Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 351
TL: Elphie / PR: Mikan
Retrieving the Handâs body was laughably easy for Michael.
Even if someone with high magical aptitude had tried to interfere, it made little difference here. Michael still possessed the same overwhelming power heâd held as the former Monster King.
With just a flick of his hand, the vine-like things binding Irene fell away like wet leaves in a breeze.
As soon as the tendrils that had tightly bound them dropped to the ground, Chomp-chomp excitedly scooped up the apple he’d dropped earlier and shouted in delight.
[This, you fools, is the difference between the real deal and a fake! Your Majesty! Slice those vines up! Weâll make salad out of them!]
– Destroy them all! My body! Iâm finally getting my body back! My glorious, magnificent body!
The two monsters were hopping and twirling with their respective snacks in hand, resembling the crowd at a city ball game after a miraculous comeback win.
The vines, which had so fiercely resisted until now, gave up all at once and collapsed to the floor in a limp heap, no longer moving.
– At last! The vile, sneaky magic of that Rubinao Izeriena Kailatis or whatever they were called has finally run dry!
The Hand of Appraisal scribbled out the impossibly long name again, one that no one could ever seem to memorize, and promptly floated closer to the edge of the cliff.
Chomp-chomp, not to be outdone, stretched several of his tendrils and began peeling away the vines piled atop the Handâs body on the cliff above.
As the mass of tangled vegetation cleared, the curled-up figure of the Handâs original form came into view more clearly.
Irene stepped closer too, peering over the edge to look at the body beneath her feet.
âHow is the body that big, but the Hand itself so small?â
[Because it dried up.]
– Because it dried up!
Even after hearing the monstersâ answer, Irene couldnât quite make sense of it. Dried up? Thatâs why it got so small? What was it, a jellyfish?
While Irene was still frowning in confusion, the Hand of Appraisal gazed down at its body, overcome with emotion, its fingers trembling faintly.
âI finally have it back.â
The Hand of Appraisal thought back to the past.
After losing its body, those ungrateful monsters had snickered behind its back, poking fun with their tendrils, not even bothering to use fingers, of course. It had once commanded respect. Now, it was just a disembodied limb to be pointed at, laughed at.
The indignity had been unbearable. That was why it had crossed over into the human world and pretended to be an artifact, lying low.
Sure, the staff at the Fortress had treated it with some respect. But that didnât mean life had been easy.
âI was the one doing all the work!â
Humans were always dragging it out to poke at dungeon loot, whispering with eager eyes. Could this be an enchanted relic? A rare artifact? They went as far as thrusting every rusty spoon and glowing rock at the Hand of Appraisal.
Even if monsters didnât exactly need rest, spending all day examining trinkets and scribbling down observations brought on a creeping sense of futility.
Back in the monster realm, the Hand of Appraisal had been a name of some renown. And now? It had spent its days identifying spoon fragments.
âReally? Me? Reduced to this?â
But there had been nothing it could do. Its miasma, its force of will, shrunk to pathetic levels. It couldnât even cross dimensions on its own, let alone reclaim anything.
âThis wretched human world. Give it a hundred thousand years, and itâll collapse eventually.â
So the Hand had decided to wait it out. Pretend to be a relic. A loyal little Fortress artifact. That was the plan.
And then, everything changed. A strange force began to stir in the Fortress. The Monster King reappeared. And Chomp-chomp began crawling around again like old times.
Even more absurdly, Chomp-chomp had come to the Hand first and offered help. Offered! Said theyâd find the body together.
And after that? So many things have happened since then.
If it had eyes, theyâd be weeping a flood of grateful tears now.
The Hand of Appraisal swallowed the storm in its metaphorical chest and stared down at its reclaimed body. Then, without hesitation, it launched itself from the cliffâs edge.
– Begone, sad past! I am reboooorn!
Just as the Hand of Appraisal leapt from the cliff, the body curled between the rocks began to stir. Slowly, it rose.
âIt really is big.â
Irene murmured, startled. Beside her, Chomp-chomp let out a sulky huff.
[Iâm still bigger, though!]
Before she could reply, bursts of magic began to detonate midair, crackling and flaring like fireworks.
Apparently, it had been dried out. The instant magic touched it, the Handâs body swelled like a balloon, inflating fast.
The torso lifted its severed wrist high toward the sky, just in time for the flying Hand to meet it.
With a satisfying click, they connected at the joint.
Then came the laughter. Deafening, rolling across the land with such force that Ireneâs ears rang. It was loud, absurd, and brimming with joy. She almost clapped along before catching herself.
âThank goodness.â
She felt a warm weight lift from her chest. The promise had been kept. That alone was enough. And yet, a faint pang lingered.
âTheyâll go back to the monster realm now, wonât they?â
Since the day heâd first helped her, they had spent over two years together like family. Sure, the Hand swore too much and grumbled constantly, but hadnât it been the one along with Chomp-chomp who helped sort out the artifacts and send them back to the monster realm?
Not to mention its deep knowledge of the human world. Whenever Irene was caught marveling at some unfamiliar fruit, itâd quietly shuffle over and tell her its name like it was nothing.
Now, the thought of the Hand of Appraisal truly leaving made her wonder if this was what it felt like to lose family.
She was watching, caught in that soft, sentimental ache, whenâŚ
Thunk.
The wrist, which had just reattached so triumphantly, suddenly fell off again.
âHuh?â
[Eh?]
âMm?â
Irene. Chomp-chomp. Even Michael.
Everyone froze in confused silence as the severed wrist, now rapidly shriveling, began to plummet down, down, without end.
