Chapter 101
Chapter 101
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: She Was a Demon
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The refugees eyed us suspiciously, whispering among themselves.
Regular refugees usually had a frail, pitiful image. But these folks didn't give off that vibe at all.
They looked ragged enough to pass as refugees on the outside, but the aura they exuded was more like a gang of poor thugs.
Bulky builds, fierce expressions, scars etched across their faces and bodies.
They were clearly no ordinary refugees—probably criminals who'd lived by the blade in back alleys.
I was convinced they were a gang. The presence of several bald guys was proof enough.
Bald guys were always either upright heroes or utter scumbags from the worst gangs. It was an unchanging universal law.
—Boss, is that for real?
—They just look like crazy con artists to me.
The men muttered. They kept glancing our way mid-conversation, making me wonder if they were talking about us.
"Han, that sounds like it's about us."
"No way. We're neither crazy nor con artists."
He was right. We were perfectly sane.
Well, Han might be questionable, but I definitely was.
"Hmm, I see."
"Exactly."
There were about fifty refugees who'd come inside. Every single one had a rough look about them.
The abandoned factory was spacious, but packing in that many burly adult men made it feel cramped. The oppressive tension had us on edge, so we just kept telling the men to wait until Camilla arrived.
Twenty minutes passed like that, and Han and I were now squatting blankly over the board game we'd laid out on the floor.
"When's Camilla coming?"
"Beats me."
Camilla had dropped us off at the factory without much explanation and zipped off somewhere else right away.
All she'd said was that a few of the refugees would show up soon, and to behave until she got back.
So we had nothing specific to tell the refugees. We didn't know anything ourselves.
That damn Camilla.
She'd definitely left us high and dry just to watch us flounder cluelessly.
—Boss, this is a waste of time.
—They're just nuts.
Sure enough, a few with short fuses couldn't hold out the full twenty minutes and started grumbling.
Actually, waiting that long without snapping was pretty patient. I'd probably complain too if someone told me to shut up and wait, then left me hanging for twenty minutes.
The silver lining was that only a tiny minority were voicing complaints. Most of the refugees had listened to us and waited quietly.
"See? That's definitely about us. They're calling us nuts."
"Even if I don't mind, Anis is a nutcase, isn't she?"
"I can take being called crazy, but looking down on me like that? It pisses me off."
"I see. Still, you'll have to endure it."
"Are you trying to teach me right now? Acting like I'm some crazy person you can just dismiss?"
"Of course not. I always respect others, even if they're mindless beasts."
"Oh, really? My mistake then. Sorry. Almost got offended there."
"No problem."
—See, boss? Told you they're idiots.
—...Yeah, looks like it.
The men muttered after overhearing us. About seven or eight out of the fifty, maybe.
I wondered if they had their own clique or faction. Everyone else was waiting quietly, but these guys were the only ones whispering incessantly.
"Hear that, Han? They're calling us idiots now."
"I can stomach crazy, but idiot? No."
"See? Being disrespected makes you sick. When it happens, you gotta voice your opinion right away for feedback."
"Should we kill them all?"
"Why does it always come back to killing? Is that all you know, Han?"
"My life has always revolved around death. On the human side, on the demon side. Whether I wanted it or not, death followed me everywhere. When the only things my life has to show are killing others or getting killed, that's all I have to express."
"Sounds like you're indirectly admitting you're an irredeemable mass murderer, but you package it so coolly it almost makes sense. Death is like the wind, huh?"
"Death is like the wind. Pretty philosophical, right?"
"Yeah. I've got a knack for philosophy. Speaking of death, the world I came from was deeply tied to it. Highest suicide rate, lowest birth rate. Life barely blooms, the land and rivers overflow with death, fading away pointlessly."
"Sounds like a scary place."
"But it wasn't unhappy. Having suicide as your only way out means you're happy. No pressure to have kids and carry on the line—that's freedom. Sociologically, maybe not, but philosophically? My world was pretty blissful."
"That's some demonic philosophy right there."
The whispers stopped. Eyes from every faction turned our way, faces etched with utter confusion.
"...What? This heavy staring. It's worse than when they caught us with the board game twenty minutes ago."
"Trouble. We barely cleared one hurdle, and now another mountain."
"These bastards, messing around after all this time!"
One refugee pulled a dagger from his coat and yelled.
Eight men stepped forward. The ones who'd been grumbling in the corner, glaring at us.
"You all gonna keep believing these lunatics and waiting!? They look like total con artists with delusions!"
The leader thrust his knife at Han and me, snarling. And yep, he was bald.
"...Uh, what do we do?"
"...Dunno. They're pretty pissed."
"Why?"
"No idea."
The menacing atmosphere left me flustered. Han scratched the back of his head too.
"Heard a rumor and came to check, but what the hell? Traitors who are complete idiots. You all think so too, right?"
The man turned to the others for agreement.
But.
—……
The forty-two refugees excluding the eight who stepped up stayed silent.
"Why isn't anyone saying anything...?"
The bald leader who spoke for them tilted his head at the lack of response from the other factions.
Bang!
A gunshot rang out, and the bald man's head exploded.
"Idiot? That's harsh."
Click-clack.
Heeled shoes clicked against the cement floor, echoing over the fading gun smoke.
"Don't make the traitor feel bad."
Camilla and Betty appeared.
###
Barrein stared with trembling eyes at his subordinate, who collapsed with his head blown off.
