Proof and Domination
Devils love seeing their contractors' most precious possessions rolling in the gutter. For those who fought to protect their families, the corpses of those families. For those who cherished knowledge, the price of that knowledge. That's the kind of torment they weave.
Don Quixote had lost his affability.
"..."
Crack... Crackle...
The devil transformation was complete. A knight in black armor with a red cape draped around his neck. Don Quixote had changed from his ridiculous appearance into something that, at least visually, resembled a true knight.
"Where did that knighthood go, Sir Don Quixote?"
But he was gone now.
He didn't answer my quiet question. Instead...
He raised his spear.
The moment the black spear tore through the air as it lifted, the red cape followed a half-beat later, fluttering in its wake. Now, it was just a shell.
Thud!
The eyes staring at me burned with unmistakable killing intent.
Groooar... The ground rumbled low as he took a step forward. Soil compressed, and small pebbles scattered faintly.
The gaze of a predator eyeing its prey. A look so familiar it was almost boring.
"Tch. Haah..."
I exhaled as if swallowing a sigh. Stung by it, perhaps—he moved.
Boom—!
Fierce from the first charge. The force he'd used to press the ground with his foot exploded fully. The distance between us vanished in an instant.
He thrust the spear tip straight for my throat. Textbook angle. Power unknown. Speed faster than expected.
I tilted my head just slightly to the side.
Shiiiing!
The spear tip grazed past my cheek. The wind from the piercing air scraped my skin.
Don Quixote didn't stop. Crackle... As he pulled back the spear, he twisted his wrist and immediately swung it horizontally.
A lateral slash. Right where my torso would split if I took it head-on.
I didn't step back even an inch. Instead, I arched my waist ever so slightly backward.
Whoosh— The black spear cleaved empty air. The blade sliced through nothing, the recoil rippling down his shoulder, waist, and toes.
The next attack would come only after he absorbed that recoil. The moment he'd abandoned distance control to swing wildly... he'd exposed his neck to me.
'Time to get started.'
Sensing the shift in my presence, Don Quixote's eyes flashed. He was already flowing into his second motion. Retracting the spear as he charged again. Not a thrust this time...
Boom!
He slammed the spear into the ground like a pole, using the rebound to launch himself airborne. Spinning the spear mid-air for a plunging overhead strike. A blow forcing defense.
But pierce through, and it was done.
Tap.
I lightly kicked off the ground with my toes. Not retreating—advancing into him.
The instant his spear dropped, I slipped into his blind spot.
Shiiiing—!
The black spear cleaved the earth behind me. A shockwave hurled up dirt.
The spot to hit now... Don Quixote's upper body hadn't recovered from the spin's recoil. Having swung the spear deep, his shoulder was open, ribs splayed.
No matter how thick the black armor, plate creates gaps for movement. Below the chest. Where the ribs end. The spot that catches the breath.
"Might tickle."
Crack!
My fist drove into the gap at his side. Between armor plates. The unsealed joint.
Fist clenched tight. Wrist straight. Elbow grounded. Short and deep. Thrusting in.
All my weight behind it.
"...Kuh!"
Ah. A sound from his mouth at last. Until now, he'd clenched his teeth, holding even his breath down.
Only metallic clangs and friction from inside the black armor... but now, unmistakably human. Short, rough, laced with labored air.
Pain is proof of humanity.
The devil transformation broke.
"Even the most taciturn foe opens its mouth when you hit the vitals."
So the Execution Sword wasn't needed today after all.
Don Quixote's upper body bent subtly forward. The black breastplate heaved as if swallowing air. His hand brushed his abdomen briefly.
The sight felt strangely unfamiliar.
"Even if the contract's power hardens the body, the insides stay the same."
Don Quixote's breathing was uneven. His ribcage rose unnaturally within the armor. His eyes looked up at me, focus clearly shaken.
A devil-contracted human, beaten relentlessly...
"Execu...tioner... sir..."
Returns to human form like this.
"The chil...dren..."
That one phrase told me how far he'd fallen and how far he'd crawled back up.
"I'll tell the children you left on a long journey."
"...Ah."
He smiled faintly, as if grateful. Without the forced mustache, he looked much younger. His gaze drifted to the distant village rooftops.
Sunset was beginning to spread.
"Soon... three days will have passed..."
"Yes. Any last words before then?"
