Episode 30: Doubt
A time when I didn't have to think about anything—a truly wonderful time. But such moments always came to an end. As long as one was alive, it was impossible to stop thinking entirely.
Crash!
Still, I wished I could wake up a little more comfortably than this. My body, slumped asleep in the chair, had tumbled harshly onto the floor. The bruises already covering me ached even more from the impact, sending a jolt through my entire frame that made everything throb.
"Urgh," I groaned in pain, wondering if I should've just slept in the bed like a normal person. But I shook my head, pushing the thought away.
"...Hoo."
With no energy left, I didn't even feel like getting up from where I'd sprawled on the floor. I'd already rolled around on this filthy surface once—might as well stay lying down, right? I shoved the chair aside and flattened myself there.
But it felt weird. I'd wanted to relax, so I'd cleared the chair and lain down, yet realizing I was naked made the position look so perverse that I dragged the chair back and sat in it again. At least sitting hid more of my body. Better to endure the discomfort than expose myself like that.
Lifting my heavy body back onto the chair felt a bit better. The shame didn't vanish, but it was somewhat tolerable.
After sitting there a while, I heard the door open. I registered it casually—oh, the hero's back—and stayed put in the chair.
The hero had returned, but with my back to the door, I couldn't see him. Not knowing his expression, he spoke first anyway.
"...Why are you sitting there?"
"......"
Saying just because felt vague; because I'm scared felt too honest. What was the right answer?
I stared blankly into space with hollow eyes, searching for words. But answers were hard to find. All I could see was that bed—the one that terrified me.
"I'm scared."
"Of what."
"The bed scares me. Just tie me up over there, please."
My mind wouldn't turn anymore, so in desperation, I blurted the truth. Shame be damned—I just wanted to avoid that bed in front of me. I squeezed my eyes shut and bowed my head.
"What nonsense is that? I can't understand why you'd rest here instead of on that soft bed."
The hero knew nothing. Or rather, he didn't care to know. How I felt right now. Ah, right—perpetrators don't get it. I'd heard that on the news sometimes. They don't dwell deeply on their wrongs. I was a slave to him, maybe just a fleshlight he used to get off. That's why he wasn't taking it seriously.
But what could I do? I wasn't a slave. He was just dragging me around, calling me one. Was it because I was a demon that people turned a blind eye? Or was this world rotten, enslaving well-off humans as toys?
Thinking back, history in my old world wasn't much different. Oppressing and enslaving people for differing races. Was I just like them?
Indignation surged—at his atrocities in holding me as a slave, at his attitude now. But I couldn't rebel, which only made it more unjust.
"...I like the floor."
Biting my trembling lips, I forced calm and spoke. It wasn't that I preferred the dusty floor, but the dust-free bed was repulsive enough to make me gag.
I hated this house. I hated the hero. Why was he the hero? Because he was kind only to his own humans, acting just? Was I not "just" enough for this treatment?
I swallowed tears, venting my grievances inwardly.
"I was gonna untie you anyway, except when I go out."
Eyes still shut tight, I felt his hand near my neck, unclasping the collar. It lost its power and fell away. Freed again, I cracked my eyes and glanced at him.
"I'm heading out tomorrow morning, so rest well. Don't whine like today."
"......Yes."
I knew why he'd removed the collar. He didn't think I could even dream of leaving. And unfortunately, he was right. The moment I faced humans' rage toward demons outside, escape became impossible. Venturing out would be like begging them to tear me limb from limb.
Their fury was that immense, and I lacked the strength to endure it. My mind was already fraying from his assaults—imagine what they'd do to torment me. What if they came with a saw to cut me? Pliers to yank my nails? A spike to gouge my eyes?
Save me. I'm scared, Kudbeka. This is enemy territory. Where are you? Did you escape safely? I'll believe that—you're safe in the Demon King's Castle. Save me. Take me and run. No, it's too dangerous here.
