Royal Capital Gallia (2)
The journey to the royal capital of Gallia was smooth and quiet after the first attack. Azazel grumbled at the complete lack of targets to test her magic on, but she soon transferred her interest to Aria. For the fickle witch, the obedient and tolerant saintess made for a refreshingly unusual conversation partner.
“Here, sis. Ahhh~”
Azazel held out a plump, juicy tangerine. Aria found herself thinking that tangerines were a winter fruit in this world too, then replied.
“Azazel, I can eat by myself.”
“Hmph. After I went to the trouble of peeling one just for you, you’re turning me down?”
Azazel drooped her eyes and put on a pitiful expression. It wasn’t genuine sorrow, of course. The sly, fox-like curve of her eyes gave that away. The look was pure coquetry.
Aria waved her hands, refusing. “I’m fine, so you should eat it, Azazel…”
Azazel cut her off, stubbornly insisting. “At least respect your little sister’s sincerity and eat it!”
Aria was dumbfounded. Even between women, wasn’t this sort of thing embarrassing? Besides, if she was going to share that kind of sweet, intimate gesture, she would rather do it with Ashtain.
She glanced sideways at him. Azazel, noticing immediately, narrowed her eyes into sharp triangles. “You hate it when I feed you? You’d rather have Ashtain do it?”
Aria flinched, shoulders hunching as she looked away. “I-it’s not like that.”
It was an obvious lie. Azazel’s eyebrows shot upward, then crumpled as if she had been utterly crushed.
“Hiiing, I’m disappointed in you, sis.”
This time the sulk was real. Aria hovered awkwardly, unsure what to do as she watched Azazel.
“…Um, Azazel?”
“Hmph.”
She puffed out her cheeks and whipped her head away. It was childish, spoiled behavior. Even so, Aria didn’t entirely dislike seeing Azazel act cute.
“…All right. I’ll eat it.”
Resignation was an old friend to Aria. At the saintess’s surrender, Azazel deflated her puffed cheeks a little and asked again.
“Really?”
Deciding that showing was better than telling, Aria squeezed her eyes shut and opened her petal-soft lips in a perfect circle.
“………Ahhh. There.”
Watching the saintess open her mouth like a baby bird, Azazel was seized by a strange emotion. Why close her eyes? It made the whole thing feel almost obscene.
Gulp. Azazel swallowed. Still, it was fine. She had earned this chance through sheer persistence. She guided the tangerine carefully, slowly, toward Aria’s lips. It was a historic moment—the scarlet fruit was about to touch her.
A thick hand stopped the tangerine’s advance. The mood died instantly.
“What the hell, Ashtain?”
Ashtain withdrew his hand and averted his eyes, looking embarrassed.
“…………Um. My body moved on its own.”
“You call that an excuse?”
He scratched the back of his head roughly and gave a bitter smile. “Azazel. It might sound petty, but Aria is mine.”
“It doesn’t just sound petty—it is petty.”
“Watching this makes me jealous too.”
“Hah, how pathetic.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t just admit it so easily. You’re making me feel even more pathetic. Anyway, you must be happy, sis. To have this idiot’s love all to yourself… sis?”
Azazel snapped her fingers in front of Aria’s face. The saintess had frozen solid like a statue. That’s right—Aria had stopped breathing the moment Ashtain declared she was his.
Mine. The word echoed softly, sweetly. Aria is mine. Aria is mine. Aria is mine.
The phrase replayed endlessly inside her head. A hiccup escaped her.
“…Heuk. A-Ain! We’re in front of Azazel!”
“That’s why I’m saying it.”
“…Ah, ugh.”
“I wish you’d all just die.”
Azazel confirmed the sickeningly sweet pink atmosphere swirling between them, frowned, and popped the tangerine into her own mouth.
Pop. Pop. The juice burst across her tongue—sweet and sour. But it wasn’t as good as it should have been. It was in season; it ought to taste perfect. Damn couple. It was their fault.
“Must be nice for people with lovers. Someone without one is just so, so sad. Do you have to rub salt in the wound like that?”
“We’re sorry.”
“I don’t want to hear an apology from you, sis! I’m talking to you, damn Ashtain!”
Her verbal arrow flew straight at him. Ashtain regarded her with calm eyes.
“Is that so?”
Aria waited anxiously, hoping he wouldn’t say anything explosive.
“If it was an eyesore, I apologize.”
It was a straightforward apology. Azazel’s raised hackles lowered at once.
“…Sigh. Even your apology somehow pisses me off.”
“Still, Aria is mine.”
