What should I do if the hero is resurrected in the Monster Girl Encyclopedia?

Chapter 195 A Long-Awaited Rest

The witches sat around in various parts of the secret chamber, their hands never ceasing as they ground medicine with pestles and wove magic.

Their gazes, however, kept drifting involuntarily towards the sofa. The black-haired girl was curled up in the plush blanket, her ram's horns pressing shallow indentations into the cushions, her eyelashes fluttering gently with her steady breathing.

"She's finally asleep..."

"Analyzing the angelic incantation for three consecutive days without sleep... We could have done it on our own. So, Master really doesn't want to see that girl, does she?"

"Keep your voice down and let Lord Obola get some rest."

The soft murmur of conversation gradually dissipated into the fragrance of herbs, leaving only the scratching of charcoal pencils across the paper and the bubbling of the crucible, slowly merging with the rhythm of raindrops tapping on the glass outside the window.

Obora unconsciously buried her face in the collar of Mirad's coat, a private apology from the princess after she had secretly photographed her and Mirad... She couldn't resist accepting it, and now it seemed that the large robe would be just right as a blanket.

Enveloped in familiar scents, even the furrowed brows in sleep slowly relaxed.

Obola was afraid and dreamed.

As dusk fell, her furry claws would clench as if twitching. Night was the harbinger of nightmares, and because of this, she even began to resist the darkness itself.

Only by devoting all her energy to research and work, blurring the lines between midnight and dawn, and making sleep an optional choice, could she avoid being dragged into the abyss by the bloody remains and mournful cries that haunted her dreams.

Those lingering shadows always followed her, reminding her of her past sins. Her hooves and claws were well cared for, and her coiled ram horns grew increasingly smooth and delicate, but no matter how she cleaned or maintained them, she remembered the bloodstains and the folly-splashed gold that had once stained those parts.

When he strokes her horns... does he think of how he was once her enemy? Does he think of how he once desecrated life and toyed with humanity? Does he think of how he was once a heartless and vicious beast?

...She dared not think about it further, nor did she ever raise these questions with Mirad. She was so despicable and cowardly, greedy for momentary pleasure yet unwilling to face reality.

The newly born witches and Baphomets now all admiringly call her Baphomet of Abundance, not only because she overruled objections and recommended the girls of the Agricultural Sabas to the Baphomet Elder Council, allowing those simple girls, obsessed with farming and whose figures somewhat contradicted the principles of Sabas, to formally establish their own Sabas branch. It is also because she traveled to every barren corner of the continent, teaching farmers how to improve the soil, and once worked tirelessly for forty days and nights to formulate fertilizers suitable for specific regions.

"Let famine perish from the world, and let hunger be far from humankind."

Her demon followers sang such praises. But only Obora herself knew that she did not deserve such accolades.

Every sowing is an attempt to make up for the killings of the past, and every harvest is a burial of the sins of yesteryear.

The suffering of those who have passed away will not dissipate because of her atonement; from beginning to end, she is merely indulging in self-gratification.

Obola was afraid and dreamed.

On the sofa in the secret room, amidst the witches' twittering whispers, surrounded by the aroma of medicine and the steam from the cauldron—

Obora fell into a dream again.

A dazzling gold hue emerged from the hazy light, its warmth sending shivers down her spine. In her dream, she hesitated for a moment, then reached out her hand towards that golden hue.

Are those the strands of hair that shimmer in the sunlight under Mirad's rays?
Is that Kiesl's vibrant ponytail?

She couldn't tell.

—Could it be that I'm your illegitimate daughter? The older man has blond hair, and Miss Obora has blond eyes... combined...

Between dream and reality, the child's playful words suddenly pierced the fog. An illegitimate daughter… what a wild and imaginative thought. This adorable daydream is indeed very much in Kieslfield's style.

But those words acted like a key, unlocking the box of doubts in her heart.

In that labyrinthine forest, she didn't need to personally guide the lost girl out of the mountains.

As a Baphomet, Obora's mastery of magic was unparalleled. Moreover, something as simple as guiding a lost girl... she had countless ways to lead Kissfield out of the forest without leaving a trace.

But why?
Why break the rules that have been upheld for hundreds of years, and amidst the rustling of fallen leaves, let your hooves shatter the silence of the forest, to appear before that little girl who is hugging her knees and sobbing?

Was it because those golden eyes, brimming with tears, were so pitiful? Or was it because…

When beams of sunlight pierced through the branches and fell on the girl's blonde hair, it was so dazzling, so familiar, that it looked exactly like someone else from my memory.
This belated realization sent a chill down her spine.

Of course, speculation is just speculation.

