The Demon's Curse

"You failed?"

"That is so."

The Crown Prince had received unexpected news. The Demon King's army, which had never once failed at anything it prepared, had botched a plan.

Of course, he had already heard the report. Of all those examinees, a full fifty had died. They hadn't managed to kill even half — but wasn't that still a considerable body count? And yet they called it a failure.

"That's quite regrettable... But a failure is a failure, and a price must be paid, wouldn't you agree?"

"A matter of course. However, we intend to raid the Academy for as many as we failed to kill."

"I don't particularly mind, but I can't provide assistance the way I did this time. So many examinees died that the political damage is severe. The Academy is in an uproar, and so is the cabinet."

"We have always been grateful for the Crown Prince's aid. We shall repay you more generously still."

"You've already given me something of considerable value. I won't hold it against you."

Then a thought occurred to him, and he asked about one more matter.

"Come to think of it, there's been no word at all from the Bishop. Has he been dealt with?"

"...Tomorrow, or the day after. It will proceed as scheduled."

"Then that's fine."

The brief exchange ended, and the high-ranking demon withdrew from the Crown Prince's bedchamber.

They had lost far too much in this affair. The Hero had failed to awaken, and even the mage who was supposed to die had walked away unharmed. They had taken a mere fifty lives, and what they had gained in return was pitifully thin.

A low, resonant hum filled the air.

A transmission, stretching across dimensions. Nothing was visible but a shadow — yet the high-ranking demon bent at the waist and offered the deepest of bows.

Once the connection severed, the high-ranking demon ground his teeth until they creaked. A savage killing intent flooded the space around him.

He did not know what that variable was. But if he searched every corner, it would surface. He would repay this disgrace. The high-ranking demon burned with rage.

Consciousness returned to me by degrees, nestled in the comfort of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a bed.

My last memory was of the Hero shattering the barrier. I had blacked out right then. I had pushed myself far past my limits, both mentally and physically, and the moment I let go of that tension, my body had simply given out.

Which left me with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠single, familiar thought: I hadn't died this time, either.

I still couldn't decide whether the people around me — so determined to keep an Immortal alive no matter what — were remarkable, or simply too stubborn for their own good. I did think that, eventually, I'd need to tell them I was an Immortal. It was hard to make use of an Immortal's strengths when everyone kept stopping me from dying. I had no idea when that time would come.

And besides all that — Besia was slumped over the edge of the bed, fast asleep. Caron was there too, and next to her sat Franc, nodding off over an open book. Every last one of them had gathered here.

The moment I woke them, a living hell was going to break loose. But I couldn't exactly leave them sleeping.

...Then a better idea occurred to me.

"Caron."

"...Ah?"

"Caron. If you're awake, come here quietly."

"Ah — yes. Y-yes!"

A seasoned maid through and through, she hurried to my side without a sound. She sniffled, so overjoyed that I had woken that tears welled in her eyes.

"Y-Young Master. Thank goodness. You've woken up."

"Yeah, Caron. Can you tell me how long I was out?"

"About three days, I believe."

"Then can you also tell me what happened while I was unconscious?"

Caron took a moment to gather her thoughts, then began laying out the sequence of events one by one.

"First, the school has decided to close for a while. They're holding funerals as well."

"A lot of people died, so that stands to reason. Anything else?"

"There's also strong public sentiment that the Crown Prince, who pushed this whole affair forward, should be held responsible."

"And beyond that?"

"The Hero has gone to the Church. I believe she was summoned both to receive an oracle regarding the incident and to give a formal statement."

The Hero was a figure endlessly occupied with public and private duties alike, so her absence here was nothing strange.

I turned each point over in my mind.

First, the school closure. Having some time to spare was undeniably a good thing. After an incident of this magnitude, a brief rest was only natural. I was just grateful they hadn't gone ahead with the entrance ceremony while I was unconscious.

Second, the Crown Prince. He had remained firmly in power right up until I brought the royal family down with my own hands. He would weather this political crisis without much difficulty. The one thing that gave me pause was this: my intervention had at least kept the death toll to a minimum, but before the regression, a far greater catastrophe had unfolded — and even then, he had held onto his position without a scratch. Which meant he had some card up his sleeve capable of flipping public opinion. I'd find out what it was soon enough. I couldn't do anything about the Crown Prince right now anyway, and cutting him down wouldn't make ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the royal family behind him disappear. There was no need to use this incident as a weapon against him.

Third, the Hero. In practical terms, she was one of the Church's own faithful. She had received power from God, and a blessing besides, so that was only natural. She had trusted the Church deeply — believed in it completely. The Church was the institution that conveyed the word of God, after all.

I had more or less pieced together what had happened while I was out.

"Then, Caron — can you get me out of here?"

"Pardon?"

"Give me a hand. My body's all stiff."

"Understood."

What I needed to do right now was escape this room. After hearing what Besia had said, I couldn't shake the feeling that this place could become a prison cell at any moment. Her healing had been so effective that my body was overflowing with vitality — they'd expected I'd need a full month of recovery before I could even move. I saw no reason to stay locked up in here.

Leaning on Caron's support as quietly as I could, I advanced one step at a time. One slip, and it would be a month in the brig. House arrest, technically, rather than a prison cell — but there wasn't much difference between the two.

We reached the door. I turned the knob slowly, ready to force our escape —

The door burst open from the other side with a crash.

"Huh?! Argal, you're already awake?"

Raelly stood there, her midsection wrapped tight in bandages, lighting up at the sight of me. I tried to talk my way out of this.

"Good to see you, Raelly. Glad you're in one piece."

