly fine—how could he possibly have lost weight?

 

It was still true that deep concern led to disorder.

 

Shui Que glanced around—the butlers and servants were all looking at him. Madam Maren dabbed the corners of her moist eyes with a handkerchief. The twin brothers stood there in riding gear, dusty and travel-worn.

 

Everyone was truly worried about him, even though he had been such a terribly naughty young master.

 

Shui Que’s lips curled up into a smile as he snuggled deeper into Count Louis’s arms and let out a drowsy yawn.

 

Count Louis gently coaxed his beloved son to sleep.

 

A grand banquet was held in the castle courtyard to entertain the brave knights of the Holy Court, and gold, silver, and jewels were offered as gifts of thanks. Unfortunately, the knights strictly adhered to their code and would not accept any personal offerings. Count Louis had no choice but to plan a formal donation to the Holy Court Knights under the family name at a later date.

 

Ared tilted his head back and let the wine slide down his throat. Compared to hops and barley ale, it had a much longer-lasting aftertaste.

 

He lowered his eyes and slowly unclenched his fist. A button rested in his palm.

 

It had fallen from the young master’s sleepwear. Perhaps, in that moment, he had been bewitched by a demon and had unconsciously kept it.

 

Count Louis was in conversation with the priest.

 

Ared could only catch a few words—

 

“Legs,” “treatment,” “adulthood,” “holy water.”

 

Were they planning to treat the young master’s legs?

 

Ared, bleary-eyed from drink, looked up at the pale dawn sky.

 

Clerics who practiced white magic could treat wounds sustained by knights during battle, but in all of Alantia, such healers were exceedingly rare. There had never been a successful case of congenital disability being cured.

 

Still, if that person could someday stand—he would look even more stunning…

 

The button slipped from his hand and fell into a gap between the cobblestones. Ared quickly bent down to pick it up.

 

…

 

One button after another was unfastened from top to bottom.

 

The castle’s chapel was at the highest level, its vaulted ceiling so tall that one couldn’t make out the carvings on the white beams when looking up.

 

Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, casting a cool, ethereal glow.

 

His skin was smooth as snow, blindingly white, with the joints flushed in a pale pink hue.

 

This was Shui Que’s second baptism. The first had been when he was an infant, held by Count Louis. Now, he was an adult.

 

Only the priest and the attendant valet were permitted to be present.

 

He hadn’t grown much—it seemed—since Leon could still easily lift him and gently place him into the pool.

 

The water was warm, infused with holy water from the cathedral during heating.

 

“Hiss…”

 

Shui Que gasped softly. It was a bit too hot, but since this was a baptism, he couldn’t complain.

 

His delicate face and pale skin flushed pink from the steam, and his platinum-blond hair clung damply to his cheeks.

 

It was meant to be solemn, sacred.

 

Elderflower burned quietly in the background, and laurel leaves, orange jasmine, and plantain were steeped in the water.

 

Steam mingled with the power of white magic, wrapping around him with the motion of the water, gently lifting him up and down.

 

The baptism wasn’t just preparation for the treatment to follow—it was more importantly to cleanse him of the sinful one-quarter vampire blood in his veins.

 

Only Count Louis and Sylvester were aware of this.

 

After being lifted out of the pool by the valet, he was draped in the priest’s barley-woven robe.

 

The fabric was coarse and rubbed his jade-like skin until it turned red.

 

He was placed on an armchair.

 

It was harvest month, dry and scorching, but Sylvester’s hands were still bone-chillingly cold.

 

Shui Que shivered and pulled the barley robe tighter around himself, pursing his lips in discomfort.

 

Water was still dripping from his body. The priest held his calf, and droplets slid down from the top of his thigh, hidden beneath the robe.

 

Shui Que’s skin was naturally smooth and slippery—almost too difficult to hold onto.

 

Sylvester frowned and took a cloth from the valet to wipe the water from his legs.

 

Shui Que blinked.

 

The treatment process was actually quite similar to a massage.

 

Except, the one performing it wasn’t his servant—but the priest from the Castro Diocese.

 

When Sylvester pressed down on his knee, Shui Que’s legs began to register sensation. It was an almost magical experience, as if he were coming back to life.

 

Was this his first time meeting his legs?

 

When the hand moved to the top of his thigh, Shui Que felt ticklish and reflexively kicked—landing squarely against Sylvester’s firm chest.

 

Sylvester let go and said, with no change in tone, unaffected by the young master’s offense, “Once every two months. You can begin gradually practicing walking in between sessions.”

 

For this treatment, Guan He had spent nearly ten thousand interstellar coins through in-game purchases, even adjusting his daily spending cap for it.

 

Upon hearing the NPC’s words, he quickly opened the action point menu and added the newly unlocked rehabilitation option.

 

He watched with satisfaction as Shui Que stood in the second-floor hall, clutching the railing along the wall, trembling as he tried to take a step.

 

After Sylvester left, Shui Que hurried to change his clothes—there was no way he’d wear that priest’s robe any longer.

 

He changed into his own silk loungewear, the fabric soft and flowing. As he slowly forced himself to walk, the long robe swayed gently around his ankles.

 

Ared came up the staircase and was greeted by this exact scene.

 

If he had known of the legends about mermaids, he might’ve described it, however poorly, like this—

 

It looked like a little mermaid who had just come ashore, learning how to walk like a human.

 

Slow, cautious.

 

The button in his breast pocket seemed to burn with heat.

 

Ared had spent years in the Holy Court Knights, either campaigning or escorting caravans across perilous deserts.

 

He had braved the elements, weathered many brushes with death. His features had grown sharper, his body stronger—bronze sinew and iron bones held a heavy soul.

 

Yet, when a junior knight named Garrick invited him to visit the Louis family estate while passing through, Ared felt like he was back three years ago, arriving at the gates of Castro Diocese—just a hot-blooded boy with a heart pounding wildly.

 

Shui Que, still in the process of rediscovering his legs, suddenly tripped—his left foot caught his right—and with a thud, he collapsed onto the downy carpet.

 

“Hurry up, come pick me up.”

 

Shui Que had completely forgotten that he had sent Leon off to prepare afternoon tea.

 

Without even looking, he ordered the figure standing nearby in the same tone he’d use for a personal valet.

 

Ared still wasn’t good at carrying people—just like before. To him, it was harder than swordplay.

 

Shui Que didn’t feel very comfortable in his arms and bowed his head, adjusting his sitting posture.

 

Today was a day off, and Ared wasn’t wearing his ironleaf armor.

 

So he could clearly feel that, when Shui Que shifted slightly, he ended up sitting right on Ared’s palm.

 

Despite looking slender, he was soft and plump underneath, the flesh yielding and seeming to spill through Ared’s defined fingers—as if it were about to melt quietly in his palm.

 

His hands were calloused from years of wielding a sword, rough and not suited for comfort. When Shui Que adjusted again, he nearly slipped off from the side.

 

Ared panicked for a moment.

 

By a twist of fate, as Shui Que scrambled to steady himself, the inner thigh clenched tightly against Ared’s hand, trapping it.

 

The wild horse charging through Ared’s heart might very well have died on the spot.

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Huge shoutout to @candycorns2 on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.

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