Northern Expedition (4)
Life has a way of throwing unexpected encounters at you in the most unlikely places. You might cross a narrow bridge only to find your sworn enemy waiting on the other side — or receive great help from someone whose sleeve merely brushed yours in passing.
"Hey. What the hell are you doing here?"
Of course, to Friga, Selina was no welcome guest. She was something far worse than an uninvited stranger.
Friga's face, which had brightened only a moment before, crumpled instantly. She made no effort whatsoever to hide her feelings — a display so raw that Iscal, standing behind her, found himself flustered.
Selina took a casual sip of her tea, her black tail swishing lazily back and forth.
"Me? I'm here on official business, of course. Didn't I show you the dispatch last time, Your Highness? The one about slave traders running rampant in the North."
"What...? Hold on. You came all the way out here in person just to catch some slave traders?"
"Just? This is a sacred mission to free our oppressed kin from the slave traders' clutches."
"Oh, please."
Friga's eyebrow twitched.
"Friga. It's been a while. I've been enjoying the tea leaves you sent."
"Hey, Dad. Long time no see."
Friga waved casually at Duke Lucian, who had greeted her warmly — then immediately fixed Selina with a murderous glare.
She could read the situation at a glance. That woman Selina had come all the way to the North in person just to keep her in check. Not a chance.
Whatever scheme had brought her this far north, coming here was a mistake.
Even a mutt eats half its meals at home. And she dares set foot in the North — my home turf?
"H-hello! It's an honor to meet you! Um... I'm Iscal, an Apostle of the Pantheon!"
Iscal, who had been standing awkwardly behind them, dithered between imperial etiquette and Pantheon protocol before settling on the latter. He clasped the Pantheon emblem hanging around his neck and offered a prayer-like greeting. Duke Lucian returned the gesture in kind.
"A pleasure. I am Lucian Nix, Duke of Montegros. I've heard much of Apostle Iscal's renown — it is an honor to meet you in person."
The formal courtesy was possible only because Iscal stood before the duke not as the bastard son of some provincial noble, but as an Apostle.
"Ahem. Ahem."
Marquis Purius, who had been sitting quietly, cleared his throat and rose to his feet.
"Your Grace, now that Princess Friga has arrived, we as guests shall take our leave. Allow me to express my sincere gratitude for Your Grace's generous cooperation."
"Not at all. It was only what I ought to do. Please rest comfortably before you depart."
Marquis Purius rose with dignified grace and escorted Selina. Her black cat ears twitched and flicked with every step — and each time they did, the otherwise rigid Marquis Purius gave a little start.
"Duke Lucian, we'll be taking our leave. Princess Friga — and... darling, see you next time?"
"Ngh...!"
Selina's soft black tail coiled around Iscal's wrist like a bracelet, and a hot whisper brushed his earlobe before vanishing.
Friga whipped her head around the moment she realized — but all she caught was Selina's black tail already swaying far down the corridor. She'd been robbed blind with her eyes wide open. A vein bulged at Friga's temple.
Grrrind—
The sound of rock being crushed came from between Friga's teeth.
BAM!
"Dad. When the hell did that bitch get here?"
Seething, Friga slammed her fist down on the reception room's hardwood table. A heavy thud rang out as if a hammer had struck it. Just as Iscal had seen once before, the surface of the table caved in beneath her fist, leaving a clear imprint.
Now that I look... it's not just one.
Dents pockmarked the table in several places. As Iscal had guessed, this was far from the first time — and it wouldn't be the last. Duke Lucian replied with perfect composure.
"She's been here a few days. Said she left in secret. Judging by your reaction, you really had no idea."
"Of course I didn't! Ugh — I'm going to lose my mind."
Friga roughly raked her hands through her hair and exhaled a long sigh. Her black locks cascaded down like a waterfall, tangled and wild.
Duke Lucian's gaze shifted to Iscal, still standing awkwardly behind them.
"Apostle Iscal, you must be hungry. If it wouldn't be an imposition, why don't we share a meal?"
"Ah."
Only then did the hunger hit him. The unexpected commotion had driven all thought of his empty stomach from his mind — but the moment he became aware of it, his gut roared for food.
"Haa... Right. We were going to eat. Come on, Iscal. Let's get some food. Over here."
"Uh, y-yes? Eh?"
Taking a hit was unavoidable; right now she needed to do what she could. Friga let out a deep sigh, grabbed Iscal's hand, and pulled him along.
Iscal stammered as he was dragged bodily out of the room. Resistance was out of the question — he looked for all the world like a reed swept up in a storm.
"Heh heh."
Duke Lucian watched them go and let out a dry chuckle.
His tomboy of a daughter, bringing a man home. He'd fully expected her to live alone and die an old maid — but apparently even a leather shoe finds its match. Life really was full of surprises if you lived long enough. Offering a brief, silent condolence to the Iscal who was about to suffer, Duke Lucian slowly left the reception room.
"Princess! Your Highness, wait a second!"
