Interlude
At two in the morning I rose, carefully smoothing back the hair of the sleeping Euphemia.
Fatigue lay thick upon me, and yet, strangely, sleep would not come. So as not to wake her I climbed down from the bed, took up a glass of cold water, and stepped out onto the balcony.
It was the hour when the world itself lay down, darkness for a blanket and the stars and moon for a pillow, and perhaps that was why the solitude spread out below seemed to quiet the restless stir inside me.
A child...
At first I had thought of it as nothing more than a means of binding Euphemia. Lee Seojin had never made a home with anyone. But once she was actually with child, and once Ciel Midford—the man who had grated on me most—was dead, a feeling too tangled for words had surged up in me.
What remains now...
Only to set the first prince of the Kingdom of Robelium upon the throne, and to loosen the old knot bound up with House Claudia.
No. Perhaps it will not end there.
I had no clear proof, but I suspected the hand behind the one who had cast Ciel Midford into suspended animation was very likely the Elmark Empire. It stood to reason. In the false testimony that dragged House Alfred into the affair, the party that stood to gain the most was Elmark—for in the course of it, the survival of Inas den Preussen Robelium, the piece who would serve them, had been secured.
Casting Ciel Midford into that deathlike sleep...
Most likely they had done it in passing, angling for whatever profit might fall to them while others fought. The novel had been discontinued mid-serialization, so I could not be certain; yet if one considered the weight of House Brutein, a future in which the Elmark Empire became Ciel Midford's patron might well have existed too.
It could be nothing but wild speculation. Even so, set against the age, Gremory had seized far too much for a woman. The station of imperial princess? The title of empress? Martial power that had reached the Extreme Realm? Those were no more than the tip of the iceberg. The reigning emperor of Elmark was seventy-one. He ought to have stepped down from the throne long ago, and yet he had not—because she had compelled him to remain. In truth the title of princess was ornament alone. The real power moved the empire in a form little different from a regency.
And so...
Was it not possible that Gremory herself had been shaped as a candidate for heroine? Considering their stations, the tale would not have run with her becoming entangled in Ciel Midford's affairs. It would have run the other way: Ciel Midford tangled into hers. A woman who stood near the imperial throne lending her aid to the revenge of a mere knight of a kingdom—that development had always been a stretch.
If that is how it goes... Gremory Eldin Ishtar Elmark. Are you preparing for war?
I wet my throat with the cold water in the glass, leaned against the balcony rail, and looked up at the sky.
Perhaps it was only the logic of a man borrowing trouble he need not have taken on. And yet, in novels written for men—above all when a villain stood in clear opposition—a singularity, a woman possessed of overwhelming power, appearing not as an ally but as a villain... within the rules that had settled into cliché in Lee Seojin's memory, such a thing could not exist. This was reality, yes, but a world built upon a novel. Was the reasoning not persuasive enough on its own?
The pieces set in place for the villain's death would still be there. Only the protagonist meant to connect them had died.
"......"
Enough. A worry that chased its own tail, one for which no clear answer could be given, would only heap more fatigue upon me, and so I folded the thought away. Then, for the first time in a long while, I opened the status window and lowered my gaze.
▶ ??? (4/5)
▶ Quantification
So it means to keep the veil on, to the very end.
A thin, scoffing breath escaped me, and I sighed.
Even so...
A count that had not been there before now stood beside it, and I remembered that moment with perfect clarity. The instant an Underworld Gate had been forced into being, and an anomaly summoned through it.
I checked the altar, but there was nothing consumed as an offering.
Which meant that contact with the Netherworld through this ability was not a transaction.
I had been circling something close to the truth, then.
When I had only the barest clue, I had wondered whether it might be the right to name an anomaly of the Netherworld. To my surprise, it had taken a similar shape. Defined precisely, it was closer to a forced summoning.
What was strange...
was that I had been able to read the language written in the book that appeared then—the thing that could only be called the Ledger of the Netherworld. And that the detailed circumstances of anomalies unknown to this world had risen in me as if they had always been mine to recall.
Perzen von Schweik Brutein. Just what secret is carved into that body of yours?
If I assumed the condition of its activation was the moment one faced death, and set that beside the count, it was very nearly the same as keeping spare lives in reserve. For a villain, it was an ability possessed of a tremendous advantage.
