#016
"Ahem, ahem. Sir Charles? That cat is obviously just a stray..."
"Shut your mouth!"
With a sharp shout, Charles strode forward toward the kitten rolling in the weeds.
"How dare you question the word of a holy knight like me? I make the judgment on behalf of His Holiness the Pope! Get out of my way right now!"
Demian, who had been quietly following while pulling weeds and perhaps growing fond of the cat, charged at Charles.
"You think you can just keep pushing it? You little holy knight punk, who do you think you are, causing a scene?!"
And just like that, the two of them tumbled to the ground.
Demian mounted the falling Charles, rearing back to deliver a solid punch.
"Hey there!"
Sir Mel jumped forward in surprise.
So this was how imperial knights and papal holy knights fought. Catherine, keeping her composure, glanced at the still Percival and let out a stream of "Oh my, oh my!"s to stay in character.
"Urgh, get off me!"
It was truly unfortunate.
But Charles really shouldn't have twisted his body so violently at that moment. Sure, Demian had charged in without thinking, but it would have been better to just fall quietly and talk it out.
At least, if he didn't want anyone to see his wig fly off.
"Oh my."
Roze's exclamation burst from inside the mansion, as if she'd been secretly watching.
A long silence descended over the weed-choked garden.
They couldn't say a word, much less offer comfort.
As Charles's face turned ghostly pale, Demian—still awkwardly tangled with him—finally spoke up belatedly.
"S-sorry."
Hahahaha!
The frivolous laughter that followed drew everyone's eyes to one spot.
Precisely to the cat that had been rolling in the weeds.
Baldy! Haha, baldy!
No doubt about it.
This haughty, all-too-human mockery came from the very cat Catherine had been feeding—not from Demian or Percival.
"...The cat's talking?!"
Did that mean Charles had been right all along?
The cat's laughter faded as the atmosphere chilled.
The adorable little cheese puff of a kitten sprang up, wagging its tail.
Ah! No, scratch that. I can't talk!
"S-see? A demon worshipper! Look, Sir Percival, I was right!"
Charles crawled on all fours to snatch his flying wig and jammed it back on, yelling.
Percival, yawning widely as if utterly uninterested, paid no mind.
"Sir Mel, arrest that woman immediately! Meanwhile, we'll deal with this sneaky demon...!"
Shut it, baldy.
It happened in an instant.
The fist-sized cat ballooned to the size of a plaza fountain statue, then chomped down on Charles as he lunged toward Catherine and flung him backward.
Ugh. Tastes bad too. Must be the baldness.
Catherine stared in stunned amazement at the ridiculous spectacle.
Then, sensing Percival's gaze, she belatedly screamed.
"Kyaaah!"
To ensure he could never connect her to her old self.
"D-Demian! I'm scared!"
"Huh?"
The oblivious Demian shot her a look that said don't talk nonsense.
She pinched his side briefly.
Charles, covered head to toe in grass, staggered closer, one step, two steps.
His face burned beet red with a mix of rage and humiliation.
"How... how dare you mock me? Me, the second son of Viscount Benzene?!"
Baldies deserve to be mocked.
The now-tiny cat groomed behind its ear with a front paw and replied.
Is there a person inside that thing?
"I'll burn you filthy demons and your demon-worshipping wench along with this house!"
Charles drew his sword.
At the same time, a golden light like the sun spread across the blade.
Catherine grimaced, staring at the mystical glow.
Please don't touch the mansion. Please don't make holes in my land.
Did her prayer work? A savior appeared, grabbing Charles's ankle.
"Enough."
Her savior was none other than Percival.
"Playtime's over. Back to the hotel. I'm getting hungry."
He scratched the back of his neck and turned toward the mansion's front gate without hesitation.
He didn't spare Catherine even a glance—a complete reversal from yesterday's advice.
He'd fully withdrawn his interest in her.
"What do you mean, Sir Percival?! Fleeing with a demon right in front of us?!"
"Freaking out over a mere cat. Extermination squads are plenty for papal lapdogs. Not for a pious holy knight like you who loses it at the sight of demons, though."
That part of him hadn't changed from past to present.
Casually spouting words that would shock other clerics.
The Pope must know his temperament and still favored him, making him practically invincible within the Church's sphere.
No obstacles to the Pope's trust.
Charles ground his teeth and shouted.
"I—I can't accept this! How can you say something so irresponsible, Sir Percival?! We have a sacred duty to purify the continent...!"
Percival halted and turned to face him.
"Huh? Did I hear wrong? Who dares say they can't accept me?"
Charles's ragged breathing slowed.
