Never Mind the Heir, I’ll Focus on Healing - Chapter 139

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

The Successor I Know Nothing Of, Just Healing for Me – Episode 139

“……It seems there’s nothing more to discuss. I think we should wrap this up here.”

Patrick rose to his feet.
The fact that the Archbishop had come this far meant he’d certainly caught onto something about Lion.

‘Then swift resolution is the best course.’

Dragging things out would only give that cunning Archbishop’s mind more room to speculate.

“……!”

Meanwhile, Tailius inwardly cheered.
He’d thought Patrick would certainly detain him for hours over his foul mood, but he was being released far sooner than expected.

“Ah, yes—a sound idea. I shall take good care of my health as Your Grace suggests. Then, if you’ll excuse me.”

The Emperor praised himself for enduring the long ordeal, then hastily rose and vanished at speed.
He was always quick to seize an opportunity.

‘Tsk, tsk……’

Patrick watched the Emperor flee with such haste, and clicked his tongue inwardly.
How could someone seated upon the throne lack such dignity?
Well, at least the fool moves as intended……so I’ll overlook it this time.
Patrick withdrew his gaze from the Emperor’s retreating form and settled back into his seat.

“So then, what did you come all this way to tell me?”
“Haha. Your perceptiveness is truly remarkable, Patrick.”

The Archbishop, who had not moved from his spot until now, let slip a faint smile.
As expected—there was something he wanted to say after all.

“We’re both busy men. Speak plainly.”

He’d expected something like this, in truth.
Since that boy Lion had caused quite a stir at the Temple, the Archbishop had doubtless come to probe him about it.
The Messenger of God.
He’d probably pinpointed that identity.
And in the process of investigating one thing and another, he’d learned that Lion had been attacked.

‘No matter how well I concealed it, the Archbishop’s intelligence network is formidable……so I mustn’t let any cracks show.’

The Archbishop had been asleep all this time, and even if he’d obtained information about Lion, there’s nothing he could confirm with certainty anyway.

“Are you in such a hurry?”
“It’s you who’s being slow.”
“Haha. But surely it’s all for the sake of hearing God’s voice. It’s nothing serious, really. It’s just……”

The Archbishop clenched his fist, laughed, then turned his head away.

“When I see Lion of the Asteri Territory, someone comes to mind.”
“……”
“His actions—as if he were the Messenger of God. Or rather……”

Like that Hero who once walked alongside the Saintess.
Their gazes met amid mounting tension.

‘I’m not sure how much he’s actually discovered.’

But speaking with that certainty meant the Archbishop had solid suspicions—or evidence.
He’d been sharp-minded since childhood, this Archbishop.
And given that he’d always kept a close watch on the Hero, it wasn’t entirely strange that he’d reach such a conclusion.
This much, at least, Patrick had anticipated. He remained unshaken.
After all, impressive as the Archbishop might be….

‘He’s never laid eyes on the Hero himself.’

His information network was limited.
His grandson aside, when it came to intelligence about the Hero, Patrick held the advantage.
Even if the Archbishop had grown up hearing the Saintess’s vivid accounts, he couldn’t compare to Patrick himself—or to Elder Elf Boaresia.
Another man might have wavered, but the Archbishop’s opponent was Patrick Asteri, an 8th Circle Archmage.
And his skill with words was as formidable as his command of magic.

“What do you make of it, Patrick?”
“An interesting perspective, I’ll grant.”

Patrick let out a soft laugh, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“But that Hero you’re searching for isn’t the one you’re thinking of, is he?”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Simply put—the one who traveled with the previous Archbishop. That ‘one’ isn’t who you’re looking for.”
…….

The previous Archbishop. At the mention of the Saintess, a faint glimmer passed through the Archbishop’s eyes.
Many emotions layered there—eyes that gleamed with obsession. Patrick didn’t look away.
Instead, he simply continued speaking, his tone steady.

“Master your feelings, Archbishop. I’m merely stating what’s real.”

Though Patrick had been cutting just moments before, calling him mad, he felt a flicker of pity for the man standing before him now.
If Patrick himself had been in his position, he couldn’t have let go so easily.
After all—the Saintess he’d followed like a parent figure had suddenly died one day.

‘That time….’

It was the period after the war ended, when they were clearing away its aftermath.
Everyone was miserable and grieving, yet they were beginning to stand again, buoyed by the hope that they need suffer no further losses.
In such an age, the Saintess’s death struck like a thunderbolt, shaking all of them to their core.

“The Saintess—or rather, the Archbishop has passed away!”
“But she was in perfect health. Why so sudden?”
“Word is a curse had accumulated in her body.”
“No, there was also talk that she had a short lifespan to begin with.”
“Perhaps the Saintess was so capable that God called her up to Heaven early.”

Hundreds, thousands owed their lives to the Saintess’s aid. The Grand Barrier itself had been completed through her sacrifice. Of course all mourned her.
And yet… in truth.

‘There are many strange things about this death.’

Patrick had stepped in to contain the matter quickly, but the death itself harbored considerable mysteries.

First: the day before the Saintess died, she had met with the Hero. That was the striking fact.
It was far too secretive a meeting to pass off as merely planning for what lay ahead.
Second: the day the Saintess died.
The Hero vanished without a trace.
And ever since—to this day.
It had vanished without a trace, quite literally evaporated.

