#071
With a familiar grin, as if he'd heard the question a thousand times before, Giovanni stroked his chin. How many Nephilim had come begging for his help over the years? Even that casual reaction drove home just how monumental the man before her was—a figure destined to etch his name into world history.
"How similar do you think demons and humans are, miss? And how different?"
Catherine gave the standard answer. "The longer a demon lives, the more human-like they become."
"Exactly. That's why the demons who leave descendants behind are all ancient ones who've survived for ages. The stronger a demon is, the longer they live, so the more powerful ones are the most likely to have offspring."
Species like demons and dragons, born with immense innate magic, had one key trait: they couldn't reproduce among their own kind. They were born not from sex, but from the chaos itself—in places humans could never reach, sprouting naturally like fruit on a tree.
Yet they could reproduce with humans. It was an inevitable entanglement between demons, dragons, and humanity.
"Demons fall in love too. Kids born from pure affection toward each other, not some transactional deal. But even among Nephilim, cases like that are rare. The ones who usually fit this are Nephilim mages with both parents alive, raised safely under a nation's protection."
According to him, her mother hadn't borne Catherine out of love.
The air felt stuffy, so Giovanni flung open a section of the wide floor-to-ceiling window. Leaning precariously on the sill, he lit a cigarette.
"The second reason is when they want to leave a legacy. Most Nephilim fall into this category."
He exhaled lightly, and a puff of white smoke drifted out the window and vanished.
"One reason powerful demons get close to humans is boredom—they have the luxury for it. They indulge in everything until life grows dull. But they don't lose their self-love; if anything, their pride in themselves is immense. Greater than humans in some ways."
"So Nephilim themselves are the legacy of demons who've given up on life?"
"Spot on. Why do you think Nephilim are born with such potent magical talents? They inherit the demon's power. The demon has a child, waits for them to grow, then returns to chaos and chooses death—leaving only their strength behind in the world."
Giovanni tapped ash from his pipe into the ashtray without losing his smile.
"That's why Nephilim lose one parent early on. Like you and me, miss."
A spark flew. With a soft whoosh, the cigarette butt between his fingers vanished without a trace.
Giovanni turned to Catherine. "Does it make you sad?"
She was honest. "It's not great, but not heartbreaking either. I kind of expected it."
Her father would curse her mother whenever he drank. That woman only saw us as dolls in her game. I'm terrified you'll turn out like her. Now she finally understood those drunken rants.
So was Mother's love for me closer to self-love?
Proof of life. Her sole legacy. An heir named 'child.'
Suddenly, she wondered if Chezare would one day meet the same end. Imagining the family he'd build soured her mood, so she cleared her mind.
"Teaching young Nephilim is incredibly rewarding. Not many come straight to me these days. So now..."
Giovanni beckoned with a finger. The glass of drink on the table floated obediently to him. He drained the wine and continued.
"Shall we talk about that request you made? That unique demand to become your master."
The woman standing behind him refilled his empty glass. Staring into the rising red liquid, Giovanni lowered his voice, almost like he was talking to himself.
"I have high hopes for you, miss. From the moment I saw you, I knew you inherited something extraordinary."
By coincidence—or perhaps not—Giovanni had mistaken her power for that of the Archdemon Chezare.
"You know, beings who transcend certain realms can sense each other's level just by acknowledging one another."
His words brought back that night in Beaton Blue when she'd met Percival. The moment their eyes locked, they'd both realized the other was an Archdemon contractor.
"Busperfield is overflowing with Nephilim who have demonic talents. Within the bounds of magic, we rival the Iterana Empire itself."
"Bragging again?"
At her mildly irritated question, Giovanni let out a hollow chuckle.
"Hey, miss, can't you hear me out? I'm not bragging. I'm saying you're a one-of-a-kind gem."
"Classic Casanova line. Sorry, but I already know I'm a gem."
Demian, sitting beside her, shot her a look like he'd seen it all.
Can't be helped, Demian. You have to play it cool and shameless like this.