The light on his sword dimmed too.
Percival drawled lazily, hands in pockets.
"Don't get the wrong idea, Charles. I didn't come all this way because I trust your thick skull. Just bored with this peaceful city's mornings."
Anyone would hear it as crushing the other's pride.
As Charles glared with bloodshot eyes, Percival narrowed his characteristically kind eyes with a grin.
"Not gonna flip out? If you're mad, come at me. Be ready to die, though."
His fellow holy knight patted Charles's back.
Not all who bore the title "holy knight" were equals.
There were clear hierarchies among them, like noble social circles.
"Good work, goat turd."
With that, leaving only traces of the storm, Percival departed.
...Had he really left?
He was out of sight, easing her mind a bit, but until he fully left Christopher, she couldn't relax completely.
In the silent garden's center, Sir Mel spoke first.
"Haha! We almost had a big problem thanks to that demon disguised as a stray cat."
Not a disguise. Both are my true form.
"Well, it's more or less resolved, so that's good. I've got security for the noon parade, so I need to head out, Miss Panya. Just stepping away briefly."
Sir Mel seemed indifferent to whether the cat was a demon or a person in disguise.
In Orleans, everyone would have freaked out and scattered.
Is it because he's Duke Chezare's man, the grand archmage?
To become a mage, one had to contract with a demon.
The reason was simple: humans needed to borrow the power of a demon's true name to wield demonic energy.
The Iterana Empire's imperial family had mage blood for generations, making them favorable to mages and proactive in their cultivation.
The Papal Church was the opposite.
To them, demons were targets for extermination.
They left state mages and their demons alone, but that was the limit.
Under the shield of "mission," the Church branded wandering mages as demon worshippers and hunted them.
Thus, the Empire and Church had long been at odds.
In Christopher, the grand archmage's land, mages were especially idolized, weakening Church influence.
Rumors said Sir Mel was once the Duke's knight, explaining his nonchalance toward demons.
Once Sir Mel left too, the mansion fell quiet again, as if the commotion never happened.
"So, what's your name?"
Ahem! This great one's name is the Mighty Ruler of the Night!
"Too long. Can I just call you Yaong?"
Nggh, if Catherine calls me that, it's not so bad.
Demian shook his head with a reluctant face.
"Never thought I'd end up working in a house keeping a demon as a pet."
The cat strutted into the mansion like it owned the place.
Its shrunken form was utterly adorable.
"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!"
Roze, hearts in her eyes, squealed and scooped up Yaong in a hug.
Demian and the others didn't seem fazed by Yaong's true nature—they'd naturally accepted it as part of the household.
After lunch, Roze shed her maid uniform at light speed and appeared in a ladylike, elegant outfit.
"Roze, where are you going?"
"Didn't I mention? To the plaza to watch the parade."
Roze blushed prettily as she answered.
Catherine couldn't comprehend.
"After that mess this morning, you're still going to watch?"
"He's handsome, so it's fine! A face has no sins!"
Roze's values seemed unshakably firm.
Catherine couldn't say a word against her blissfully happy face.
Soon after Roze left, noon arrived as scheduled.
After some deliberation, Catherine headed to the plaza too.
No ulterior motive—just curiosity about the rare triumphal return of the extermination squad.
She worried she might be late, but it was in full swing.
The end of the road had fewer people.
Catherine watched the approaching procession from the outskirts of the bustling crowd.
"Here they come!"
Drums and trumpets sounded.
Papal golden flags fluttered, followed by purebred horses carrying holy knights in formation.
Behind them: massive white carriages, priests, and lance cavalry.
So the goat festival plan fell through, huh.
Familiar faces appeared amid them.
His dark brown hair swayed in the autumn breeze, drawing hot sighs from the crowd here and there.
"The Church's pride! Sir Percival!"
Well, with a face like that, sure.
"Sir Percival! Please look this way!"
The returning clerics numbered two hundred, but the crowd chanted only Percival's name.
"The Church's holy sword!"
"Ahh, the day I behold him with my own eyes..."
Women clutched their foreheads and swooned like they'd met a famous theater actor.
Ignorance is bliss.
All those illusions would vanish the moment he opened his mouth.
"The Lily Holy Knight!"
"Percival! Blow a kiss this way!"
"Sir Percival!"
The procession drew nearer, and finally, Percival passed right in front of Catherine.
His expressionless face appeared and vanished in a flash, just as when he'd arrived.
Expected that.
"Ah."
But why was Percival looking at her?
Time seemed to stop.
Catherine instinctively touched her face.
It was perfectly bare.