Arthur brought his hand up and felt around his shoulders and neck. There were no loose strands of hair there.
Ordain suddenly spoke with a less gentle voice. "The death of another is not something you should joke about, even if you had to experience something similar."
The proud noble turned his head away, muttering "Sorry" under his breath before he pulled the curtain back.
Unfazed, being that he didn't hear anything spoken, Arthur drank the water and set the glass on the table to his side.
"Do you have a mirror I can use? I want to see my injuries."
Ordain looked down with his neck and took off the silver necklace wreathed around his neck, and with his thumb, opened the gold-crafted ornament hanging from it, revealing a clear sheet of glass that could take in and reflect light out as well, if not better, than if it hadn't.
Arthur stared at himself through the mirror. He rotated his head to the right a little, and then to the left.
My hair is short. I look as I did when I first entered the academy. Yes. This is what Cedric looked like. How could I have forgotten?
He put on a smile, the modest, genuine kind that the person he was trying to imitate always put on. It was so gentle. He had never looked closely at it before, but there was a striking resemblance between this smile and his mother's.
Maybe if I keep my hair like this, I will be able to trick everyone and go back home, making everyone believe that it wasn't the Hero-Saint Cedric who died, but just the stupid, ungrateful, worthless leech, Arthur.
With a finger, he pulled at his collar and looked at his bare chest inside it.
Completely blank. The doctors and priests have already seen my body. They know that I have no blessings, and must have realized that the one who died was Cedric.
He looked at his battered shirt, decorated with dirt, dust, and holes.
I'm not even considered important enough for them to change my clothes into something clean.
Would a doctor leave a patient wearing such dirty clothes?
Ordain blinked for a second, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the most dilated and curious eyes looking up at him.
"How long have you been waiting here?"
"I have been watching this location for ten hours," Ordain declared, unintentionally using his stern voice.
Arthur tilted his head sideways. What is he saying? He wondered. He was already fighting just to stay conscious.
"If I ask you a question, just tell me the answer." seemed to be Arthur's intent.
"Er… I meant ten hours," Ordain said mellowly, evidently recognizing his mistake.
Arthur's fragile head fell but was caught by his neck; it remained there for a moment, as if immersed in deep thought. Then, he flung his head back, letting it rock back and forth a few times until it stabilized.
"And no one took off my clothes?"
"No–"
Probability: Possible.
Ordain continued in the background: "The doctors could not examine you because of your Holy-Attribute Magic Shield; the priests said that it would be best to leave you be, since your wounds were rapidly healing. It was only broken thirty minutes ago when the Commissioner checked if you were actually asleep; ah, but don't worry, he never made physical contact with your body or anything like that."
"Can I see my brother? I think I'm fine walking now."
The one who had a soft spot for children let the idea pierce, with no resistance.
Look how determined he is! His legs are trembling, yet he insists on continuing. How could I deny his request? This is what he thought behind his stoicism.
"___"
It was a strikingly familiar room that had two enormous entrances on opposite sides: both the diameter of the floor below to the floor above, in addition to the door they walked through. The room was primarily illuminated by the sunlight entering from the gap in the blackened patch of wood in the ceiling above them; though, some light also hesitantly peered through the shattered windows and two other holes in the wall.
It had been mostly filtered out, but the smell of rain, blood, and rot still strongly lingered.
No words were said; neither by the two living men nor the disfigured body they were looking at, that lied in the center of the dehydrated lake of blood.
Arthur stepped into the dried lake and knelt beside the being that created it. His eyes were shadowed by his hair, but his face could be seen burning up, and his mouth shaking, as if he was holding back despairing whimpers.
Any adult would see this scene and think, What a poor child.
Look what I did to you, Cedric.
I'm sorry. Saying this for the rest of eternity would not be enough to demonstrate the guilt and regret within me.
But don't worry, you're not dead. I'll bring you back. Then I'll apologize to you for real. I'll make sure to prepare the heads of the two who delayed my apology too! Then we can be friends again, forever.
"Could this be the first stage of grief?" An electrical current tried to propose, but the thought didn't even make it out of its neuron before it was suppressed.
He stands, but does not face him.
"Thank you–for everything you've done, and for allowing me my selfish request. I have to…"
He pauses; taking an inhale, and letting out a full, and weary exhale.
"Prepare for the coming exam."
His voice is convincing, but his face refuses to follow through. It is the last time his mask slips; but he must keep his face hidden for the sake of the plan he has already decided on.
"Please let the doctors know Cedric Drevayne is ready to be discharged,"