Chapter 17
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{ Rossweisse's POV }
"Ughh..."
Pain. That was all I could feel, especially in my back. That fight with the giant Draug had really done a number on me—I genuinely thought I was going to die.
' Well I need to thank that man...', I recalled the blurry memory of my savior. That time I saw him unleashing a stream of fire at the Draug. A fire mage, maybe?
And I remembered what he shouted—
"Otoydi ot neye, ublyudok!" (Get away from her, you bastard!)
That sounded Russian. What's a Russian man doing in the middle of an undead-infested forest? That's way too far from his homeland...
I could feel a mattress beneath me and a warm blanket over my body. I opened my eyes and saw a wooden ceiling overhead—an old house, from the looks of it. So, I'm at his place.
It couldn't be the village. We had traveled too far during that dragon chase. I also remember that the dragon had taken the Oracle with it... Without her, we have no way back to Asgard. I need to return—Sigrun will be really worried if I don't.
I tried to sit up, but my aching back disagreed. I groaned and collapsed back onto the mattress.
"Igor'! Ona prosnulas'!" (Igor! She's awake!)
"Ty idi i skazhi pape." (You go and tell Papa.)
I perked up at the sound of two young voices. Forcing myself upright despite the pain, I saw two twin boys with identical aqua eyes and matching hairstyles peering at me curiously.
"Privet!" (Hello!) one of them greeted. I didn't speak Russian, but I quickly cast a Translation Spell without them noticing.
"Artom, she doesn't speak Russian," the other boy said. "Go tell Papa."
Papa? These two must be his kids, I guessed, watching Artom scamper off. Moments later, I heard his voice again from the next room.
"Papa! The weirdly dressed lady is awake!"
Weirdly dressed? I thought for a bit, then I realised that I was probably still in my Valkyrie armor. Well... I don't disagree with them, I thought they looked odd too, at first.
I heard footsteps approaching and felt a flicker of nervousness about meeting my savior. Then he appeared—the man who had saved my life.
When one imagines a Russian man, there are stereotypes: pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a stoic face. But the Russian man before me shattered those images.
He was caramel-skinned with dark brown hair, eyes to match, and a somewhat neatly trimmed goatee. A gentle smile curved his lips, instantly calming my nerves—as if telling me I was safe. But what really drew my attention were the scars: two diagonal ones crossing both eyes and four fang-like marks around his mouth. They looked carved... intentionally.
"Something wrong with my face?" he asked, touching his cheek with a puzzled look. I blushed, realizing I'd been staring.
I shook my head quickly, as if telling him that there was nothing wrong.
"Well, that's good~" he chuckled, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Wouldn't want to make a bad first impression."
His smile was infectious. I found myself smiling back. Then he suddenly grew nervous, scratching the back of his head. Which confused me, 'What's going on?'
He took a deep breath and said, slowly—
"Sorry. My... English no good. So... I apologize. In advance. But... you hungry?" he even added exaggerated hand gestures to send me his message.
.
.
.
.
.
"Hahaha!"
I couldn't help it.
"Hahaha!"
Even his son doubled over, laughing with unrestrained joy.
The man's face turned bright red. "At least I made you laugh... even if it's at my expense."
"I'm sorry! I don't mean to be disrespectful, but you— Hahaha!" I covered my mouth, trying—and failing—not to laugh again. The way he had so seriously said those broken english words... It was just too much.
He blinked. "Wait! You understand Russian?! I just embarrassed myself for nothing!"
"No, no! I don't speak Russian," I corrected him quickly, still giggling. "I used a Translation Spell so I could understand you and speak back."
"Ohhh," he said, while the other twin—Igor, I assumed—leaned in excitedly.
"Wow! How does that work?"
His father gently placed a hand on the boy's head. "Igor, calm down. Let her rest. Go have some breakfast, alright?"
"Okay!"
With the child gone, the room fell into a peaceful silence. I broke it with a smile.
"Your kids are really sweet~"
"They sure are," he replied with a fond grin. "Though they can be quite the handful sometimes."
"Their mother must be beautiful," I commented. The twins didn't look much like him—they must have inherited their features from her.
He shook his head. "Can't really say... Their mother died seven years ago."
My heart clenched. I instantly regretted bringing it up. Especially to a husband who had lost his wife "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to- It's just- I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure you wife is happy wherever is is now!"
"Wife? I'm not married. I only turned twenty-two this year."
"Heh?" I blinked in surprise.
