Believing I'm a Succubus vs. Believing I'm Insane
The innkeeper's wife started her day earlier than her husband. She offered her morning prayers from the bed, then washed her face with the water she'd fetched the night before. She prepared breakfast in the pot hanging by the hearth for when her husband woke up. Heading to the lobby, she spotted the purple-skinned girl with horns dozing at the desk.
Her head bobbed as drool trickled from her mouth—honestly, it was irritating at first glance. From the inn's perspective, the girl was a freeloader. Just as the wife reached to shake her awake, the girl's mumbling and teary eyes stayed her hand.
Truth be told, the girl hadn't caused any real trouble. They'd essentially given her a room anyway. The bit of stew and bread they'd offered went mostly uneaten. The pair of horns sprouting from her head weren't even that grotesque. Her small stature and unsteady gait made her look fragile, almost sickly, with that youthful face. Her husband seemed fixated on her jiggling breasts, though.
Men. Besides, with no nighttime operations or even any guests, making her stay up was pointless anyway—just for their own sleep. She didn't seem like a bad kid upon closer inspection. Her skin color and horns were a bit off-putting, and her husband's leering gaze was distasteful, but her face was cute enough, and she had decent awareness.
Once those thoughts crossed her mind, pity welled up. What kind of story had brought her to this remote mountain inn? So the wife portioned out some stew and bread, slipped it into her room, woke her gently, and sent her off without a word. She'd raised kids once herself.
And now, the innkeeper's wife couldn't hide her rising smile. The fleeting sympathy and regret for the girl from moments ago were forgotten. No one could call her shallow for that. Greeting guests this early—and three of them, no less—was no small windfall. Especially in these tight times.
The short-haired blonde woman stepped forward like the leader. "Dost thou run this place alone, good lady?"
Her tone felt overly archaic, but it suited her proper attire and striking appearance, coming off as bold and refreshing. The wife beamed. "Hahaha, no, I run it with my husband. My, your outfit... are you from the military, by chance?"
The blonde wasn't wearing a cloak or armor, but the massive backpack and longsword at her side suggested as much. Openly armed travelers were soldiers, adventurers, or bandits. The woman's refined demeanor ruled out bandits, especially with her companions—a petite beauty and what looked like a priestess.
"Indeed we are. Thou hast sharp eyes."
The blonde laughed heartily. It sounded like she was imitating a man, but who cared? Imperial soldiers were prime customers alongside adventurers. Some rude ones flashed ranks and caused trouble, though her husband's veteran status kept them in check. Not all soldiers were sane, after all. This level of politeness was a relief.
"Might we trouble thee to fetch thy husband? We have matters to discuss with you both."
"Eh, my husband?"
The wife tilted her head. It wasn't unreasonable, but unusual. Why seek him out specifically? An old army buddy, maybe? Still, waking her soundly sleeping husband didn't appeal. She racked her brains. "He's still asleep... If you need something, I can handle it or pass on the message!"
The next words came from elsewhere. A noble-looking young lady, brushing dust from her clothes with a scowl, spat curtly. "Enough nonsense—go call him already. Where'd you pick up this freak from?"
The wife barely kept her smile. The priestess-clad woman reined her in. "Aisoll, mind thy words."
"But she's dragging this out for no reason."
"Aisoll."
"...Fuck."
They seemed like sisters with an age gap. But the wife couldn't ask. Nor smile warmly. The little one's barb echoed in her ears. Specifically one phrase.
"Um, a 'freak'...? What do you mean...?"
She replayed it in her mind. Picked up something weird? What weird thing would you find in these mountains? And this devout couple wouldn't take in strays. No matter how she thought... purple. Girl.
The blonde's expression grew serious. "Forgive our tardy introduction. I am Leona von Yatyr, leader of the Hero Party, Hero appointed by His Majesty himself. Pray forgive the rudeness from our mage, Aisoll Zalusie."
His Majesty. Imperial decree. Hero Party. Hero. And mage.
The wife's face stiffened visibly at the unexpected names. Leona smiled reassuringly, but her next words weren't comforting.
"That said, Aisoll's words were no jest."
Leona stepped closer. The wife instinctively backed away. The Hero Party leader asked the innkeeper's wife, "So, wilt thou fetch thy husband?"
The innkeeper hated having his sleep interrupted. And incomprehensible talk. But he couldn't snap at his wife for it. Love was too romantic a word for him—he wasn't that type. It was her message.
He couldn't grasp "the Hero Party summons you." Naturally, he didn't believe it. At first, he thought he'd misheard in his sleep. Once it sank in, he assumed imposters. It had to be. Hero Party? Whoever they were, ballsy.
The ex-Imperial soldier grumbled as he hauled his heavy body up, dressed haphazardly. He was first struck by Leona and her group's looks—all women, stunningly beautiful—then again by the evidence she proffered.
A gleaming golden badge, too large for one hand. He knew the rank. Its weight wasn't just physical; it carried authority. He nearly dropped it.
"Dost this convince thee?"
He handed it back, hands trembling from caution and eagerness to be done. "Y-yes... Colonel, sir..."
"Haha, promotion pending, actually. Call me casually."
Even superiors' requests aside, he wasn't casual. His tension infected his wife. With both gathered as desired, Leona cleared her throat.
"For your sakes, I shall be concise. Forgive my rough speech."
The couple struggled from the first words.
"W-war?"
Less question, more scream. Please say I misheard. The Hero across from them, Leona, kept her gentle smile. The husband clung to faint hope. No way. The Empire at war? With whom? Why? Half-asleep misunderstanding... But Leona nodded lightly, shattering it.
"Aye. The Empire wars with the demonkin."