From far down the corridor came Iscal's pitiful cry, faint and distant.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
Marquis Purius and Selina walked the corridors of Duke Lucian's estate. Selina's ears twitched industriously, scooping up every sound from every direction, and only once she was certain no one was nearby did she stop.
"Marquis, thank you for indulging my selfish request."
"Not at all, Lady Selina. As your aide, it is only natural that I assist whenever you wish it."
He lightly stroked his impeccably groomed mustache. The industrious poise of those cat ears was truly magnificent.
"I must reiterate — this is the princess's hometown. Act rashly and you will only invite a backlash. You must always proceed with caution."
Marquis Purius's eyes gleamed with intelligence.
"I know. I'll be careful."
"Mm."
Selina answered firmly. He could be a bit of a pervert at times, but when it came to working together, no one was more reliable than Marquis Purius.
"Please go ahead and rest. I still have remaining work to attend to."
"Understood. I'll head in first, Marquis."
Selina walked on ahead, offering her farewell.
Click-clack, click-clack — her black, fluffy cat tail swayed left and right in time with her footsteps. Marquis Purius watched it for a long while with eyes soft with melancholy.
...Magnificent.
Was this not precisely why he worked so hard?
Having savored that small reward nestled within the everyday, Marquis Purius returned to his quarters, which doubled as a temporary office.
"..."
On the desk lay a report from a unit member who had recently completed a successful mission. In the corner, the name Rohan was scrawled crookedly.
The explanations ran long, but the report's core message was clear.
Unable to locate the ringleader of the slave traders...
It was not pleasant news.
Whoosh—
Deep within a cavern in the heart of the Mount of Demonic Beasts, a dark crimson flame flickered and writhed.
Shadows danced along the burning firelight, casting an atmosphere of pure malevolence.
A flame that burns exists by consuming something. So what, then, did this ominous and thoroughly wicked fire devour to grow its own body?
Crackle—
The flame, burning with lofty arrogance, flicked out a tongue of fire and swallowed something lying on the floor.
Crackle-crackle—
A rank smell filled the air. Meat and a little liquid and sundry other things, all blending together into the scent of burning.
"Ugh—... Aaagh...!!"
What the dark crimson flame had swallowed writhed and screamed. It thrashed with every ounce of strength it had, desperate to escape the fire. It clawed stubbornly across the floor, flailing its limbs in resistance.
It wanted to live. It had to live.
That futile resistance vanished at a single short command. The thrashing thing went rigid, then surrendered itself to the flame as if volunteering to become kindling.
Crackle—
The flame began to consume the "kindling" that had entered its body — slowly, so very slowly. Like a child melting candy in its mouth: deliberate, careful.
Like peeling the wrapping from a gift, it started by burning the skin, ever so gradually.
Crackle—
The entire process served a single purpose.
"Ghk...! Ghhk! Aaaaagh!!"
Agony. Despair. Terror.
Every thick, clinging emotion melted into the screams. Those screams, echoing off the cavern walls in every direction, were a hellish symphony.
To a demon, it was the most exquisite resonance imaginable.
Was that not why it went to the trouble of eating its "kindling" so slowly — just to savor this sweet symphony?
Crackle-crackle—
The "kindling's" screams stopped. Only then did the flame finish devouring it completely and give a satisfied writhe. Embers scattered in every direction.
"...Th-that was the last one."
Prostrate on the floor, Cagan's jowls quivered. Sweat dripped steadily onto the ground. The contract ensured he would not be eaten himself — and yet the scene he had just witnessed was terrifying beyond measure.
"Hhk..."
The dread that he might be next was impossible to shake.
The werewolves standing behind him looked ready to leap at any moment and shred him to pieces with their razor claws.
The dark crimson flame writhed quietly as it burned, then — with a heavy thud — produced a lump of gold.
"Ah — aaah!"
Gleaming gold. A massive chunk large enough to match his entire upper body.
Greed glittered in Cagan's eyes. He scrambled forward on his knees and wrapped his arms around the gold. Ah, what a rapturous light!
The sight of Cagan's thick belly fat bulging out as it was crushed against the gold was a spectacle no one should have to witness with open eyes.
The flame averted its gaze from Cagan's disgrace and looked instead at the werewolves lined up behind him. It had taken them in as reasonably useful pawns, and they had proven to be decent hunting dogs.
The quality and quantity of the humans they dragged back were not half bad.
Still too slow, though...
Absurdly slow. It needed a faster, more certain method — and the time remaining was not long.
At the foot of the mountain, ■'s hounds had already caught the scent and were gathering.
After a brief silence, the flame flickered and spoke.
"Heh heh... Pardon? Th-the place I stay, you mean?"
"Pardon...? What do you mean by that..."
The flame fell silent, gazing past the cavern walls toward the human fortress visible in the far distance. Even from here, it could clearly sense that unpleasant, enormous presence.
Star-light.
If it could devour that... how sweet it would be.
Already, its mouth watered.
If you do not wish to be swept up and die.