Thinking on it, the life itself was an ill-starred one.
Obsession. No—an extreme obsessive disorder. That was not a sickness of the mind one could suffer from the instant of birth. It was a result wrought as one lived, stress and one's surroundings passing through a negative exchange with each other. And yet Perzen had suffered it steadily from the moment he was born—from the very point at which he possessed a self and could think.
The well runs deep.
Once all that water had been drawn out, what abyss would be waiting when I looked upon the bottom? Truly, I found myself looking forward to it. I drank what water remained, returned to the room, and shut the balcony door.
It creaked. I climbed onto the bed, drew the covers over us, and pulled the sleeping Euphemia into my arms.
Even on ordinary days my feeling toward her had been fiercely possessive, but from the moment I learned she was with child it had grown as difficult to govern as a cat set before a fish. I wanted to keep touching her, licking her, going further and holding her. But it was early in the pregnancy, and we had been told not to lie together at least until the twelfth week, when the chance of miscarriage ran high, so I had no choice but to endure. I did not want a miscarriage, and I did not want to give her that experience either.
"Mmm..."
I stroked her belly gently—it did not show yet—and buried my face against the nape of her neck. A little contact. A faint scent stealing in through my nose. That alone was enough for a sticky desire to seep into my hands, and of its own accord my hand slid down toward her thighs.
Two legs pressed modestly together. I slipped my hand between them, opening a little space, and lewdly kneaded the soft skin where the flesh yielded under my fingers.
"Nn..."
Euphemia let out a faint moan in her sleep, the corners of her eyes trembling.
I could not hold back. I lifted the hem of her negligee, and the body-scent that had been only a trace spread like the deep fragrance of flowers. How could a person's scent be this seductive? I wound an arm about her waist and drew her tight into my embrace. As she was now, Euphemia looked like cracked glass, and so of course I measured my strength. I meant to fall asleep just like that, but I could not quite manage it, and the damp desire I had pressed down and restrained leaked out of its own accord in the shape of a sigh, brushing past her ear.
She flinched. Had that hot breath been more of a shock than I thought? Woken at last, Euphemia looked about with a face still half in dream, realized she was in my arms, and lifted her head.
"Wh-what are you doing..."
Sleep still clung to her, and the way she fretted, like a child, was rather endearing.
"It's still... three in the morning... You can't sleep...?"
Rustling, she raised a hand, rubbed at her eyes, and glanced at the clock beyond my shoulder before asking, careful.
"Ah..."
Only then did she realize the negligee she wore had ridden up to her chest, that she was held against me in what amounted to her underclothes, and she ducked her head in awkwardness. She had noticed easily enough, no doubt, that I had been toying with her body while she slept.
"I have to keep my belly warm..."
"......"
"The physician said so..."
In a small voice she tried to persuade me, catching the bunched negligee and tugging it back down. It would not have been difficult to stop her, but I stayed still and watched her set her appearance modestly to rights.
"......"
Was my failure to stop her unfamiliar? Halfway through drawing the negligee down, Euphemia looked up at me with a trace of puzzlement, then hesitated and spoke.
"Do you... want to?"
"......"
"If it's hard to hold back... I-I'll... do it with my mouth..."
At that rather dutiful offer I let a faint smile touch my mouth and tightened the arm around her. The swollen front of my trousers nudged her body, and Euphemia, taking it for a wish to have her, shook her head and clutched at my clothes.
"Th-the baby... i-it'll hurt..."
"......"
"Is it because I'm clumsy with my mouth? But I—I've barely even licked that thing of yours a few times... so it can't be helped..."
"......"
"I'll... try to do it well..."
"Euphemia."
"Mm..."
"Sleep. I am sorry to have woken you."
I reached out, drew the negligee neatly down, and stroked her waist with a gentle hand. Even so, she lowered her own hand and clumsily caught at my waistband.
"......"
Curious what she meant to do, I kept still, and she fumbled my erect member out into the open. Then she drew her own panties down and slipped it between her thighs. Not a hair upon it—the smooth, plump feel of her sex, together with the soft flesh of her thighs, wrapped my length in warmth.
"H-how is it..."
Her face burned red as she stammered and sought my answer.