Giovanni set down his glass and rubbed his forehead. His voice rose slightly, unlike before.
"Frustrating! Infuriating! Casanova or not, who cares right now? I'm saying I want you, miss. Your talent is insanely lovable! My heart's pounding like I've fallen for a woman at first sight! Still not getting it?"
Demian whispered to Catherine. "Think it's that? Like a weirdo with... some mental issues..."
"Shh. What I'm trying to say is—"
Giovanni's teaspoon clinked sharply against the table. In an instant, the endless spread of food vanished, leaving only a vase brimming with roses on the yellow tablecloth.
"Come to Busperfield, miss."
"No thanks."
Her refusal was immediate, but Giovanni didn't give up. He looked like he'd expected it as he pressed on.
"I'll raise you to transcendent levels. Deal?"
"Not interested in living that long."
"Come on, at least think about it seriously? I'll give you wealth and power rivaling royalty."
"Don't need power, and I'm already enjoying wealth."
Giovanni lit another cigarette. He showed no irritation at her persistent refusals, instead resting his chin with a relaxed smile.
"Didn't you come here to ask a favor? If you reject this and that, how do you expect to become my disciple?"
"Anyone listening would think you're offering me all sorts of opportunities. All I've rejected is becoming part of Busperfield."
"Fine, then here's another proposal."
He snapped his fingers, and one wall slowly rotated. On the reversed side hung a massive situation board scrapbooked with dozens—no, hundreds—of articles.
She couldn't make out every one, but she could guess his intent. Most were likely linking her and Chezare.
"Cut ties with Duke Chezare. I won't raise a Nephilim under another mage's wing."
She'd expected Giovanni's walls to be high, but this was sky-high. Every proposal was something Catherine couldn't even consider.
Joining Busperfield would pit her against the Panya Marchioness, Shagweed II's closest ally. Severing ties with Chezare was impossible from the start.
To reject both, she'd need a counteroffer.
A deal to intrigue Busperfield's commander-in-chief.
Pure academic exchange, no affiliation required. Only one idea came to mind.
"Uncle, do you know what the Transfer Root is?"
"Of course."
"I'm its owner."
For the first time, Giovanni's brow furrowed. He reacted a beat late.
"Miss, don't tell me you're not Nephilim—you're a demon?"
"No. Nephilim, but a mutant."
He shook his head in disbelief. "You're having me on. Nice imagination, but impossible. Transfer is a root only demons born from chaos possess. Those with it wield stronger magic than others, but at the cost of greater lifespan..."
"I'm not asking for the definition of Transfer. I'm saying it's my root."
To prove it, Catherine gripped a rose.
"Since you don't believe me..."
She knew how to check now. The sensation of mana flowing through her veins. Channel it into the petals.
"I'll show you."
Woooong.
The red rose and vase exploded like fireworks. Black ash shot to the ceiling and rained down like mist.
The moment he saw it, Giovanni shot to his feet.
"Who else knows?"
"Only Duke Chezare."
His voice was utterly resolute as he proposed.
It was the most serious, determined look she'd ever seen on him.
"I'll make you the greatest mage of the next era. In exchange, let me analyze your root here. No harm to your body, no disadvantages whatsoever."
"Deal, Uncle."
He narrowed his eyes and grumbled. "When are you going to drop that 'uncle' nonsense? Call me Teacher from now on."
That much was easy. Giovanni's eyes gleamed with the signature mage's greed, curiosity, passion, and excitement.
With any other mage, she might worry about ending up dissected. But given who he was, the fear was minimal.
This might actually be for the best.
Chezare had lived so impossibly long that his thirst for knowledge seemed muted. He'd keep her around even if she were an earthworm mage.
What did it matter to him if her root was Transfer or something else?
If the secret came out now, it might ease her own frustrations.
The issue is telling Chezare...
How to break it without him thinking she didn't trust him.
She had no intention of hiding it. But he'd find out tomorrow anyway that she'd come alone.
In high spirits, Giovanni summoned someone for dessert again.