Chapter 16
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Today Too, Hard Work Pretending to Be Human
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"Of course, perfect loyalty is impossible with my abilities. It'd probably just be making her unable to lie in front of Your Highness and implanting suggestions against leaking information... but..."
"That would be more than enough."
Still, I felt a twinge of reluctance at the idea of keeping someone other than Rusla—a subordinate's descendant—or sweet Liribel by my side.
Not to mention that this subordinate had tried to kill me—an assassin, no less.
If this were back when I was Asmo-Dina, I would've killed him without even talking.
But right now, I was human.
Acting on a human mindset was the right way to go.
Even if he betrays me, as long as I just use him as an informant, the damage shouldn't be too bad. He doesn't know my true identity anyway, and no human could unravel a Baobhan Sith's suggestions. In fact, after recruiting him as a subordinate, I could slowly persuade him to spill what he knows about his backers...
My thoughts were growing more complicated by the second.
I crossed my arms and let out a sigh.
"...I'm sorry, Your Highness. If I've overstepped, feel free to forget I said anything..."
"No, Rusla. Don't apologize. I know you're saying this for my sake."
In fact, she deserved praise. If it were me, I'd have handled it with my demonic instincts from back then.
Just think of him as a mercenary hired for money.
I felt some aversion to treating people like tools without any emotional attachment, but it was a necessary mindset for surviving as royalty.
If he can fool even the Empress, he'll be useful enough.
Having made up my mind, I turned to Rusla.
"By the way, Rusla, you know your ability has conditions, right?"
"Yes, of course."
The Baobhan Sith's power was formidable, but there was a reason they were scorned as frail fairies in the demon world.
To activate it, they had to face their opponent head-on in a fair duel and break their will to fight.
The conditions of the duel didn't matter much—it was crucial that the opponent truly felt defeated.
In the demon world, where battle was everyday life, this was a tall order for the combat-weak Baobhan Sith.
If I had to put a name to it, it's closer to seduction than brainwashing.
"If you lose, this request is off the table. And if things get really dangerous, I'll step in."
"Of course. If that happens, I won't cause Your Highness any more trouble."
That's not what I meant at all.
So what if she lost to an assassin? She could just train harder and get stronger.
But Rusla's resolve felt so intense that I couldn't say it aloud. Not wanting to interfere, I stepped back.
"You there, assassin."
"Huh?"
"I'll accept your deal. But I have conditions."
Hope flickered in the man's eyes at the chance of survival.
"Name them!"
"First, fight the duel in earnest. Second, if you lose, accept your fate without complaint."
"What, that's a given."
"Third, if you lose, spill every bit of information you know."
"......"
The man clamped his mouth shut. His eyes burned with the determination to die before talking, so I quickly added reassurance.
"Not your client's info. Just personal details about you—your name, age, that sort of thing."
"...Why do you need that?"
"I don't like working with strangers whose names I don't even know."
Of course, it was a lie.
This was to help Rusla use her power more effectively—to open the man's heart.
The man pondered for a long moment before finally nodding.
He values his client's info more than his life, but spills his own without hesitation.
That earned him some points in my book.
Assassins had their own professional ethics, it seemed.
"Then get ready. We're starting right now."
"Got it."
I took a spot a short distance away to act as referee. Just before the duel began, I said to Rusla,
"Rusla, one last bit of advice. Don't forget the difference between a swordsman and an assassin."
"Understood."
She didn't seem to get it, but she nodded as if committing it to memory.
The two faced each other, gripping their weapons.
Naturally, both used real swords. The man held his own blade, while Rusla wielded the soldier's sword I'd saved earlier.
"Alright, then—"
I raised my hand and shouted,
"Begin."
Their swords clashed instantly.
Struggling to parry the man's sword as it assaulted her dozens of times over, Rusla thought,
This assassin's no pushover.
Deyna had said the skill gap between the man and Rusla wasn't that wide. But to Rusla, it felt like a white lie meant to encourage her.
The disparity between them was beyond words.
