Black-Haired Succubus (2)

“I’m so hungry… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I’m going to die like this…”

A lone figure wandered aimlessly through the streets before her knees buckled completely, sending her tumbling onto the hard ground.

She had journeyed all the way to Kellierton guided solely by a tantalizingly sweet aroma, but the desperate search had ended in utter failure. Even the blonde hair she had conjured to pass as an ordinary human was steadily fading away, reverting strand by strand to its natural pitch-black hue.

“Ugggh…”

Curling her shivering body against the gnawing emptiness in her gut, she teetered on the very brink of madness.

“Why… even after I posted lewds…?”

Her identity on the forum was the beloved named user WholesomeModest. Her real name was Lilian, and she was a succubus.

What, exactly, was a succubus? A race that sustained its very existence on the attention of others.

“Why did I have to be born a succubus of all things…?”

The more attention she garnered, the better she was fed. And if that attention manifested as intense, burning lust, it was all the more nourishing. The fatal flaw was that Lilian was an awkward, introverted shut-in who wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and browse the gallery all day long.

Physical contact with men? She wouldn't know the first thing about it.

She had scraped by purely by forcing herself to post provocative photos online, but at some point, even that meager trick stopped quelling the hollow ache in her stomach.

“I can’t… hold out anymore…”

Glancing down at her trembling hands, she saw her fingertips already beginning to dissolve into faint wisps of vapor. Slumped beside the wall of an unfamiliar warehouse, Lilian felt her life slowly ebbing away. Tears pricked her eyes at the sheer cruelty of her fate.

After everything I endured to escape that place… after finally tasting freedom…

Drowning in lingering sorrow and bitter resentment, she closed her eyes, prepared to vanish from existence entirely.

“Whoa there. Who might you be?”

A thoroughly deadpan voice broke the silence.

Weakly lifting her gaze, she found the source of the intoxicating scent she had spent so long chasing. It was a rich, delectable fragrance that no demon could ever resist.

It was the Head Moderator.

The AK-47 armed rampage incident.

Special edition: zero ammunition included.

The gunman had attempted to grab Dryer—our beloved popular named user—as a hostage, only to get completely demolished on the spot. The moment she whispered something into his ear, he had collapsed like a puppet whose strings were cut clean through. Thanks to that opening, the royal knights swarmed the assailant instantly and subdued him. In the ensuing confusion, Dryer had slipped into an alley and vanished without a trace.

“Why was her hair blonde, though?”

Actually, it wasn't just her hair color. Her face and build had seemed completely different from the Dryer I knew. Anyone else would have taken her for an absolute stranger, but the moment I caught a glimpse of her eyes, I knew. Nobody on the forum had vibrant amber irises like that except WholesomeModest.

“That was definitely Dryer.”

The other forum users seemed to write her off as some wandering sorceress, but they couldn't fool me. That was her. And no, it wasn't because I stared at her spicy photos so frequently that her appearance was permanently engraved into my retina. Definitely not.

There was only one fate waiting for a man captured under those circumstances: execution.

Sure enough, a new concept post popped up on the board before long.

Threatening the Queen of Kellierton in broad daylight was no small matter. The public opinion demanding his immediate execution spread across the forum like wildfire.

“Hmm…”

I found myself frowning slightly. It wasn't because of some modern squeamishness about the death penalty, or some naive conviction that every single life was precious. Usually, I maintained a strict policy of non-interference in local penal affairs. But this time felt fundamentally off.

“No matter how I look at it, this isn't something a sane person would do.”

Why would the number one bounty hunter in the region take an innocent Tuna Queen hostage when he had nothing to gain? Even if his goal was to lure me out into the open, it made no sense. I hadn't harmed him in the slightest. If anything, he had profited handsomely off the bounties I posted. What possible grudge could he bear against me?

Besides, there was no urgent rush to put him to death. The man had already ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been completely neutralized. If an interrogation proved he had acted out of pure malice, they could execute him then, and nobody would bat an eye.

“Still, will they actually listen just because I told them not to?”

The problem was the sheer magnitude of the crime. The man had publicly threatened their sovereign. From the kingdom's perspective, chopping off his head without a moment's delay would barely scratch the itch of justice. I wondered if I was overstepping my boundaries by intervening in their internal affairs.

Or so I assumed.

“Wow, he didn't hesitate for a single second.”

Kellierton was far more devoted to me than I had anticipated. The realm's second-in-command, Knight Commander Lloyd, was practically my personal disciple. Without asking a single question or demanding justification, he had instantly set up an interrogation cell and posted proof online.

The stage was set.

I paused typing and pulled up the system shop interface.

“Let’s start with a gentle warmup, shall we?”

Refusing to talk? That was perfectly fine. He had clearly never experienced the raw, concentrated majesty of capsaicin.

“Ptooey! You filthy lapdogs of tyranny!”

The captive strapped to the chair spat with venomous force, leaving a wet stain across the interrogator's uniform.

“Why, you insolent little—”

Veins bulged along the interrogator's temple as he drew his arm back to deliver a brutal beating, but a composed voice halted him midway.

“How is the progress?”

“Knight Commander!”

