Chapter 171: He Cherished Him (2)
At that time, the Duke had sneered.
There was nothing more foolish than relying on emotion, yet here was someone trying to bank on my affection, of all people.
I guarantee it. Once the contract term ended, I would surely kill them as needed. Even if I spared them, it would not be out of affection, but because they held utility or simply weren't worth the trouble of killing.
[At any rate, it is 10 years. Until then, please think of them as your nephews and nieces and take good care of them.]
[Your Highness, even if I accept that for the other children, the 9th Prince and I are only five years apart in age. Nephew, you say?]
[Then, a younger brother?]
[......I will think of him as a nephew.]
After that, 10 years and then several more passed.
The 1st Prince might not have known or intended it, but setting a 10-year period had been an excellent choice. It was because not long after the Duke received demonic energy from the Demon King, he had realized he could use this power to nullify the contract.
Because there was a set period, the Duke had let it be, if only to conserve demonic energy. Had there been no set period, he would have expended the energy to remove the contract's constraints. And then the lives of the 'children' the 1st Prince had sought to protect would have been endangered.
'I thought it would be a simple contract, but it grew more complicated than expected. Still, I endured it by looking only at the end of the term.'
Originally, the Duke had planned to let the 1st Prince die and then select another straw man candidate to back. He intended to wield the king as he pleased and use that power to protect the 1st Prince's 'children.'
But unexpectedly, the very person he was supposed to protect, the 9th Prince Eduard De Sert, killed all the others and ascended the throne. As the Duke, he could not help but fall into a dilemma.
To protect them, power stronger than anything else was necessary. The pinnacle of that power was, naturally, the position of the nation's ruler.
Yet, of all things, the person he was meant to protect had sat himself in that very seat. And to drag him down would violate the contract, which had stipulated respecting 'free will.'
The Duke made his judgment.
'Let us take it over through peaceful means. I'll just apply pressure until he wants to hand it over himself.'
He thought this much would be acceptable.
It was a judgment made because he had failed to realize Eduard De Sert's incomprehensibly tenacious sense of responsibility. Though, even if he had known, there likely would have been no other way.
In any case, as per the contract with the 1st Prince, the Duke had watched over the three of them for 10 years.
So, had the Duke grown fond of the children— of Eduard De Sert— by now?
'.......'
The 10-year period had ended and the contract was over, yet the Emperor remained Emperor.
The 10-year period had ended, yet the Crown Prince remained Crown Prince, and the Princess remained Princess.
'The timing is bad right now anyway. I can't touch them.'
It was a busy time, moving to protect the Empire.
The Duke averted his gaze from the thorny subject he could not easily answer and looked back to the present. With his options limited now, instead of forcing things, he was concentrating on the Salvation Church and aiding internal cohesion in the human realm through a public opinion campaign.
As even that process was not smooth and he kept seeing irritating things, it could be considered the worst.
'The Demon Cult, the Revolutionary Army... things that wouldn't have dared raise their heads before are crawling out now.'
In particular, the Revolutionary Army was using this chance to rapidly boost their image. One could safely say they had been branded as a group working purely for the benefit of humanity.
Irritation flared, but separate from that, knowing that they were being helpful, the Duke had to set aside his personal feelings. Especially since there was a far more annoying group now.
'The Demon Cult.'
It was a religion that, to anyone, clearly seemed to have the demon race behind it. Yet, for some reason, it was so popular.
Upon receiving reports that the number of people lowly murmuring 'De-mon' had increased throughout the slums, the Duke, unable to bear the surging stress any longer, swept a hand down his face with a feeling of sheer wretchedness.
* * *
'Deon-nim told me. He said it couldn't hurt to get anything ready, so I should advance into the human world.'
The 11th Legion Commander, Lirinel, processed the documents related to the Demon Cult's advance into the human world as she recalled the past.
[When the time of need comes, it's better to prepare things in advance, even if it turns out to be wasted effort, rather than not being able to do it due to a lack of time, don't you think?]