"Is it... no good...?"
"Well..."
I had wondered what she would do with that, and she gave it to me at once.
"Then... just the front... j-just a little... shall we try putting it in..."
"......"
She eased her legs apart, brought the head against herself, and spoke with worry.
"Don't lift your hips all of a sudden... I-if you knock against the womb... the baby..."
"That will do."
"......"
I swallowed the laugh that wanted out, turned her head so that she faced outward, and drew her in. Then I slipped myself between her thighs once more, caught her hand, and closed it around the part that jutted free.
"Use your hand. I shall be satisfied with this."
"If you do it that way... it takes you an awfully long time to finish..."
She said so, and yet with clumsy fingers she began to soothe me. Watching her shift her legs by small degrees, adding the soft skin of her thighs to the stimulation—
"Little by little, you grow adept in this regard."
The impression left me of its own accord.
"The only things you've taught me... are things like this..."
There was a faint bitterness in her words. I bent my head, bit her earlobe, and licked it.
"My ear... don't—! Anh! Hah—"
"Your hand has stopped."
A slow stroke. Another.
Trembling all over like a fledgling, Euphemia set the stilled hand moving again, just as she had been told. Before long the fluid that had leaked mixed with her fingers and drew out a wet, obscene sound. Sweat gathered little by little on the thighs that held me, and from the plump sex pressed to me a scant, clear slick began to run. For bare skin against bare skin, the sensation that reached me was slippery in the extreme, and it was good.
"Ah..."
Soon she must have felt the member in her grip throb hard. She closed her thighs, worked only the head with both hands, and took the semen as it pulsed out, every drop.
"Hah..."
The long trailing aftermath of release.
"Nn...!"
I nipped lightly at the back of her neck, savored the moment at my leisure, and drew my hips back. The bed creaked. Hair plastered and tangled with sweat, Euphemia turned to look at me, held up her sticky hands, and rose in an awkward half-crouch. It was not only her hands. Semen ran down her sex and her thighs as well, gathering in thick little clots upon the panties caught at her knees.
"Be still."
I fetched a clean cloth from nearby, dampened it with a little water, and wiped her hands clean first. Then I lowered my hand toward her thighs.
Without my having to say a word, she caught the hem of the negligee and loosened her legs herself.
"What is it... shall I do it...?"
"No."
A faint smile on my mouth, I shook my head and reached out. She flinched. What had soaked the cloth was cold water, and at the chill her legs trembled. So with my left hand, the one not holding the cloth, I supported her waist gently, wiped the semen from her thighs and her sex until they were clean, and peeled away the sodden panties. I tossed them roughly into the basket by the door, returned to the bed, and drew down the Euphemia who had been about to go for fresh underclothes, lying with her in my arms.
The hour was four in the morning. Dawn would break before long, and I half thought of simply seeing the night through. Instead, belatedly, I slipped quietly into sleep.
Euphemia, meekly caught in Perzen's arms, squeezed her legs tight against the needless emptiness in her lower body. Perzen, asleep before she knew it, was breathing in an even rhythm. She tried to seek sleep again, but a body so lately woken from a deep slumber refused her. If anything, as time passed her mind only grew clearer.
"......"
So she lay blinking quietly, letting the time go by, and in that way she came to see, beyond the great glass window, the faint breaking of dawn. Morning—no. The future that had been tomorrow had become today. Surely she would go on watching sights like this at Perzen's side. And if a little more time were to pass, the child she would bear, together with them...
May 24. Half past seven in the morning.
The capital of the Ernes Empire, a vast mansion purchased in the name of House Alfred. There Uriel, risen at an early hour, was trembling with fear.
A light knock. She started. If even that was enough to make her body jerk, there was no need to say how tightly she was strung.
"Come in..."
At Uriel's leave a maid opened the door, entered the bedroom, and bowed her head with courtesy.
"My lady. The elder is calling for you."
She had expected it. Even so, to hide hands that shook like aspen leaves, Uriel clenched them into fists. Then, without a word of answer, she rose and walked out into the corridor. She set her steps as slowly as she could, meaning to arrive as late as possible, but today the corridor felt spitefully short. At last her footsteps stopped before the room. Uriel opened the door of hell, where a devil lay in wait.