The interrogator quickly turned and bowed his head as Lloyd strode into the stone chamber. Though he was recognized as one of the most ruthless inquisitors in the army, his expression was fraught with embarrassment.

“The thing is… he refuses to open his mouth. I have never encountered a subject so stubborn in my entire career.”

“Is that so?”

“Truthfully, sir, I find this baffling. The man laid violent hands upon Her Majesty the Queen. Surely immediate execution would be the proper course…”

“No. We wait.”

Execution? That was what Lloyd desired more than anyone else in the room. But the Head Moderator had explicitly forbidden it. Thus, both Queen Evelyn and Lloyd had resolved to wait patiently for the Head Moderator’s divine guidance.

“His Excellency would never issue such a command without purpose.”

Following the Head Moderator's word had never brought misfortune. The one and only time Lloyd had dared to doubt him—chanting on the forum that one should always do the exact opposite of what the Head Mod advised—he had suffered the unspeakable, flesh-melting agony of Albothyl.

“Never, under any circumstances, doubt the Head Moderator.”

“Pardon? Ah… yes, Commander…”

Having learned that lesson through sheer agony, Lloyd possessed an unshakeable faith in the administrator. And that very faith had propelled him from a disgraced imperial candidate into the supreme Knight Commander of an entire realm.

Still, a sliver of curiosity lingered.

The wretch remained tight-lipped even after his fingernails were torn away. How does His Excellency intend to make him speak…?

Right as Lloyd pondered the question, the air cracked above them.

Two tiny canisters tumbled out of thin air, landing cleanly in Lloyd's gauntleted palm. They were so small that they could easily be hidden within a clenched fist.

“What in the world…?”

Yet the moment his eyes landed on them, an instinctive chill ran down his spine. The ominous, crimson packaging seemed to practically scream that these miniature vessels held the power to shatter any defiance.

“Understood…”

As Lloyd read the instructions on his forum interface, the captive began bellowing once more.

“You bootlicking stooges of that fake god!”

Unaware of the impending doom resting in Lloyd’s hands, the man strained against the heavy ropes, his neck veins bulging purple with rage.

“One day I will sever that Head Moderator's neck! I will slaughter him without fail! I will tear him limb from limb—!”

Without uttering a single word in reply, Lloyd gave the scarlet canister a thorough, vigorous shake. He stepped directly before the screaming captive.

“Let us start with one dose…”

Psssssshh!

Three seconds ought to suffice.

Lloyd depressed the nozzle, releasing a concentrated, fiery mist directly into the man’s wide-open eyes and screaming mouth.

Roughly half a day had passed since the gunman was hauled into the dungeon when a new thread appeared on the forum.

According to Lloyd's detailed report, the captive had shrieked and writhed in delirium during the first round. By the second application, thick black smoke had hissed out of his pores and dissolved into the air.

“Looks like he's purged of whatever had him.”

Restored to his right mind and terrified that another mist of burning hellfire would descend upon him, the man babbled out everything he knew before anyone could even ask.

“I-I remember now! While I was tracking a bounty in the deep forest, I encountered an Arachne!”

An Arachne? The half-spider, half-human monstrosity from mythology? It was also a staple monster in fantasy role-playing games.

“She cast some sort of dark hex upon my soul! The next thing I knew, my consciousness faded, and I woke up tied to this chair!”

“Are you willing to swear on your very life?”

“Hiiieek! Y-Yes! I swear upon my soul, my ancestors, and everything I own!”

The moment Lloyd casually brandished the red canister in his direction, the man nodded with frantic, desperate speed. The black smoke that had seeped from his pores had indeed been the remnants of mind-control sorcery.

“U-Uh, well, the thing is…”

When Lloyd read out my comment, the man dropped his head in abject shame.

“I am deeply sorry… I cannot recall where it was…”

A demonic beast capable of casting mental hexes.

“Hmm…”

This was the first time I had encountered a beast wielding mental curses. The true problem was that we had no clue where this Arachne was lurking.

“Should I put up a bounty to hunt down this Arachne?”

This wasn't something I could afford to brush off lightly. A monster possessing the power to manipulate high-ranking hunters into suicide attacks posed a severe risk to our logistics.

Right as I was pondering a solution—

THUMP!

A heavy, dull impact echoed from the bunker’s surface entrance above.

“What was that?”

There was nobody who should be visiting my residence. In the past, the imperial authorities had occasionally sent officials for census surveys or identification paperwork, but that era had long since come to an end.

“Who is it?”

Gripping my shotgun tightly, I called out toward the ceiling hatch, but no voice answered. To make sure, I switched over to the external surveillance monitor linked to the CCTV cameras I had installed outside. The front porch appeared completely deserted.

“Did someone ring the doorbell and run?”

Did people in a medieval fantasy setting even pull ding-dong ditch pranks? Holding a heavy-duty tactical riot shield—capable of normalizing any unexpected threat—alongside my loaded shotgun, I carefully unlatched the heavy subterranean blast door.

Slumped against the stone wall right beside the threshold was a fragile figure, gasping for shallow breaths.

“…Dryer?”

Lying half-unconscious on the cold floor was none other than Dryer herself.