McHart, Subjugation (4)
After Serista's unintentionally attention-grabbing entrance and her treatment of McHart's injuries, a battle of words ensued over the claims made by McHart and Ethan, with Seraphin presiding over the proceedings.
Ethan argued that McHart had wielded the power of the demons and threatened his life, and therefore had to die. McHart countered that Ethan was slandering him as a demon in order to kill him. Back and forth it went.
Needless to say, the truth couldn't be verified by their testimony alone—and that was precisely where the Mirror of Truth, one of the Saintess's divine authorities, was meant to come in.
'Once this is used, exposing the true nature of a demon hiding behind a human disguise is a matter of seconds.'
Though to be perfectly accurate, McHart was still human at this point, so even if the Mirror of Truth was used on him, it wouldn't transform him into a demon or anything of the sort.
One might ask, then, whether that meant there would be no way to prove his connection to the demons at all—but I had that part figured out too.
Dark magic had long since become inseparable from McHart, bound to him as tightly as his own body. So the moment the Mirror of Truth laid bare the true nature of his dark magic, McHart's own true nature would be laid bare along with it.
"Miss Serista."
"Y-yes…!"
"One of the Saintess's divine authorities, the Mirror of Truth—would you be so kind as to use it on our dear Prince McHart now?"
"………"
"Miss Serista?"
"Y-yes…. I'll… I'll t-try…."
At Seraphin's summons, Serista nodded with an expression that, to any observer, was unmistakably flustered.
Knowing she was a fake saintess, I could understand her reaction perfectly. And I also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the 'Mirror of Truth' attempted by Serista alone was doomed to fail.
Her title was literally 'fake saintess,' after all—there was no way she could wield an actual divine authority. A few years from now, she would grow strong enough to awaken as a true saintess in her own right, but right now? Absolutely not. That was the whole problem.
The Serista of today still lacked the pure, unwavering faith required of a true saintess. McHart and Seraphin likely knew this too, which was exactly why one wore a confident smirk while the other's face was clouded with anxiety.
'Even in the actual game, Seraphin never once called Serista a "Saintess" until she properly awakened.'
It was one of those minor foreshadowing details you'd only catch around a third playthrough. Whenever Seraphin addressed the protagonist, she used the title "Hero." But the title she used for Serista was always, invariably, "Miss Serista."
And as for McHart—his connection to the demons ran through Evelyn, so he was bound to have picked up information on that side of things.
"Hmmm, hoooooh…. Hmmm, hooooooh…."
"Is Miss Serista almost ready?"
"Y-yes, almost…. J-just a moment, please…. I-it's been so long since I last used it, I'm a little n-nervous…."
My plan had been simple: let her fake the incantation, then secretly cast it in tandem so the result would look like her doing. But apparently even the faking part was beyond Serista's abilities.
Her personality was, at a glance, the type constitutionally incapable of telling a lie. They'd paraded a girl with that soft a heart around as the Saintess for years—that was exactly how she'd ended up so painfully timid.
If this went on, far from exposing McHart's demonic ties, we'd have Ethan's attempted regicide and Serista's fake-saintess fraud unraveling in a neat little chain reaction. So, unable to watch any longer, I slipped behind Serista and quietly took hold of her shoulders.
-Tap.
"Hiiiek! I-I'm s-sorry…!"
'Saintess Serista. Quietly, please.'
"Y-yes…?"
'From now on, I'm going to whisper the incantation for the Mirror of Truth to you. Just repeat it slowly after me.'
"Y-yes, u-understoo…."
'And don't answer me out loud each time. Other people are watching.'
Serista had to remain the 'Saintess' until the Demon King was defeated—now and always. Her identity as a fake could never come to light here.
'Because if it does, I'll be busting my ass for the rest of my life instead of living sweet after academy graduation.'
It was a matter of grave personal importance to me. The entire reason I'd enrolled in the academy in the first place was to coast through life on easy street afterward. If that plan fell apart, then all the trouble I'd gone through—even rewriting fate itself to get here—would've been for nothing.
"Miss Lilith?"
"Saintess Serista seems to be feeling rather tense, so if I may, I'll steady her for a moment, Princess Seraphin."
"…Very well. Do as you like."
…Now, was this the Seraphin who knew I was the real saintess, or the one who didn't?
Either way, with her permission granted, I simply leaned close to Serista's ear and began reciting the incantation of the Mirror of Truth.
'By the authority that casts off the mask of falsehood, escapes the curtain of delusion, and leads to the Mirror of Truth—descend upon this place.'
"Th-the mask of falsehood cast off…, escaping the curtain of delusion…."
Serista repeated the incantation I fed her, slowly, word by word.
She stammered a little, but it didn't matter. A divine authority was not the kind of power that broke over a few shaky syllables. In truth, even if Serista recited some completely different incantation, the Mirror of Truth would still activate so long as I recited mine properly—so it hardly mattered at all.