This man had been with him since the gang's inception. Now his head had splattered brains across the floor, leaving a faint bloodstain on Barrein’s cheek before vanishing pointlessly.
Normally, Barrein would have exploded in rage, vowing revenge. But now, he just froze, unable to even think of it.
"Whoa, this thing's got some kick."
Why? Because the woman who'd suddenly appeared and fired was utterly nonchalant about it.
"What's that?"
"This? Revolver Han made. Want one, Han? Got plenty."
"Oh. Thanks."
"Anis?"
"Pass."
"Anis doesn't use guns!"
The others were the same.
Ignoring the scattered brains and the acrid stench of blood assaulting their noses, they chatted casually, like it was everyday banter.
As if it were routine. As if blowing a man's head off was as natural as breathing.
Their natural demeanor hit Barrein with a profound sense of dissonance. He stiffened in place.
"Everyone made it on time. Sorry I'm late. Had some business."
The blue-haired woman who'd shot his subordinate addressed the other factions. She nodded curtly without introducing herself, as if they all already knew each other.
'No way... Everyone except our faction already knew her? That's why they stayed quiet even in that absurd situation?'
Barrein realized something was off. Cold sweat trickled down his cheek.
"So, what are you guys about?"
Click, whirr.
She spun the revolver's cylinder. The barrel pointed at the remaining seven—his faction.
"First time meeting you guys, right? Pretty sure I never reached out to your crew... Where'd you hear about this? Weird."
Barrein's back soaked with sweat. Click, whirr. Each spin made his vision spin, terrified the barrel might spit fire at him.
"Actually, not that weird? Rumors spread fast among refugees. Not strange at all. Just surprising you'd show up without solid info."
She lowered the revolver. Barrein finally exhaled the breath he'd been holding.
"Whatever. More hands, the better. You guys listen up too."
She clapped to grab everyone's attention. Once all eyes were on her, she spoke.
"In three days, the city lord and association head are meeting in the center. That's the day you storm it. Rally every refugee—old, young, no exceptions."
"...Can we even reach the center? The association's been lax so far, but heading straight for it changes everything. They'll stop us at all costs."
Another faction leader voiced concern. She brushed it off casually.
"Don't worry. The association won't interfere."
More precisely, they won't have the luxury to, so no need to fret, she said.
"And when you reach the center? You know. Kill them all."
She said to slaughter everyone in sight, men, women, kids—no mercy.
Incited the refugees, plunge the center into chaos.
Do that, and you'd escape your bottom-barrel lives for sure.
She told them to seize it all from the greedy elite hoarding everything.
Barrein listened quietly. Then a doubt surfaced.
The rumor circulating among refugees lately: reduce human numbers, and God descends.
And that the rumor came from demon-side traitors.
His faction had come to verify that rumor.
Barrein asked cautiously.
"So, that rumor going around among the refugees... Is it true?"
"True or not, do you have the luxury to care?"
She nudged his fallen subordinate with her foot.
"No one gives a damn about you. Shot dead like this? Bottom-feeders no one notices."
Lives that could end today or tomorrow—mayflies.
"For lives like yours, who cares about rumors? What matters is you get into the center in three days."
And that it might be the chance to change your fate.
...She was right. True or false, this was their first and last shot.
A chance to climb from the depths, one that wouldn't come again.
"What do you say? In? Got weapons for you too."
She spun the revolver on her finger, grinning wickedly.
Barrein had no choice but to nod.
#
"Oh yeah. You guys didn't trust us earlier, huh? Said how could these idiots be from the demon side. Buncha morons playing board games..."
She glanced back sharply. The girl and guy flinched guiltily.
"N-No... It's not..."
"Pfft, drop the act. We all know."
She waved it off laughing, then click-clacked over to Barrein in her heels.
Barrein grew anxious about what she'd do. He wanted to stop her if possible.
Tell her they'd believe everything, just don't come closer.
But would she even listen?
Grinning ear to ear, eyes narrowed, licking her lips like she'd found a fun toy. No way she'd heed him.
All Barrein could do was stand frozen as she approached.
"Don't worry. I'll prove it."
Now right in his face, she pulled a small knife from her coat and—
Stab!
"Gahk!"
—jammed it into the throat of the subordinate beside him.
Stab! Stab!
She didn't stop at one. She plunged the knife into his throat, chest, gut—once each.
"Guhk! Guuuhk!"
"Heehee. Quit squirming. I'm a doctor, see? I'll fix you right up."
She giggled as the man writhed in agony. Straddling him, she kept stabbing.
Stab! Stab!
Blood sprayed. Even a finger-sized knife pierced his chest easily, arterial blood arcing high. She bathed in the crimson rain, staining her beautiful face red.
"Kahk! Kaaaa!"
"Puhahaha!"
Stab! Stab!
The knife plunged a few more times, then his subordinate went still. She stopped too.
"Hah... hah... See? Believable now? Huh? Say it."
Breathing raggedly, she shoved her face into Barrein's. Strands of blood-matted hair clung to her cheek, her mouth split in a wide grin.
Barrein wiped a splatter of his subordinate's blood from his face. Bright red.
Trembling, gasping, he could only nod.
She was a demon.
#
"Wait, she calls herself a doctor and says she'll fix him, then just kills the guy..."
"Tell me about it."
"Psycho bitch. Stay away from her, Anis."
The three stared at Camilla in disgust.