[Y-yes.]
[Right? The Demon Cult can also be used in the public opinion war, and while there might not be much harvest, it can be used for demon summoning for now.]
It had been an ecstatic private audience.
The human man before her, stroking his fine jawline while smiling brightly, was devastatingly elegant and beautiful. Even the shadows under his eyes could not conceal his beauty, so Lirinel had nodded as if entranced.
[Y-yes, you're right. Everything Deon-nim says is correct! I'll get His Majesty the Demon King's permission and immediately advance into the human world...!]
[No. Do we really need to ask His Majesty for permission?]
[Pardon? But, it's related to the human world....]
[Hm?]
Deon Hart tilted his head to the side and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His fingers, lifted as if to tap the desk, circled round and round over the back of Lirinel's hand.
Thump. Her heart stopped.
'No, I can't die now!'
With Deon-nim right before her eyes, she absolutely could not die.
Grabbing hold of her spirit that was trying to escape, she shot to her feet. Clutching her nose, from which blood had been steadily streaming at some point, Lirinel shouted, brimming with motivation.
[Of course it's fine! I will proceed immediately!]
Deon Hart merely smiled.
Even if they advanced secretly, he did not think the Demon King would be unaware of it. This was merely a test.
The demon race followed their progenitor, the Demon King. Was that absolute, or was it merely respect for the being responsible for the fate of their species, a sense of kinship toward a parent?
If it was the latter, then 'rebellion' would also be possible. To rise against the Demon King would also be feasible.
[There's no need to change the name of the Demon Cult. Advance as is.]
[Yes!]
And now, he had confirmed right before his eyes that a Legion Commander prioritized 'me' over the Demon King.
Between his gently smiling eyelids, his red eyes, slightly revealed, flashed brightly.
* * *
The act of picking up a life requires a corresponding level of resolve.
Recently, two demons had been feeling this fact keenly.
"Derneban, the baby keeps crying. What should I do?"
"......."
No, only one of them had been feeling it.
Derneban stared silently at his superior, who was looking at him blankly, then reached out toward the baby.
* * *
Had it started when he received the head of the King of Ruwethe's younger brother? Or was it when he heard the news that the Paras Territory had fallen? At some point, Deon Hart had begun having nightmares.
It was a dream of remarkably poor quality.
Terribly, a dream in which vengeful spirits of such ghastly appearance emerged that they were difficult to look at with a sober mind.
[You killed us, and you sleep peacefully?]
[Why did you do it. Why did you do it. Why did you do it. Why did you do it.]
[Die! Don't brazenly stay alive, just die, please!]
Ah, if I had a conscience, I shouldn't call their appearance horrifying. Because the one who made them that way was none other than himself.
Standing at the center of the dream, Deon silently watched the vengeful spirits pressing in on him in all sorts of grotesque forms. He could have turned his gaze away or closed his eyes, but he did not. He simply stood his ground, meeting their eyes, and then would wake from the dream.
As this repeated, the vengeful spirits, who had once taken the forms of how they looked at death—forms even Deon Hart himself had turned away from—seemed to realize the minimal effect this had. They began transforming into people he knew and screamed at him to die.
'It didn't really matter either way.'
Today, as well, as he watched the vengeful spirits transform into various people and pour out their curses, Deon seemed to sense something, raising one eyebrow.
[Die... Die!]
He ignored the familiar curses.
A black, distorted miasma wriggled, as if trying to mimic someone's form, and began to take shape.
A familiar build, a familiar height. Somehow knowing who it was, Deon smiled faintly.
"Finally."
He had been waiting. Waiting for when he would appear, when he would try to imitate his form.
For a bunch of vengeful spirits leeching off my mind, it took them far too long to figure out what would hit me the hardest. Truly, I thought I'd die of waiting.
Gradually, the form took shape and familiar black hair entered his vision. Just as the face was about to be completed.
Woosh!