'When every delusion is revealed as falsehood, through holy power shall the world's truth be faced.'
"Wh-when every delusion is revealed as falsehood…, th-through holy power…."
Watching her diligently follow along with an incantation she was hearing for the first time, I had to admit it was a genuinely commendable effort.
And hey, no harm in her memorizing it now. The moment this whole affair was over, she was going to awaken as the true saintess anyway.
With that thought, the two of us matched our pace, and after a long, strained warm-up, our intertwined incantation carried through to its final words—and the last verse, spoken from Serista's lips, echoed quietly across the rear courtyard of the detached palace.
"…When the Mirror of Truth is complete, all illusions shall collapse into a single vortex."
⟨ Mirror of Truth ⟩
-FLASH!
The instant Serista's final verse fell into place, the Mirror of Truth I had crafted behind the scenes turned its gaze upon McHart, and the small ring-shaped holy circle hanging in midair wrapped his figure in brilliant white light.
About five seconds passed like that.
As the light that had once bathed his body faded, the Mirror of Truth's work completed—and McHart emerged from its glow with leisurely composure.
…Horns, the signature mark of the demon race. Mismatched skin. Black sclera. Not a single demonic trait was visible anywhere on him.
"…Well. Is it over, then?"
"………"
"I don't sense that anything has changed. No feeling of horns sprouting from my head, and my skin color hardly seems to have shifted."
"………"
"Surely the so-called Saintess wouldn't pretend to use the Mirror of Truth and simply douse me in some ordinary light magic. Which means the fact that I haven't transformed into a demon proves you lied, doesn't it? Wouldn't you say, Young Lord Ethan?"
Running a hand through his hair, McHart strolled toward Ethan with the ease of a man who had already won. His expression radiated certainty: he hadn't demonized, therefore the Mirror of Truth Serista had used was nothing but a Conjurer's parlor trick.
But everyone present—everyone except McHart—already knew, deep in their bones, that the Mirror of Truth had worked exactly as intended.
And how could they not? Right now, McHart was displaying evidence of dark magic so undeniable that no one could argue with it—written across his very face.
"Attempted regicide… no, to be precise, I suppose it would be attempted princicide. A fortunate turn of events for you, really."
"………"
"Attempted regicide is a grave crime, but at least the punishment is lighter than outright regicide. Even if your head must roll, you'll be able to protect your house and your fiancée, won't you?"
"………"
"Of course, House Blackwood will no longer be a ducal house, and your fiancée will be stripped of her noble standing as well. But don't you worry—I'll take your fiancée into my own hands and see that she's well cared f—"
"Y-you… who ARE you?! Wh-where is Prince McHart?!"
"…What?"
McHart, who had been savoring his presumed victory while needling Ethan, froze mid-sentence. A jeer had just come flying out of the noble crowd—the very crowd he'd assumed was solidly on his side—and the shock had clearly knocked him off balance.
Unable to see what kind of 'face' he was currently wearing, McHart strode toward the masses with the same confident gait as always. But the young noblewoman who'd spoken recoiled step by step as he approached, her face twisted in undisguised disgust.
"What are you saying, my lady? I am right here. Your beloved…"
"D-don't lie…!! H-his Highness…. Th-there's no way His Highness could be a revolting ugly freak like you…!!"
"…Ug…ly?"
While McHart's dedicated seizure switch flipped and he stood flustered by the young lady's words, the rest of the crowd, now forced to face his features up close, hurled their denunciations at him all at once.
"Wh-where have you hidden His Highness?! Give him back!"
"Don't you dare wear that face and pretend to be Prince McHart! It makes me sick!"
"Stay away from me! Die!"
"W-wait a moment…. What in the world are you all…"
Thrown off by the vicious barbs of the noble scions—the same people who had once fawned over him, the same young ladies who would have swooned dead at a single word from him—McHart's composure crumbled entirely. He staggered backward in retreat and, in his bewilderment, landed flat on his rear on the ground.
Faced with mass denunciation unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life, McHart's expression warped. And then one young lady, seemingly the sharpest of the lot, murmured something that brushed against the truth.
"D-don't tell me…. The true form revealed by the Mirror of Truth—don't tell me it's…"
At that one utterance from an unknown noblewoman, the crowd began to murmur among themselves, all eyes fixed on McHart's face. And before the man who had finally realized something was terribly wrong, a single hand mirror drifted down out of the air.
"Dear brother McHart. Why don't you take a moment to check your face?"
"………"
McHart quietly picked up the hand mirror Seraphin had dropped with an expression of pure contempt.
And there, reflected in the glass, was nothing but a hideous man's face—the kind that looked like it had been hastily slapped together from a lump of clay.