I'm Going to Wall You Up Inside a Statue!

The viscount was a little eager to see what would happen.

As the young cleric had said, they had met as children. Back before she began wearing a veil, they had crossed paths plenty of times.

But when Aaron recalled his own embarrassing past, he could almost feel a dark cloud gathering over his head.

The old "Aaron Saliann" had been mortifying.

Whenever he saw the beautiful young cleric, that "Aaron" would stand there like an idiot, unable to tear himself away.

Damn it. How had he been so embarrassing?

It's fine. I'm not who I used to be!

Aaron swallowed and fixed his gaze on the young cleric as she undid her veil.

As she removed it, a breathtaking sight appeared before him.

He stared, momentarily stunned.

Eleanor removed her veil and let her luxurious golden hair fall down her back. Crescent-shaped silver earrings gleamed beneath her pointed Half-elf ears. Parted bangs partly hid her arched brows, while a few golden strands framed her smooth, fair skin. Her face had a sacred charm, delicate yet classically beautiful. Blue eyes shone like sapphires, and even the slightest glance from them seemed full of allure. A holy, moonlit radiance lay over her face, untouched by makeup, giving her an air of pure sanctity. Her pale pink lips were like a plum blossom blooming in snow. Any man who saw her would put aside his improper thoughts and feel only awe.

She was not especially tall, but at five feet four, her figure was slender and beautifully proportioned. Beneath her outer robe, she wore a thin white dress patterned with crystal-frost diamonds and bellflowers, austere yet delicate. Her exposed neck and collarbones were smooth and lustrous as jade, adorned with purple bellflowers. A faint, elegant fragrance drifted around her, intoxicating and subtly tempting. Paired with her long, dancer-like figure, it made the graceful curves of her body all the more captivating.

The fitted dress hugged her supple waist and rounded hips. Her long, snow-white legs had smooth, elegant lines, and when she took off her boots and stockings, they were fully revealed. Not a vein marred the beauty of her calves. Her skin glowed with a healthy ivory sheen, emphasizing the graceful curves of her bare legs.

The young cleric soon slipped into the inn's slippers. Her feet were smooth and delicate, their fine bone structure visible beneath the skin. Five neat, pale toes peeked out over the slippers' tips, taking on a peculiar allure in the dim candlelight. Her slender ankles were as smooth and finely shaped as carved jade.

So the young cleric really is a stunning beauty! Aaron was secretly astonished. He had expected her to be pretty, but not this pretty.

"D-don't keep staring!" Even in private, Eleanor felt embarrassed without her veil. She cried out in vexation, already looking a little regretful, and drew her bare feet back. "Keep looking and I'll hit you with my hammer!"

"Beautiful things deserve to be admired." Aaron's mouth felt dry. He swallowed and tried to keep his expression normal. "Miss Eleanor, I know you've probably heard this many times, but I have to say it. You're beautiful. You shine like the brightest star in the night sky."

"You... It's enough that you think it. You don't have to say it!" The young cleric waved her warhammer at Aaron. Though she was still wearing her dress, his gaze somehow made her feel as if she were naked. Her face flushed, and she nearly ordered him out.

Then she remembered that this was his room. She had only agreed to stay because he had insisted on inviting her.

"Um... does it really smell that bad?" Under Aaron's piercing gaze, the question slipped out of her mouth so suddenly that even she was caught off guard.

"Of course not." Aaron rose naturally and took her cleric's robe from her hands. Bugbear brain matter, blood, and other bodily fluids stained it. Smiling at the blushing young cleric, the viscount said beside her ear, "Don't worry. As long as you're with me, I promise you'll smell lovely!"

Before Eleanor could answer, Aaron heard footsteps outside and opened the door. A servant was bringing in several buckets of hot water. Eleanor's expression wavered as she tried to decide whether to hit him, hit him, or hit him. Aaron said in an ordinary tone, "You wash first. I'm going downstairs for a look around. After everything that's happened, I need a drink to unwind. I'll send your robe to the laundry."

"I won't fuss over you just because you're here, and I won't make a move on you just because you're beautiful." Aaron walked to the door, then turned back as he spoke.

"Good." Eleanor was clearly pleased with his attitude, and her exquisite face relaxed a little. "Go do what you need to do. Don't worry about me. You should watch out for yourself, my lord Viscount."

