-x-x-x made by Arude_Chan on Webnovel! x-x-x-
Charice rushed to his room, Michael not far behind him.
"Where are my clothes?! Oh no, I'm not ready for this!"
His hands dashed around the room, yet nothing that fulfilled his expectations could be found.
"Michael! Who brings the clothes to my room every day?" He asked while straightening his hair with his hands.
"I believe... No one does?" Michael, nor any of the other Paragons that changed shifts with him, had seen anyone carry clothing to Charice's room. They assumed he created his clothing, and to an extent, they were correct.
Charice was just never awake while doing it.
"F-Frick..." Charice mumbled, holding his cheeks, "I don't think we had a... The basement! There's equipment there!"
'How could I forget?' Charice facepalmed while rushing through the corridors at speeds he had never achieved before, Michael jogging casually behind him.
'There was no inventory, so creating a safe location for equipment was always priority number one! I can't believe I forgot!'
A lot has been happening, so much so that many things, such as the equipment stash in the basement, have lain dormant. However, fortunately, they were still available for Charice to use.
Charice gasped as he slowed down a bit. He had been running for a few minutes now, and his body was, literally and otherwise, not built for physical exertion.
"Would you like me to carry you, Consort?" Michael said without breaking a sweat.
Despite being dressed in heavy armor and being far heavier than Charice due to his height and muscle mass, the Chosen's physique was simply beyond Charice's comprehension.
Gasping, Charice simply nodded, his cheeks flushing from the effort.
"Excuse me then," Michael said with an apologetic look as he picked him up like a princess.
Charice, still blushing yet now for an entirely different reason, shrank as much as he could to be less of an obstacle.
In reality, he was just embarrassed beyond belief and wanted to shrink away like a turtle.
Using this opportunity to disassociate, Charice took deep breaths to steady himself; his robes were the only thing between Michael's strong hands and his small body.
'Not helping! Geez! Why are they so... Muscular?!'
Despite the levity of the situation, Charice soon felt a wave of anxiety rock him. Sure, his Paragons, Chosen, and even his people may love him, but not even they could protect him from whatever could be in the world out there.
'I'm the opposite of a combat class. I need friends, I have to make a good impression here, or there might be war.'
The fact that his actions could cause an armed conflict, with Gods potentially getting involved, made Charice shiver despite Michael's comforting grip. His hands moved to his hair, playing with it to distract himself. He failed to do so.
'Damn it... I'm not the right person for the job! M-Maybe I could ask the Paragons to handle it for me? B-But... That would damage my legitimacy; a-and if I'm gonna commune with Gods...'
He had to do this, for his people and the weight of their expectations, and the inevitability of Divine attention.
'I'm so bad at all of this...!' Charice sighed, breathing shakily with his eyes closed.
"Consort." Michael said, steadying Charice's thoughts like an anchor. "You've earned our respect."
"E-Eh?" Charice didn't understand. What was that supposed to mean?
Michael didn't look down at him, charging down hallways while dodging the occasional servant or colleague.
"What I mean is..." He paused, choosing his words with care, knowing how easily Charice could confuse sincerity for sarcasm. "I, and the others, know you have difficulties. You have strange quirks that make your station unmanageable at times."
Charice froze in fear, clenching his fists together at his chest, closing in on himself as if hiding from some unseen threat.
They know. That was bad. How could somebody like him ever be seen as a fit ruler? He couldn't find work on Earth, yet now he was supposed to be a sort of king?
The Chaos in his belly rumbled while Order steeled him, yet neither could stop the tide of insecurity and fear. After all, they couldn't protect Charice from himself.
"But." Michael said with a tone that booked no disagreement. "You've managed to reform the government, wrote our constitution and law in a mere week, and did all of this while managing your quirks. None of us could do that."
"O-Oh..." Charice said the praise comforted him, but it also alienated him in equal measure. Still, a smile bloomed on his face, but before he could thank Michael, he continued.
"I don't expect these words to sway your heart, neither do I intend for them to, but I wish to ask you for one favor, one thought." He stopped, looking Charice in the eyes.
"Have faith that you won't fall, and do so with the certainty that we will carry you to victory if you do."
Charice gulped and looked down. Silently, he rested his head on Michael's breastplate, the cool reliability of it more comforting than even his grip at this moment.
He nodded weakly, struggling to calm his trembling heart, which had been pierced by Michael's insightful words. Charice rarely felt seen and understood, so when he did, it shook him to the core.
Without a word, Michael continued rushing down staircase after staircase.
The design of the Ark was designed to be difficult for invaders to conquer. This includes scattering staircases away from one another with many winding corridors leading to different rooms, hence why it took Michael nearly half an hour of non-stop sprinting through the most efficient routes to make it to the basement.
The only way one knew they were on the outskirts were the murder holes, thin slits designed for bows to shoot through.
Servants had to be taught the layout for days before they could semi-accurately find their way.
Finally, after rushing past many rooms and the ground-floor stables, they reached their destination. A large staircase descended to a pair of thick red and blue doors with silver inscriptions.
"Consort. I believe we've arrived."