The Eldest Brother's Mask and the Lake's Water Show
"Me. I'm your older brother."
Crudelis answered flatly, meeting Death's gaze head-on.
"You want to see my neck that badly?"
"Nothing's stopping you."
"Commander!"
Amon hastily threw himself in front of Death, who had taken a step toward the Demon Emperor.
"Please, calm yourself! This is the Great Hall!"
"So what? What's a Great Hall to me?"
"It is where the great demons come to pay homage to His Majesty. If it's wrecked, there will certainly be talk. And you loathe nothing more than a nuisance. Could you actually bear it?"
"...So you're telling me to hold back?"
The word nuisance had already stirred an inner conflict. Even so, in his present mood, simply letting it slide left the anger unsatisfied.
"To be fair, Lord Mors did speak out of turn. Calling Lord Bar a one-armed cripple—even I doubted my own ears for a moment. With that face of his, wouldn't living without an arm be a considerable improvement?"
Amon's tone as he placated Death was the very picture of refinement. Yet the content of his words was every bit as savage as Death's, if not worse.
Mors, still sprawled on the floor, flushed crimson and hastily pulled his fallen hood back over his head. His face, distorted beyond distinguishing eye from nose from mouth, was beyond even the reach of magic.
Demons born with hideous visages were countless. The weaker one's magic, the likelier such a fate—but it was not an iron rule, and Mors was the textbook counterexample.
In the Demon Realm, great demons referred to those who possessed overwhelming power surpassing a certain threshold of magic. As inherited strength could not be ignored, the title of great demon was often passed down through generations.
"What I find most incomprehensible is his habit of calling you a lowborn mongrel, Commander, and scorning you for it. You became a great demon through your own strength alone. How magnificent is that? The previous Demon Emperor esteemed it so highly that he took you in as his own son. And yet this fool struts about on power he was merely handed. He has no idea of his place."
"Y-you...!"
Amon's sealed eyes were useful at times like this. Pretending not to see the trembling, jabbing finger of Mors, he pressed on.
"The Demon Realm is a world of ruthless survival of the fittest. Why not use this opportunity to reap one life cleanly and rise to Rank 5? I'd climb to Rank 10 alongside you, so wouldn't that make it a win-win?"
With the man himself standing right before him—and a smile on his face, no less—Amon delivered the vicious remark with flawless aplomb.
Had Death not been present, Amon would never have dared such words. But by the same token, Mors would never have let Amon go unanswered.
Though no match for Death, Mors was a great demon of genuine Rank 5 standing. No matter how brilliant Amon's magic might be, for Rank 11 to overtake Rank 5 remained a distant prospect.
In the Demon Realm, only the strong survived. There, rank was ordinarily determined by raw power, but Death was the exception. That he remained at Rank 9 despite possessing magic that rivaled the Demon Emperor's came down to nothing more than laziness.
Born with an aversion to shouldering anything, Death had once driven the entire realm into terror by declaring he would sooner scour the Demon Realm from existence than become its emperor.
Any demon who knew him at all understood the threat was sincere—and that he was fully capable of carrying it out. And so the matter was settled by granting Death the post of Commander-in-Chief of the Demon Realm, with the added condition that he not be burdened with anything else whatsoever.
"I'm already dying of boredom as it is. What if this made it worse? Forget it."
Whoosh!
Death's wings vanished. By then his anger had subsided, and he trudged back to his original spot.
Crudelis shot Amon a sidelong glance. It was a mercy that there existed one being who could persuade Death—the sole creature who ignored even his own words as Demon Emperor.
Amon's remarks had certainly ruffled Mors's temper, but no one knew better than Crudelis that this was simply Amon's way. Had it been anyone else, blood would have spilled, and plenty of it.
I wonder when that fool Death will finally come to his senses.
Watching his younger brother grow more unhinged rather than wiser with age, Crudelis let out a deep, private sigh.
"Get to the point, and quickly. I have somewhere to be."
"You must have liked it there a great deal. How remarkable, settling down this obediently so soon."
The Demon Emperor gave Mors a nod to begin. Enraged to the extreme by the humiliation and shame, the god of death nonetheless had no choice but to obey.
Savor the wait, wretch. By the time you return, the one who'll deal with you will already be in my keeping. And then it won't matter how sweetly you beg me.
The imagined future eased his anger a little. The mouth beneath Mors's hood twisted at an unnatural angle, and something emerged from his robes.
"An official document has arrived from Reir."
Thud!
Mors tossed a thick bundle of papers onto the table. The implication was clear: read it yourself.
"Reir? Why from there?"
"You've been causing such a stir in the human realm without a word of contact. Isn't it past time someone questioned it?"
