Chapter 10
Demon and Witch (1)
Someone he wanted to kill, or someone who deserved to die.
The demon had told him to choose such a person, but the boy couldn’t readily name anyone.
He had never felt murderous intent toward another person.
Moreover, how was he supposed to decide who deserved to die? That was impossible. He was neither the head of the house, who possessed the authority to execute others, nor a magistrate.
He was nothing more than a child.
Raguel replied in a flustered tone,
“Th-There couldn’t possibly be anyone like that.”
“You don’t have anyone you want to kill?”
“O-Of course not!”
“How peculiar. I thought someone like you would have at least one name on his death list.”
“Just what kind of person do you think I am…?”
The aggrieved boy wore such an open and innocent expression.
Having read the original story, Johan found it somewhat puzzling.
Raguel’s path had not been particularly virtuous. After being banished from his family, the boy gradually fell apart and eventually embarked upon the path of villainy.
A third-rate villain from the early part of the story—that was the extent of his role. Yet Johan had not sensed even the slightest hint of wickedness from the boy thus far.
Perhaps that was simply a limitation of the original novel. Since it never described Raguel’s thoughts or circumstances, its readers had never been given an opportunity to judge him fairly.
Johan said,
“I saw you as a pitiful wretch. I assumed you would at least resent those who tormented you.”
The boy shook his head.
“Go out into the streets. You’ll encounter starving orphans, displaced slash-and-burn farmers, and vagrants shivering in the cold several times a day.”
“Are you trying to say you’re happier than they are?”
“Perhaps not happier, but it’s true that my circumstances are better than theirs. I have a home, food, and…”
The boy trailed off. He glanced at Johan with his sightless eyes before lowering his head again.
“Never mind. In any case, I’m not unhappy enough to want to kill someone.”
“What a shame. I was planning to take revenge on your behalf and place you in my debt.”
“You really are a demon.”
“So it would seem.”
A brief silence followed. Raguel was the first to speak.
“Why did you ask me that? It wasn’t truly because you wanted to avenge me. Are you perhaps planning to kill someone—”
“There’s no need for you to concern yourself. I’ll continue reading the book.”
There was no particular reason to explain it to the boy.
“But still!”
“Enough. This conversation is over.”
Johan reopened the biography of Kazan.
As he resumed reading aloud, he sank into thought.
A sacrifice is essential. Who should I choose?
Someone whose disappearance wouldn’t cause too much trouble, and whose death might prove useful to the course of events.
One person flashed through Johan’s mind.
She’ll do.
He could use her to establish a connection with Ilea as well.
***
Betra the courtesan dug into her ear with a crimson fingernail. Her ear had been itching incessantly, as though someone were talking about her.
“Honestly, I go a few days without washing and it becomes a complete mess.”
Muttering to herself, she brought her finger before her eyes. Yellow specks were packed beneath the red nail.
“Good grief.”
It was filthy, but she didn’t care. There was no one she needed to impress.
Betra cared only about pleasing the baron, but lately she had rarely seen him at all. She couldn’t even dine with him.
The baron remained shut inside his room, calling only Ilea to sit with him at mealtimes.
Thus, Betra had no reason whatsoever to dress up or adorn herself.
She blew the earwax off her finger.
The specks drifted through the air and landed on the cold floor.
Several landed on the face of the kneeling girl as well.
Rowan recoiled in disgust and hastily brushed them away.
She moved quickly, but Betra still noticed.
“Who told you that you could move?”
She sprang from her chair with a shrill shout.
The thirty other children being punished alongside Rowan flinched.
“You stupid, useless bitch!”
Betra raised her hand and began striking Rowan over the head.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
After beating her like a madwoman, she seized the girl by the hair and shook her violently from side to side.
All the stress she had accumulated was melting away in real time. A prostitute lived on attention, and the baron’s indifference had made her even more hysterical.
It was all the baron’s fault.
No—Ilea’s.
“Die! Die!”
Rowan clasped her hands together and begged desperately.
“I-I’m sorry! Mother, please forgive me!”
“If you’ve done something wrong, you must be punished!”
The courtesan paid no heed to the child’s pitiful cries.
She continued beating her indiscriminately. Just as she was about to start kicking her as well, someone lightly touched her shoulder.
Betra whipped her head around, her face hideously contorted.
Who dared?!
“Mother, you’re going too far.”
It was Ilea. A faint smile rested on her lips. That strange smile of hers had always grated on Betra’s nerves.
“…What?”
“I said you’re going too far.”
The bitch had recently begun defying her openly. With the baron supporting her, she behaved as though the entire place belonged to her.
It was unbearably irritating.
Betra didn’t like the way the other girls were looking at Ilea, either. They appeared relieved, as though some great hero had arrived to save them.
The resentment twisted Betra’s insides, but she did her utmost to suppress her emotions. She couldn’t afford to harm Ilea.
Her facial muscles trembling, she said,
“…It’s an expression of love.”
Ilea looked down at the floor. Rowan was sobbing, her hair in disarray.
“If you love her, then take care of her. No one has any use for damaged goods.”
Betra let out an incredulous scoff.
“Ha! Goods?”
Ilea nodded.
“We all belong to the baron, don’t we?”
She then pointed at Rowan.
“And you have damaged his property.”
Cracks were beginning to form in Betra’s patience. How many years older was she, yet this little brat dared play word games with her?
She clenched her fist tightly.
“…Damaged? I was educating her.”
Smiling gently, Ilea shook her head.
