[Silvena’s POV]

As the faint shiver ran through her body, Silvena pulled the blanket closer, cocooning herself in it as if it could be her final bastion against the cold that had insidiously sunk deep into her bones.

But honestly, it didn’t help much.

The chill stayed with stubborn obstinacy, clinging to her skin as if all the warmth had left the room, leaving her alone in a slow, creeping cold that wouldn’t go away.

Her throat burned with a parched and grating discomfort each time she swallowed, a raw ache that seemed to deepen with every breath, while her nose felt oppressively congested, thick with stubborn mucus that rendered even the simple act of breathing.

"Urmmm..."

She shifted weakly against the bed, her vision blurring for some moments as a dull, oppressive heat pressed insistently against her forehead.

Everything felt off, like her body wasn’t working the way it should. She felt too hot and too cold at the same time, the strange mix bothering her without stopping.

Strands of her emerald hair stuck lightly to her flushed skin, slightly damp from the fever.

Even the most trivial motion exacted a cost far greater than it had any right to demand, draining her with an almost insulting ease.

"Fucking... stupid fever," she cursed, her voice hoarse and frayed, each word dragged out through the dryness clawing at her throat.

Then, without warning, a sharp and insistent tickle rose within her, forcing her to turn slightly before it overtook her entirely.

"Achooo!!!"

The force of it sent a brief yet unpleasant reverberation through her head, leaving behind a lingering discomfort.

"Ugh... why??"

Reaching sluggishly to her side, she retrieved a napkin and wiped her nose.

"Why the hell am I suddenly getting sick out of nowhere..."

Honestly, it defied reason.

For someone such as herself, one who had already ascended to the rank of a second-class magus, to succumb to something as trivial and commonplace as a fever.

Because by all conventional understanding, it was very rare. At that stage, the body could no longer be likened to that of an ordinary individual.

Through prolonged exposure to mana and the continuous refinement of one’s internal circulation, a magus’s physical constitution underwent a gradual transformation.

Their resistance to common ailments was markedly heightened, and their bodies capable of suppressing minor infections before they were ever granted the opportunity to fully manifest.

Which was exactly why this felt so... strange to her.

"At this point... how am I even supposed to help him?" she grumbled, before sneezing again.

A soft, deliberate knock echoed from the door, gentle in its cadence.

Knock! Knock!

Silvena heard it, and even through the haze clouding her senses, she had already come to the conclusion that it could only be Irene.

She made no attempt to respond, as even the simple act of parting her lips to say "come in" felt far too burdensome for her weakened state.

The handle turned soon after, followed by the slow, careful creak of the door as it opened.

Silvena did not bother to look.

Her eyes stayed half-lidded as she lay there, wrapped tightly in her blanket.

"Irene... can you make something warm for me to drink," she murmured weakly, her voice rough and tired.

"I’m struggling to breathe here... I feel like dying..." she added with a soft, pitiful whine as her eyes slipped shut.

For a fleeting moment, silence lingered.

Then a voice answered, calm and deep, far too composed to be Irene.

"Don’t ever say such a thing."

"You’re not going to die under my watch."

Recognizing the voice, Silvena’s eyes flew open in an instant.

Despite the weight pressing down upon her, she forced her head to lift slightly in their urgency, while her hands hastily drew the blanket higher to cover the lower half of her face.

Her face flushed red.

"Wha- wha- wha... what the hell are you doing HERE!!!?" she stammered, her words uneven and tangled as panic began to take hold.

"Why you came to my room!!?

There, standing only a short distance from her bed, was a figure she could recognize without the slightest doubt.

’Seriously, like... why is he here!???’

It was none other than the one she knew all too well, her supposed all-knowing seer, and her partner in crime.

Ruvian answered almost immediately, a playful grin already forming on his face.

"Why can’t I?" he said lightly.

"You did state in the letter that I owe you an explanation, right? So here I am obliged to come and fulfill it."

He let out a small laugh.

Meanwhile, Silvena was in complete disarray on the inside.

At the very least, he could have given her some form of warning beforehand if he intended to visit.

Because as of now...

She looked utterly dreadful and entirely unpresentable, her hair in disarray and her face flushed with the unrelenting heat of the fever.

At that very moment, Silvena could not even decide whether she wished more to vanish from sheer embarrassment or to surrender entirely to the miserable illness weighing her down so heavily.

’Ugh... how bothersome...’

Still clutching the blanket tightly around herself, she shifted her gaze toward Irene, silently urging her to give some form of explanation.

Irene lowered her head without delay, offering a polite and composed bow.

"My apologies, Lady Silvena," she said in a calm and respectful tone.

"I did tell him no. But he insisted, saying that he wished to know the condition of his partner no matter what."

"Yeah, what she said."

Ruvian added without hesitation as he began to make his way closer to the bed.

His expression shifted slightly, the playfulness easing into something more attentive.

"Anyway, how the hell did you suddenly get this fever?"

"Like hell do I know? I have been asking the same damn... Aaa... aaa... Achooo!"

Silvena hastily brought the napkin up to cover her mouth as the sneeze overtook her.

"Ugh..."

She grumbled, as she wiped her nose with a tired motion, her brows furrowed in frustration as she tried to recover.

Yet before she could gather her thoughts enough to continue, Ruvian had already closed the distance, stepping far nearer than before until he stood right beside her bed.

"Lay down," he said, his voice calm yet leaving little room for argument.

’Huh?’

His hand reached out gently, guiding her by the shoulder as he eased her back onto the bed. His touch was careful, handling her gently like a very precious flower.

’What?’

Silvena blinked in confusion, her thoughts struggling to keep pace with his actions, yet her body followed without resistance as she let herself sink back against the pillow.

Ruvian then reached for the cloth resting on her forehead and removed it, setting it aside before gently brushing a few strands of her damp emerald hair away from her face.

Silvena could do little more than look at him, her gaze lingering upon his features, where his dark blue eyes remained steady and calm, yet within them lay a faint trace of concern.

A moment later, his hand came to rest against her forehead.

Silvena felt the warmth of his palm clearly, a grounding contrast to the feverish heat of her skin.

For a fleeting moment, she became acutely aware of that simple, unspoken gesture.

Ruvian remained like that for a short while, quietly assessing her condition. (+50PP)

Then, after a brief pause, he let out a faint scoff and clicked his tongue, a subtle note of displeasure crossing his expression.

’Shit.’

"You have a rather serious fever," he said plainly.

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[Chapter 128: Partner in Crime (3)]

Plot Points= 18,230