"I know, right? When I made it outside the barrier, there happened to be a priest who saved me, and—"

"Argaaal?"

Damn it. Too late.

I turned my head and found Besia thrusting her face right up to mine, her expression downright murderous.

"Were you trying to run away?"

"There's been a tremendous misunderstanding—"

"Misunderstanding, my ass! Franc, grab him!"

A deep rumble answered her. A barrier sprang up around me in an instant. It wasn't a high-level one, but the speed was staggering. Had her skills really jumped that much after fighting a greater demon alone last time? That was not welcome news right now.

"And just where do you think you're ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠going?"

"...Even you, Franc."

"Y-Young Master, what should I..."

Caron was too flustered to do anything but stand there in a panic, but there was nothing to be done. Forcing my way out with raw strength wasn't realistic, and drawing a dagger would leave a mess I couldn't possibly clean up. That left only the Origin of the Star — but would they really just sit there and watch me amplify my mana?

Besia fixed me with a look that could have drawn blood.

"Well then. Shall we hear where you were trying to run off to?"

"My body's a bit stiff. I just wanted a short walk."

"You trying to feed me that crap?"

She seized my hand in a tight grip — and then, suddenly, the air around her shifted. With a touch full of unmistakable affection, she stroked the left hand that still bore its scars.

I recalled the promise we had made before parting at the Church.

"We'd go to a café together. Eat something delicious."

"...That's right."

"You made a promise and then tried to run off alone?"

"That wasn't my intention."

All that talk of imprisonment had been a joke, in the end. Though what that said about me for taking it seriously in the first place, I wasn't sure I wanted to examine. I'd just treat this as a crisis survived and move on.

Raelly, who had been listening from the side, perked up at once.

"What? You're going to a café? Then I'm coming too."

"Huh? Is that what this is about? Then I'll go change!"

"What? I never said I was going with you two!"

Besia had clearly wanted the two of us to sit down with coffee and dessert alone. But the moment she'd said it in front of those two, it was already too late. She looked thoroughly wronged, but in the end she accepted the situation and went to change her clothes as well.

"Ugh, fine. If you run away again, I really won't let it slide. Got it?"

"...I'll keep that in mind."

"Stay put!"

She took off at a run. I watched her go and let out a hollow laugh. I had figured I'd end up at a café with Besia. I had not figured Franc and Raelly would be tagging along. That, I hadn't seen coming.

The only one left was Caron. She had attended me with her usual disciplined posture, and nothing more.

...Perhaps, of everyone involved in this incident, Caron had worried the most. She hadn't even returned to the estate. She had stayed at the Academy this entire time. I could only imagine how anxiously she had been waiting.

"You come too, Caron."

"Pardon? Is that all right?"

"Wear something casual. Not as a maid — just come hang out as someone on vacation."

"Really?"

Caron brightened so visibly it was almost startling. Seeing that unguarded smile bloom across her face made my own mood lift in turn.

"What do they even sell at cafés?"

"Delicious coffee, of course. Come to think of it, Young Master, you haven't had coffee very often."

"Neither have you. Where would you find a café on a rural estate?"

"Hehe. I do get the chance to taste it now and then, though."

Going to a café the moment I woke up. It was a strange itinerary, to be sure. But taking a moment to breathe didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Thinking that, I stepped outside — and found the front of the room decorated with more flower wreaths than I could count.

"What is all this?"

"While you were injured and unconscious, Young Master, the students left these flowers as gifts."

The number was by no means small. Every student present at the time would have had to leave one for them to pile up like this. Why give flowers to someone who wasn't even dead? Was that why they were brilliant, colorful blooms instead of lilies?

I picked one up and breathed it in. A radiant fragrance, many-colored and rich, tickled the inside of my nose.

...So it hadn't been entirely in vain.

It was a sight I could never have imagined before the regression. I simply stood there, and said nothing at all.

"Cough — cough!"

In a darkened room, Bishop Revega coughed without cease. He had been writing a letter by the meager flame of a single candle, but his body was failing faster with every passing moment. He forced himself to his feet and gathered the finished pages.

"Cough — this is — cough — truly strange."

He had received a great many replies. Some were favorable. Some had accepted his proposal outright. And now the enormous incident at the Academy had shaken the royal family. More people of power were taking an interest. A golden opportunity — one that came only a handful of times — had arrived. The Bishop intended to seek the aid of still more influential figures, even if he had to drag this ailing body along to do it.

And yet something was wrong. He was a priest who possessed holy power. His was a body that almost never fell ill. And still, as of late, Bishop Revega's condition had grown truly, alarmingly severe.

"Cough!"

A single cough, and he brought up blood. With a trembling hand he wiped it away, and muttered to himself.

"Why... even blood..."

Then, all at once, the strength went out of him. Bishop Revega crumpled where he stood — and in that instant, he understood where this strangeness had come from.

A demon's mark, blooming across the back of his hand. As a priest, there was no mistaking it.

"A demon's curse? How in the world—"

A heavy thud. Once he had recognized it, there was no way left to fight it. The demon's curse had already settled into the Bishop's body. All that remained was death, and soon.

"I must... tell them."

He could not collapse like this. If he died here, he would never be able to expose the filth festering inside the royal family. That household, rotten from the inside out, would bring the entire kingdom down with it. And he feared that the Church's blade — every bit as corrupted as the royal family it served — would reach that child as well, and not merely himself.

He gathered what strength he had left and tried to write one last letter. To reveal as much of the truth as he could. To leave behind a warning — that it was dangerous, that she must run.

The pen moved.

But the Bishop's strength was already spent. The pen slipped from his fingers. His final words never reached Besia.

He crumpled to the floor, and consciousness left him.