A Gift, a Threat, and the Demon Emperor
Schvalier fastened the necklace around Hildegard von Quyrhalstein's white, slender neck. I looked at her. An amber gem, the same color as her eyes, dangled between her collarbones, gleaming softly. I glanced back and forth between her golden eyes and the amber stone. Her black hair, like the night sky, framed her face, making those golden eyes stand out even more.
"Don't stare so intently, sir."
She covered her collarbone with her hand. Stroking her hair, I said,
"Can't I even look properly at my own woman?"
"Y-your... woman?"
"You're my woman, and I'm your man."
"Such words are too...!"
A blush bloomed across Hildegard's face. Unable to continue, she shot to her feet.
"I-it's late. We should part ways."
"I'll walk you home."
"I can go alone. Goodbye, then. See you next time."
Hildegard turned and strode away briskly. After five steps, she suddenly spun around and walked back to me. Then she threw herself into my arms.
"Thank you... for today."
With that, Hildegard truly left this time. I waved gently at her retreating figure and headed home. Instead of washing up right away, I pried up a floorboard and pulled out the box containing my Imperial Guard uniform.
Palkmart Manor.
"How dare a mere commoner...!"
Drewber Palkmart, the only son of the Palkmart family, clenched his fist as he glared at his throbbing calf. The spot where that insolent commoner had struck was swollen red and puffy. Even with ice applied, the pain and humiliation lingered.
But Drewber hated Hildegard even more than the commoner.
That bitch, abandoning me for some other guy?
Hildegard von Quyrhalstein. The youngest Sword Master, who had graduated top of her class from the officer academy. Not only was she exceptionally talented, but she was beautiful too. Superior physique, toned body, an elegant yet sharp aura like a famed sword. She was more alluring than any princess fawned over in high society.
But Hildegard was the granddaughter of the Massacre Knight. Twenty years had passed since Maximilian's massacre. Ten years could change mountains and rivers. Plenty of time for minor incidents to fade from memory. But the so-called Rhine River Massacre wasn't minor.
It was a slaughter of 30,000 souls. Twenty years, forty, sixty. Even when the generation that lived through it died out, words, pictures, and photos would preserve it forever.
As the worst mass murderer.
Hildegard hadn't committed the massacre herself, but she was direct granddaughter to the perpetrator. Worse, she denied her grandfather's atrocities and openly wielded his sword. That's why even her classmates and instructors shunned her.
A lofty flower no one dared touch.
Drewber had been strongly drawn to that very trait and approached her. She rejected him at first, but her parents were different. A bit of money, and they handed over their daughter without hesitation.
How great does she think she is?
Drewber had figured he'd bed her soon enough. Young man and woman in their early twenties, full of vigor. Stick around long enough, and it'd happen naturally.
But Hildegard was far more straitlaced than he'd imagined. What was this obsession with some fallen house's premarital chastity tradition? Four years without even a kiss?
Sure, as she said, they could just marry. But Drewber had never intended to marry her in the first place. Marry into that family? He'd sooner wed a commoner.
Unable to wait, Drewber started cheating. Truth be told, he'd begun right around the one-month mark of dating her. But showing it openly in front of her was a first.
No particular reason—just to stoke her womanly jealousy. I'm the young lord of a count's family. Heir to the prestigious Palkmart house. You're the one who should be begging, not me. I'm cheating because of you.
But astonishingly, she didn't care. No anger, no tears. As if she'd known he was that kind of man all along, she calmly declared their breakup.
And now she's dating a commoner?
Daring to dump a count's heir like me? The wrist with a hairline fracture, the swollen shin, his pride shattered before high society, the humiliation from Schvalier.
Who started it didn't matter anymore.
"...I'll show you what happens if you mess with me."
He rubbed his wrist. A captain breaking a major's wrist was ample cause for punishment as insubordination. Or he could hire thugs to beat up her precious commoner. Plenty of ways to make her life hell.
With that thought, Drewber moved to lie down for bed.
If not for the man in black.
Wh-who are you?!"
"You saw me earlier."
The window was ajar at an angle. Curtains swayed in the night breeze. The man, legs crossed on the bed, spoke calmly as he lowered his mask.
"You...!"
It was the commoner who'd struck his calf.
"Do you know where this is...? How the hell did you get in?!"
"Military records had your home address. But that's beside the point—good thing I came."
Creak.
The man uncrossed his legs and stood.
"Was gonna let it slide, but that look in your eyes... you're planning something."
