Repeating Routine
"Please… kill… me…"
"Ah."
Scrrch.
The man, his neck half-severed, spat up bubbling blood from his mouth as he begged. Me, of all people. Where did I leave my focus during work?
I swallowed once. Very shallowly. The metallic tang lingering in my mouth brushed my tongue.
There was no one in front of me now. The thick doors of the throne room, the knights' tense breathing, the red-and-white streaks sliding down the walls—they were all as vivid as moments ago, but in truth, it was already over.
I always mull over the scene after it's done. Whether it's a bad habit of mine or an instinct of this body, I can't tell.
The moment blood sprays is brief. The moment life ends is brief. But the expression just before lingers with unnatural clarity.
A face screaming to be spared. A face grinding teeth in hatred. A face resigned to fate. And like just now, a face begging to be killed.
This body doesn't show much emotion. My heart doesn't race excessively. My breathing stays even. All that's left is the thought that I did what needed doing.
This routine is obviously abnormal, but somehow it's become normal for me. Do I even have the right to say that?
I looked down at the hand gripping the sword. White, slender fingers. Faint veins visible on the back of the hand. This hand crushes skulls. This hand pierces hearts.
Duty, mission, obligation... No matter what words I attach, it still feels off. But the orders come from above. I merely carry them out.
Telling myself that eases it a little. Yes, it's the justice decreed by the Emperor himself. The highest justice on this continent. I simply follow.
That was how I endured the repeating "routine."
"Lady Philia. Today's mission is a bit special."
At the end of the corridor, where the red carpet began, the Emperor stood waiting. Usually, he sat on his throne or received me formally with attendants. He rarely came out to the hallway himself.
"Your Majesty."
I bowed my head. Silver hair cascaded over my shoulders. In my lowered view, I saw the tips of polished shoes and the hem of a golden cloak draped over them.
The Emperor still looked young. Or rather, unchanging. An eerie stillness, as if time couldn't touch his face.
"You've received the report, I assume."
"From the Scout."
"Eastern Border."
A single short phrase, laden with meaning. The borders always harbored problems. Places beyond the palace's gaze. Where the Empire's laws didn't fully permeate. Where people survived in their own ways.
"A Devil Contractor."
"Confirmed."
The Emperor glanced over me once. His gaze was always the same. No emotion. No expectation, anxiety, or agitation. Just assessment.
"The rumors this time are somewhat intriguing."
Intriguing. When that word left the Emperor's mouth, it rarely meant anything good.
"Self-proclaimed wandering knight, they say."
"Yes."
"Protecting a village."
The Emperor's lips twitched ever so slightly upward. Not a smile. Not mockery. Just the curiosity of an observer.
"What do you think?"
For a moment, the air grew strangely heavy. What do I think? The Emperor never asked questions like that. He judged. I obeyed. That was our dynamic.
"Contractors are targets for elimination."
I answered curtly.
"Pfft. Haha! Yes. A fitting response from you, Lady Philia."
The Emperor covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he laughed. It didn't seem like he'd intended to laugh so heartily from the start. Laughter always spills out more when you try to hold it back.
But that laugh felt off. Not joyful, not amused. Like a hunter spotting prey, or a teacher pleased with a correct answer.
I didn't like it.
"Your Majesty."
As I bowed once more, the Emperor lightly composed himself. Only the quirk of his lips remained; the temperature around his eyes cooled again.
"I'm praising you, Philia."
Praise. The moment the word hit my ears, my skin tightened faintly. They say praise should be sweet. But the Emperor's praise to me was always... sharp.
"A blade should be blade-like."
The Emperor spoke slowly.
"That's its most ideal form."
Ideal form. I rolled the words over in my mind again. "Ideal" always implies a purpose. Ideal for whom? The Empire? The Emperor? Or... me?
The answer was obvious, probably.
"I said this mission is special."
The Emperor glanced toward the corridor window. The night outside was sliced into fragments by the golden lamplight.
"The Eastern Border has always been that way."
Small, poor, distant. Where the gaze doesn't reach, standards loosen. His tone was like reciting a state report. No emotion. Just conviction.
"When standards loosen, people start creating their own justice."
I said nothing. In the silence, the Emperor's voice sharpened.
"This Empire was built on one justice."
The Emperor took a step toward me. The closer he got, the scent wafting from him grew stronger. Similar to the palace incense, but richer, deeper. Not suppressing emotion, but redirecting it.
It was unpleasant.
"Philia."
He called my name. Philia. The name he gave me, now taken for granted by all. Sometimes it felt like I truly belonged to this world. Sometimes, like I didn't belong to myself at all...
"You are my blade. Don't forget. Execute justice."
"I shall obey your command."