Patrick, too, harbored many questions about this point.
Yet having stood alongside them as comrades in battle, Patrick could affirm one thing with certainty.
At the very least, the Hero could never have killed the Saintess.
Therefore, while their meeting might serve as decisive evidence of some incident, it does not make the Hero the culprit in the Saintess’s death…… though.
The Archbishop—the Saintess’s closest confidant, a figure like her own child, still so young in mind—could not grasp this distinction.
And so he continued searching for traces of the Hero.
Patrick felt a pang of sympathy.
He understood, but could not agree.
How many witnesses had there been to the unjust deaths of those around them in those days?
It was an era where those ignorant of the anguish—the sharp blade-twist in one’s chest, the endless hollow ache and futility—were rarer still.
Yet people buried each of their loved ones deep in their hearts and lived on as keepers of their graves.
Because only then could they care for those who remained.
……And he himself had done the same.
But here stood the Archbishop, still searching for the Hero with those gleaming, restless eyes.
Worse, his purpose had long since twisted.
No longer seeking that Hero of old, but rather fixated on one who possessed the potential to become a “Hero.”
And of all people, that one happened to be his own grandson.

“Fifty years have already passed.”
“There are things that must not be forgotten, no matter how much time flows.”
“I’m not saying forget. I’m saying if you’re going to remember, then remember it properly.”

Patrick finished speaking, then watched quietly as the Archbishop rose from his seat again.
It irked him that the man had ventured to mention his grandson, but knowing the Archbishop’s circumstances, Patrick decided to let it pass this once.

“Reflect carefully on my words.”

Besides, mad or not, the young man was still like the son of his old comrade.
Patrick hoped that from this day forward, the Archbishop might learn to live in the present.
And yet…….

“It seems you’ve found a capable successor, at least.”

At those words, the Archbishop’s body went rigid.
Patrick pretended not to notice and turned away.
Everyone, no matter their age, had their own growing pains to endure.

* * *

“……What did you just say?”
“He’s asked that the Smithy be cleared out for tonight alone.”

Mudu was experiencing astonishment that had long since transcended mere confusion.
Not that he had any trouble granting such a request—after all, this was Lion Asteri, an eccentric if ever there was one, and Mudu could easily clear the Smithy for him even in the dead of night.
He could do it during the day too!
Of course, it was the finest smithy in the Asteri Territory, and losing even a single day’s work meant considerable loss—yet that young master’s peculiarities were nothing compared to all the man had done for him.
The thought of that roaring flame and that vivid spirit alone amounted to a lifetime of debt.
But the problem was…….

“What are you going to make?”
“That’s a secret.”
“Fine, fine. But why are you making it?”
“That’s a secret too.”

This young master was offering no explanation whatsoever for whatever lunacy he’d taken into his head this time!

“This’ll drive me mad.”

Mudu scrubbed his face roughly with his calloused hands. His nose, already perpetually reddened by the heat of the forge, became a vivid strawberry-red under the friction of his coarse palms.
Why was he so exhausted after just a few words of conversation?

‘What’s he planning to do now! Why won’t he tell me!’

Fine.
Mudu decided to be honest with himself.
In truth, he was dying to know what this eccentric would create!
More precisely, he wanted to witness that eccentric’s growth with his own eyes!
It wasn’t merely about striking metal with a hammer.
Where did he keep picking up new skills, one by one? The moment he learned something, he’d grasp some principle and start crafting masterpieces before you knew it!

‘And what’s with that wooden block!’

At some point, the wooden block toys his precious children had been playing with turned out to be gifts from Lion Asteri.
He’d received them as thanks for lending expensive dyes.
And hadn’t Lion sent paints in such abundance that the children wouldn’t run out even if they used them into adulthood?
Come to think of it now, playing with the children was something to be grateful for too—no, wait, that wasn’t the point!
In any case, what he wanted was to watch what Lion made, standing right beside him.
But this time, it seemed he had no intention of allowing that.

“……All right. All right, I understand.”
“Much obliged.”
“Obliged, my foot.”

Mudu waved his thick hand dismissively through the air.

“But still—I could let you have the Smithy for a day or two during daylight hours, so why borrow it at night?”
“It’s one of those things.”
“Hmph.”

His subtle attempt to pry didn’t work either.
Which meant, at any rate, he was planning to use it for something secretive.

‘But knowing his nature, it can’t be anything nefarious.’

He had a disposition that made him reluctant to get entangled in trouble.

“Fine. Go on, you strange bastard. Do whatever you please!”

Mudu returned into the Smithy with a wistful sigh, smacking his lips in disappointment.

“Son! Make this eccentric scatterbrain a comfortable place to sit and rest!”
“Finished talking already? I had it ready long ago!”

The blacksmith’s son had prepared a spot in the coolest part of the forge and gestured welcomingly.

‘That’ll do.’

He could wait there until night fell, then get to work.

* * *

Time passed swiftly, and soon it was deep night with not a soul around.
Lion, who had heard precautions and warnings to be careful from Mudu dozens of times over, finally rose from his seat and surveyed the Smithy.

“There’s truly no one about?”
“Chirp-chirp.”

Nature covered her eyes with her wing and scanned the surroundings before chirping twice softly, confirming there was no one around.

“Good.”

Lion withdrew the Black Obsidian Stone that belonged to Elvia from his breast pocket, along with the Dissolution Agent he’d received as a gift.
The reason he’d chosen the night hours was simple.

“I’m not sure whether other people could bear that sweetness…….”

Elvia wouldn’t speak idle nonsense, after all.
In fact, the Black Obsidian Stone emitted a soft, low hum—a seductive vibration—whenever anyone passed near it.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————