#075
"From now on, whenever you meet that bastard, come with me. I won't allow you to slip away alone without a word like you did today."
"Mm."
"And if you try to smooth things over with that ridiculous cuteness of yours, I absolutely won't let it slide. Got it?"
Catherine blinked in surprise, firing back.
"When did I ever pull some cutesy act? Anyone hearing you would think I'm the type to mess up and then play adorable to get away with it!"
"I've never called it 'playing adorable,' so don't get flustered for no reason."
His long, slender fingers pinched her cheeks. Chezare fixed her gaze on him with her head held steady, urging her like it was an order.
"Promise me now. Will you do it, or won't you?"
One shouldn't make promises lightly. Especially not with a devil. To demons, a promise held far greater weight than it did for humans—something entirely different from the casual plans or suggestions they'd shared before.
...Unplanned run-ins shouldn't count, right?
No matter how she turned it over in her mind, she figured she'd cross paths with Percival Benedict Parhenrine once or twice more. She didn't want to drag this man along every time just to make things awkward. Better to hurl every insult she could at Percival and smack him down instead!
"Hurry up."
The pressure on her cheeks intensified. Catherine quickly mumbled her assent.
"O-okayyy."
"This is a promise. You know what that means with a devil, don't you?"
"Yeth."
"Today doesn't count as a promise—I'm letting it go because your intentions were pure. But next time..."
His firm grip now squished her face completely.
"No mercy."
"Okaaaay?"
"Good."
Catherine's face was finally released. Of course, Chezare handled her like fine crystal, so it didn't hurt—but the lingering tingle felt oddly uncomfortable.
"What about you, Chezare? I'm planning to set a meeting time with Giovanni Busperfield before heading back."
Chezare slipped a hand into his trouser pocket, answering nonchalantly.
"Just say you're here to meet Belial. Looks like he was hiding away in the aerial garden to avoid being spotted... Thanks to you, he'll get a nice show."
She doubted Giovanni would buy that so easily... but it wasn't a bad plan.
Catherine turned to leave the drawing room in search of Giovanni.
"Catherine."
"What?"
Chezare tilted his head slightly, pointing at something.
"Just in case—no need to go looking for his face."
Her eyes followed his finger. There sat her everyday little bag, mouth slightly ajar... revealing a unfamiliar notebook inside.
"Busperfield leads the continent in magitech. That notebook should let you stay in touch with Giovanni."
Ah, so this is magitech.
Catherine cautiously opened the notebook. It was thin and light, bound in sturdy leather that gave it a refined, antique charm.
Flipping to the first page revealed elegant handwriting, quite unlike Chezare's ornate script:
To my student.
Any questions on magitech, demonology, or magic in general—ask here.
Your kind teacher Giovanni will provide clear answers.
P.S.: Research on roots will be handled personally by this teacher Giovanni first.
This is actually pretty great.
Smart people really don't have to suffer. Catherine scribbled, "Heading home first." Then she tucked the notebook away with a satisfied smile.
Chezare barked at the sight.
"Every time you pull some silly stunt like that, tell me first. I'll raze the aerial garden to the ground."
Catherine mused. Far in the future, would he ever drop the refined "raze" for raw threats like "rip apart" or "bury alive," like that true form she'd glimpsed in the Abyss?
"Then I'll head back to Panya, Chezare. See you later."
And so Catherine returned to Panya with her bag's new addition, the notebook.
It wasn't until dinnertime that she remembered Demian Rodria and had to fetch him belatedly.
Two days passed since then, but Yaong still hadn't returned. As Catherine grew worried, Panya Marchioness brushed it off casually.
"Magibeasts are creatures driven by instinct more than humans. It's gone back to Abyssland, the realm of monsters. Probably hunting and feasting like mad right now."
"But I fed it well all that time."
Panya Marchioness shot her a baffled look, as if she'd said something absurd.
"Fed it what?"
"Cat food."
