Multiverse's Holy Right

Roy used magecraft to cleanse his body. His once-pristine cardinal robes had long since been reduced to tatters, replaced by Celtic-style battle attire. He had lost track of how long he had been in the Land of Shadows with Scáthach—how long they had fought. The concept of time itself had faded from his mind.

Roy plopped down beside Scáthach, the breeze from his movement stirring her waterfall-like hair. The strands brushed against his nose, tickling him slightly.

A fragrance like orchids and musk enveloped him, compelling Roy to take deep breaths. In the desolate, eerie solitude of the Land of Shadows, only Scáthach's scent could make him feel truly alive.

"Shishou..."

Roy turned his head, taking in Scáthach's exquisitely beautiful profile—her high nose bridge, her cherry-like lips, her delicate yet heroic eyebrows. Her entire face radiated soft elegance. Because of her existence, even this realm of darkness and death held a glimmer of allure.

Hearing Roy's voice, Scáthach turned her head to meet his gaze. Her wine-red eyes held temptation, provocation, and a thick, teasing tenderness. Roy couldn't tell which Scáthach was the real one—the cold, ruthless warrior who laughed wildly on the battlefield, or the affectionate woman in their daily lives.

But no matter which Scáthach she was, she could shift effortlessly between them. One moment, she might be tender and loving, and the next, she could drive her demonic spear through your body. She was like a distant cloud—untouchable, just out of reach, leaving only a maddening itch in your heart, with no idea how to get closer.

"Your eyes are much clearer now than when you first arrived here," Scáthach said softly.

"That's because, under your guidance, Shishou, I've learned to abstain from lust!" Roy declared righteously.

The words made Scáthach burst into laughter. The corners of her lips curled into a breathtakingly beautiful smile as she tapped Roy's forehead with a slender finger, like an older sister doting on her younger brother, chiding him playfully, "…The clarity I'm talking about isn't the kind you're thinking of. I meant that your desires are no longer hidden. When you first came to the Land of Shadows, your eyes were full of longing for me, but you kept dodging my gaze, too timid to look directly. It made you seem rather pathetic."

"…But now, you've learned to hold your head high and express your desires openly. There's no shame in that. On the contrary, such honesty isn't off-putting. Even if a shy girl might feel annoyed being stared at like that, she wouldn't despise you for it."

Roy was speechless for a moment before retorting, "…So, Shishou, are you saying I've evolved from a sneaky pervert into an openly shameless degenerate?"

"You could put it that way."

"I don't feel like I've changed at all."

"People rarely notice their own transformations. But you've become more confident now, and there's a new aggression in your gaze."

Scáthach closed her eyes briefly, thinking it over before adding, "…In that regard, you're somewhat like Fergus and Medb."

"Shishou, don't think I haven't read Irish myths. Both Fergus and Medb are absolute lust demons."

Roy curled his lip. Medb and Fergus were people whose minds were entirely consumed by desire—for men and women alike. Medb could at least be excused as someone who, due to her youth, had given up on herself and used her body to gain everything she wanted. But Fergus, the so-called Celtic warrior, was practically a walking, talking breeding machine.

"They love women and men too much. While dealing with such people can be troublesome, I don't dislike their honesty. What I despise are the cowardly ones who lack the courage to show their desires."

"…Like you when you first arrived in the Land of Shadows. You had no warrior's spirit, no pride of the strong. Your first instinct in the face of adversity was to retreat rather than muster courage. Even your willpower was in tatters. Though your heart was full of ambition and desire, you kept it all bottled up, too afraid to reveal it. That's the type I hate the most."

Scáthach didn't spare Roy's dignity in the slightest, berating him mercilessly.

"Then why do you still teach me things if I'm someone you despise so much?"

"I am someone who fully understands myself and knows my own talents. Therefore, I also possess the insight to discern others' potential and temperament. The moment I first saw you, I knew you were merely a pearl covered in dust—a beautiful jade hidden beneath that rough exterior. With careful carving, you could be shaped into exactly what I desire."

Although Scáthach seemed to be praising him, Roy couldn't shake the feeling that she was actually praising herself. "...Shishou, you're just boasting about your own discernment and ability, aren't you? Claiming you can train a 'waste' like me into a 'warrior.'"

She was a solitary queen, one who would never yield or serve anyone.

"Correct. As you are now, you've completely taken on the form I envisioned."

In front of this woman, Roy found himself utterly at her mercy—no surprise, given she was a figure from Celtic mythology, a woman who had lived for thousands of years. Compared to those innocent, bashful maidens, Scáthach was far more formidable.

"But..."

Scáthach suddenly reached out, clasping the back of Roy's head and pulling him closer with slight force. She held him, her eyes closed, her delicate fingers gently stroking his silver hair as she whispered, "...But the Roy of now has grown into a man your master admires and cherishes."

This was it—taking a young, untested boy brimming with potential and molding him into the warrior she envisioned. It excited Scáthach, filled her with delight, stirring something deep within her decaying body, something that made her breath hitch.

.....

But it wasn't enough. Not yet. He still fell short—unable to kill her, unable to save her. And yet, hope had finally appeared. Her long-dried, despairing heart once again pulsed with the breath of 'life.' Her meaningless existence had suddenly regained purpose.

Scáthach, the woman cursed by the gods, had, in this hollow and empty passage of time, once more received their favor. How unpredictable fate could be.

Wait, and hold onto hope.

With that thought, her arms tightened around Roy.

Roy closed his eyes, pressing his face against Scáthach's softness. Her grip nearly suffocated him, but for the current Roy, holding his breath for extended periods was no great feat. He was simply enveloped entirely by her scent, unable to perceive anything else, utterly captivated by her feminine allure.

When not in battle, Scáthach always preferred wearing that simple, elegant everyday attire, her flawless legs bare. And now, Roy finally touched her.

Scáthach merely patted Roy's head, not scolding him for his mischief. The two remained embraced, and slowly, any trace of ambiguity in the air faded, leaving only Roy's lingering attachment to Scáthach.

It was like a soldier shedding tears upon reuniting with their instructor, or the sorrow and nostalgia of a high school senior looking back at teachers and classmates upon graduation.

***

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