"Don't worry. We're inside an inn. Any disputes should be settled outside the city walls—unless it's a bar fight." Aaron smiled, jingled the key in his hand, and shut the door.

The moment the door closed, Aaron's smile vanished.

The viscount walked across the cold, damp stone floor of the inn's third story. His footsteps rang clearly against the thick slabs.

Tama Choya was a shrewd innkeeper. He had made the floors this way on purpose.

Aaron did not actually need a bath. Since awakening Slaanesh's power, he possessed Slaanesh's domain, which automatically repelled dust, foul odors, and filth. Unless he was injured or affected by persistent magic, he remained clean.

Aaron assessed his current situation.

After testing her just now, he was almost certain the young cleric could not have informed on him or betrayed him.

That made sense. As a devout follower of the Lady of Silver, how could Eleanor wish him harm?

His little test had even shattered her old impression of him. In its place, he had established himself as an intelligent, kind, charming young man. He could not say how highly Eleanor regarded him, but one thing was certain: she did not dislike him.

Then where is the enemy coming from? Aaron narrowed his eyes.

It was true that Cyric, the Prince of the Dark Sun, was hunting divine children. It was rotten luck that Cyric's followers had mistaken him, a child of Chaos, for one, but Aaron could understand why. His supernatural charisma made him seem more like a divine child than actual divine children. They probably did not have the charisma he did.

Supernatural attributes belonged to gods alone.

Mortals had once devised rough comparisons for human attributes. Taking an ordinary mortal's midpoint as a baseline, they formed a bell curve: the higher or lower an attribute, the rarer it was, and the more it marked someone as exceptional.

Humans were relatively charismatic among mortal beings, so their range lay mostly on the right side of that curve, with a comparatively high average.

For example, if a mortal's charisma were abysmally low, he could parade down the street shouting at the top of his lungs and still barely draw attention. To ordinary people, the sight would register something like this:

Why is a lump of shit moving down the street? Someone tell the night-soil collector to clean it up!

That was an extreme case, of course. Any humanoid creature generally had at least some charisma.

But if someone's charisma fell below the midpoint, others would tend to distrust and dislike him no matter how reasonable or logical his words were. Many peoples who placed great importance on looks, such as Elves and Half-elves, would even bar such ugly creatures from their settlements.

Occasionally, an outstanding mortal—or a supreme warrior who had reached legendary heights—would possess remarkable charisma, a silver tongue, and a presence so powerful that every move drew the notice of gods. Yet even their charisma could not exceed the mortal limit.

Mortal attributes had limits. That held true even for those connected to the gods and blessed with divine power. One example was Queen The Simbul—Alassra Silverhand—the legendary archmage whom the Bard had mentioned earlier. She was one of the North's Seven Sisters, a daughter and second-generation Chosen of the goddess of magic, and a bearer of her divine Silver Fire. By the authoritative estimates of Candlekeep's scholars, her charisma stood at the very peak of what mortals could attain.

Aaron's charisma, however, had unquestionably crossed that threshold. Being handsome could not explain it. Only divine power could.

That was supernatural charisma.

Beyond the mortal limit lay the realm of gods, where power rose by leaps and bounds.

A legendary barbarian, for example, could merge with primal wild power to break through the mortal limit and gain a constitution beyond any ordinary mortal's.

Trolls represented the upper limit of mortal constitution. The freakish creatures could regrow severed limbs and even had a chance of recovering after their heads were cut off.

Yet a legendary barbarian who gained supernatural constitution could bathe in lava and remain active for hours in an airless void.

I'm not a divine child. I'm even more of a freak than one! thought the child of Chaos who had only just unlocked Slaanesh's power.

The threat from Cyric was real. Aaron knew he would have to avenge Hicks's death sooner or later.

But why was trouble for him also brewing within Cormyr?

Cormyr was a model monarchy. Aaron was a native-born Cormyrian noble through and through, and both his parents had died serving the kingdom during the Time of Troubles. It would be understandable if the autocratic princess had little patience for an idle noble drawing a stipend while showing no personal worth—the old Aaron had seemed mediocre in every respect. But sending people to investigate him on suspicion of treason and collusion with Dark Sun worshippers was another matter entirely.

Fortunately, Aaron had prepared. He had the Lady of Silver, Selûne, to vouch for him, Eleanor's testimony, and an account he had rehearsed in advance.

He was deeply grateful for Selûne's help and swore he would repay her someday.

