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)

Lesta unbuttoned his shirt without much care, and I hugged the pillow in his place because I got too excited. You know, the kind of excitement when we encounter something interesting?

He unbuttoned his shirt just enough for it to show his chest. There, above where his heart should be, was a mark, roughly as big as the brand of contract Natha put on the back of my hand the first time.

I stared at the mark in fascination. I thought it would be like a tattoo at first, but it was closer to the mark I had on my palm; the mark of Alveitya. It looked like blood veins, those blue and purple lines we could see in our wrists. But the color was deeper, darker, the lines spreading like blooming flowers.

How should you explain the concept of marriage to your kid?