“No matter how thoroughly you wash a filthy rag, you can never use it as a towel. You’re living proof of that, Mother. So don’t soil them in the first place.”
Once a prostitute, always a prostitute.
Though the wandering Betra had settled here, she still lived the life of a courtesan.
“Do you understand?”
Ilea had struck her where it hurt most.
Betra’s expression twisted. Veins bulged across her forehead. She could tolerate no more.
“Y-You insolent bitch!”
She raised her hand.
Just as she was about to bring it down, Ilea’s eyes turned pitch-black. Her blue pupils vanished beneath a deep shadow.
Betra froze.
The darkness she had glimpsed had already disappeared, but it remained vividly engraved in her mind.
Those were not human eyes.
A demon she had seen long ago in the royal capital had possessed eyes just like them. They had been so horrifying that she had frozen stiff on the spot.
The same thing was happening now.
Ilea tilted her head.
“Mother, are you feeling unwell?”
Her innocent expression created a horrifying contrast.
Betra stumbled backward.
“Y-You…”
“Oh dear, you look terribly pale. You should get some rest.”
With that, Ilea turned toward the children.
“Now, shall we all stand? Mother isn’t feeling well, so that will be all for today’s lesson. Everyone, return to your quarters.”
The children looked back and forth between Ilea and Betra before rising one by one.
They formed a straight line as they always did.
“Mother’s grace reaches unto Heaven. Great Saint Margiel.”
After bowing, they rushed out of the classroom.
Betra couldn’t stop them. The lingering terror of what she had witnessed had yet to fade. Ilea bowed her head to the woman, who still stood frozen.
“Then I hope you have a restful night.”
She left the secret room as well.
Unlike the other girls, however, Ilea had a different destination.
She crossed the courtyard and descended underground.
With a somber expression, she murmured,
“I believe I told you not to emerge without permission.”
At the same time, a giggling voice followed her.
“My apologies. I was simply too excited. Weren’t you the same, Master? That demonic energy smelled exceedingly appetizing.”
Someone had released demonic energy moments ago. It had been faint, but both a witch and a demon could sense it clearly enough.
The shrill voice cackled and continued,
“It was potent but unrefined. In other words, it came from an imp of excellent blood. What a delectable morsel! This old crone is already salivating.”
Every demon passed through infancy. No matter how fearsome its bloodline might be, while it remained an imp, it was merely prey for other demons.
The crone-spirit couldn’t help but grow excited.
“If we capture and devour it, you will obtain high-quality demonic energy as well, Master. It is truly a blessing that has rolled straight into our hands.”
A blessing?
Ilea saw things somewhat differently.
The imp hadn’t left behind that trace by accident. It was clearly trying to lure her in. She could infer as much from the nature of its demonic energy.
When demonic energy was used as a medium for possession or a contract, it inevitably contained impurities, much like exhaled breath.
This time had been different.
The demonic energy she had sensed was remarkably pure. There were no traces of it having been used for anything. It had simply been dispersed into the air without purpose.
Who would do such a thing?
If a newborn imp had been testing how to manipulate its energy, even Ilea might have found that explanation somewhat convincing.
But that couldn’t have been what happened.
A creature that already had two contractors was clearly experienced in manipulating demonic energy. It wouldn’t make such a foolish mistake.
In that case, its intention was obvious.
I’m here. Come to me.
“…Hmm.”
Does it want me to bind it?
Ilea weighed the crone-spirit against the imp.
A fully grown lowly spirit against an imp with boundless potential.
There was no need even to compare them. The scales had already struck the floor on one side before she placed either of them upon it.
Ilea made her decision.
She would feed the crone-spirit to the imp.
Of course, she might be getting ahead of herself. These were all merely hypotheses. It was difficult to discern the imp’s precise intentions.
Whether she knew what her master was thinking or not, the crone-spirit remained beside herself with excitement. She even began singing. Fortunately, the sound didn’t escape outside, but it continued to circle through Ilea’s mind.
It was a revolting melody.
The witch found it irritating.
“I hope the imp wants me.”
She wanted to replace the crone-spirit.
Finally sensing the mood, the spirit fell silent.
“…My apologies.”
“It’s all right. You can’t help being stupid.”
After saying that, Ilea abruptly stopped before a spiral staircase.
She had visited this place several times before.
“So the imp chose this place as well.”
The crone-spirit replied in a subdued voice,
“…After all, this is the only place where the forbidden archive could be.”
“That’s true. Though we failed to find it.”
“I-It was entirely due to my own inadequacy.”
“Shall we see how capable this imp is?”
Ilea stepped forward. She descended one step at a time, her feet landing lightly upon each stair.
The farther down she went, the deeper her surroundings sank into darkness. The torches installed near the entrance couldn’t illuminate the depths underground. No one ever used this passage, so there was no reason to keep it lit.
When she reached complete darkness, her footsteps ceased.
The surroundings were silent. The stench of mold assaulted her nose.
“Let’s have a look.”
Fwoosh.
A tiny flame blossomed in the darkness.
It flickered like the flame of an oil lamp. The lights multiplied one by one, embroidering the darkness with their glow.
The interior gradually brightened. Cobwebs shimmered as they reflected the light, while pale dust drifted through the air.
A cylindrical chamber surrounded by bookshelves emerged from the darkness—an enormous underground library.
Ilea stared straight ahead.
A pair of crimson eyes stared back at her.
The demon seated at the round table spoke.
“So, the witch has arrived.”
He gestured toward a chair.
“Sit.”