39 The Wealthy and Generous Fremea (Please Follow!)

"Are you really alright? Do you feel any discomfort?"

Freme asked again, clearly uneasy, terrified that Herbert might be suffering from some adverse reaction.

"I’m fine, really! You have to believe me!"

Herbert was feeling quite helpless after being asked for the thirteenth time. Losing his appetite for jokes, he threw his hands up in surrender.

"Miss Freme, that’s the thirteenth time you’ve asked. I am truly fine! If something were wrong, I would definitely tell you."

*Not only would I tell you, I’d take full advantage of the situation and extort you for all you’re worth!*

*I should have let you let me stroke your tail properly... Ah! Why didn’t I think of that?*

*What a waste.*

*A truly massive waste!*

But since things had already reached this point, he couldn't very well shamelessly demand favors based on that excuse—or could he?

Herbert straightened his face and began to spout nonsense with a grave expression: "Wait, I just realized I’ve sustained a severe injury. I absolutely must touch your tail to be cured."

When it comes to life, whether in work, daily existence, or emotional connection, pride is truly worthless.

"That’s right, I’ve contracted a terminal illness that can only be cured by touching a siren’s tail."

Having said this, Herbert gave a bitter, solemn nod, looking for all the world as if it were the absolute truth.

He didn't care if others believed him; he had already convinced himself.

It was definitely true!

Freme: "???"

"Eh?"

The siren, who had been oscillating between anxiety and hope, snapped out of her daze. For some reason, the pressure in her heart lifted, and she burst into laughter.

"Haha, you are such an interesting little one!"

She laughed until she was swaying back and forth, her tail slapping against the waves.

*Splash, splash.*

After laughing for a good while, she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and nodded toward the boy, who was currently struggling to keep a straight face.

"So, you insist on touching my tail, do you?"

"Fine, I’ll indulge you."

Unexpectedly, she didn't refuse. She generously extended her tail out of the water sphere and placed it directly in front of Herbert.

"There, go ahead, but don't you dare get too carried away."

*Hmm?*

Herbert stared at the iridescent fish tail within arm's reach, his eyes widening.

*She’s actually letting me!*

*She’s so kind.*

*She’s infinitely more generous than that woman, Valentina.*

With the tail presented right before him, Herbert certainly wasn't going to be polite. He happily accepted his well-earned compensation.

He wiped his hands on his clothes and then reached out to grab it.

*Slick.*

That was his first, most intuitive impression.

It was incredibly smooth and soft, carrying a faint, cool sensation, like touching a slab of chilled jelly or dipping his hands into a clear spring.

Yet, the fish tail was surprisingly dry. There wasn't a trace of water left on it, as if its surface possessed a natural hydrophobic layer.

*Wow.*

As he touched it with gentle, lingering movements, Herbert’s expression softened into one of relaxation.

*It feels so good.*

*If I could curl up and sleep with this, summer nights would be a dream!*

*Whoosh—*

Just as Herbert was preparing to study it more closely and move his hand upward to compare the texture, the fish tail suddenly whipped away.

"Ah, the tail escaped—"

He raised his hand, reaching out feebly in the direction of its departure.

*Come back~ I can't bear this alone~*

Herbert pouted, muttering with lingering reluctance, "Why did you pull it away? I hadn't finished my research yet."

"No, that's enough. You aren't allowed to touch it anymore."

A strange, rosy flush bloomed on Freme’s face. She turned her head away in embarrassment and mumbled, "Your... your technique is too strange."

She didn't really know why she had agreed to such a bizarre request, but she felt that letting him touch it wasn't necessarily a problem. After all, he might be the only special person in this world who could listen to her singing without suffering any ill effects.

But the moment Herbert actually began to touch it, Freme regretted it.

The sensation was just... too strange.

It was as if he were touching her tail, yet the sensation felt as though it were occurring elsewhere on her body.

The gentle stroking, the careful observation, the way his fingers glided lightly along the delicate patterns of each scale.

*!!?*

Those strange sensations made her entire body go limp, and she barely managed to suppress a soft moan.

Only when she could bear it no longer did she force herself to pull her tail back.

*No, I can't.*

*If this continues, I’m afraid I’ll truly start acting strange...*

"Not this time? Oh, alright, then I'll touch it next time!"

Herbert seized upon the loophole in Freme’s words and finalized the deal on the spot: "It’s a promise! Next time, you have to let me have a proper feel of your tail!"

"..."

Freme parted her lips, wanting to refuse, but for some reason, she found herself unable to offer a rebuttal. She silently acquiesced to the agreement Herbert had proposed.

Although she was loath to admit it, she was somewhat addicted to the feeling from before and found herself wanting to try it again...

Freme shook her head vigorously, trying to cast the distracting thoughts from her mind.

*Forget it, I’ll deal with these things later.*

Freme pushed aside the chaotic thoughts in her heart and forced the conversation back on track: "How did you suddenly appear? Isn't it the middle of the night?"

"Haha, I just had a sudden whim to see what you all do in the middle of the night. Did I disturb your rest?"

Herbert didn't tell the truth—after all, an abstract reason like "protecting the hook from being compromised by others" was hard to explain to anyone else.

Freme, of course, couldn't have guessed that. She shook her head after listening: "Sleep has long since become optional for me, and besides, there is no difference between day and night in this place."

She said it lightly, but it made the corners of Herbert’s mouth twitch.

*That’s right.*

For prisoners like them, what meaning did the cycle of day and night hold? They were all trapped in this same dungeon regardless.

Herbert tried to think of a way to comfort her, but Freme didn't seem to care. Instead, she asked in a shy, quiet voice: "Then... will you come again?"

"Perhaps? Why do you ask?"

Freme took a deep breath, finally summoning the courage to say, "I—I will sing again next time. Would you still like to listen?"

*Will he refuse?*

*Will he?*

*He...*

"Of course I would."

Herbert smiled, accepting the siren’s invitation without a moment's hesitation.

"It is my honor to hear such beautiful singing."

He looked at Freme, who had clearly let out a sigh of relief, and said with a gentle smile:

"When the time comes, please be sure to sing a few more songs for me."

.

.

"He got away."

"We were a step too late. He has completely fallen."

Under the bright moonlight, the Bishop of Thorns looked down at the slime and blood on the ground and slowly shook his head.

"Where did he run to? The Misty Mountains?"

But what the Chief Inquisitor did not know was this:

Just as he was deep in thought, a hunched figure was trembling as he pressed his hand against the door of the Third Commandery.

*Creak.*

By the way, the Third Commandery had another common name within the monastery—

The Prison of the Alien Races.