Chapter 201: Washing Serie's Hair
Time flowed on. Rhodes and Serie were once again in a world of their own.
He was immersed in his study of Shurahat's magic, his mind in a constant state of a high-intensity operation. And when he was tired, he would close his eyes, or walk to the window and look out at the unchanging scenery. Perhaps we should go for a walk? he thought. It had been over two hundred years since they had last been on an adventure together. And the trip to the Demon King's castle had been too rushed, with no time for leisure.
Beside him, Serie was, as always, quiet. She would read her ancient grimoires, and sometimes, she would brew a strange-tasting flower tea. He didn't know when she had picked up that hobby. Perhaps it was just to pass the time. And he, of course, was always her first guinea pig. The taste... it was not good.
One day, as he was stretching after a long session in his magic circle, his gaze fell on her, sitting by the window. She was engrossed in a thick tome, and her long, golden hair was a shimmering waterfall that cascaded down to her waist. He couldn't help but stare. But as he looked closer, he saw that the luster of her hair was a little... dull, and the ends were singed, as if from a magical backlash. Perhaps she hasn't even noticed, he thought. The very air in their hut was now saturated with a high concentration of magic, and though it did them no harm, her hair... it was a different matter.
He walked over to her.
She looked up from her book, a question in her eyes. "Are you done?"
"For now," he said, his gaze still on her hair. "Your hair... it's a little..."
She looked at him, a little surprised, and ran a hand through her hair. It was still as smooth as ever. "It's fine. A cleaning spell will take care of it," she said, and a faint magical light began to gather at her fingertips.
"No," he said, and his voice was a firm and unyielding sound. He reached out and gently took her wrist. Her hand froze. The touch of him... it sent a jolt through her, and the light at her fingertips dissipated. "A cleaning spell will only remove the surface dirt. It won't repair the magical damage. Let me help you."
"And what do you propose to do?"
"Something like... washing your hair."
"What?" For the first time, a look of a genuine and sincere confusion crossed her cool, impassive face. Him? Wash her hair? A strange and unfamiliar panic began to set in.
"No, that's alright. I can do it myself," she said, and tried to pull her hand away. It was too... intimate. It would mean lying down before him, exposing her most vulnerable side.
"I said no," he said, and his hand, though it was not holding her tightly, was a firm and unyielding grip that she could not break. "Be good, Serie," he said, and leaned in, his voice a low and quiet sound by her ear. "Or I will have to resort to more... forceful means."
Her heart began to race. She looked at his face, so close to her own, and she could feel the warmth of his palm, and a new and strange emotion, a mixture of shame and a thrilling excitement, now washed over her. He was always so stubborn in these small things, so forceful. What an audacious human. If she could just... pin him down and beat him up... it would be so satisfying.
In the end, all she could do was bite her lip, and the pink blush that had started at her earlobes now spread across her face. She turned her head away and, in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible, she said, "Mm," a silent surrender.
A triumphant smile played on his lips, but he quickly suppressed it.
He did not let go of her hand, but rather, as if he were taking her for a walk, he led her to a pool of water that was connected to an underground stream. He took out a bottle of a flower-scented shampoo he had made in his spare time, and a bottle of a hair-conditioning oil. And then, he turned to her. "Come," he said.
She took a deep breath, as if she were about to go into battle, and with stiff and awkward steps, she walked over and sat down, her back to him. He gently eased her down, and her long, golden hair fanned out in the water like a water lily.
She kept her back straight, her hands clasped on her stomach, and she tried her best to keep her expression a neutral one. But her tense shoulders and the red tips of her ears betrayed her.
He, of course, noticed, but he did not say anything. He just took a scoop of the warm water and let it flow over her hair. She flinched. "Relax," he said, and the tension in her shoulders eased a little. He poured a small amount of the shampoo into his palm, lathered it, and then began to gently massage it into her hair.
"...Mmm..."
A small, almost inaudible, sound escaped her lips.
He was using a kind of a holy magic. The feeling... it was so... comforting. It was as if his touch was washing away all the accumulated weariness from her mind, a warmth that was more real, more tangible, than anything she had ever felt before. Her tense body began to relax, and she closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling slightly as she let herself be cared for.
He worked in a focused silence, and the only sounds were the lapping of the water, and their own, shared, breath.
~~~
Get early access to 20+ advanced chapters on Patreon!
https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Hollowborn
~~~
Every 150 Power Stones = 1 extra chapter