Azazel snorted, thoroughly fed up. “Of course she is.”
The carriage continued steadily toward Gallia.
Sister Jina arrived at the royal capital of Gallia. True to its name, the city boasted towering architecture and a mix of many races. None of it moved her. No architectural style or aesthetic stirred the slightest emotion in her. The only thing that had ever made Jina’s heart flutter, past or present, was one man.
Lord Ronin.
She had failed to protect him. If she had been at his side, she could have helped. She might even have gotten him out safely. Why hadn’t she stayed with him? She should have guarded him even if it meant disobeying orders.
Guilt weighed on her. She cursed her own dulled senses. She cursed the hero and saintess she wanted to chew up and devour. How dare they? How dare they? How dare they! Insects like you dare raise a hand against him?
Grind. Jina swallowed her rage and stepped into a deserted alley. The deeper she went, the thicker the sinister atmosphere grew. No matter how brilliant the royal capital, a dark underside always existed. The brighter the light, the starker the shadow it cast.
She was heading for the slums of Gallia. The two districts stood in perfect opposition, like opposite sides of a coin—an eternal irony.
It’s been a while.
Ever since Ronin had placed a collar around her neck, she had cut nearly all ties with the underworld. Returning now would not bring warm conversation. She would be lucky if she wasn’t met with curses and hostility.
Still, I have no other choice.
After walking some distance, a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. A bald man. His grip was iron.
“Well now, what’s a little nun doing in a filthy place like this?”
Jina stared at him with lifeless eyes. A mechanical gaze empty of fear, contempt, or disgust. The man felt a vague chill.
“What’s with those eyes, you little bitch? Looking to get messed up?”
Jina twisted her lips. The expression looked like a forced smile.
“Perfect timing. I needed a guide.”
“This little bitch dares to disrespect her elders—”
He couldn’t finish. A thorn extending from Jina’s shadow had pressed against his Adam’s apple.
She tapped her temple lightly. “Listen, kid. If I were you, I wouldn’t be running my mouth right now. Or are you too stupid to understand the situation?”
The bald man shook his head frantically. Seeing his face drain of color, Jina felt her old sadistic urges stir for the first time in years. In the past she would have already taken an arm or a leg and poked holes in him for acting so defiant.
You really have mellowed, Jina.
“If you understand, start walking. Unless you want to stop breathing.”
“…W-where do you want to go?”
Squelch. A shadow blade sank into his collarbone.
“Graaaaagh!”
The scream was loud. Jina frowned.
“Your tone is rude. No manners, and no patience. Just squawking like a duck.”
The man stared at her in terror. Her purple eyes glowed with a bewitching, demonic light.
“Take me to your ‘father.’”
Clutching his collarbone, the man answered through gritted teeth.
“…U-understood.”
Jina and the man walked on. Before long, wary eyes began to follow them. Lookouts set by that cheeky brat, no doubt. Jina found it unpleasant but paid them little mind. If they showed hostility, she would simply kill them.
The man, unaware of the trailing gazes, kept moving his feet desperately. Eventually they reached a certain building.
“…Father is inside.”
It looked like a tavern. Jina clicked her tongue.
“Hah. Are you trying to trick me?”
At her sharp tone the bald man’s face turned ashen.
“W-what do you mean?”
Jina’s shadow roared like a wolf’s howl.
“This isn’t the place, is it?”
“You think I’d send someone as dangerous as you straight to Father?!”
“Oh? You’ve got guts.”
“Come out! Kill this bitc—”
A thin red line appeared across the bald man’s neck. Blood sprayed like a fountain as his head tumbled across the ground.
Jina controlled the splattering blood so none would stain her habit. Ronin liked things clean.
“Was it necessary to kill him? Ignorance isn’t a crime.”
“I apologize for the inexcusable rudeness.”
Like rippling shadows, a man in black clothing appeared in the empty space.
“Enough. It’s burdensome.”
“Have you been well?”
“More or less. How is he?”
“The royal palace has tightened its surveillance. He’s been buried in work. May I ask what business you have with Denian?”
“Denian?”
“He is the ‘father’ of the man you just killed.”
“Aha. I see. Please don’t misunderstand. I only tried to follow proper procedure because I thought suddenly showing up would startle him.”
Though that plan became meaningless the moment you noticed me.
Jina examined her nails with an indifferent expression.
“Is that so.”
The man broke into a cold sweat as he stared at the purple-haired nun. In the underworld, a certain story was whispered in secret. The predecessor of the Red Blade. The being who had ruled the darkness of the capital for many years. Violet Night. That had once been Jina’s alias.