"...Hah."
His sigh seemed stoic, his face not. He shook his head—rude before a superior, but unavoidable. Second time hearing it fresh from sleep. Leona continued.
"As ye know, demonkin lands were an Imperial protectorate. Citizens of the Empire. But a vile pretender dubbed himself Demon King, rallied rabble, slew the Imperial governor, and... rebelled."
A brief pause from subtle fury. The couple shuddered as if targeted.
"Much wealth lost. Countless lives. The rabble continued needless slaughter."
Short sentences, but her voice commanded reverence. The quietly praying priestess beside her amplified it.
"His Majesty offered mercy for repentance, but their depravity rejected it. Thus, He formed the Hero Party and stripped demonkin rights."
Temporarily suspended, excluding some autonomies—but indefinite, few autonomies anyway. Not wholly inaccurate.
"Ye sheltered a stray demonkin out of compassion."
Not Leona this time—the priestess. Soft tone, polite praise, yet it felt like veiled rebuke to the couple. The husband stammered, regaining wits. "H-how... did the priestess know...?"
"One of ours sought lodging here overnight. She saw. I am the Saintess, Lucilla."
Shock at the unannounced visit or "Saintess"? He held his breath. His wife gaped. Leona resumed.
"Fortunate it bred no harm, but surely ye grasp our point."
The husband eyed Leona anew. Both she and the Saintess had blue eyes. Hers calm and heavy; Leona's piercing.
"I-I... n-never meant... that...!"
"No rebuke intended."
"Th-then...?"
"Demonkin are perilous, as ye know."
The wife felt abstract dread; husband experiential terror.
"Our Hero Party, blessed and watched by the gods, aside—your unscathed proximity proves divine protection."
Terror struck. The girl's behaviors reinterpreted darkly. Skipping meals for "tastier" fare? Frail cuteness hiding schemes? Curves luring souls? Plain and honest, they hid nothing. Leona smiled faintly.
"So, will ye cooperate?"
This was the first time I hadn't woken from a nightmare. Not pleasant sleep. Mattress, blankets, pillow—all uncomfortable. But the heaviest was the massive weight crushing my upper body.
I cracked my eyes. No need to look far. Intimidating lavender cleavage.
"Hoo..."
Still no dream. Exhausted sigh. Horns and breasts forced an awkward pose. Couldn't roll sideways. Not-small horns on both sides. Even risking pillow damage, elongated ears folded, lower breasts squished upper ones.
What's with this body? Horns aside, didn't know huge tits were this inconvenient...
"...Little one, what the hell's tasty about this slop?"
"...Tasty though..."
"Hey, bread's stale. This stew or baby food? Be picky. Eating trash makes you fat."
"...I-I'm not... that..."
"Fat. Looks puffier every time. Right, Leona?"
"...H-have I... gained...?"
"Haha, each hath their ideal form, no?"
What? What'd I hear?}
Glanced at window. Sunlight said not night. Not my voice. Hallucinations vivid now? Succubus and psychosis? Made sense. This wasn't another world—just my mental break with hallucinations and auditory delusions. Plausibly better than purple-titted succubus.
"Ha, ha..."
Deflated laugh. Voice still alien.
"...Just... a dream..."
"Aisoll, must we persist? Time passed aplenty."
"Tch, succubus. Rare, no records. Can't predict dream antics—better restrain in reality."
Delusions lingered. Lie here? Nurse with injection maybe.
"...But demonkin... Saintess..."
"Dummy, I said! You wanna drag the couple to that backwater and explain?"
...Familiar voice. Whiny childlike girl. Heard before? Worth a shot.
"Ugh. Ack."
Sat up. Breasts pitched me forward. If this weight hallucinated, what illness? Looked up—thoughts halted.
"...Huh?"
Room empty yesterday, now three. Left: dark-skinned, "giant" first-impression golden-haired woman. Right: medieval-armored, sword-gripping, pale-faced bob-cut woman on chair. Center chair: petite, black-clad, black-haired.
"Y-you... from yesterday...?"
The "girl" from yesterday grinned. "Oh, awake?"
Who? Why here? Innkeepers?} No grasp.
"At last, thou stirrest."
Armored bob-cut.
"Uh, uh."
Something wrong—body trembled. No. Don't panic. Delusions. Phantoms.
"...Don't... move..."
Left this time. Barely audible low voice. Head turned instinctively. Gasped.
"Wh-what..."
Where'd it come from? Odd shape, too huge. Aimed at me.
"G-gun...!"
"...Die..."
"Whoa, cool just now. Famous now? Knows guns."
Couldn't turn or blink at girl's words. Barrel pitch-black. Breath caught. Die. Chilling whisper lingered. No, delusion. Phantom. No fear. But repetition failed to calm.
"Hah, heok, heok..."
This... too real. Heart raced. Pulse throbbed head. Might puke it up.
"Aisoll, even now thou..."
"Got it, got it. No more. Practice time?"
"Hrm."
Couldn't tear eyes from barrel. What situation? What'd I do?}
"Demonkin!"
"Eek!"
Explosive shout jolted me. Backing arms squished breasts. Shing— Breath stopped. Sword. Sharp. Pointed. At me.
"Receive holy power!!"
"...Ah."
Snap at nape. Knot untied. Shot? Slashed simultaneous? Injection? Yeah, needle.
"...D-demon?"
Vision tilted slowly. Body fell.
"...H-Hero... one command...?"
Not my voice. So, yeah. Delusion. Scary. Tense, stiff. Novel experience. Vision darkened. Toes. Fingers. Hips, waist. Breasts. Horns by head. Sensation faded.
Fun. Weird. Never again. So...