The man wore something like a black uniform. Shing. A sword slid out from inside his robe.
"Y-you're going to kill me? Do you know who I am?! Young lord of Palkmart! Hey! Guards! Guards!!"
"No one's coming. I've soundproofed the room."
"Soundproofed? What kind of bullshit—"
Gurgle...
Black aura oozed from the man's sword like bubbling ink. Pitch-black mana enveloped the blade completely. Drewber's eyes widened in horror.
"S-Sword Master?!"
The mana of a Sword Master. He'd seen Hildegard's once. Hers was dazzling and hot; this man's was dark and gloomy, like a dingy alley. Mana darker than shadow rippled along the blade.
"I don't really want to kill you if I can help it—too much hassle. Just a warning."
The man approached step by step. Drewber retreated accordingly.
"Don't mess with me or Hildegard."
"..."
"Do, and I'll kill you."
He said it as casually as asking after one's health. That's what made it chilling. He meant it.
"A-aren't you afraid of repercussions?"
Drewber mustered his last shred of pride. The man pulled something from his pocket—a badge with a roaring double-headed eagle.
A soldier like Drewber knew what it signified.
"...Th-the Imperial Guard?!"
Color drained from Drewber's face. Why was the Guard involved with a foreign soldier's romance...? He couldn't fathom it, but the opponent was the Guard. The Imperial Guard's infamy was legendary.
As a major, Drewber knew a bit. Ruthless killing machines who did anything for the emperor. If ordered, they'd assassinate foreign royalty. No royal house among all nations hadn't lost someone to them—though lack of proof prevented reprisals.
If they killed royalty, what was a mere count to them?
Drewber broke into cold sweat. He'd tangled with the one group you never cross. Messing with them didn't end in death.
"Drewber Palkmart. Stir up trouble, and you'll be deemed an enemy of the Empire."
Drewber nodded frantically. He knew how the Guard handled "trouble."
The man patted Drewber's shoulder firmly and headed for the door.
"Oh, right—gotta return what you got earlier."
As if just remembering, he turned and kicked Drewber's shin.
Crack!
"Argh!"
Drewber clutched his shin and collapsed. The swelling felt like it'd been smashed with a hammer. It was broken.
The man glanced down at him writhing like a maggot and vanished like a shadow.
Schvalier was a benefactor in my life. He'd taken in a brute who only knew swordplay and taught me his magic. Not just magic—he shared all sorts of knowledge. Deep down, I regarded him like a father.
But when the emperor died, I had to cut ties. Schvalier and I were close; the Empire couldn't ignore that. With Marcus dead and them hunting Elizabeth and me, Schvalier must have been watched. That's why I hadn't sent him even a single letter all these years.
Not just him—I severed all ties from my Empire days. I only caught up via occasional newspaper mentions.
As promised, I headed to the grand park at 10 a.m. In one corner, on a bench, sat a stubbornly stern old man reading the paper alone.
Schvalier.
I approached, and he neatly folded the paper, looking up at me. His face twisted into a strange mix of tears and laughter.
He stared at me for a long moment, hemming and hawing, then said,
"You rotten bastard."
The affectionate nickname after five years.
"Why curse me right off the bat?"
I replied innocently and sat beside him. Unpleased, he raised his voice.
"You punk, cutting off contact like that? Huh? At least a letter?"
"You know the situation."
"..."
He clamped his mouth shut. Of course Schvalier knew the truth behind the incident five years ago. He understood what I meant.
Gazing at distant mountains, he said,
"...You eating okay?"
"Better than before, actually."
"Can tell. Seducing such a fine lady. So, what do you do? Swordsmanship? Magic?"
"Neither. Just honest work."
We sat on the bench, catching up after so long.
"No tails on you?"
"None. Shook 'em ages ago."
"So there were some."
"Thanks to my troublesome disciple."
"Ahem."
"By the way, how'd you handle the imperial princess?"
Straight to the point, as always.
"You know she's with me."
"Raising her as my daughter."
"Heh heh."
"Why laugh?"
"Heh heh."
"Seriously, why?"
"My ears playing tricks?"
"You're that age."
"You little... For real? Raising the imperial princess?"
Imperial princess. What Elizabeth should have been called.
I rolled the awkward title in my mouth and replied,
"That day, inside the bear doll the princess had... there was a letter from His Majesty."
"He entrusted her directly to you, huh."
"You knew."
"How could I not? That bastard tore the place apart looking for his half-sister for years."