No, it can't be the Prince of the Dark Sun's people. Cyric was a new god, and Cormyr was the domain of numerous good and lawful gods. He could not have infiltrated it so thoroughly in just two years.

There must be another faction that has noticed me.

Is Suzail really safe? I'm still weak, and I've only just awakened Slaanesh's power. If I have enemies in Suzail too, wouldn't going back now be walking straight into a trap?

But where else can I go? Suzail is still the safest place for me. My family and friends are there, along with the connections my parents left me, an annual stipend of eight hundred gold lions, and a house near the palace.

I'll have to wait until I'm back in Suzail and take stock of the situation then.

With the Queen's Blade already here, he would probably receive an audience with Her Highness Alusair when he returned, assuming nothing unexpected happened.

Having settled on a plan for the near future, Aaron went back to the inn's common room.

It was already nine at night, and the common room was less lively than before. Several members of the Queen's Blade sat in a corner, watching everyone with unfriendly eyes.

"Oh! It's the last Saliann!" Ferrara, the mercenary captain, let out a theatrical cry when he saw Aaron come downstairs. "Why aren't you keeping that beauty company? What are you doing down here with us stinking men? This isn't where you belong!"

"I'd love to keep her company, but she didn't seem to want me around. I got kicked out." Smiling, Aaron hooked the large key around his index finger and spun its ring up and down. He sat beside Ferrara as though they were old friends. "What's wrong, Mr. Ferrara? The mood seems off."

"A gin, please," Aaron ordered.

The mercenary captain rolled his eyes and muttered a few words. Montero, another mercenary captain, said indignantly, "It's those Obarskyr lapdogs in the corner..."

"Hey!" Ferrara shot Montero a glare. Realizing his mistake, Montero promptly shut his mouth.

"Those fellows came over to inspect our adventuring permit," Ferrara explained to Aaron. "We told them over and over that you hired our adventuring party, but they insisted on checking—unless we paid a 'special passage fee' of ten gold coins. From the look of them, they won't let it go without the money. Good thing you showed up."

"Your Excellency, how long is your kingdom going to keep this up?" Montero was plainly still angry. "Will it only be satisfied when none of us can do business or take mercenary jobs? You're a viscount, a noble of the kingdom. Can't you persuade anyone to stop it?"

"They search me whenever they please. What do you think I can do?"

Aaron accepted his gin from the server with a rueful smile. He took a small sip. The liquor was clear and colorless, with an unusual, pleasant aroma and a smooth, refreshing taste.

Aaron glanced toward the bar without thinking.

From behind it, the innkeeper, Tama Choya, smiled at him and mouthed, "It's on me." Then he raised his glass.

Aaron raised his own in reply.

He was appreciating the benefits of supernatural charisma more and more.

"Oh, that key!" Ferrara said, eyeing the one hanging from Aaron's finger. "Your Excellency, I've never stayed in a noble suite in Cormyr. I hear nobles don't earn nearly as much as adventurers like us on paper, but really they have a purse they never have to fill. Whenever they need something, they never pay out of their own pockets. Tell us—is it true?"

"Isn't it the same everywhere?" Aaron gave him a knowing smile. "You came from Zambia. Don't tell me you've never seen it happen."

"We get it, we get it! Hahaha! Come on, a toast, Your Excellency. You're a pleasure to be around!" Ferrara burst out laughing.

The rest of the mercenaries joined in. Compared with other nobles, Aaron made them feel remarkably at ease. Before they knew it, they wanted to tell him everything on their minds.

"Ah, well, none of that has much to do with us," Ferrara said, clapping Aaron on the shoulder. "We mercenaries spend our days trying to get adventuring permits and scrape together enough money to satisfy the bastards running the cities. We take whatever jobs we can to make a living. Who has time to worry about the day after tomorrow? If all goes well tomorrow, Your Excellency, we'll have something special for you!"

"Oh? Then I look forward to it." Aaron did not refuse.

It was his rightful share, and he would accept it without hesitation.

In fact, refusing it would be what raised suspicions.

Tomorrow and the day after? Aaron lifted his glass, turning the words over in his mind.

Then he tipped his head back and drained it.

About twenty minutes later, Aaron returned to the inn's third story carrying two buckets of hot water. He took out his key and unlocked the door.

He had opened the heavy wooden door only a crack when a shrill scream pierced his ears.

"Aaaaaah!"

"Aaron Saliann!"

"I'm going to wall you up inside a statue!"