2. She Never Bets on Defeat (3)
It was after he had returned home, around the time the day began to fade into evening.
—So, you're not planning on running away from home on some reckless whim, are you, my worldly-ignorant young master? Going out with nothing but the skin on your back—how exactly do you intend to survive?
The Demon King tossed the remark at Cariel, who had been sitting at his desk, absorbed in previewing his lessons.
"...Is that supposed to be sarcasm?"
—Half of it, sure?
The Demon King's mischievous expression wore a thoroughly one-sided air. It was the very picture of the insolent confidence one might expect from someone looking down on the weak and the powerless.
—You're bowing and scraping even now because you lack strength, aren't you? Do you really think that life would change just because you walk out of here?
"So the answer is to accept your power?"
A cheap con. And yet—
She only snorted and waved him off.
—The boat has sailed, runt. You said you wanted no power that came without a price? Wallowing in your spoiled grievances while you pass up an opportunity this magnificent—making you regret it, teeth gnashing, for years to come—that sounds like a delightful development to me.
"......"
—Your father leaned on his Holy Sword and his Sacred Relics too. What made you think those came with a fair enough price? It's proof positive that you still don't know a thing about the world. Tsk, tsk...!
The Demon King clicked her tongue with theatrical exaggeration.
"...So what exactly are you telling me to do?"
She wouldn't be going to all this trouble just to sneer and mock him for nothing.
—Well then, how's this: power with a price attached, and you're fine with it?
"Why? Planning to offer some conditional contract? Am I supposed to hand over my soul? Or this body, perhaps?"
At that, the Demon King let out a whistle, as if struck by a good idea.
—Oh, that's an option, is it? Come to think of it, the other Demon Kings tried reviving themselves that way, didn't they? Pitifully, disgustingly. Whatever shamelessness a true king may lack, that much decorum he should keep. Filthy wretches, the lot of them.
"......?"
—I did tell you—what reason would I possibly have to run cheap tricks on you? You're too young to understand, little runt.
He couldn't understand. What on earth was this woman—this Demon King—thinking?
"Don't tell me this 'power with a price' means you intend to... raise me yourself? That's not it, is it?"
—You're hardly going to become a Demon King, so why would I? And to the son of the man who killed me, no less? Are you out of your mind?
"......"
Common sense agreed. If anything, if she'd shown him favor—spouting something about fate or destiny and offering to teach him—he would have found that far more suspicious.
Besides, this Demon King had long since gauged his temperament. She would know perfectly well that such shallow ploys would never work on him.
—But you see, watching my observer get trampled like vermin, played for a fool like some hapless sucker, and knowing you'll keep taking it going forward—it makes my blood boil, that's all.
"Wh-what did you say?"
—The way you squirm like a worm makes me sick. So I'm simply going to give you the chance to thrash your way out of it. No special treatment included.
In exchange—
—If you can't overcome it, then this will simply become another one of your hells.
"What kind of incomprehensible nonsense have you been spouting since a minute ago—urgh?!"
Without warning, his consciousness blurred. He never even registered the sensation of collapsing; by the time he noticed, his whole body was already sprawled limply across the floor.
'What did she do to me...?'
His awareness was fading, bit by bit. Like sinking into a deep, deep mire—a mire without a single point of light—dragged down, pulled under.
And so, how much time had passed?
Abruptly, his vision snapped wide open.
"......?"
Where was this?
A barren wasteland, thick with ash and driving sand. And there, at the very heart of it, he had been thrown.
"GYAAAAAAAAH!!"
"WAAAAAAAH!!"
Furious war cries and sweltering heat pierced through the din, nearly deafening him outright. And with them—
A sky packed solid with swarming black specks.
One second passed. Another second slipped by. And now those specks had multiplied into countless thousands, surging right up to his face.
"Ghk—!"
Something hammered into him from every direction. No—not hammering. Stabbing, burrowing, impaling. By the time he understood, his entire body had been shredded into rags.
"Ah, ugh—?"
Without even knowing what had struck him, his vision went dark.
—Kikik?
And then, again.
"Hah?! Haaah?!"
He sucked in ragged breaths for a moment, then whipped his head around, scanning his surroundings—his rear.
A horde of people was sprinting desperately forward, screaming every kind of battle cry at the top of their lungs. Crude leather armor—and even that was a luxury. Not a single one of them was properly armed. In their hands, an assortment of mismatched, nonstandard weaponry.
And then—
He turned his eyes forward again.
The sky, once more, black with specks.
And what they were—
...A deluge of arrows, launched en masse from long range, raining down. Only on the brink of death, once again, did he finally understand.
'What the—?!'
Before any question, any scream, any bewilderment could leave his mouth, arrows slammed into him thick as forest thicket, and he crumpled where he stood. No—at this point, perhaps it was more accurate to say he was riddled through and knocked clean off his feet.
Even the horrific pain cut off almost at once.
And yet—
All of that had only been possible because his luck had been extraordinary. When the third death came around, he did not get off so cleanly.
The sensation of an arrow lodged halfway through his neck, the brutal remnants of violence sunk into his thighs and shins, his stomach, his eyes without fully piercing them—the whole of it bore down on his consciousness as pure, unfiltered agony.
