Royal Capital Gallia (11)
Tick. Tick.
A dull, distorted noise rapped against Azazel’s eardrums while she lingered in shallow sleep. The barrier she had erected on a whim appeared to have activated at the perfect moment. As expected, preparation never hurt. …That said, Azazel was distinctly irritated.
‘I only just fell asleep.’
She sat up with an annoyed jerk. The plush bed and soft blankets were pleasant only while drifting off. Now that she had to rise, they were nothing but aggravating nuisances. Why did everything have to be so damn fluffy and soft? It was enough to make anyone’s blood boil.
If she glanced in a mirror, she would surely find an Azazel puffed up with rage like a venom-filled toad. ‘It’s going to be an ugly sight.’
Nothing to be done about it. No one looked beautiful right after waking. No matter how stunning the woman, a sleep-rumpled face was hardly flattering…
Azazel’s thoughts halted.
‘If it were Aria unnie, she would probably still look beautiful.’
She was an extraordinary beauty, after all—the kind that could spark jealousy in another woman simply by existing.
She shook her head. What was she doing, entertaining such thoughts in an emergency? These damn bastards, dragging her into self-loathing. She could not forgive them.
Slap!
She clapped both palms against her cheeks, forcing her foggy mind back to alertness.
Rising in the silent room, Azazel reached not for her usual vibrant dress but for a drab robe. It was not because she anticipated combat—ordinary enemies could not even brush a single hair on her head. She simply lacked the time to don anything that took too long to wear.
‘Aria unnie has Ashtain, so she should be fine. The problem is that prince.’
After settling her trademark pointed hat on her head, Azazel swung her staff like a sword. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wooden shaft cut through empty air. The motion was not particularly powerful, yet it revealed the depth of her stress.
“Those fucking bastards won’t even let a person sleep.”
Even without this incident, Azazel had been suppressing her temper for Aria’s sake. No matter how furious or dumbfounded she felt, she endured it because she refused to cause her any worry. However, she was neither kind nor merciful enough to overlook scoundrels who disturbed her hard-earned rest.
“I’ll kill them.”
She did not burst from the room immediately. Urban warfare offered few advantages to a mage. Their specialty was annihilation through overwhelming firepower; cramped spaces presented far too many variables.
‘That is probably what the enemies are thinking.’
A miscalculation. A skilled mage was a calamity merely by existing. She would show them what happened when one disturbed a sleeping witch.
Azazel moved to the window and flung it wide open. A blast of winter air, heavy with cold, rushed inside. The chill slowly devoured the room’s residual warmth, sweeping away the last traces of drowsiness.
With reason restored, Azazel’s expression froze like frost-covered steel. Though connected to Ashtain and Aria, she was not a girl of rich emotional display. The world described her as a cold genius mage who treated everything as inorganic and worthless.
“Cognitive Impairment.”
She whispered the spell. The space around her distorted instantly.
Moments later the door rattled, creaked, and opened slowly. A man in black slipped through the narrow gap, checking the interior before easing the door fully open without a sound.
It was not only one. ‘Six in front, seven if the shadows are included?’
Ridiculous. What could they possibly accomplish with so few? Did they not realize they faced a mage?
They noticed the open window and, concluding she had fled, exchanged rapid hand signals. Azazel could not decipher them, but she did not need to. She would simply extract the answers herself.
Azazel stamped her foot. Boom.
The sudden noise in the quiet room made every intruder tense and whip their gazes toward the sound. There stood Azazel, cognitive impairment dispelled, smiling with feral menace. The grin was so chilling it raised the hair on their necks.
“Oh? Not even a flicker of panic. You all must have some skill.”
Just as she said, they assumed combat stances within seconds. Excellent. More than enough to pass—for third-rate trash.
Puff, puff, puff, puff!
The stomp had not been mere distraction. It was the trigger for her magic—channeling mana into the floor to reshape the terrain. The previous hero’s child might have noticed the subtle fluctuation, but these fools could not. She had used only a tenth of a typical mage’s output. Detecting it required Azazel’s level of mastery. To the magic-ignorant, it was simple sleight of hand.
Keen, razor-sharp thorns erupted from beneath their feet and impaled them all. Even with minimal mana, the effect was absolute.
…Strictly speaking, not quite all.
A shadow surged upward like a fountain. That was the only way to describe it. Immediately afterward, razor claws hurtled toward Azazel.
“Who are you calling a fool?”
Clang!
The pre-prepared barrier halted the ambush. The opponent did not panic; instead he melted back into shadow.
Azazel licked her lips, moistening them. ‘So darkness is their territory?’
Then she would simply invade that entire territory.
Dozens of luminous orbs sprang from her hands. The room blazed bright as noon. The sight was far from pleasant. Six human bodies hung like meat on skewers, blood spattered everywhere, the metallic stench thick. Despite the nauseating scene, Azazel remained utterly calm. Once declared enemies, they warranted no clumsy sympathy. In the end, they had brought it upon themselves.
Azazel’s lips curved. Her crimson eyes had found their target: a man with black hair and blood-red eyes. The distinctive feature was his pointed, almost triangular ears.