"Ngh...!"
"Hah, so weak! And you call yourself a swordsman?"
The man taunted her boldly as she was relentlessly pushed back.
He was strong enough that it would've taken at least two Ruslas to stand a chance. The only silver lining was that Rusla, who could wield demonic power, had superior strength.
Even if she lagged in speed, once their blades met, she could avoid taking damage.
But at this rate, Rusla would collapse first—it was obvious.
As she desperately racked her brain for a way to win, Deyna's figure flashed in her mind.
Eyes that didn't doubt her victory for a second.
Her Highness believes in me.
How long had it been since someone placed their expectations on her?
Even among Baobhan Sith, Rusla was considered weak. Part of it was being born in the human world rather than the demon realm, and her ancestors had been mighty warriors who'd endured wars.
So when humans overran the abandoned mine, her family had said,
Go, child. You're the most human-like among us. You'll be able to survive even under the sun on your own.
It was a gentle exile, telling her to abandon her Baobhan Sith heritage and live her own life—but it wounded Rusla deeply.
As if they knew she'd fail, her family hadn't pinned any hopes on her.
I know. It's because I was weak.
But she wanted to hear words of belief.
That they believed only in her. That she could do it.
She wanted them to push her forward.
Even when she left the mine, her family had urged her to flee—discard her name and race, live as an imperial citizen in the capital.
They were willing to die for their people's freedom, yet all they could tell their frail child was to run.
That infuriated Rusla.
She regretted being the kind of daughter who forced those words from them.
So this time... I have to live up to her expectations.
To shed this self-mocking sense of defeat and earn recognition as a Baobhan Sith, she had to defeat the assassin before her.
The Baobhan Sith I know don't give up. They don't bow to enemies trying to drive them out. They're proud warriors.
For the Deyna who had pulled her from the pit of despair.
To change herself, one step at a time, from a life of losses.
"Haaah!"
"Guh...!"
Rusla's power surged stronger. She was starting to get the hang of channeling her demonic power into her strikes.
Startled by the sudden shift in momentum, the man took a step back.
"Wh-what?!"
But he wasn't one to just take it lying down. He had as much reason to beat Rusla as she had to win—he needed to become Deyna's subordinate.
If I can stay by that imperial blood's side, I can surely elevate the Black Hand's status.
His life was precious, of course, but reviving his organization was an equally vital mission.
The Black Hand had once been utterly destroyed in the distant past, barely clawing its way back to life.
Unlike other assassin or intel groups, it had a name but little scale or power to show for it.
Unlike the boasts he'd fed Deyna, without him, its future was bleak.
The jobs they got were high-risk, low-reward scraps. At this rate, the Black Hand would vanish into history's shadows again.
That's why he needed a wise liege.
One with charisma, immense power, who could rule the Black Hand efficiently.
The moment I tried to kill her and she stared me down like a battlefield commander pronouncing death, I knew.
Seeing her eyes, he was certain.
The other royals are done for, but that princess is different.
Deyna would become a storm-bringer.
And only by her side could he ride that storm.
My instincts never lie!
So he had to win this duel. To prove his worth to Deyna, shed the stigma of a lowly killer, and rebuild the Black Hand.
"This ends it!"
After dozens, hundreds of clashes, it was the man who found an opening.
Rusla had swung too hard in a mistake, leaving herself exposed. He pulled back his arm to swing his sword.
His blade was shorter than hers. Normally, it wouldn't reach... but
Swordsmanship isn't my specialty!
Instead of swinging, he hurled his sword straight at Rusla.
His true talent was throwing weapons—the deadly precision he'd aimed at Deyna now targeted her.
Rusla's instincts screamed she couldn't block this with her sword.
In that instant.
One last bit of advice. Don't forget the difference between a swordsman and an assassin.
A swordsman who clings to her blade.
An assassin for whom throwing weapons is second nature.
She's truly my goddess.
Deyna's advice echoed in her mind.
For those who heed counsel and strive, opportunity always comes eventually.