#087
......Did he bring me here?
Catherine groped tentatively around her neck. Brushing the spot where the knife had pierced sent chills down her spine. Her throat was wrapped in bandages, hiding the wound from view. As she sat up, she saw that half her top was soaked in bright red blood.
"Orzen, that con artist......"
To let her guard down like that. She bolted out of the tent and headed for the carriage. The atmosphere, the sky's hue—it was right around dawn.
"Hey, miss! Where do you think you're going in that state!"
A voice called from behind, but she had no time to care. It had been ages since she'd felt this level of irritation. Catherine wasn't one for emotional swings. She'd learned from childhood that it was easier that way—a hard truth forged in her dysfunctional family.
Orzen was the first since Anne to rile her up this much. And the first she'd wanted to kill since Mars.
Orzen had claimed second place in both categories, so Catherine couldn't just let it slide.
She picked the carriage lock with her key and dashed down the stairs. There, beyond the iron bars, was that damn face. Catherine yanked off the cloth gagging Orzen's mouth.
His lips, stiff from not knowing who the visitor was, soon curved into a soft smile.
"I've been waiting. Took you long enough."
Waiting, my ass.
She untied the blindfold over his eyes. His pitch-black pupils blurred for a moment—the dumbest expression she'd ever seen on him.
"......Catherine?"
It was nothing like his usual smooth, honeyed voice. This was low and sticky, like trudging through mud.
Even his voice was fake, huh.
"No way. Mars must've brought you here, ugh."
First, she vented with a solid punch to his gut. Her arms, toned from housework, wouldn't tickle.
"Open your mouth."
Orzen stared at her, still looking incredulous. Guess a knife to the back of the head meant words alone wouldn't cut it.
Catherine wasn't one to just take it lying down. She pulled a pen from her bag and shoved the sharp tip forward.
"I said open."
Finally, Orzen slowly shook his head.
"No more knives. My mouth isn't big enough for two."
"If I believe that, I'm Demian."
"Demian?"
"Just open it. I need to see for myself."
He complied. Where his left molar should be was a long gouge instead of a tooth. Pus-mixed blood made it a gruesome sight.
That's where he hid it.
A madman was a madman for a reason. Orzen, historic mass murderer, carving out flesh to stash a weapon? Not surprising. The real issue was Catherine herself, who'd let her guard down completely over something tied to Chezare.
"Why aren't you dead?"
"I was—thanks to you."
"So you died and came back?"
"What do you think?"
Ha...... His short sigh morphed into booming laughter.
"Hahahaha!"
At first, she thought he'd lost it. Orzen laughed until his face turned red, looking like he couldn't hold it in from sheer delight.
"Ah, this is pretty intriguing... kuh."
Then, something plopped from his mouth. Blood.
What the......
She stumbled back at the suddenness. Now she noticed the floor nearby was stained with blood.
Ptoo. Orzen spat roughly.
"Why the shock? You haven't seen my back yet."
She tilted her head as he said, and there it was—something embedded in his back. To Catherine, it was all too familiar.
Mars's glass sword.
"Mars doesn't care who kills him or how. To him, we're all just bugs. Hmm... 'bugs' feels too self-deprecating. Ants is better—swarming, weak, useless ants."
Why was that sword in Orzen's back? The once-transparent blade had greedily drunk his blood, now gleaming dark crimson. Proof: no blood dripped from the gaping wound.
Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them at the grotesque sight.
Orzen laughed aloud at her reaction.
"You're the first he's avenged like that, just for one ant, Catherine."
Mars avenged me instead?
That's not like him. Chezare, maybe.
"Fun, right, Catherine? It has to be. It's fun for me."
Stuck in a cell, even a fly rubbing its legs would be hilarious. Orzen looked pathetic—like a cricket impaled on a glass skewer.
Watching him, her urge to torment him to hell's end fizzled. Without his gentlemanly mask, he seemed mentally frayed. His eyes were dull now, like a totally different person.
"Orzen."
"Yes."
"Shut your mouth."
He went quiet. But only briefly.
"Wanna run away with me?"
