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)

"It's okay, sweetheart," Natha patted my back as I continued to sob in his shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself."

"But it's ridiculous!" I wailed and hit his upper arm in frustration. "...sorry."

Haa...it was also ridiculous how harsh I became. Glaring, snapping, hitting...I did those things easily these days, and I was not too fond of it. Especially because more often than not, I did it without realizing it--which was worse because I couldn't stop it until it was too late.

"It's fine," Natha continued to stroke my back and my hair gently, as if pacifying a child. I was indeed acting like a child. "I'd rather you take it out on me than on yourself."

"I'd rather not have to take out anything at all," I grumbled against his shoulder.

"Well, of course," he laughed relaxedly. The light-hearted tone in his voice gradually soothed my heart and mind. "But we can't exactly choose, can we?"

The whirlwind journal of my mischievous hormones