Aerlev

Getting transmigrated inside a novel is not really a bad thing—you know the story, you have the power of the future in your hand, you know all the hidden keys. You might as well end up as the most powerful and omniscient being in that world.

That is, if you don’t wake up during the epilogue.

And yet I find myself in the body of a fallen priest at the end of the novel, a tragic hero who had his mana circuit broken in the last war, being shunned, drown in debt, and destined to die not long after. 

Fortunately, I know just the cure.

Unfortunately, the cure was in the hand of one of the Demon Lords—you know, the race that my kingdom just wage war with.

Would he give me the cure if I asked him politely? There’s no harm in trying, right? I’d die if I didn’t get the cure, anyway.

“Sure, but you have to be my bride as the price,” the Demon Lord said.

...huh? Sir, you know I’m (technically) a priest, right?

The Demon Lord’s Bride (BL)

The elf was undoubtedly weird, in the sense that he didn't like to adhere to this world's societal norms.

He kept talking in casual speech, despite being an elf who was supposed to walk and talk with great elegance. He would awkwardly add polite words when he spoke to me, but that only augmented how detached he was from the practice on a usual basis.

It wasn't just the way he talked, but also the way he conduct himself in anything, including meals. He really didn't like to bother with correct utensils and prefer anything more simple to eat; sandwiches, grilled meats, or noodle dishes that only needed one plate to be served. He had an unhealthy obsession with coffee, and couldn't care less about tea time.

Listen; it might be just the case of an eccentric inventor, but he could also be an otherworlder. I still needed to dig deeper into the evidence for now.

The Duty of the Bride is to...be shown off?