The Saintess and the Devil

What's your name?

Abaddon's Devil. The one called the King of All Undead. He wasn't born from some twisted experiment, nor was he a demon wearing human skin. He wasn't some black-hearted old man who'd spent centuries researching forbidden magic just to reclaim a youthful body, either. He was simply a perfectly ordinary human named Evan.

The only thing that set him apart was that he possessed several talents that would get him branded a heretic and killed on the spot if he ever set foot in the Empire's lands. Sorcery and curses. And above all else, an overwhelming talent for necromancy.

"Look, he's seeing ghosts again!"

"Scary! He's always talking to the air!"

The ability to see, hear, and touch spirits from birth couldn't be hidden no matter how hard he tried. A child born too close to the dead simply couldn't find his place in the world of the living. Like trash thrown into a river that drifts out to sea, Evan—rejected by the living world—drifted into Abaddon.

He should have died there. But through miracles, coincidences, and his innate talent, Evan survived again and again. In the process of hunting down, subjugating, and forcing every undead that craved living flesh and blood to its knees, his luck became experience, and his talent became a weapon.

That was how the Devil of Abaddon was born.

Evan himself hated titles like "king" or "devil." But he couldn't deny that his power was more than worthy of such names.

Which was why this was a first.

"Hehe, what's your name?"

The first time he'd ever doubted his own eyes after seeing something with them.

Three… no, four.

One on her head. One on her spine. One on her heart. And one bound directly to her soul itself. Four curses in total. Curses so dangerous that an ordinary person would have coughed up blood and died on the spot from even one of them were binding the woman before him.

"You smell awful."

"Huh? I don't smell! I washed yesterday!"

"You do. A lot. It's dizzying. Just how many grudges have you piled up?"

A sickeningly sweet scent that could drown a person. Dangerous as it was, the worst kinds of curses always carried this kind of smell. The kind that said it didn't matter if the caster was destroyed, as long as they dragged their target down into the abyss with them.

"I don't!"

Iris puffed out her cheeks, clenched her fists, and stomped her feet on the ground as she shrieked.

"I'm clean!"

BOOM—!

Divine power burst from Iris in a circular wave. Since Evan was human, the holy energy didn't harm him at all. In fact, it pushed back the deathly energy of Abaddon and felt rather refreshing. However…

Holy power was nothing short of deadly poison to the undead. If left alone, every skeleton and ghoul in the area would ascend to the afterlife. So Evan grabbed the chattering Iris by the chin, lifted her up, and silenced her.

"Mmmph!!"

"Stop making a fuss and stay still."

"Don’t… waaant!!"

Crack—!

Evan’s eyebrows twitched faintly.

She broke the sorcery with raw power?

It had been a light curse fueled by his own mana, but its structure wasn’t so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crude that it could be torn apart by brute force.

"Let… go…!"

Iris violently swatted away Evan’s hand covering her mouth and protested like a child.

"Apologize! I don’t smell!"

With teardrops clinging to her eyes as if she’d been terribly wronged, she huffed angrily. Evan slowly lowered his throbbing hand and analyzed her.

Naive, emotional, and impulsive.

Her cognitive abilities were severely impaired by the curse on her head, leaving her in a state no different from a child. Yet her body’s functions were perfectly normal, which made her even more dangerous. An immature mind wielding fully mature power meant war could break out over the slightest displeasure.

"If you don’t apologize…! I’ll… get mad…"

A massive surge of energy pulsed from Iris’s body, as if it would explode at any moment. Sensing the warning signs, Evan quickly spoke.

"I meant it smells good."

"…Really?"

"It smells exactly like cookies."

"That’s right! I ate cookies!"

I know.

Just looking at the crumbs around her mouth made it obvious. The saintess who had been furious moments ago was now beaming with a childlike smile. Because she was like a child, she was easy to handle.

"I’ll give you some too! I hid them."

…But if there was an advantage to her being childlike and easy to handle, the opposite was also true. Iris unbuttoned the top of her dress without hesitation and shoved her hand straight into her cleavage.

Evan reflexively grabbed her wrist to stop her. It was the natural reaction of any human being.

"Don’t."

"…Uuu."

But a child, regardless of the reason, would get angry or cry the moment their goodwill was rejected.

"Waaah—!!"

This is going to drive me insane.

The surroundings shook with the force of her voice.

"Why…!! I was going to give you my precious cookies…!!"

Can this woman actually infuse her voice with divine power?

It was obvious that if he let her continue, the same disaster from earlier would repeat. The problem was that Evan had never once tried to comfort a crying child. He had learned how to hold back his own tears to survive, but he had no idea how to soothe someone else’s.

The method he barely came up with was this.

"My teeth are rotting and it hurts."

"…Huh?"

Empathy. And a topic even a child could easily understand and accept.

"So I’ve been banned from snacks."

"You get in trouble if you eat them?"

"…Yeah."

Evan pointed at the lich behind him.

"That guy scolds me."

Shut up.

