Chương 13: Chapter 12 — Blessed Demon Child

Lunch proved eye-opening in more ways than one. Chelsea discovered that her favorite type of heart belonged to horses, while goat eyes beat out tongue for her new second-favorite dish. She left the table with her stomach comfortably full and her head spinning.

"What even is my life anymore?" she muttered as they stepped out of the dining hall.

"This is going to be the meeting for my class, right?" she asked, brushing her hands on her casual tunic.

"That's correct, Miss," Adriane answered, back in her polished maid voice.

"His excellency said there were experts watching your fights earlier. They should provide excellent insight into which class best suits you." As they passed a guard, Chelsea glanced up with a bright smile.

"You're doing an awesome job. Thank you for keeping us safe." The guard blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity, before nodding stiffly. Chelsea skipped a step before sighing.

"What even is a class? I still don't get it." Adriane's brow furrowed.

"Did you not have classes in your world?"

"Like school classes? Yeah, we had those. I was great in those." Their conversation cut off as Chelsea suddenly froze. A ripple went down her spine, and her body responded with a jolt of alien sensation. For the first time, she could feel them, her tail, her wings. Not as decorations or weights tugging on her body, but as living, responsive limbs. Muscles she hadn't known existed twitched awake, nerves firing like sparks on a fuse. It broke her brain. It was like realizing she had three new arms.

"Ah!" she yelped, stumbling sideways. She caught herself against the wall, both hands pressing hard against the cool stone as her balance fought to catch up with her new reality.

"What?" Adriane asked sharply, already scanning Chelsea for signs of distress.

"What's wrong? Was it something from lunch?" Chelsea raised a shaky finger, eyes squeezed shut.

"Hooo, sorry. Gonna need a sec." Her breathing came fast, uneven, as though the world itself had tilted beneath her feet. Adriane's hand shot into the air, snapping for attention.

"You," she called to a nearby guard.

"Go to the meeting room on the fifth floor. Inform his excellency we are on our way, but Miss Chelsea is..." she gestured vaguely at the trembling girl, "... indisposed. Say she feels a bit ill, but will be there shortly." The guard nodded crisply and hurried off toward the elevator. Adriane turned back, lowering her voice as she placed a steady hand against Chelsea's upper back.

"You okay?"

"Please don't touch me right now," Chelsea groaned, her voice strained.

"Too much... too much sensation." Adriane's hand withdrew instantly, fingers curling awkwardly against her own palm. She hovered nearby, preparing to steady the girl if needed. Chelsea pressed against the wall, her forehead nearly touching the stone. She stayed like that for a minute, breath slowing, before forcing herself upright. She swayed dangerously, and in the same motion nearly toppled backward. Adriane lunged and caught her by the shoulders before she could fall.

"Talk to me, Ch... Miss," Adriane corrected, her voice taut with concern.

"Tail," Chelsea whispered, her eyes still shut tight.

"Wings. I can feel them. I think I can move them." Adriane blinked, surprise cutting through her stern expression.

"Oh. You... couldn't before?"

"No," Chelsea admitted, voice quiet and trembling.

"I wish Judd had actually ripped them off. My brain's on overload." Adriane softened, steadying her grip.

"Okay. Take your time. Adjust to it. You've got this." Chelsea nodded faintly.

"Thanks." She stood still for another ten seconds, willing herself to master the alien flood of signals. Then, whump. Something thick smacked against the back of her knees, nearly knocking her down again. Chelsea staggered, eyes snapping open. Her tail, awkward and heavy, swung like a club behind her.

"Traitor," she hissed at it through clenched teeth. As if in protest, her wings flared with a sudden, irresistible impulse. They stretched wide, almost painfully, the tendons and muscles in her back pulling taut as if released from a lifetime of restraint. The tips brushed the walls on either side of the corridor, their breadth commanding space that suddenly felt far too small. Chelsea stood gasping, her chest heaving.

"They're... bigger than I expected," she managed at last, staring at the dark expanse of membrane and bone.

"Yeah, same," Adriane muttered, her eyes appraising the wingspan with a mix of awe and wariness. Aside from size, the wings were exactly what she had expected, black, leathery, bat-like, each supported by long finger-bones that stretched the taut membrane from top to tip. When she concentrated, they folded neatly against her back again, slipping into the same tucked position they had always occupied, though now she felt the strain of keeping them there. The tail, however, was another matter entirely.

It thrashed beneath her dress like a live serpent, striking her calves, tangling with her steps. Every flick sent a shiver of sensation through muscles she hadn't known existed five minutes ago. Chelsea grimaced and forced herself to focus. Push right, push left. The heavy appendage obeyed in jerky sways, as if it resented the idea of ever being still. The constant motion left her queasy.

"Okay," she exhaled, straightening her shoulders.