—Lonely. But I'm not lonely. I can endure alone. Probably. Until I go mad.
"Hey! Hey!"
Huh?
"Are your ears clogged? Didn't you hear me?"
"Ah... Sorry."
I'd zoned out again. This was happening too often—trouble if it stuck when I was alone later.
Bowing my head, I rose from the chair. Snapping back, I saw the bed again and headed for the corner instead. At first, I'd wondered why sleep there, but now I realized it was the best spot. Cozy and secluded. No mantle like before, but curling up would work.
Stumble, stumble, gripping my shaky legs, I shuffled. The hero's voice came from behind.
"Here, eat this. You probably puked up yesterday's food."
"Thank you."
Kindness? No—why? Scary. Now, even his blows terrified me, and so did his favors. Yesterday too: he told me to wash, gave slippers, then dragged me to bed.
So I wouldn't thank his "kindness" anymore. Taking the bag, I went to the corner and settled—back to the wall so the bed faced away.
"Hey, look over here."
"No..."
"What?"
"I said no."
I didn't want to see the bed—or where the hero was. Suppressing shivers, I rebelled. I'd get hit for sure. But so what? Everything disgusted me to the point of suicide, yet he blocked even that. No—I wanted to live. Was letting me live humanely too much to ask? Just let me face legal judgment; I'd take my punishment.
But if not, what then? Clutching the food bag, crumpling it in fear.
"Acting defiant now."
Ugh.
"I heard mana-less demons don't exist. You're lying, right?"
Instead of striking, he questioned. Tense, I swallowed and listened. But it was absurd. If I could use magic, I'd have done it already.
His nonsense irked me into retorting.
"No. I really don't have any."
"......"
Back turned, I couldn't see him, but the silence felt like displeasure. He'd already concluded in his head; my denial didn't match.
Ah, tired. Slept earlier, but sleepy again. Exhausted. If it's low energy, will eating help? No—don't wanna eat. Nauseating.
My freshly opened eyes went dark again.
*
Verilrude couldn't hide his bewilderment at the demon rebelling with a sudden refusal to turn. Compared to her usual fearful compliance, this was opposite—like she didn't care anymore.
Soon, she collapsed with a faint thud, losing consciousness. He stared blankly.
Why did she keep passing out? Faking to dodge? Approaching, he looked down and lightly slapped her cheek.
"Hey! Get up!"
No matter how he hit, shook, or yelled in her ear, she didn't stir. Checking her neck, her pulse was frighteningly weak—unlike a normal person's.
Debilitated. Realizing he'd treated her harshly, panic hit: Is she dying?
"...Killing one demon wouldn't matter anyway. We don't know the Demon King's location, and she's useless..."
Unknowingly, he felt relief that no one would blame him for her death, defending himself. He'd known yesterday's forced assault hadn't gone well, but slaves were subdued by force, he'd heard. She wasn't market-ready yet, so it was fine. And as a demon, tortured for the Demon King's whereabouts—this was the result.
Clueless on what to do, he glared at her faint breaths, swallowing irritation. Nothing went right—
Hungry.
A small voice. Frowning, thinking he'd misheard, he leaned his ear to her mouth. Faint, raspy breaths.
"...Misheard?"
Rising doubtfully, then clearer:
Lonely.
Confirming it was her, he sighed. Not just debilitated—near starvation. Relieved somewhat, he draped an old cloak over her, hoisted her on his back, and headed out.
"High-maintenance bitch."
He'd thought death was fine, but revenge's momentary hatred recalled his vow: don't miss the big picture. He went to the hospital.
*
Where was this? Dark. Night? In pitch-black void, I wandered blindly, hands groping to avoid obstacles, tapping ahead for holes.
How long? There stood Lobelia Yuris.
Me? Tilting my head, I realized I'm here, frowning. If I'm here, who's that Lobelia Yuris?
Pure curiosity—and her lips curled slyly.
—Why are you Lobelia Yuris?
Ah. Ah?