The "bastard" was the current emperor.
"Went to prison over a dozen times just 'cause I was your master."
"You didn't tell?"
"You punk, don't masters come first?"
"Eh, you seem fine—no need to ask."
"Sigh, what can I say? Gotta know something to say it. How, without knowing?"
True enough. Even I hadn't planned the escape.
"Empire's more incompetent than I thought. Figured I'd be caught in two years tops."
"Not that they couldn't—they won't."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Slacking abroad gets you expense money and salary on the regular. You gonna hunt that down?"
"How do you know so much?"
"Interrogator let it slip. Complained he only milked two years."
I was mildly dumbfounded.
"Emperor doesn't say anything?"
"That blind fool? Buried in women's tits all day—why would his underlings try hard?"
Emperor's a mess, so everyone's slacking.
Grinning, I said,
"Kinda disappointing, though."
"What?"
"My bank money. Interest alone would've topped billions by now."
"High mage with such greed?"
"Try raising a daughter. You know how pricey Lenz tuition is?"
"Daughter... Still sounds weird. Got citizenship?"
"Years ago. And Elizabeth's my daughter now. Elizabeth Valentine. Ordinary 15-year-old at Lenz Academy."
"Happy?"
"Can't stop smiling."
"Good, then."
"How's the Empire?"
I asked. Even as an Eichenwald citizen, my homeland nagged at me.
Schvalier grimaced.
"Don't ask. That guy's 'reforms'—what a spectacle."
"How bad?"
"Opposite of Marcus in every way."
The wise Marcus's polar opposite. Yeah, I could picture it.
"Hang in there."
"Easy for you to say."
"Not Empire anymore."
"Brag much?"
"So, why're you here?"
"Your king invited me to his academy."
"Lenz?"
"Yeah."
"You gonna?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Gotta head back to the Empire. But where's the princess?"
"Not here. On a school trip."
"Where?"
"Eastern Empire."
"...Of all places."
Schvalier rarely looked worried.
"Why the long face?"
"One of the Ten Demon Emperors showed up."
My smile vanished. I stared, demanding explanation.
Ten Demon Emperors. Ten demon kings who fled the founding emperor and survived. Other demons lived on, but these were the strongest.
To demons, the human realm was a colony—nice if there, regrettable if not. Demons were stronger in Hell.
The founder chased them there and purged them. Leave them be, and they'd invade again.
Alas, his wish went unfulfilled. Demons were mighty in Hell, especially the Ten—each godlike.
The founder retreated wounded from their combined assault. That injury killed him before 100.
"Traces of presumed Ten Demon Emperor magic in the eastern Empire."
"A real one?"
"Yeah."
"We're fucked."
Schvalier nodded in agreement at my groan. Even regular demons were emergencies; a Ten was catastrophe. The founder had easily driven them from the human world, but each was a disaster.
Demon threat levels ran 1 to 5, 1 being strongest.
5th-grade needed a company. 4th, a battalion. From 3rd, a Sword Master. 3rd-grade skin stopped bullets—cannon otherwise.
2nd needed Sword Master plus 5th-circle mage. 1st, a 10,000-strong division with elites.
Even a 2nd put nations on alert. Demons weren't dumb beasts—cunninger than humans, they dodged armies, wreaking havoc. Hard to kill even when spotted.
The Ten ruled them.
I rubbed my dry face.
"...And Elizabeth's in the east."
"Exactly where?"
"Easton."
"Then you're lucky. It appeared on the far eastern outskirts. Plus, Easton's a fortress even a Ten couldn't easily assault."
Easton, founder-built bastion against demons. Main eastern forces garrisoned there.
I finally relaxed a bit. The east was vast, nearly Eichenwald-sized. Slim chance of Elizabeth crossing the demon there.
She was due back soon anyway. The Empire must be in full panic now. All high mages and Sword Masters summoned.
Wait.
"Why're you here? No summons?"
A proper 9th-circle archmage, lounging?
"Told you—gotta get back to the Empire."
Schvalier stood with a sour face.
"Wanted to chat a bit first."
He gruffly turned and waved.
"Send a letter later. Then I'll visit your place."
"You're coming to my house?"
"Yeah, punk. Thought this was goodbye forever?"
"Nah, fine by me."
"Ungrateful brat."
"Kidding. I'll send it—keep an eye out. No more surveillance, right?"
"Told you, none."
"Alright. Take care. Don't die."
Schvalier chuckled and vanished. Praying he'd return safely, I headed home.