41. The Harlequin of Frenzy

Marilyn had explained it before.

Her music tampered with the listener's emotions, ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠amplifying whatever they felt most strongly in that moment.

It drowned out every other feeling except that one.

Just as I'd channeled raw survival instinct when I heard her play, everyone else listening was undoubtedly being swallowed by their own emotional turmoil.

"Grrrr, uuugh!"

"I—I can't hold back anymore. Can't take it, I tell yooou...!"

The demons, true to their nature and their love of battle, surrendered themselves completely to the lust for slaughter and combat.

"I don't wanna die. I said I don't wanna die!"

"Nobody move. If we try to run, there's no telling what that orc will do!"

The humans, outmatched and overwhelmed, had no choice but to be swallowed by terror and the desperate urge to flee.

And yet the reason they'd managed to hold still until now came down to a single factor.

The overwhelming presence of a superior warrior ruling over them, controlling the entire space through sheer force alone.

"......Human. Woo Hyosung."

Hellcry.

An orc by birth who had risen to executive rank in the Demon Lord's Army, a warrior so mighty that even the battle-crazed demons feared him.

"Do you understand what it means to point a spear at me?"

But even a warrior like that still had emotions. If he fell prey to one, wasn't there every chance he'd rampage right here and now for the sake of the honorable battle he craved so desperately?

"Fuck... I show you a little respect, and you think I'm a pushover!?"

Sure, I knew this was insane. But if the man standing in front of me was just as buried in his feelings as I was—

Then our earlier promise meant nothing. He might rampage and destroy everything here.

"Move. Right now. Or else...."

"Or else what?"

If my life was going to flicker out meaninglessly anyway, I'd rather flail and struggle than sit around waiting.

Even swept up in that impulse, losing my cool, he just stood there silently, staring at me, and let his voice drift toward me.

"Are you telling me you'd throw yourself at me with that half-dead body of yours and let the life you barely managed to protect burn away into nothing?"

"Shut up! You don't think I'll do it!?"

My heart pounded. My head overheated.

My runaway emotions, fully ablaze, soon compelled my hand to hurl the spear I held straight at him.

—Thunk!

The spear sank into his chest without resistance.

But the tip barely pierced the surface. It couldn't even cut through his hide.

The outcome was obvious. Mithril Ego Weapon or not, in the end it was still a weapon wielded by me.

With my strength this pitiful, neither its fabled sharpness nor its explosive mana could function as intended.

"Yes, I can feel it."

And yet, despite that pathetic throw.

The monster blocking my path didn't so much as sneer. He gripped the spear and continued his assessment in a cold, steady voice.

"I can feel your desperation in this attack... and I can feel how much you've endured to reach this point. And I can see that your recklessness in this moment isn't born of mere fear—but is for the sake of something you value even more than your own life."

The spear was pulled from his chest.

Hellcry looked down at it, his gaze growing distant as if lost in thought, and went on.

"I, too, was like that once."

A reminiscence.

As if seeing my desperate struggle had reminded him of the path he himself had walked.

"I fought viciously from a worthless birth. And when that wasn't enough, I sought something greater, and I've run all the way here for it. Leaving behind my kin, who believed the whole of existence was simply to sow one's seed and die... leaving behind those who thought making their scattered bloodlines repeat the same cycle was all there was to life. All so I could leave something more meaningful upon this world."

And with that, step by step.

He walked toward me with steps that held not even a hint of threat, and then casually held out the spear he'd been holding.

"...And that is why my blood boils at this moment."

The words he spoke alongside it were quiet, but their weight felt even greater than when I had faced Sloth and staked my life against him.

And so, too, did the immense patience that came with them.

"Rather than trample the one who has stirred my chest here and now... what governs me in this moment is the desire to see how you, if allowed to walk away alive, will grow and develop from here on. The future you would build were I to let you live—that is what I wish to witness."

He wasn't going to kill me.

He was suppressing even the urge to kill—the urge I'd provoked by hurling my spear at him out of sheer threat—with a mental fortitude that exceeded my own.

"Therefore, I ask all who stand here!"