From a corner of his vision, a powerful light exploded, as if swallowing everything.
"......!"
Deon opened his eyes.
As if the grudge-laden voices screaming noisily had been a lie, the quiet scenery of the room greeted him. Blinking for a moment, he slowly raised his body.
He sat in a daze, the reality not sinking in. Only after the wind entering through the slightly open window dried his body, damp with cold sweat, was Deon able to realize that this was reality.
"......Ha."
He let out a deep sigh and buried his face in his hands. Haha, a hollow laugh escaped him.
"To think I'd be kicked out...."
He could tell instinctively. He had been kicked out of the dream.
......No, he couldn't have been 'kicked out.' The master of the dream is me. So, I must have woken from the dream because I wanted to.
Could this be the survival instinct all living creatures supposedly possess? Disgust surged, and he lifted his head. The fluttering curtain entered his view.
Along with it, the window, where a cool breeze was coming in, entered his vision, and a single flower placed there caught his gaze. Fully bloomed under the faint moonlight, it looked quite out of place, so he couldn't help but fix his eyes on it as if hypnotized.
'......Hien said it was a flower he picked from the human world, probably.'
Slowly, he stepped down from the bed.
Leaving the blanket, his body, soaked in cold sweat, was exposed entirely to the cold wind, cooling him instantly, but he paid it no mind and approached the window.
Up close, the flower looked more intact than he had thought.
"There's no sun, yet... it's still so fresh."
Was it affected by the demonic energy in the demon world? Anyone would think it was a freshly cut flower.
He stared blankly at the flower, which showed no signs of wilting, then leaned his upper body against the windowsill and crookedly propped his chin. In that state, Deon tilted his head, examining the flower, and murmured lowly.
His monologue, heard by no one, spread out softly in the quiet space.
"If my brother had told me to die, I would have gladly died for him."
At the end, the moment the form of the vengeful spirit changed, he had realized right away.
That was Cruel. It was his brother he had waited for and waited for. To the man who could not die and kept living because his brother had saved his life, the vengeful spirits were about to tell him to die in the guise of Cruel.
The cold wind whipped through his hair and passed. The flower, unable to withstand the wind, trembled. As if that swaying was telling him not to do it, Deon let out a soft laugh.
"Well, fine. It doesn't seem to be my day today."
Come find me anytime, Brother, should you change your mind.
Ironically, after that day, he never again had a nightmare.
It was a quiet dawn, in the wee hours when the world was buried in silence.
* * *
"......What are you doing?"
"I am fastening a belt for you."
"What I'm asking is, why are you fastening it on my thigh?"
It was a day for a meeting, not combat. So, the question was, why was he wearing a belt used for strapping on a dagger scabbard? And without the scabbard, just the belt alone.
Whether the dumbfounded stare stung or not, Ben diligently fastened the tough leather belt to Deon's thigh and said,
"Since you keep putting out cigarettes on your thigh, I figure I should at least put this on you."
"......."
It was a remark without a clear subject, but it was not hard to understand.
Ben, who had glanced up at the silent Deon, added firmly as if driving a nail in.
"From now on, please stub out your cigarettes on this belt."
"......At this rate, I'm going to be late for the meeting. It seems to be finished, so get up now."
At the blatant evasion, Ben's eyes narrowed, but Deon ignored it and rose from his seat.
Having worn a dagger scabbard often, it should have been familiar, but today, the sensation of the belt tightening on his thigh bothered him. He couldn't help but glance down at it for a moment.
He organized his thoughts as he walked down the corridor.
'What can I say to convince them?'
Last time, he had pointed out a route that passed through the Duke's territory. He'd even gone so far as to pressure Idelia, who had added that it would mean taking a detour.
Now, he was about to overturn those words. The Demon King wouldn't step in to help with something this trivial, so he needed a valid reason, but....
"0th Legion Commander, you have arrived."
......Before he could even finish organizing his thoughts, he arrived in front of the meeting room door.