Defiled Empire's Prophecy: The Fall of Princess Mine (6)
"I never ordered anything like that."
A piercing gaze sharp enough to stab through the heart, laced with accusation. Even facing it head-on, Mona continues to toy with Emilia without a care, her face locked in that infuriating, sly little smile that grates on the nerves.
"Oh, but of course~! I'm Master's capable servant, after all~! Today, like always, I think only of Master, pondering what I can do on my own to bring him joy. I'm the kind of talent who takes initiative, you see. Oo-hoo-hoo, touched yet~?"
Ignoring the icy atmosphere here entirely—like she couldn't give a damn about the mood and would sooner toss it to the dogs—Mona unleashes her words with reckless abandon. The Count wrinkles his brow at her attitude but doesn't call her out on it. He's known for ages that this woman can't read a room. Or rather, she can, but she chooses not to. All to twist the knife in our guts. It's not even malice per se; her very existence is malice incarnate.
The Count furrows his brow but moves on to another topic without further reprimand.
"What happened to Mine Romancia? You did something, didn't you?"
"Mine Romancia... Oh, you mean that princess? I just did exactly what Master told me to~?"
"Her hair turned stark white. Her eyes changed color too. What the hell? What did you do?"
"Even if you say that~!"
Mona twists her body in mock innocence, still clutching Emilia, making the stimulation hit all the sensitive spots harder. Emilia's voice jumps in her arms from the jolt. Mona strokes her cheek lovingly, still smirking as she answers the Count.
"You told me to give her the same Lewd Curse as I did to sweet little Lia here, right? Not the cheap version for the underground slaves, but a special one made just for our hero."
The same kind of spell used on Emilia. Actually, an upgraded version with a few extras tacked on. Mona had received orders from the Count to inscribe it, and she'd followed them to the letter. But Mine Romancia's body was that of an ordinary human—no Hero's Blessing or anything to protect her. Wise or not, she'd never trained any resistance to spells. For such a fragile frame to take on that potent curse, side effects and strain were inevitable.
BAM!
Hearing Mona's brazen response, the Count slams his fist into the bedpost beside him. The ornate wooden pillar shakes, cracking from the point of impact with a sharp creeeak.
"Why the fuck didn't you mention that? What if Mine had died? What were you thinking, you goddamn sow?!"
"...Oh my, Master. Someone might misunderstand."
Even as the Count trembles with rage, Mona remains utterly unfazed.
"As for why I didn't tell you... well, you didn't ask, did you~?"
Her words make his fist, still pressed against the pillar, clench harder. It groans loudly under the pressure, but the sound soon fades. Their gazes lock. Mona's alluring red demonic eyes meet the Count's twilight-blue ones, crossing in silent challenge.
—Ah, right.
Demons are like this from the start. They honor contracts and promises to the letter, no matter how unfair or laughable to humans. Once sealed, they uphold them with fanatic zeal.
But that's all. Their loyalty isn't born of devotion or affection. No reason to go beyond the contract's fine print.
This was his oversight. In the nearly ten years commanding Mona, he'd never slipped like this before. Getting his hands on the long-coveted Emilia must have made him sloppy in every way.
Not Mona's fault. He'd failed to manage his demon contractor properly. That was all.
"...For the record, if the side effects looked lethal, I would've told you ahead of time. It's not a big deal, but if Mine had died, it might've thrown a slight wrench in Master's plans."
"So I should be grateful she's alive?"
"Isn't that right~? Hair and eye color can be faked with magic. Even if she kicked the bucket, my cute little familiar at the palace could just pull double duty."
"...I see. That makes sense. Logical enough."
Mona is diligent, at least when it comes to contracts. She pursues them faithfully. Far better than humans, who flip-flop and betray at every whim. She's essential for the plans ahead, too.
"...Mona."
"Yes, Master."
"Set Emilia aside. Keep her clean."
"...Pardon?"