A disbelieving scoff followed immediately.
"Heh. You say the dumbest things sometimes. Magibeasts don't eat kibble. Especially purebloods—they hunt humans or lesser beasts. Tsk, no wonder it was starving after how stingy you were. It'll come back once it's full. Don't worry."
It was a shocking truth. Of course, Catherine had known as much.
But Yaong said it grew big and strong on my food...
It had joked about hunting humans, but never complained of hunger in front of her. Well, she'd get the real story when it returned. If Panya Marchioness was right, some reflection was in order.
During her stay in Panya, Catherine frequented the Northern Empire border defense headquarters, just like in her childhood. The defense knights and Panya's private soldiers mingled indistinguishably.
Officially under the imperial household, such closeness among knights of differing affiliations was unheard of. But Panya was a brutal place where life came first, and with Panya Marchioness enforcing iron discipline, everyone got along without reserve.
"So get this—the little yellow thing the lady brought turns out to be a gargoyle, king of winged magibeasts!"
"Ooh!"
"A pureblood, even!"
"Ooooh!"
"And it's tamed by the lady! Man, as expected of His Excellency Hansburg's granddaughter! Our little princess!"
"Ooooh!"
They were that casual—treating Catherine with zero restraint.
"Haven't seen you in years, and look how you've grown! We're so proud, miss!"
"Ow."
Catherine was hoisted into the air multiple times amid the burly knights. Reunions with those back from subjugations always ended in bear hugs, and overexcited ones would thump her back and ruffle her hair—pure agony.
Like now.
"Taller too! You're starting to look just like the late Lady Green— that deadpan face and snappy voice! Perfect Panya lady!"
"Are you insulting me right now?"
"Hahaha! Head's gotten bigger—now you're talking back!"
No denial, huh. While Catherine swapped endless stories with the knights, Demian's body accumulated bruises big and small. He sparred with the guard knights at least five times a day, grinning ear-to-ear even half-dead from exhaustion.
The knights, who tormented him like a hazing ritual for newbies, began acknowledging him one by one. For Panya's clannish knights to accept an outsider so quickly was rare.
"This guy's got some grit..."
"Cocky punk. Suits chasing after our lady's heels. But don't get smug—over a hundred more knights to face!"
"Fail to win even one over, and you won't leave Panya..."
Heh heh heh. Panya's knights circled Demian with sly chuckles, endlessly.
How do you survive knighthood in hell? When even they tired, they'd drink and play cards.
"Dumbass. With skills like that and a brainless personality—can't win once."
"That's 'cause you hold cards all day. Look, this one's worn on the back."
"Tsk tsk. Now we've got defenders for that black lion punk. Hate pretty boys."
Demian, raised refined in the imperial court, stood no chance against Panya's old-timers at cards. Loser swept the training grounds. One day, worried, Catherine asked:
"Demian, if it's too much, head back to Christopher? Stay with Roze—if you're good, I'll join after I'm done."
Her "business" was investigating her mother's room. Oddly, she'd procrastinated a day or two, then stayed longer.
"Huh? What're you saying? These few days here beat years in the palace. Won't leave till I beat those uncles at cards—no more mopping that damn floor."
This wasn't the Demian she knew—overflowing with fight and drive. What had those uncles done? Or had he always craved this grind?
"Imperial knights don't mop."
"Nope, no gardening either."
She had nothing to say to that.
The idyll shattered after a week in Panya.
"K-Knights!"
A frantic newcomer burst into the banter-filled headquarters—the same boy soldier from before.
"A-A massive gargoyle's raising hell at the main gate!"
All eyes turned to Catherine. Karl, dozing on the sofa, drawled lazily.
"That your yellow puffball, miss?"
Likely. The boy stamped his feet, alerting the knights.
"But its state..."
Terror-struck, the boy soldier faltered. Unease gripped Catherine; she halted her card game and stood.
Something bad happen to Yaong?
"Guide me there now."