"Kehk! Ghk!"
The blood in his body burst, gushed, drained away, and even the phantasm flickered before his eyes—death itself grazing past his face, a sneer curled upon its lips. Everything stretched and dulled; even his perception of the world grew faint. Life drained out of him, and death's cold, merciless shadow closed over him like a lid.
Truly...
It was a horrific feeling.
"Nngh!"
He came back.
Once again, he was standing in the middle of the wasteland. Instinct drove him low, curling his body into as small a posture as he could manage—but—
...It wasn't enough to keep him alive.
"Gyaaah!"
Throwing up a shield lying discarded on the ground bought him only moments. The arrow offensive was simply too overwhelming—and worse, it never came as a single volley; the follow-ups came in wave after unrelenting wave. Once, twice, he held out by sheer miracle, but he could not escape the fate of becoming a target.
Enduring, fleeing outright, and in the end even using corpses as shields to hold the line—over and over, again and again.
'It never ends....'
He held out as long as he could bear, and counted.
Ten times. Twenty.
In truth—
...It felt as though the arrow storm would keep falling until he died for good.
'Why?! Why is this happening?!'
Was it because he'd finally scrounged up a sliver of composure? Or because some fragment of his reason had clawed its way back, even in this hellish situation? How had he even ended up like this?
'The Demon King—!'
It had to be her doing. But why?!
Survive. Nothing else. Hold on, and hold on again. Die, and die again.
How long had that cycle repeated? Around the time he'd given up on thinking altogether—
His eyes snapped open.
"Hah!"
His body curled inward on pure instinct. Relief at the sealed, cramped space lasted only a moment.
'Where... am I?'
—Well? Didn't that foggy head of yours clear up beautifully?
Along with the familiar voice, the golden woman appeared, drifting through the empty air. That mischievous smile—but at this moment, Cariel understood with painful clarity that it was no different from a demon's.
—Sleep disorder is just an excuse. Rather than lying awake staring at the ceiling all night, wouldn't you agree it's far more rational to rest the body and temper the mind at the same time, like this?
"......"
A supremely selfish line of reasoning. The intent to disregard anyone else's peace couldn't have been more obvious.
—You said you don't need power without a price, didn't you? So, in the spirit of braving the price and claiming the power, I went to the trouble of preparing a training ground for you personally. You could at least be grateful.
"That... was a training ground? That?"
Not a slaughterhouse where you're made to die as a target with no say in the matter? Not malicious abuse? Not outright torture?
—Your father and mother lived through scenes like that as routinely as breathing, as routinely as eating. What are you throwing this tantrum for?
"Do you take me for the same kind of human as them?"
—It's also exactly the sight you'll be staring at every day once you run away, you know? It doesn't have to be a battlefield, doesn't even have to be an army—any armed band can butcher commoners, travelers, and wanderers whenever it pleases them. You still haven't truly grasped how frightening the world is. At least this much comes at you where you can see it. What will you do when it comes flying from somewhere you can't?
"Why would I have to go through that now—!"
Knock, knock, knock!
"Y-Young master? Are you awake?"
"......"
The Demon King smirked. Go on, then. Say more. Try throwing another fit. The way her lips curled upward at the corners, daring him, was infuriating beyond bearing—it stoked something close to murderous intent.
"...Coming."
Cariel ground his teeth. At the answer he managed to force out while holding onto his composure, the door opened a moment later.
"Oh, up early for once. You must have been quite tired yesterday."
"......"
The girl beamed, her warmth plain on her face. How could she manage to smile so innocently, every single time they met?
Her black hair was trimmed into a neat bob, and there wasn't a wrinkle out of place on her plain maid's uniform. Even though it was still early morning, she must have been up long before him, tending the house, checking the grounds. There was a butler and a head maid in name, but the total number of hired staff—including the girl before him—barely reached five. A small count indeed for a noble house of this size, but the family had always been frugal in such matters, so it was hardly strange.
Cariel held the girl's light-brown eyes with a long, steady gaze.
"Sylvia."
"Yes?"
"...I'm leaving for the academy early, so have something simple ready to eat."
At his request, the girl bloomed into a smile as bright as a sunflower and gave a hearty nod.
"Yes, of course! Anything you like!"
Damn it all—just as she'd said, his body was in perfect condition. Even the consciousness that had always been muddled and sluggish was now razor-sharp, as if he were walking a blade's edge.
No, this was bordering on excessive...
'I did die a few dozen times, after all.'
Even now, the sensations remained vivid—his entire body pierced through like a worthless target, gone limp and ragged.
'Damn it all.'
Because he habitually stayed up nights without sleep, a fogged mind and dulled senses were familiar to him. But awareness this acute, this honed... it bred a discomfort of an entirely different kind.
Worse still—
"Cariel. It seems you... finally managed a proper night's rest."
Even the imperial princess was saying it to his face, apparently reading his condition at a glance.
Had he really looked that exhausted?
"......"
His irritation swelled, in more ways than one.
—Kikikik!
Especially thanks to that damned, ill-natured Demon King!