Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 331
TL: Elphie / PR: Mikan
– Iâm not dead.
The Hand of Appraisal wrote the words into the air.
But to Irene, Michael, and even Chomp-chomp, the expression on their faces didnât look much different from the ones people wore when mourning the dead.
âWhat on earth happened to you, Hand?â
Irene’s voice was quiet but seriousâan expression rarely seen on her face.
And for good reason. The Hand was a mess.
Truth be told, the Hand of Appraisal had never been the most pleasant sight to begin with. It already looked like someone had lopped off a desiccated mummyâs limb and preserved it.
But back then, aside from the disturbingly clean cut at the wrist, there hadnât been any real damage. Now, however, it would be an understatement to say it was covered in wounds.
Large and small cuts marred the surface, as though it had been dragged through a battlefield. Swollen, bruised patches bloomed across the parchment-dry skin, darkening to an ugly purple in places.
It was hard to believe a severed, seemingly dead hand could bruise. And yet, here they were, apparently witnessing the impossible.
Irene wasn’t one to get sentimental easily, but her bond with the Hand ran deep, almost as much as her bond with Chomp-chomp. Ever since theyâd left the Fortress, the Hand of Appraisal had been with them, like some strange but steadfast member of the family.
Its vocabulary was on the foul side, sure, but it knew so many things. It had been invaluable whenever they stumbled across ancient artifacts, and when there was downtime, it would often share its bizarre but fascinating knowledge about various parts of the monster realm.
Sometimes, though, it shared too much. Even when Ireneâs eyes were fluttering shut from exhaustion, teetering on the edge of sleep, the Hand would keep scribbling its endless commentary into the air, completely ignoring her need for rest.
Certainly. Here’s the continuation, translated into English while maintaining the same character-driven, emotionally wry tone and internal texture:
– Back in my dayâŚ
There had been more nights than she could count when Chomp-chomp had to wrap up the Hand of Appraisal like a bratty scroll, drag it away mid-rant, and only then would Irene finally manage to fall asleep.
Still, sheâd always treated the Hand like family.
Which was why, when it disappeared on its own one day without a word, she couldnât help but worry.
[Donât worry so much! That thingâs practically unkillable. You think a stray dogâs hard to put down? Try something that keeps crawling around even after its body got lopped off at the wrist.]
âThatâs true, butâŚâ
Chomp-chomp had insisted that the Hand wasnât exactly weak. If it left, it mustâve had a reason. Then he immediately begged for another apple, claiming that was all he really cared about.
But when the Hand came back like this, beaten up and barely twitching, it hit Irene like a stone dropping into her chest.
Was this what it felt like when the dog you raised at home ran away, only to come limping back with a torn ear and a limp?
Not that sheâd say that out loud. Knowing the Hand, even in its current mangled state, itâd find a way to flip her off midair with its middle finger and launch into a string of demonic expletives just for the comparison.
Once sheâd wiped away most of the grime and dried blood with a damp cloth, the Hand seemed to recover a little. It began scrawling in the air again, faster this time, as if shedding the trauma with every letter.
– I found my body.
âReally?â
âYouâre serious?â
[For real???]
Not just IreneâMichael and even Chomp-chomp raised their voices in disbelief.
– Where do I begin? I suppose I should start from the day I first felt something strange. It wasâŚ
âWait!â
Just as the Hand of Appraisal was about to launch into its tale, furiously scribbling letters into the air, Irene raised her hand to stop it.
At a glance from her, Michael and Chomp-chomp both nodded and, without a word, scattered in different directions around the house.
Huh? Whatâs going on? Where are you all going?
Moments later, the two humans and one monster returned, each holding something.
Irene brought cushions for everyone to sit on.
Michael brought out a blanket for everyone to wrap up in.
And Chomp-chomp returned with a large plate of salad and the fried potatoes Michael had made earlier.
Pat pat.
Cushion spread, blanket draped, a generous helping of food placed neatly on her lapâat last, Irene gave the signal to begin.
âYou can talk now.â
* * *
Two years ago, the Hand of Appraisal had been passing dull, pointless days in the Fortress.
It had already been quite some time since heâd taken up residence there.
âWhatâs the point of this life?â
There was a time long ago when heâd sworn vengeance on the one who reduced him to this state. Heâd vowed to reclaim his original body, no matter what it took.
But now? Now, all he could muster was a weary resignation, letting whatever happened happen.
What use was a high miasma resistance if he barely had any miasma to begin with?
Sure, he wouldnât die. But that just meant he had to suffer indignities endlessly, without reprieve.
Eventually, he couldnât take it anymore and fled to the human realm, desperate for an escape.
And just as heâd hoped, those with high miasma resistance didnât bother chasing him all the way into the human world just to mock a severed hand.
At first, he was simply relieved by the quiet. Life in the human realm had been uneventfulâjust another day pretending to be an artifact appraisal tool, staying out of sight and out of trouble. But the stillness had long since curdled into tedium.
âWill I ever find my body?â
Whenever artifacts crossed over into the human realm, he would scrutinize them, just in case. Perhaps something would offer a clue. A shard of magic, a cursed core, anything that could point the way.
But like him, the monsters who’d fled to the human world were a pathetic bunchâpretending to be objects, living in hiding, hollow and powerless. Nothing of use. Nothing of note.
And so, he drifted in boredom. Until the Fortress stirred.