“My, my. What have we here? A demon? I never expected to meet one in the capital.”
Demons. Ashtain called them all monsters, but the distinction was real. Unlike mindless beasts, these possessed intellect.
“……You are strong, little girl.”
Instead of answering, Azazel snapped her fingers to freeze him. The demon sensed the encircling cold, kicked off the ground, and fled. He had judged himself outmatched.
“I did not give you permission to run.”
The demon could not escape. A transparent wall blocked his path. Azazel was not merciful enough to release a caught mouse. He strained to shatter the barrier, but it held firm. Had it been fragile, she would not have bothered speaking.
In a blink, three ice spears pierced his wrists and ankles. He collapsed, spilling red blood.
“Krghhh!”
A suppressed groan escaped him. The pain must have been excruciating, yet he endured in silence. Impressive tolerance—whether from numbness or sheer willpower, Azazel was simply glad he stayed quiet.
As she stepped closer, hostility flared in his eyes.
“You monstrous bitch.”
“How rude. Why wake someone who had only just lain down to sleep and cause such a fuss?”
“When did I wake you? You rose on your own.”
“Does it look like I wanted to? Your rustling and scraping kept me from sleeping. And stop rolling those eyes, or I really will burn them out.”
Azazel blew on her index finger. A tiny flame ignited at the tip.
The demon flinched.
“Crazy bitch.”
“Heh. That reaction suggests you’ve had your eyeballs burned before.”
Eyeballs contained abundant moisture. When burned, the liquid evaporated and they shriveled—an agony supposedly worse than death. Azazel had only heard stories and never tried it herself, but his reaction confirmed it was horrific.
She flicked the flame away.
“Just kidding. I have neither hobby nor taste for such barbaric acts.”
Barbaric? The demon looked dumbfounded. Those words from the girl who had skewered his subordinates and impaled his own limbs with ice?
He saw no good end for himself. This witch killed without hesitation. What he could not comprehend was why she aided the prince’s doppelganger. Such a creature cooperated only when interests aligned perfectly. The doppelganger should have possessed nothing capable of satisfying her.
“Why is a bitch like you helping the prince’s doppelganger?”
He should never have spoken. Clever Azazel instantly traced the source of the phrase “prince’s doppelganger.”
“Hmm, so it was your side’s doing? No wonder I sensed so many suspicious points—unlike the old fools in the royal family…”
The demon realized his slip and fell silent, but the clue had already been offered.
Azazel smiled like spring petals in full bloom.
“Do not blame yourself for the slip. Whether you spoke or not, I would have learned eventually.”
“……Hmph. Confident.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll ask the rest directly of your brain.”
Azazel’s small hand pressed against the demon’s forehead. Reading memories required contact near the brain and the release of mana.
The instant the spell activated, the demon flashed a triumphant sneer.
“You were overconfident, you stupid bitch.”
“I’ll listen to your nonsense lat—ugh?!”
Kiiiiing!
Azazel’s skull rang violently.
‘Counter-calculation?’
Not quite. The speed was far too fast. Had he prepared the trap from the beginning, expecting to be read?
His body flared red like heated iron.
“Both you and I die here!”
Rumble…
The vibration rolled through the room. Leon opened his eyes.
If only this day had passed, he could have sent Edelis away safely. What a perfectly dramatic assault.
He rose and gently stroked her cheek.
“I at least wanted to witness the moment you woke.”
The heavens were heartless. Was this punishment for not believing in gods? If so, they were petty deities indeed.
“How can you simply watch? Do you enjoy spectating?”
“Come in. The door is locked, but I know that will not stop you.”
The door opened. A boy entered wearing a perfectly tailored tailcoat and black cape. Curly golden hair framed a handsome face with red eyes. Leon had expected an elderly man; this was unexpected.
Without flinching, Leon continued.
“You have quite the manner of speech. I wonder what business brings the noble of the night.”
Noble of the night—a euphemism for high-ranking demons.
Leon tapped his own ear.
“When you are not even attempting to hide, calling me perceptive is rather amusing.”
Leon fell silent and studied the boy. Of course he understood. He recognized at a glance that this being was the one who had created him. Something stirred in his chest—an emotion that could only be called fated.
“I knew you would come one day. I simply did not expect it to be tonight.”
Leon looked at Edelis’s closed eyes. More time would only have left deeper regrets.
“Not particularly. Still, may I ask your name?”
“Is it not natural for a child to wish to know their parent’s name?”
The boy burst into laughter.
“A lie.”
“Intuition.”
The boy laughed louder, the sound bordering on sinister.
The boy laughed long and hard before stopping as suddenly as if a switch had been flipped.
The boy’s gaze slid to Edelis. Leon’s anxiety spiked; he feared this entity might harm her and answered swiftly.
“I sought a clergyman. I could not allow her to die.”
“Does that displease you?”
Silence stretched.
“………What do you intend to do?”
A perfectly clichéd villain’s line. Leon swallowed a dry laugh.
“Is that truly all?”
“Stagnant time?”
“……An incomprehensible statement.”
“An offer?”