"Yeah, I know. It's confusing," he shrugged. "They call me 'Papa' because... well, I raised them. But they're not mine biologically."
"Oh! I'm so sorry for assuming!" I waved my hands, flustered. "Ow!" My back flared in protest.
He rushed over, grabbing extra pillows and gently helping me lean back. But as he leaned in, his face came close—too close. I could smell him—masculine, faintly woodsy. My cheeks lit up like a hearth fire.
The only man I'd ever been this close to was my father—and he'd always warned me to keep my distance from men. Smack anyone who tries something inappropriate, he'd said.
But this man—Nikolai—wasn't trying anything. He was just helping.
Still... he was close!
"If you need more pillows, just tell me, okay?" he said kindly.
I could only nod, too flustered to speak.
"So," he said as he sat beside me, "what's your name? It's kind of awkward calling you 'weirdly dressed lady.'"
"My name is Rossweisse," I answered with pride. "And also, I wouldn't call my outfit weird—it's Valkyrie armor, designed for mobility. Lady Freya herself wore light armor—it helped her become the fastest warrior in Asgard. Our version is mass-produced for strike teams like mine, with magical protection built in to keep the open parts protected. " I basically recited what our instructor told me when I inquired about the armour. Nikolai on the other hand didn't seem too convinced.
He raised an eyebrow. "That sounded more like an excuse than a discription. It took me almost thirty minutes to remove all that metal and accessory stuff. You looked like you were suffocating in it."
"What?" I gasped. My body did feel lighter... Wait—
He pointed to a nearby table. "I put it all there."
My eyes widened. My armor... my accessories... and—are those my stockings?! I whipped off the blanket and stared in horror.
I was wearing only my black leotard.
HE STRIPPED ME!
I glared at the man and he seemed clueless as to why I'm angry at him. How dare he!
"You... You PERVERT!" I screamed, pounding weakly on his chest. "Why did you strip me?!"
He didn't flinch. Instead, he gently touched my shoulder again. I shuddered at the warm touch of his rough hands—damn his comforting hands—he then spoke softly.
"I had to. Your armor was restricting your breathing. The accessories could've hurt you in your sleep. And your wounds needed dressing. That's all. I had no inappropriate intentions."
I looked down at the bandages wrapping my arms and foot. Shame flushed through me. I accused him... and he was only helping.
"I-I'm sorry." I bowed my head in shame.
"No, I should be the one apologizing." He bowed his head. "I should've found a better solution. Please forgive me."
"I'm not mad anymore," I said quietly. He looked up, meeting my eyes. "You were only trying to help, but—"
Even if I forgave him... I couldn't forget. He did striped me and saw me naked.
And then... tears welled in my eyes.
I remembered my mother's words:
"The only man you should undress for is your husband. Promise me, Rose, that you will not expose yourself to any other men except your husband. I don't want people to call my daughter a promiscuous woman. These days, girls have no sense of shame; I don't want you to be like them."
I was always an obedient child and I always followed and obeyed whatever my parents told me because they knew what was best for me. This time I broke a serious promise I made to Mom. She is not going to be happy about this.
"I-I can never get married after this..." I whispered. How can I ever face Mom again? No matter how hard I will try to hide it, she'll eventually find out.
Nikolai panicked, clearly unsure what to do. He scratched his head, desperate for an idea. Then he took a deep breath and said firmly:
"Then I, Nikolai Volkov, as a man—will take responsibility for my actions. If needed, I will take your hand in marriage."
"W-What?!" I stared, dumbfounded. Marry me?!
"B-but why?" I asked, bewildered, not really understanding just why he would want to marry a woman like me.
"Why? You ask, it's because I'm a man," he said simply. "And as a man if I don't take responsibility, I'm just another bastard."
I opened my mouth to object, but he raised a hand. "Look we both started on the wrong foot. So let's start over, yeah?"
He held out his hand.
"My name is Nikolai Volkov. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rossweisse."
I took his hand and he gave it a firm shake with a smile. "Rossweisse. Nice to meet you, Nikolai."
His smile widened—and I couldn't help smiling too.
"Well then," he said, pulling out a bowl of soup, "I hope you're hungry."
GROWL!!!
My stomach answered for me, as if demanding me to feed it.
My face turned crimson as Nikolai chuckled.
"Sounds like someone really wants to be fed."
Please... no more embarrassment today.
He took the bowl full of soup he placed at the bedside table. Taking a wooden spoon he scoop out the streaming soup and began to blow on it.
He then turned turned towards me with a warm smile. "Alright, Say Ahh."