Don't Do This (1)

Lookuan fled with every ounce of strength she had. A few people tried to stop her, but someone shouted not to grab anyone rushing out to report the situation—and so she was never caught.

Down one floor, then two, then three, she searched until she found an empty guest room. A more careful survey might have turned up better hiding places, but a mind laid bare to naked malice had no strength left for that.

She wedged herself into a wardrobe she had never once considered a place to hide and gasped for air. She was terrified. So terrified she thought she might go mad.

Of every crisis she had ever faced, this moment frightened her more than all the rest…

"Hide, hide, hide away—don't let your hair show."

Whoever had started moving the moment she began descending the stairs had finally caught up to her floor and stepped into the same corridor.

"Whether a rat bites you… or an ant bites you…"

A slow, drawn-out singsong drifted from far down the hall. Lookuan's hand clamped over her own mouth.

"Don't move a muscle, don't twitch a finger…"

The sluggish melody crept toward the room where she hid, joined by the creak of doors swinging open one by one.

There were several sets of footsteps, but only one walked distinctly ahead of the rest.

"If your hair shows—you're caught."

And at last, the final notes stopped right outside her door. Creak. The sound of the guest room opening was unnervingly clear.

Click. Click. Click.

Only a single set of footsteps entered the room.

Lookuan curled tighter inside the wardrobe and swallowed her breath. A seasoned thief's body allowed not even the faintest tremor—and that gave her a fragile hope that she might just weather this crisis.

Thud.

But the world, it seemed, was not on her side. The footsteps stopped precisely in front of the wardrobe.

Ssshhk.

The wardrobe door opened at last, and a thin ribbon of light fell across the space where she hid. Standing there, blocking part of the glow that filtered through the crack, was none other than the master of the terror that ruled her.

"…"

Gray eyes looked down at her in silence.

"…Hide, hide, hide away."

And then—click—

the door shut.

"Don't let your hair show."

The demon—or whatever he was—moved slowly away.

Hoooo. Holy crap.

Shagi race, half-beast and all—maybe that was why those eyes flashed so brightly in the dark… If I hadn't braced myself before opening that door, I would've screamed the second our gazes met.

My heart was still hammering.

Ha. At least the ones in the hallway shouldn't know I opened the wardrobe, right? I even tried not to make a sound opening and closing it.

Please tell me they didn't notice. They're checking every room one by one on the faith that I won't recheck anywhere I've already searched.

"Hmm. Nobody here~."

I stepped out into the corridor, desperately performing the new concept I'd just locked in.

Tilting my head to one side in mock disappointment was the signature move.

Past thirty years old and putting on the kind of cute act little kids pull—my cheeks burned a little, but I held it in. If I let that show, I wouldn't be the only one losing my head.

"Shall we send people out for you?"

"Did you just ask me a question?"

And, ahem. Honestly, it wasn't so much that the cute act was embarrassing—it was that unveiling a raw, unprepared concept felt shameful.

A true roleplayer should be able to digest a concept even when it changes out of nowhere. Of course the second you throw in "and all of this was real," the whole thing sinks under pure mortification.

Gaaaaah. Universe, help me! Save my dignity…!

"Th-that wasn't what I—"

Thuck!

I didn't wait for the answer. I drove my sword straight into his throat.

The air that had gone a little slack while I focused on hide-and-seek snapped taut again.

"Anyone else have a question?"

Go on. Ask. Every last one of you waiting in this hallway is someone I want dead. You're the ones who forced me into a one-man double act.

You bastards who half-forced me into playing a Great Demon—I will not forgive you.

"No one?"

But contrary to my hopes, not a single person stepped forward.

I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. At the same timing, I desperately scanned my status window.

No need to check the stats that climb automatically with level. The sentence newly added at the very bottom flew up and slammed into my sternum.

Needless to say, that was the reason I hadn't killed Bipurit and was stuck doing this one-man double-act circus instead.

I couldn't use skills.

"What a shame…"

No—was it just skills? Every single trick that ran on mana was banned. I'd already tried and learned the hard way that all I got for the effort was a mouthful of blood. That much I was sure of.

Meaning from here on out, I had to hold the middle of enemy territory on pure physical ability alone.

And as far as I could see, the odds of that working were not great…

So clinging to the enemies' misunderstanding became inevitable.

From the talk I'd overheard while pretending to still be unconscious, I'd also calculated that if I used the misunderstanding well, things could get entertaining.

Sure. They'd performed a ritual to awaken the demon—no, the evil—inside me, and they were dead certain the thing that woke up was a Great Demon. How could I not take advantage of that?