Even so, he let his surging emotions fill his throat and roared.

"Did you truly feel nothing from this battle!?"

He shouted it out.

He'd already erased the very presence that had been suppressing them, making those watching this scene calm their own emotions as they fixed their eyes upon him.

"What did you feel, watching a hollow being who merely lives because he cannot die—watching him accept even his final moments without resistance and end his existence? What did you feel, watching this frail warrior struggle desperately just to prolong a life that is nothing but survival!?"

Without the love of battle that had raged ceaselessly, without fear.

Just by watching him take my weapon, they were swept away by his voice and voiced their agreement.

"Yes! Whatever it is you felt, it will undoubtedly shape the path you walk from now on! To leave one's footprints upon others in this way, to feel pride in influencing their lives—that is what this world calls Honor...."

Having ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drawn such empathy from the crowd, he turned the body that had handed me the spear and wrenched his mace from where it had been planted in the earth.

He lifted the mace and spoke to me.

"You, who have proven the possibility of grasping such Honor... I, Hellcry, acknowledge you. Though your body remains weak and your battle was a desperate one, you who seized victory in the end are by no means pitiful."

He gave meaning to my struggle.

And the desire that dominated him in this moment—he poured it, alongside the strength to swing his mace, into opening a path toward the future.

"So go."

—Kwaaaaaang!!

"Go, warrior!!!"

In an instant, the debris and boulders that had piled up from the collapsed cliff were all blown away.

Just as the remaining dust was swept aside by the fierce wind to reveal open ground, Hellcry slammed his mace into the earth and roared.

"I pay my respects to the potential you have shown, and I shall sincerely celebrate your survival as you depart this place! And when you have left here, remember this! The next time we meet, that respect will continue as warrior to warrior—in a battle where our fates are staked against one another!!!"

The way his hands trembled violently meant his desire for battle still remained.

Even so, he didn't lunge. He suppressed himself again and again, dreaming of our reunion.

To him, who looked to the future and bestowed mercy upon me now, I felt respect from the bottom of my heart.

"......Yeah."

Yeah, he was a warrior.

From a birth that pursued only the propagation of his species, belonging to the Demon Lord's Army that threatened humanity—he was someone who had realized what Honor truly meant.

And so I didn't offer him thanks.

This was only a reprieve.

I could already foresee that even if I survived and escaped this place, if I failed to seize this opportunity, the death meant for me now would simply be delivered by his hand later.

"I'll look forward to it. The day we meet again... I'll make sure to give you a blow you'll be satisfied with."

So I only told him what he wanted to hear. Then, to stay true to the reprieve I'd been granted, I left his side and ran beyond the cliff.

There was no hesitation.

My body was at its limit, in maddening pain—but there was something that had to be done, and it could only be done now.

"H-Hey, are you alright!?"

"I-I can't believe you actually survived and won against that monster... W-Whoa!? Where the hell are you going!?"

Even as I heard the voices of the adventurers who'd survived alongside me crying out from behind, I only stared ahead and ran toward the dark forest.

I didn't know what was waiting for me up ahead.

Running through a darkness where I couldn't see an inch in front of me, my head could be severed before I even realized it.

"Meryl...."

Even so, I chose to move forward without hesitation.

Even though the music had cut off at some point, I did it to stay true to ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the greatest desire I felt in this moment.

"Marilyn... you're safe, right?"

Marilyn Sutherland.

Because I wished for my connection to the woman who'd allowed me to keep my life to continue on even ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after this moment passed.

* * *

—Fwoooong.

By the time the performance ended, a fierce wind was blowing through the dark forest.

There, the Clown who had been silently concentrating solely on the pleasure of her playing quietly opened her eyes and surveyed the scene that had unfolded around her.

A field covered in blood on all sides.

Beneath, demons, beastkin, and humans lay scattered equally, without any particular distinction.

Most were demons and beastkin.

The relatively small number of humans was likely because their desires in the face of this situation had been fixated on the urge to survive.

Unlike the demons and beastkin, who'd grown fervent in killing and fighting one another, the humans had only been frantic to escape.