When Evan shot the lich a look that said read the room, the lich hurriedly corrected himself.

"Sniffle… okay."

She looked utterly dejected, but at least she seemed convinced. Once the situation was under control, Evan let out a sigh and gave the lich an order.

"Lich, go take care of the nearby skeletons and ghouls. Recover their souls before they all ascend."

"Dangerous to you, maybe. Have you forgotten who I am?"

The instant reply that came the moment he asked made Evan’s face twist into an expression that clearly said, This bastard is doing it again.

"……I meant that I’m human."

"Skull."

Evan called the lich by his true name, making it clear he couldn’t listen anymore. The lich, who knew full well this was Evan’s way of warning that he was extremely irritated, quietly bowed his head.

"Go. That’s an order."

[…Yes, my King.]

The lich climbed into the carriage, took the reins of the ghost horses, and departed. Only then did the priests come rushing over, trying to pull the saintess away from him as if to protect her. Evan let out a light scoff.

"Trying to save face now? It seems a little late to show how much you cherish the saintess."

They hadn’t dared come near while the lich was present out of fear, yet the moment he left they hurried over to protect her. It was ridiculous. At Evan’s pointed remark, Alphonse’s face turned red, and Rowena cleared her throat awkwardly as she made an excuse.

"Please understand it as our deep trust in the saintess’s abilities."

"What a reed-like trust that is."

"Since the saintess is unwell, we could not simply stand by and allow her to commit any further rudeness toward the King of Abaddon."

She talks like a snake. That was what Evan thought, but he didn’t press the matter further. Whatever they truly thought of the saintess on the inside wasn’t something he needed to concern himself with.

Instead, he got to the main point.

"The request you want to entrust to me—is it to lift the curses on the saintess?"

"…Is it possible?"

Evan nodded slowly. It didn’t seem impossible. It would just be an incredibly annoying and complicated process.

"There are four curses tangled together inside the saintess’s body like a skein of thread. If we unravel them one by one, it will take a long time, but it should eventually be possible to lift them."

"How long would ‘a long time’ be?"

"That’s something we’ll only know once we start. But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at minimum, it will take a year. If we proceed in a way that doesn’t harm her body, you should prepare for three times that."

"Isn’t there a faster method?"

Evan let out a sigh mixed with contempt at Alphonse’s question.

"Pick one. I can’t stand looking at you when you’re this disgusting."

"I don’t quite understand what you mean…"

"If you’re going to act, do it properly. Or stop pretending altogether."

Evan glared at them with a cold gaze.

"What you people want—is it to ‘cure’ the saintess? Or to ‘repair’ the Holy Kingdom’s weapon?"

At the question laced with ridicule and contempt, silence fell. Only the innocent saintess, who couldn’t understand the conversation, tilted her head with wide, sparkling eyes at the suddenly heavy atmosphere.

"Rowena? Are you fighting?"

"…No, Saintess."

Rowena forced an awkward, benevolent smile and spoke to the saintess as if soothing a child.

"But it seems the discussion will take a while. Would you mind waiting inside the carriage with Alphonse for a moment?"

"With Alphonse… I don’t want to…"

"Could you wait just a little? Once we’re done talking, I’ll give you a snack."

"A snack? For real?"

"Of course, Saintess. Have I ever lied to you?"

"Nope! I really like you, Rowena!"

Iris’s eyes sparkled. Then she turned to look at Evan.

"I’ll share the snack with you once I get it! So don’t get mad! …Umm, love your neighbor, that’s what it said!"

"…Do you even know what that means?"

"I don’t! But it means don’t fight!"

She remained endlessly bright. Evan wondered if this cheerful, empty-headed saintess had any idea why these people had brought her to him.

"Saintess, that’s enough…!"

Alphonse tried to grab her and lead her to the carriage, but her feet seemed nailed to the ground.

"You’re not going to fight, right?"

She wouldn’t move until she heard the answer. If she didn’t get the response she wanted, she would throw ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠another divine-powered tantrum right here.

In the end, Evan surrendered to the saintess’s innocent threat (even if she herself wasn’t aware of it) and answered with a sigh.

"Fine. We won’t fight."

"Hehe."

Having gotten the answer she wanted, Iris hummed as she skipped back toward the carriage—only to turn around again as if she’d forgotten something.

"What is it now."

"I’m Iris!"

…I already heard that introduction earlier.

While Evan was seriously contemplating whether the curses had also caused short-term memory loss—essentially dementia—Iris pointed at him.

"And you?"

It took him a moment to understand what she was doing. Asking for someone’s name was something that hadn’t happened to Evan in so long it felt foreign.

He hadn’t forgotten his own name.

"…Evan."

Yet hearing his own name spoken aloud in his own voice felt strangely unfamiliar.

"It’s Evan."

"Evan-Evan?"

"…Just Evan."

"Just Evan?"

"……."

For Evan, the act of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠contemplating whether or not to smack someone was also something that hadn’t happened in a very, very long time.