Don Quixote closed his eyes briefly. The black armor lay discarded, heavy and gleaming shell now rolling in dirt and blood.
Siii— The black plates still faintly radiated heat. The devil's magic writhed inside, refusing to cool.
But now draping his shoulders was that patched-together old iron and ragged cloak again. Tattered. Ridiculous. Pathetic.
Yet.
The form the children knew.
He pressed a hand below his ribs, then casually pulled it away as if nothing was wrong. A habit to not crumble before the kids, probably.
"...I'm weak."
"..."
I couldn't say yes, you are, so I stayed silent.
Weak. The weak lose what they hold. The weak get trampled. The weak choose contracts.
Don Quixote was one of them.
"But... after hearing that whisper..."
"I could drive off bands of bandits alone."
"Each spear swing cracked the earth, sent thieves fleeing."
He traced the air with his hand. The trajectory lingered in his body still.
"Felt like an apostle of justice."
"...Justice."
The very topic I most wanted to hear from him.
"Don Quixote. What is justice?"
I hadn't asked the Emperor. Nor the Knight Commander. Nor that smug Scout.
They all wore faces that already knew their own justice. The Emperor would speak of order. The Knight Commander of loyalty. The Scout of balance.
But none convinced me.
"I used to think it was victory."
"And now?"
"Heh. Not anymore. Even victory leaves only wounds sometimes."
Mocking himself openly, Don Quixote laughed.
"Win or lose, insulted or killed."
"..."
"Actions I can boast of proudly before the children... that's my justice."
Sunset light crossed his face. Pallid lips, hand on ribs, breathing still ragged.
Yet.
Those words didn't waver.
"Don Quixote."
I called quietly. He looked up.
"Isn't that justice... too small?"
Not provocation. Genuine question.
He pondered briefly. Then nodded.
"Small, yes."
Admitted it too easily.
"One village."
"A few children."
"That's it."
He shrugged.
"Won't change the Empire, shake the Emperor, or upend the world."
"Then..."
"But in the world of children swarming at evening... I can leave justice behind."
"Ah..."
How long had our talk lasted? The sun rose higher. Execution time approached.
The eastern sky reddened. Night's blue haze lifted, faint gold brushing village roofs.
Clank—
"Devil contractor Don Qui... no. Don Quixote."
"Yes. Here, milord."
"Any final words."
He drew a short breath. Glanced at the sky. Peeked toward the village with the children.
Then smiled.
"Haha. I prepared for this."
He cleared his throat theatrically. Exaggerated posture. Straightened his back, puffed his chest.
As if declaring departure once more.
"Executioner milord! Thanks for embellishing the end of this body's adventure!"
"...No trouble."
"But this adventure isn't over! Tell my dear child friends I went to pen a grand epic!"
"I will."
"If the final scene is execution, isn't that a tale in itself?"
I said nothing for a moment. Wind passed once. Cloak fluttered lightly.
His hand pressed below ribs, then fell limply. Pain clear.
But his face didn't grimace.
"Very well."
And finally. He straightened his back even more. Though breath quickened. Though shoulders trembled.
"Executioner milord."
He said clearly.
"This body's adventure isn't over! Just a change of scene and stage!"
He smiled faintly.
"So write this epic's final chapter magnificently."
Wind blew again. Sun fully set, sky deepening to navy.
...No more time.
Clank—
The Execution Sword finally rose to my hand. The blade that severed countless necks...
Would kill one hero today.
"I execute."
Even as his head flew, he smiled brightly and shouted:
"Toward the unreachable star (¡Por alcanzar la estrella inalcanzable!)!"
The bandit gang tormenting the village was gone. The news brought more worry than joy to the villagers.
"Don Quixote won't be able to spin his tall tales anymore..."
"That old man's got thirty volumes easy even in solitary! Haha!"
...They just didn't want to believe it. Wouldn't want to hear his end from the woman who killed their hero.
I stood briefly at the village edge. Between low fences and crooked chimneys.
In the square's center, the tattered flag still stood.
"Justice Knights."
Faded letters. Crooked, clumsy brushstrokes. Childlike scrawl.
I approached slowly, gazing at the flag.
Wind blew; the cloth rippled.
Before boarding the carriage back to the Imperial Palace, I looked up at the sky.
Stars barely visible.
Still.
They were there.
I closed my eyes, then opened them.
And murmured softly.
"...He left on a long journey."
To no one in particular.