The fact that she'd ended up letting the humans live, however unintentionally, struck her as a little ironic.

"......Huhu."

Yes, it was merely a passing feeling.

The reason she traveled was to craft stories that would delight her lord.

In the process, the humans she encountered along her journey were nothing more than trivial existences, good for briefly kindling a final flame before burning out.

Demons and beastkin were the same.

If there was anyone among them who'd remain in her memory, it would have to be someone with the mental fortitude to keep their senses after hearing her music....

"You really are strong."

A frenzied battlefield where all had forgotten even the fear of death, faithful only to their own desires as they fought one another.

At the end of that fierce battle, the only one left standing was the polar bear beastkin who served as field commander of the Anti-Human Alliance.

"Since we've met face-to-face like this, introductions first. What's your name?"

—Crunch.

The polar bear beastkin crushed the corpses strewn across the ground beneath his massive paws, then coolly looked down at the Clown, who faced him with a smile in her eyes.

"...Phobia."

With an extremely quiet demeanor....

He simply introduced himself to the one who had incited this atrocity.

"Phobia Homer. Assault Captain of the Anti-Human Alliance."

"Ah, nice to meet you, Mr. Phobia."

Twing-a-ling. A lute string was plucked along with the cheerful voice.

"My name is Marilyn Sutherland. I'm just a worthless Clown wandering the world in search of stories."

Phobia, suppressing the bizarre power he sensed from her through sheer willpower, glared at her and let out a low growl.

"Drop the shitty joke. I've already figured out that anyone who reeks this foul couldn't possibly be just some worthless Clown."

"A disgusting smell—that's so harsh...."

No—when she'd first barged in, he'd lost his senses, but now that his composure had barely returned, the stench was unmistakable.

Even if she appeared human on the outside, it was nothing more than a Stomach—a mere facade.

"Ah, come to think of it, do you hate homosexuality?"

The Clown, wearing that false appearance, smiled unperturbed and casually brushed off Phobia's rage.

"You seem to be misunderstanding, so I'll clarify: she just approached me on her own. I have no interest in that sort of thing. In the first place, I've never even loved anyone in my life."

Love.

An emotion hotter than anything—but one that comes with devotion to its target.

To a species born pursuing desire and blooming their power through such desire, love was considered a poison.

If such a species ever did feel something they called love, it could only be lust for an attractive partner being mistaken for love.

"Right. As if demons would know anything about love."

Phobia, having discerned her identity through scent, took this moment to shudder and grind his teeth as the memories surfaced.

"If I'd known love, that goddamn bitch wouldn't have trampled my homeland and my family so mercilessly."

"...Did you lose your family to one of my kin?"

"Our factions are hostile, but I have no personal grudge against demons themselves. If there's anything I loathe, it's only those disgusting homosexuals who treat the act of raising children as something worthless—just like the bitch who trampled my homeland!"

It wasn't unusual for demons to treat the property and bonds of others as trivial by nature.

But among them, one who favored homosexuality while also possessing the ability to annihilate a group of beastkin—a race born superior to humans—there was only one she could recall.

An existence who stood on equal footing with her, at least in status.

"And personal grudges aside, I am the Alliance's Assault Captain. If you've got ties to that goddamn Demon King's puppet, so long as there's a chance you threaten our cause, I can't just let you leave."

"Ties, you say. That's a bit of a misnomer. Not all demons belong to the Demon Lord's Army, after all."

"No. You definitely belong to the Demon Lord's Army. That vile stench wafting from your body proves it. It tells me the power you hold is incomparable to these half-assed nobodies scattered around here."

Phobia's eyes narrowed to slits.

The gaze he'd kept so cold after regaining his reason was gradually staining with a murderous hue.

"And you introduced yourself as a Clown, didn't you? To my knowledge, there is only one individual in the Demon Lord's Army who possesses this much power and still calls herself a Clown."

The very scene spread out here—of those who'd heard her music falling into madness and trying to kill one another—was proof of that.

From the lips of Phobia Homer, the Anti-Human Alliance's field commander and sole survivor of that slaughter, her true identity was soon spat out.

"A top executive of the Demon Lord's Army...."