The out-of-nowhere offer furrowed her brow. Undeterred, Orzen pressed on.
"I like you. Think I'm smitten."
Catherine shook her head, speechless at the absurdity.
"Is that how you lured and killed other women?"
Orzen blushed, denying it with a shy smile.
"No. I swear, you're the first I've said that to, my love."
What a psycho.
As her fist clenched unconsciously—
"Hey."
Someone called her. She whipped around reflexively. No footsteps, but there stood Mars, way off in the distance. Hands in his pants pockets, he lazily crooked a finger at her.
"Come here. Don't waste time on the lunatic."
Spot on. Before leaving, Catherine glanced back at Orzen. He was still grinning, face full of joy—but with some subtle wrongness.
"Humans and demons can't be together, Catherine. To him, you're just property. Think you'll ever truly understand each other? By the time you realize it's futile, it'll be too late. This is a warning."
What the hell. He'd offer wealth and fame—who cares about being "property"?
Orzen, pinned in his cell, seemed oddly satisfied. His laughter faded to a whisper.
"The demon you're seeking isn't the Bronze Dominator, right? Come find me once more.
I swear on my soul to reveal the secret of the demon you're seeking, Catherine.
"Don't doubt it, my love. This is pure goodwill."
Catherine sensed it instinctively. Orzen had sworn on his soul, binding a vow's magic. If she returned, he'd hand over the info she wanted.
"Plug your ears. Hurry."
Mars urged again. Catherine turned away, unease lingering, and climbed out. With his arm around her shoulders, leaving the basement felt like breathing fresh air.
Orzen, certified lunatic, muddled her head every time—even when he pretended otherwise.
I like Mars's honesty.
Dealing with mask-wearers like Orzen sucked. Mars? If he hated something, he said it straight—nine times out of ten, sure, but still.
"Guess 'caution' got deleted from your brain. Going back to the guy who killed you? How brain-dead is that?"
She knew. But she couldn't help it. Her second life slipping away, the unexpected backstab, Chezare's mental strain—it all hit at once, spinning her head.
"If I'd known you stabbed his back, I'd have held back."
His mouth shut. He clearly didn't want to talk about it.
He did avenge me, right? No other reason makes sense.
After clinging like a leech, sacrificing all pride—maybe some affection grew? That'd be nice.
Her mood lifted just a tad. Back at the tent, Mars tossed her some clothes.
"Change."
A bit big, but usable. Probably hated seeing her in bloodied rags. Catherine accepted the gesture. He didn't leave, just turned his back like a guard. After a quick glance, she changed fast.
"Done."
Mars spun around instantly. Bad expression.
"Why the look?"
He quirked a brow.
"What look?"
"Like you're wondering how to cook me."
"Good instincts."
Kiiing. Dozens of ice arrows formed in the air, sharp tips gleaming straight at her.
She froze, speechless.
Not a joke—he means it.
Catherine had magic nullification. But against a full-power archdemon? Her ability was a paper boat in a tsunami.
She'd been through this before—and died pathetically last time.
Cold sweat trickled down her back.
Damn, if I die again this time......
No next time. Real death.
"Wait! Calm down. Breathe, Mars. Modern people solve problems with talk, not violence."
An ice arrow flew right at her nose. She stiffened in terror. But dangling from it was something familiar—a silver ring with a crystal rose. The magic tool Dantalion gave her.
"Who the hell are you?"
She checked her hands. No ring on her fingers.
Slipped off while I was dead?
Catherine spoke calmly.
"It's just a unique magic tool."
Mars's response was icy.
"If you don't wanna die for real, think hard and speak. This ain't some trinket."
Just agree. She nodded vigorously.
"You're right. It blocks the owner's death twice, or so I heard."
"Ha, who fed you that bullshit?"
His blatant scoff froze her tongue. Mars outright denied it.
......Not its purpose?
But how? She'd dodged death twice wearing it—and never used it otherwise.
Yet from Mars came a different tale.
"This thing shouldn't exist. It's infused with power that defies truth, transcending space-time. Not even I—no being—could make it."
Mars asked.
"You really from the future?"