The guilt faded away.
Rattle.
Rattle.
The modest carriage departing the palace passed through the castle gates. I'd requested only a driverless coach, so departure was swift.
Devil Contractor.
The carriage's sway drummed steadily against my waist. Each bump over the dirt road sent a dull vibration up. Nothing like the smooth palace floors.
I didn't lean against the backrest. No need. This body was adept at balance.
Through the window, the castle walls receded slowly. Tall, sturdy walls. Symbols enclosing the Empire's heart. Inside those walls, everything followed standards. Breathing, steps, speech, expressions.
And I was part of those standards.
But the moment we passed the gates...
Standards loosened.
Rattle.
Once clear of the gates, the road grew rougher. Faint dust rose.
I tapped the window frame lightly with my fingertips.
Devil Contractors. In this world, power always demands a price first. Talent for magic. Decades of training for knighthood. Bloodline for nobility.
Devils whisper to them. Promise the brightest moment. But claim everything else "later."
And people fall for it.
...Or do they, really?
I closed my eyes. Recalled the Devil Contractors I'd beheaded so far. Nobles with pitch-black eyes detecting lies. Soldiers etched with blood magic runes. Fanatics rising from death.
Didn't they all have something more precious than life?
"We've arrived, Executioner."
"Yes. Thank you."
I grasped the door handle. Cold metal met my palm. Pushing it open, outside air rushed in.
Earth. Grass. People.
Air utterly unlike the palace. Unrefined, unmasked by incense, honest.
I descended slowly. My foot hit the dirt path, stirring fine dust.
A small village spread before me. Low wooden buildings. Crooked fences. Smoke rising from leaning chimneys.
A child spotted me from afar and froze. Seeing my silver hair and uniform, his face hardened. A woman, likely his mother, yanked his shoulder hurriedly.
Doors slammed here and there.
Thud. Clank. Whispers spread.
"From the palace."
"It's the Executioner."
"No way..."
No surge of mana anywhere in the village. But. Somewhere. Faintly. An alien ripple.
Like embers hidden under ashes.
I turned my gaze that way.
The village square at the center. In the middle.
[Justice Knights!]
I stared at the lettering for a moment. Awkward, crooked, clumsy. Like a child's scrawl.
"…"
Huh. The corner of my mouth twitched faintly.
Self-proclaimed knight, they said. Just... a lunatic?
At that moment, commotion erupted from the opposite side of the square.
"Sir Knight! The fence on that side collapsed again!"
A bright voice. And the reply.
"Haha! Fear not! This knight of justice departs at once!"
I turned my head.
Armor too patchwork to call proper—scrap metal and leather stitched together. Crude helmet. Tattered cloak with visible patches.
As he ran, he thrust his hand high.
"Haha! Peaceful as ever today!"
A few villagers chuckled in disbelief. Some shook their heads but didn't outright deny him. Two children trailed behind him.
He hadn't noticed me yet.
I observed him. Light steps. Mana suppressed forcibly. Not a body trained in standard knighthood.
But. Not mere bluster. He was genuinely honed.
And. A thin black aura flowed somewhere on his body.
Trace of a Devil Contract.
Definite.
I stepped forward. Dirt crunched underfoot.
He turned his head. Our eyes met.
For a brief. Very brief. Moment.
The emotion flickering in his eyes wasn't fear. Nor surprise.
His eyes sparkled as he saw me.
"Oho!"
What the hell is this guy?
Exaggerated exclamation. He puffed out his chest.
"Could it be... the Empire's Executioner?!"
Villagers murmured. Some shut windows tighter, others held their breath.
I walked toward him slowly. Steady steps. No emotion shown.
"Executioner Philia."
I kept my voice low and flat, as always. I'd introduced myself hundreds, thousands of times. It never changed, no matter the target.
Yet the man flung his arms wide like he was welcoming a festival.
"Haha! As expected! The wandering knight, Don Quixote. Meeting such a beautiful..."
"Do you have more to say?"
"Haha! Haha... ha..."
Fear. Visible beneath the bravado.
The man looked pathetic. Dull iron helmet without shine. Ragged cloak. The "Justice Knights" badge on his chest like a child's craft.
"Regrettably, you're the target this time."
Clank—the Execution Sword crushed the stone ground as it appeared in my hand.
"So, quietly..."
"Heh heh. Hand over everything ya got!"
"Ya won't use that weird power like last time, right? Haha!"
Tanned ruffians on horseback with crossbows cut me off. Judging by their unkempt look and arms...
...bandits.
Hmm. Executions get distracting with noise nearby...
"Oh dear! Lady Executioner, these folks first..."
"You're next, so stay quiet."
Complications.
...Shit.