Of course, I wouldn't deny that things got a little twisted after I finished all my calculations, opened my eyes, and specifically saw the "Mana Rampage" alert.

I'd only planned to gather the key players with acting and wipe them out on the spot. I never thought I'd end up putting on a show like this…

Well, the game side of things probably couldn't shut the player's consciousness off, so it just slapped me with a "Mana Rampage" form of penalty instead.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Not in this room either."

I stepped out of the last room with a bright, sunny smile. After not smiling for so long thanks to the Demon Knight concept, forcing one on suddenly made my eyes and mouth feel like they were twitching.

This was hard.

"I'm bored. I don't want to do this anymore."

"We shall… go catch the cat for you."

"I don't want that."

I looked straight at the one who seemed to have started learning my (concept's) patterns. Layered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on top of the smile was a sharp irritation and thin anger, like a child about to have his toy taken away.

"You don't know how to play, do you."

But I didn't hold that expression for long either.

I reattached the smile, slung an arm around the speaker's shoulders, and whispered as gently as I could into his ear.

"Nothing's more fun than catching prey that has just started to feel safe."

"I-is that so."

"It is."

Hmm. Even I had to admit I looked like a pretty amoral villain. Good.

But ending it here would be a waste.

"Look—like this…"

"Pardon?"

Slash!

"Nothing's more beautiful than the face that shows when a blade comes in the moment they feel safe."

Thankfully, I still had enough raw strength to take a head even without loading mana into the cut.

I stared coldly at the man whose vocal cords had been severed in a single stroke—who couldn't even make a sound. A little cruel?

They're the enemy either way.

I recovered the arm I'd draped over him and the dagger in that hand, wiping the blood from my cheek. Another lump of meat had been added to the castle.

"Is Portugal still in the same place?"

"…He has gone to the ritual site."

"Has he?"

Po… Po… Ugh. I wasn't trying to mock him, but Portugal was honestly the only thing that came to mind.

Anyway, I recalled the one who had introduced himself as Ponegleja.

If my memory wasn't wrong, that guy's face was identical to the one the Lord of Zakrati had begged me to kill.

But he'd called himself Ponegleja instead of Bipurit… Hmm. Maybe it was a new epithet or name granted among the demon worshipers?

There had been that "72 Demon Knights" label stuck in front of him, too. The original game never had anything like this, so I couldn't be sure—but the 72 Demon Knights were almost certainly drawn from Solomon's seventy-two demons. Given the whole demon theme, it roughly fit.

"Lead the way."

"…It would be an honor."

"Are there any more 72 Demon Knights?"

Well, I could keep pasting hypotheses together with fantasy experience, but nothing beat hearing the real thing with my own ears.

I casually fished for information.

Of course—even if I didn't care why they were called 72 Demon Knights, whether any more enemies of that caliber ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were in the city was a critical question. Even if I had to retry, dying knowing something made the next attempt easier.

"Lord Bifrons and Lord Naberius are present."

So there were more, as expected. Wonder how strong they are…

"Originally, Lord Gamigin and Lord Morax were also meant to join us, but…"

"But?"

"…Both of them perished in the course of leading the destruction of a city called Tatara."

Wait. What did he just say?

"They died… destroying a city?"

Did I… kill named bosses without even knowing it? Granted, the scale of what went down there was big enough that one or two nameds could easily have been mixed in.

I went blank the way someone does when they learn that the imitation crab they'd been scarfing down because it tasted good was actually made from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠king crab.

It was good, but also… somehow complicated. Not "there were nameds and now they're gone"—just this vague feeling.

"Hmm, well… what's already dead can't be helped."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Hm? You're the ones who died over there. Why are you apologizing."

Still, it wasn't a loss for me.

I spun the dagger between my fingers. Behind the smiling face, my mind was whirling with complicated thoughts.

"Or do you want to die?"

"N-no, sir!"

I piled a little more fear onto the ones who'd frozen up and reached my judgment.

For one thing, the 72 Demon Knights were definitely officer-class among the demon worshipers. The fact that even those guys treated me as their superior, plus all that talk about being Satan's direct subordinates—it pointed to Great Demons sitting at the absolute top of the hierarchy.

"W-we've arrived."

The problem was cropping up elsewhere.

Ponegleja had said I was hosting "Wrath," and earlier the Archmage had mentioned seven Great Demons and so on—so the motif for the Great Demons was almost certainly the Seven Deadly Sins.