"Let's go. I think I'm good now." Adriane raised a brow, unconvinced, but said nothing as Chelsea marched forward. Each step felt uneven, her balance subtly sabotaged by the thick limb swaying behind her like a pendulum. It was like learning to walk again. By the time they reached the heavy meeting-room doors, Chelsea was certain the guards had noticed her awkward gait. The armored man at the door opened it, and the atmosphere of the room swept over her immediately.

It was the same chamber where she had once sat with Alexi, but this time the weight of scrutiny pressed harder. Inside waited the assessor Jess, the king seated at the center couch, three older men with scholarly bearing, and one knight whose stern face looked like it was carved from stone. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Chelsea dipped her head politely.

"Good afternoon, everyone. My apologies for my tardiness."

"Chelsea, yes. Welcome." The king's voice was warm, approving.

"We were just discussing your duels from this morning. Very impressive. Your proctor gave some very helpful feedback."

"Marvelous display," one of the men added with a nod. The others murmured their agreement, all except the knight, who stood with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on her with a heavy, unreadable stare. The king leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his goatee.

"Well, we are at a bit of an impasse. I and Herbert here," he gestured with two fingers to a rounder man in fine clothes that defined him as a noble, "believe you should pursue a general warrior class, mail armor, strong balance, high attack output. Gero and Willem," he motioned toward two other men, both leaner, "argue for the pure swordsman path, light leather, speed, and devastating strikes.

Sir Godwin," he inclined his head toward the knight looming at the back, "believes we should forge you into a defensive bulwark, a full-plate knight." The king spread his hands, palms upward, as though weighing the options.

"So you see, the choice is not simple. Perhaps you can help us decide?" Chelsea froze.

"I... I..." Her eyes darted instinctively to Adriane, searching for guidance, for a hint, anything. But the S-class adventurer stood with her chin lowered, her gaze fixed on the floor. She might as well have been a statue for all the help she offered. Chelsea's throat tightened.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir," she began hesitantly, "what exactly is the conflict I was summoned here for? I was never told." The air in the chamber shifted at once. The light, almost playful mood of scholarly debate hardened into something heavier. The king's smile dimmed as he laced his fingers together on the table.

"It's a god beast," he said simply. Her heart skipped.

"A god? Like Magalesa?"

"Similar," he replied, measured and calm.

"Not exactly. But that is all you need to know for now." Chelsea swallowed hard. Her nerves screamed at her to stay quiet, but the thought gnawed at her too loudly.

"Then... shouldn't we aim toward whatever would be best against that?" For a moment, silence. Then the three scholarly men along with the king burst into laughter. The knight just glared harder. The laughter, however, rang off the high walls, loud and dismissive, as if she had just delivered the punchline to the best joke of their lives. Chelsea blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks.

She glanced again at Adriane, still no reaction, no rescue, only the faintest shadow of a frown that might have been sympathy or disappointment.

"Oh, to be a naïve child again," one of the older men chuckled, wiping his eyes.

"While we're at it," another man chimed in dryly, "why not forge an arrow that can kill the god beast from three hundred miles away?" The couches erupted again. They weren't laughing with her. They were laughing at her. Chelsea's chest tightened, her pulse hammering in her ears. Heat prickled under her skin as her blood boiled. She wanted to lash out, wanted to bare her teeth and remind these pompous old men she wasn't some child to be mocked.

But she risked a glance at Adriane, still standing motionless, her expression unreadable, eyes locked on the ground. That was her answer. Chelsea clenched her fists behind her back, forcing her lips into a practiced smile. She let out a thin, airy laugh as if she'd been in on the joke the whole time. Her stomach twisted, but she played the part. This is what a sister does, she told herself. If Adriane's trusting me to keep up the act, I can't afford to crack now.

The laughter died down, and the king's voice steadied the room again.

"No, I believe with her natural defensive capabilities, a general warrior is the way. Plate would be overkill, and leather leaves too much to chance."

"Ultimately, it's your choice, Your Excellency," said one of the men who had been championing the swordsman class.

"Yes, then that is what we will go with. General warrior." The king's hand cut the air with finality.

"We can discuss specializations at a later time. For now, the class must be set." He rose to his feet, regal authority pressing down on the room.

"Assessor, assist her with the necessary setup." Jess stood stiffly, her robes swishing as she moved toward Chelsea. Her eyes lingered on the demon girl, cautious, reluctant, like a priest drawing near a sacrificial fire. Chelsea tilted her head, whispering with a reassuring grin as Jess reached out, "I'm not going to bite you. It's okay." Jess blinked, her hand hovering a moment longer before settling lightly against Chelsea's temple.

"I've been curious," one of the swordsman supporters spoke again, his voice amused in the way of a man prodding at an animal in a cage.

"What do you even feed her, Your Excellency?"

"Raw organs, if you would believe it," the king answered smoothly, as though unveiling a curious fact about a sideshow attraction.

"Really?" Jess muttered under her breath, recoiling slightly.

"Raw?" Her face scrunched in visible disgust. Chelsea beamed, widening her eyes innocently.