"I told you I was just there to eat."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
Mors sneered as if it were preposterous.
"Whether you believe it or not is none of my concern. I already met with the Lord and settled the matter."
"...You met Rayegar?"
When Crudelis looked puzzled, Amon gave a brief report on his audience with Rayegar.
"You heard him. We're in the clear. Amon deflected the objection cleanly by citing the treaty terms. Even the Lord acknowledged it—so what's this document? Is it actually about me?"
"You'll know when you read it."
Death scowled, demanding to know why he should have to bother, so Amon stepped in and swiftly read it aloud.
"...It's genuine, Your Majesty."
Amon spread the document before Death's eyes. It was written in a script Bayul could never have deciphered, but reading it posed no difficulty for Death whatsoever.
"Is that lunatic out of his mind? I told him the entire reason I took a job as a servant, and he sends this? What does he think happens when he files a complaint like this?"
"...Don't tell me you said all of that to Rayegar too. The things you said to me just now?"
"How else was I to proclaim my innocence?"
At Death's serene reply, the Demon Emperor clutched at the back of his neck. This was humiliation beyond humiliation. All for the sake of food, the Demon Realm's dignity had been dragged down to the very gutter.
For those who already despised the Demon Realm, one more grievance had just been added to the tally.
"You yapped about the treaty when it suited you, and now you spew this nonsense? Did your ears fail you back then too?"
"But Commander, there is no Lord's seal on this."
Amon, who had been examining the letter a second time, pointed it out.
"Ordinarily such a document would bear the Lord's insignia—that is, if it were sent officially. This one has none."
"Meaning it didn't come from Rayegar?"
"I would suspect not."
At Amon's answer, the Demon Emperor's gaze slid to Mors. It was a silent question: then where, exactly, did you get this?
"...I don't precisely know either. Official paperwork was received, and so I merely brought it here..."
"With no Lord's seal, how is that official paperwork?"
When Amon pressed him on it, Mors faltered for a moment before rallying with a forceful tone.
"Your Majesty, the fact remains that Death broke the accord. Can you deny that he has abandoned the Demon Realm to linger in the human realm for so long? He merely beguiled the Lord with a cheap trick for a time—if he stays in the human realm any further, formal protests are certain to come again. Their fury must never be taken lightly!"
"You idiot. Beguiled, my ass!"
"Wh-what?"
"Do you think a being like the Lord falls for that? I let it slide only because Amon's response was reasonable—and your thinking is so shallow, what would you even use it for? Your foolishness evolves by the day."
"...What you did is more than serious enough! If it came to war with them—"
"I'd wipe them all out. Them, and this Demon Realm with them."
A red gleam flared in Death's eyes, then extinguished almost at once.
"Besides, don't lecture me. It's not me who's been running wild in the human realm—it's you."
"...What on earth is that supposed to mean! When did I ever—"
"I ran into the one you contracted with, in the human realm. Unlike you, he was quite the handsome fellow. Planning to swap faces, are you?"
"Death, enough. Get out."
Before Mors could convulse at Death's taunting, Crudelis issued the command. He had suffered wearying situations aplenty, and even his patience had limits.
"The matter will be looked into for a time, so remain on standby."
"You want me to wait?"
"It won't be long."
It meant, in any case, that he could not return right away. Which in turn meant he would have to keep eating Bar's catastrophic cooking for a while longer.
"I'd rather starve."
"Oh, how I miss Miss Rita."
As they made their way back to their quarters and Death muttered this, Amon, on the verge of tears, agreed with passion. Their time in the Demon Realm had felt like hell.
Chapter 6: The Crown Prince Assassination Incident
Bayul had toppled Raigen, one of the tournament's strongest favorites, and sailed through the first round in spectacular fashion. After that, he had hardly met a worthy opponent at all.
The uproar had been anticipated. Every successive victory of Bayul's drew thunderous cheers—not only from the Crown Prince and his companions, who had come out in person to cheer him on, but from the entire crowd.
Perhaps it was the title of Duke Randert's son, but each time Bayul won, waves of fervent roars erupted from the stands.
The problem was Innocent.
Thrilled by Bayul's string of victories, she had gone dancing above the lake—and thus an impromptu water show(?) unfolded out of nowhere.
With barely a breath of wind, the placid surface began to churn, and the lake surged upward like a fountain. Naturally, the spectators shrieked in alarm, and for a moment the surroundings dissolved into chaos.
Innocent!
Thanks to her, Bayul's concentration fractured and he nearly met with a crisis—but the gap between him and his opponent was far too wide, and he settled comfortably into the semifinals.
The semifinals and the final were scheduled for tomorrow, the last day of the festival.
That is, if tonight passed without incident.