But as far as I remembered, the one in charge of Wrath among the Seven Deadly Sins was none other than Satan. And by pure coincidence, the final final final boss we were aiming for was also named Satan.

…Surely this wasn't heading toward some light-novel twist like "I possessed a body with a demon in the right arm, but it turns out the demon in the right arm was the final boss all along," right?

"Open it."

At my single word, the door opened. According to the castle map I'd received, it led to the central garden.

But after the demon worshipers occupied and renovated the place, the central garden was no longer a central garden.

"You have arrived."

It had long since become a slaughterhouse.

If I hadn't been locked into the concept, I might have wanted to throw up a little.

"The twenty-fourth Knight, Naberius, greets the Great One."

"O Wrath—Bifrons."

I managed to tear my eyes from the massacre and flicked a glance over the ones who approached me at the same time.

Naberius was a strikingly elegant, pale-skinned young man with a noble air, while Bifrons was a woman whose skin was mottled with dark spots.

At the absolute least, they were a billion light-years removed from the faces I'd seen on wanted posters. Neither of these two was Bipurit.

So Ponegleja really was Bipurit, then. Features like that couldn't possibly exist on two people in the same world, right?

"Ah—uh."

Separately, when Naberius bowed as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Bifrons—who had been greeting me at a cocky angle—started watching my face extremely carefully over what he was doing.

…Did I look like I'd kill them if they didn't bow? I killed people for asking questions, but I didn't pick fights over attitude.

"The hunt appears to have satisfied you."

Meanwhile, Ponegleja took one look at the blood caked all over my cheek and jumped to conclusions. Probably mistook it for the blood from killing Lookuan.

Fine by me if he did!

"The cat hid well. It was pretty fun."

If only the Mana Rampage would lift right about now. I watched blood flowing into a hollow freshly carved from a human neck and felt my lips tremble.

If it lifted now, I could go snap-snap on the necks of the most dangerous people in this entire region. But there was no deadline listed—just "can't use skills"—and that was starting to make me anxious.

"…But what are these?"

I crushed that feeling down and looked around the place thick with the stench of blood. On the opposite side of the corpse mountain were living people lined up for the fate of having their throats cut and bleeding out.

And among them, the ones that especially caught my eye were the ones in jailer's uniforms.

My heart had lurched for a second—had our people been dragged here?—but it settled once I checked their faces. I didn't know who they were, but none of them were our party members.

That one fact alone gave me a thin scrap of comfort.

"Same clothes as the ones in the hallway."

I asked while grinding my heel into the back of a jailer-uniformed person kneeling with hands bound by rope. The answer came from Bifrons.

"We ordered them to tighten security because the Hero would invade—yet these dared not obey."

Which I could interpret to mean our people still hadn't been caught, right? Please let that be true.

"The Hero?"

"A worthless brat whose substance is nothing, merely inflated and exalted by fools."

…Our little kimchi dumpling might be a soft, fluffy kid, but her substance is rock-solid and tough, you know?! Don't talk like that just because you're the enemy faction. Just you wait. I'll take your head first.

"Is that so?"

I kicked aside the one I'd been grinding underfoot and turned.

"That sounds… interesting."

Spitting words I didn't mean was so familiar I barely had to think about it.

"So the Hero is here—"

Then, wait. My gaze landed just behind the (former) jailer.

Shit. They were so small I only just noticed—there were kids here. Not even mid-to-late teens. Kids who were five or six at most.

There was even an infant.

"…is that it?"

Did my vision flicker for a second? Or go red? For the first time in a long while, I felt rage climb all the way to the crown of my head and pull at the back of my skull.

Even finishing the sentence was a miracle. Tension locked into my throat and the rims of my eyes went hot. Heat of fury—

No. It was actual flame.

"I-if you wish it, we will bring the Hero at once."

I forced my gaze to stay fixed even as black energy erupted from my right arm. I paid no mind to the clear, distant sound of something rupturing.

"No."

Hold it. Hold it. If I blow up now, what was all that acting for? This isn't my first or second time roleplaying.

More importantly, stabbing these people here wouldn't even put me in a position to save all those kids. I didn't have the strength to take them and run, or the strength to protect them while wiping out every enemy.

"There's no need."

So hold it. Even if I fight, it'll only put the kids in more danger. Endure.

Endure.

"But there are a lot of kids, aren't there?"

Endure…

"Th-those are offerings for the dragon. As you know, that mighty magical beast is not satisfied with ordinary blood."

Endure?

The black energy swelled with even greater force.

Right now—I can do anything.

It rose so brilliantly it made even that thought feel true.