"Mmhm. Tasty, right?" One of the older men scoffed behind Jess.

"That's revolting." Chelsea leaned around Jess just enough to flash a saccharine smile.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it. I wasn't a fan either, at first." She punctuated the line with a playful wink, her tail twitching beneath her dress in restrained mischief. Jess exhaled sharply, clearly unsettled, before pressing her palm more firmly to the side of Chelsea's head to continue... whatever she was doing. Jess's hand froze where it rested against Chelsea's temple. Her breath caught sharply.

"She has a title!" The words dropped like a stone in a still pond. Every man in the room shifted their focus to her at once.

"What is it?" the king demanded, his tone clipped, impatient. Jess swallowed, her voice trembling slightly as though she already knew the weight of her answer.

"The Blessed Demon Child." The room fell utterly silent. The air itself seemed to tighten, pressing in around Chelsea. She looked from one face to the next. None of them were laughing now. Their eyes bore into her as if she were no longer a girl in a pretty dress with wings but some dangerous relic pulled from the earth. Jess cleared her throat nervously.

"It increases the capability of all of her skills to rank up an additional three levels. Her stats are... a bit higher, though she is still level one." The knight's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"How much higher?"

"I'd say her Psyche is on par with someone level six." Jess's brows knitted together in confusion, her words careful.

"Her charisma, though... it's closer to someone at level nine. This makes no sense."

"Level nine?" one of the advisors whispered, aghast. The king leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing in calculation.

"It must be the enhancement. See if it's visible yet." Jess nodded quickly, adjusting her hand as though peeling back another unseen layer.

"Mmm. Yes. Her soul-marked enhancement is called The Perfect Outfit. Uh..." She faltered, almost embarrassed to read it aloud.

"It, ah... it just says it makes clothes fit her better. And it's at tier four." Once again, silence consumed the room. Chelsea's cheeks warmed under their stares. The king's fingers drummed slowly against the back of the couch. His humming was quiet but edged, the sound of gears grinding in his mind.

"Where are the extra attribute points coming from, then?" The knight's eyes flicked toward Adriane, narrowing with suspicion.

"Am I correct in assuming her maid is who I think she is?" A long pause followed. Chelsea's heart pounded in her chest, waiting for the king's reaction. Finally, he answered with deliberate weight.

"Your assumption would more than likely be correct." The knight turned sharply.

"You there, maid. Did you give her an item or something to improve her stats?" His voice was an accusation sharpened to a point. Adriane did not lift her gaze from the floor. Her voice was calm, even, but carried an undertone of steel.

"No, my lord." Her restraint made Chelsea's stomach twist. She wanted to shout at them, to tell them Adriane was the only reason she hadn't fallen apart already. But she stayed silent, remembering Adriane's warning: business as usual. The king hummed again, louder this time, still studying Chelsea as if she were a puzzle with pieces missing.

"An unknown factor is raising her stats at an unprecedented speed. Any changes to her ailment since we last spoke?" Jess shook her head quickly.

"No, sir. Exact same wording."

"Very well." The king straightened, signaling the conversation was over.

"Either way, move forward with class selection." Chelsea found herself studying Jess more closely now that the woman was so near. Subtle lines framed the corners of her eyes, and the faint weathering of her skin hinted at years of experience. Yet there was still something undeniably attractive about her. Those sharp green eyes in particular... Chelsea caught herself hoping Jess had a personality to match. A glowing prompt cut that thought short: Would you like to assign your class as Warrior (general)?

Chelsea's smile wilted. Really? Warrior (general)? The parenthetical alone made it sound pathetic, like she'd just been handed the "discount option" at a restaurant. At least "swordsman" had some flair. Standing here under the king's gaze, though, she didn't feel like she had a choice.

"Yes," she muttered. The corner of her vision exploded with text. Class Assigned: Warrior (general) Sword (1h) specialty level 1 acquired Axe (1h) specialty level 1 acquired Sword (2h) specialty level 1 acquired Axe (2h) specialty level 1 acquired Mail specialty level 1 acquired Chelsea blinked.

"Well, that's... a lot of swords," she thought to herself. She still didn't fully understand what having a class even meant, but the king seemed delighted by it, so she let him claim the victory.

"Tomorrow afternoon we will begin your training," he said warmly, smiling as if this were some grand ceremony instead of a sentencing.

"For today, you are free to roam about the castle. Please, enjoy our library and take in our gardens." Chelsea tilted her head.

"I'm... free to roam?" The words slipped out before she could stop them. She couldn't help but wonder if this was some kind of trick. Why let her wander if they were still deciding whether she should live? Still, it sounded like a good sign. She forced a polite bow.

"Thank you, sir. I think I will." She turned toward Adriane, her energy lifting for the first time that day.

"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go to that library!" Adriane allowed herself the briefest laugh before slipping her mask of obedience back in place. Together, they stepped into the waiting elevator. Go to sleep now. -M.