Without raising his voice, the Count calmly raises one hand to cover his left eye. When he lowers it, a sinister purple pattern glows in his pupil—the mark of his contract with the demon Mona, akin to the Hero's Blessing on Emilia's hand. Usually hidden, it now manifests fully in his left eye.
"...! Grk...!!"
Splurt... Cough...!
Mona shoves Emilia aside, doubles over, and vomits a torrent of blood onto the bed.
"Urk...! Guh...?! Cough, keh-heck...!"
Splaaatter... Drip....
Blood streams from her nose, tears of red trailing from her eyes.
—It hurts. Hurts, hurts, hurts.
Something inside her rips and bursts with a visceral pop. Using his authority as contractor, the Count had ruptured parts of her internals.
"Uuugh... Krgh... Kch...!!"
Lungs and stomach shredded, she spews an ocean of blood. Crimson blooms across the bed, staining the pristine sheets and duvet.
"After all that yin energy I poured into you yesterday, this won't kill you."
The Count covers his eye again, then uncovers it—back to its original navy blue. Mona, organs still unhealed, writhes in agony.
"Report even the fine details from now on. You're not too stupid to tell vital info from the useless kind. Got it?"
Mona nods, hands clutched to her gut and chest. Her mouth and face are a bloody mess, but Emilia, pushed aside, is barely touched.
"Good. Back to your room for today. I'll add extra penalty later—spend the night reflecting on your mistake. Dismissed. ...Emilia will sleep in another room."
The Count scoops up the discarded Emilia in both arms, handling her gently. Her naked body drips love juices from her slit, but she stays docile in his embrace, eyes unfocused. One glance reveals she's deep in one of Mona's hypnosis spells.
He gazes down at her vacant, doll-like face for a moment, then strides out without delay.
Left alone in Emilia's room is Mona, hacking up lungfuls of blood.
"Cough, cough... Urk...."
And she—
The lone succubus—
'...Jeez, that stings.'
'Hurts. It huuuurts.'
Even with lungs and organs burst, barely able to stand—
Poke... Hee-hee, heh-heh-heh-heh-heh....
'Ahh... really...'
'.........So haaappy... so, so haaaappy...♥'
—shudders with masochistic glee, shoulders shaking as if she can't hold it in. Her blood-smeared face twists into a manic grin. Soaked in gore, tears of pain streaming, features contorted—yet she laughs like a madwoman in ecstasy....
Hero Emilia.
Now, she drifts in a haze of Mona's hypnotic spell, consciousness dimmed.
She feels strong arms cradling her from behind. The steady rocking, like a cradle, feels so good that Emilia nuzzles into the warmth like a child.
She feels like a baby again.
Blissful.
'Ah... come to think of it.'
She remembers her father often holding her like this. He was kind but not one for words, showing his love for his daughter through actions rather than speeches. Like this—enfolding her in his warm, massive embrace.
But when had he stopped?
At first, she thought it was because she'd grown enough to act the part of a proper young lady. But later, she wondered if it started when this mark appeared on her hand.
At nine years old, when the seal proclaiming her the Hero manifested on her hand.
That's when Father's attitude changed.
'...I never wanted to be a hero.'
She'd admired heroes. From childhood tales, she'd prepared her heart for the possibility. But she'd also secretly hoped fate might pass her by.
Not every generation has a hero. The Edenberts line always produces one eventually, but some generations skipped entirely—no Hero's Blessing at all. In those cases, it skipped to the next.
Father had only one child, a daughter. Edgar Edenberts, unable to sire more, must have half-given up, pinning hopes on Emilia's future offspring.
—If only it had skipped.
Truth was, Emilia never wanted to be a hero. She wanted to be the girl whose heart raced at hero stories, eyes sparkling, cheering "So cool!"
Just an ordinary girl. Noblewoman or commoner, didn't matter—she yearned for a life without a sword in hand.
But, but...
"Father... Mother......"