When she rescued Kissfield, she probably didn't think so complicatedly. Perhaps it was simply because the blonde hair evoked her nostalgia, rather than because she truly regarded Kissfield as a substitute or an emotional crutch...

But... it was a distinct possibility. Even if the possibility was almost nonexistent, she couldn't ignore it.

On the contrary, repeated self-reflection and recollection stirred up even greater waves. What if it were true? Was my mind really that despicable back then? Besides, atonement should be atonement, not mixed with such heavy emotional overtones.

She was immediately overwhelmed by even deeper guilt and self-blame.

How could she be worthy of approaching that bright and cheerful girl with such murky thoughts?

The mere thought of such doubt made her feel that she had tainted that encounter. Someone as sinful as her should be deprived of even the right to interact with others... Yet she couldn't completely sever the warmth she had shared with Mirad and the others.

So impure. So inferior. So indecisive.

It was precisely because she realized this doubt in herself that she became increasingly afraid to face Kieslfield after their initial reunion.

That girl deserves the most genuine care, not to be a projection of her sordid emotions. Some boundaries can never be crossed, and some warmth is destined to remain only a distant dream. This is just right... it won't hurt the girl, nor will it expose my own shameful thoughts.

Even if... that thought is just a vague guess.

……

……

A gentle touch came from my cheek.

Did you wear manicure? It feels somewhat hard and a little sharp.

She could almost feel the other person's warm breath. Although the other person tried their best to conceal it, a few breaths still brushed against her face, causing the hair on her forehead to flutter gently.

“…Your Highness?” Obora called out softly, still half-asleep.

"Oops, you answered wrong, Miss Obora~"

The newcomer's voice was light and flamboyant, standing out against the backdrop of the heavy rain.
"It's not the short little nun, it's me, Kissfield. I'm sorry, you looked so cute while you were sleeping that I couldn't resist poking you a few times..."

The girl playfully shook her fingers, which were still resting on the other person's cheek, and gave an apologetic smile.

"Did I bother you?"

Obora suddenly opened her eyes, her golden pupils slightly dilated. When she saw the shimmering golden hair swaying before her, she instinctively shrank back, her ram's horns gently bumping against the back of the sofa, and the coat of Mirad that she was wearing slipped off her body.

"Kieslfield?"

Obora sat up abruptly, her hands tidying her chapped clothes... and then watched as the girl reached out, lifted the wide robe that had slipped down to her knees, and draped it over her shoulders again.

"How could you... No, it wasn't really disturbing you. I was just taking a short nap, I didn't expect you to see me make a fool of myself..."

Before she could finish speaking, Obora suddenly noticed the change in her surroundings. The room, which had previously been filled with crucibles, documents, and various precision instruments, was now adorned with a soft, magical glow. The witches had already quietly retreated to a corner. Several screens cleverly divided the sofa into separate spaces, and the air was filled with the calming scent of lavender… and a few restless, furry little heads peeked out from behind the screens… These meddlesome little creatures! She had specifically told them to notify her beforehand if Kissfield came looking for them.

"I just wanted to chat with you more and spend more time with you,"

Kissfield sat down next to Obola quite naturally, crossed her long legs, and swayed them gently. "Staying in the controlled area all the time is so boring... I also reply to your messages through the Image Mirror very slowly... Miss Obola, did I do something wrong to make you hate me?"

She suddenly leaned forward, letting the gold in her eyes collide with that of Obora.

Obora lowered her eyelashes, trying to avoid the overly intense gaze, but even her breathing became erratic. Her hooves trembled slightly beneath her skirt. The scent of roses and orange blossoms emanating from the girl made her both want to approach and want to escape.

"But lately, things have been very complicated..."

Obora's usually clear and logical explanations now sounded fragmented, her lips moving as she said, "Sometime later... if I have time..."

Before she could finish speaking, she realized she had misspoke…it was clearly an excuse to refuse. In a panic, she tried to salvage the situation, but was interrupted by Kissfield's bright smile.

“Oh, I see. You’re so busy. My visit has disturbed your hard-earned rest time, so I’ve done something wrong... What can I do to make you forgive me, Miss Obora?”

“No, you never meant to be…your visits were never a bother,”

Obora's fingertips dug into the sofa's velvet, thankfully the dark velvet concealed her subtle movement... the other person probably didn't notice. "This is a time for rest... it's nice to be with you..."

"Hmm... let's chat for a bit then. Since you don't dislike me and I haven't done anything wrong. By the way, are those old man's clothes? They smell really strong like an old man's..."

Kissfield leaned closer, her cheek almost touching Obora's chest. She squinted at Baphomet's coat and asked with a smile,

"Miss Obora, if you don't mind, could you tell me the story of how you met?"

(End of this chapter)