206. The Price of Greed
206. The Price of Greed
A girl sat on the sofa, swinging her slender, soft-looking legs back and forth as she skimmed through documents.
Facing Eliarnes Eustetia, Mikel was sweating cold sweat inwardly.
The girl who had been all sharp edges just thirty minutes ago had suddenly softened. Not only that, but she was now listing Ronan Luzarak's achievements one by one with a beaming smile.
It was entertaining to listen to.
She couldn't help but enjoy hearing stories about the great figure she respected most.
Moreover, Eliarnes was telling stories that even Mikel, who was quite knowledgeable about the Heroes, had never heard before. It was genuinely fascinating.
Not only that, it was pleasant to look at.
Her build was still that of a frail girl, but Eliarnes's lovely appearance was famous enough to be counted among the finest on the continent.
And that Eliarnes was chattering away with cute little nasal sounds and a strangely flushed face, so it was a delight for the eyes as well.
Yes, it should have been an interesting and enjoyable time.
Mikel was terrified to the bone.
"Are you listening?"
"...Yes. I am listening attentively."
"Mm-hmm. Anyway, this is also from a book I read at the main house. They say Ronan was the first person to adapt to Dragon Fear in the Dragon-Slaying War and the fastest to resist the Authority of Anti-Magic."
"I-is that so."
"Yes. While the other bast— ahem, the other Heroes were like, uh, lying around unable to even adapt, Ronan just— stood right up and, yeah? Tore all those fucking Demon pieces of shit apart and went slash-slash-slash on the necks of the lizards who'd sided with the Demons. Just from that scene alone, you can tell Ronan was the bravest and strongest."
Nod-nod— her twintails, split to either side, swayed gently along with her head bobbing left and right.
"As expected of Ronan."
"Right, right? Heheh. They say they actually ranked people by the number of high-ranking Demons and demonic dragons killed back then. And Ronan tied for first place with Paulo. Honestly, isn't it incredible that Ronan, who didn't even have a Sacred Relic, tied for first with Paulo, who had a Sacred Sword? That son of a— that person."
It was a very entertaining and interesting story.
But was it the kind of story that should be coming up here? Was it the kind of story to tell right before a matter concerning the future of the Holy Kingdom? The answer would be no.
Yet the reason Mikel responded with such fervor was a habit ingrained into her instincts.
Having worked in the Holy Kingdom's administrative office for over ten years, Mikel had learned at a cellular level how to react to a superior's rambling.
From boorish superiors she'd never seen or heard of before, to superiors who insisted they were always right, to superiors who postured with shallow knowledge, and so on.
Having seen and experienced all sorts of human types, Mikel knew how to react even at this very moment.
"A natural result for Ronan."
So she answered as her instincts dictated.
And then, she felt a little afraid.
She thought that Eliarnes, who was unpredictable, might dislike unconditional agreement.
Should she have said it was a shame?
Should she have said the history was wrong, that Ronan must have surely been first?
She had many worries, but they were meaningless.
"Heheh... 'Natural,' she says. Natural... heehee!"
Mikel's words had been the correct answer.
A 200-point answer on a 100-point scale.
"Right? Right? Of course Ronan would be. Mm-hmm."
Kyahaha— a lovely laugh rang out.
Her eyelids, holding a shy cherry blossom, curved prettily, and her small lips drew a delicate line.
Her legs, which had been swinging back and forth without touching the floor, swung even more vigorously, and her head, which had been nodding left and right, now bobbed up and down wildly.
Her pink twintails, swaying along with her, bloomed luxuriantly like cherry blossoms in full glory, and her dainty fingers, which had been stroking the documents, wriggled.
In that sight, in the sight of Eliarnes being so lovely it was staggering, Mikel felt an indescribable terror.
Mikel remembered her first meeting with the girl.
She remembered the killing intent Eliarnes had emitted when Mikel had smeared the Eustetia name to uncover her true intentions.
She still vividly remembered the fist that had shot out without any hesitation, the touch that had broken arms and legs without any emotion.
And beyond her frail shoulders, the Killing Karma that defied comprehension.
killing intent, murderous will, murderous heart.
All of it together— a form as if the primal concept of "killing" itself had been molded into human shape.
The Killing Karma she carried seemed to hold not even the slightest compassion for life.
Her very existence seemed to be a symbol of despair.
Like the darkest night ever made by humanity, an ominous shadow no one could avoid. It was a terrifying, merciless abyss. A swamp of purgatory from which no one could be saved, from which no one could escape.
That was the karma and the soul carried by the girl called Eliarnes Eustetia.
How could a mere seventeen-year-old girl accumulate such karma? How could she carry such karma without going mad?
Countless questions arose, but those questions drifted through Mikel's mind without becoming words.
"Why, are you curious?"
Then, giggling, Eliarnes tilted her head. Her cherry-blossom-colored twintails flowed over her delicate shoulders along with the motion.
"...What do you mean?"
"Why I carry such karma."
"I believe it is information I should not know."
Covering her mouth with a small hand and folding her eyes into a pretty smile, Eliarnes nodded as if Mikel were admirable.
"Aha, you're smart. Sir Mikel will live a long life."
At that smile, Mikel felt a chill for a moment.
But she didn't show it. Killing and concealing her emotions was basic for an Executor.
"...Thank you."
And so, thirty minutes of listening to Ronan's history.
Licking the milk from the corner of her lips, Eliarnes tossed aside the Executor-related documents she had been reading.
"Now that I've read through it all, I'm getting a rough sense of things."
Then she plopped her legs up onto the table.
Peach-colored soles that looked far too soft, squishy, and moist for a Martial Artist.
Through the gap of her short shorts, even pastel-blue underwear peeked out slyly.
Mikel nearly had her gaze stolen by the sight, but the superhuman patience of a Tier 6 stopped her.
"Sir Mikel."
The voice that had been so clear sank low. The cherry-blossom-colored eyes dulled. The smile vanished from her bud-like lips.
"Since when exactly did the Executors become Homunculi?"
Cold sweat ran down Mikel's spine.
"That Authority you people call 'grace'— it's strangely complete, as if it were made as a single whole. At least, there's no information that it was like that 400 years ago. But now, it fits together perfectly, front and rear, like someone assembled puzzle pieces."
As expected, she hadn't just been chatting.
She hadn't just been smiling and humming.
"Was the Holy Kingdom not trying to resurrect the Saintess, but trying to create one?"
She had grasped all the information about the Executors, and on top of that, found questions within that information and drawn out the answer.
"No, no. At this level, it seems they wanted to create not just the Saintess, but all of the Heroes from 400 years ago."
Murderous intent filled the small girl's voice. Beyond her pure-white shoulders, an indescribable aberration raised its head.
"Then are the Executors the failed products?"
Mikel had thought she had cast aside fear. She had thought she had overcome the terror of death. She had thought that since she had accumulated good karma, she could go to the Lord's side. She had decided that if she could not go, that too would be the Lord's will.
"Hey. Are you people dolls?"
She had been wrong.
Mikel was still afraid of death.
More precisely, she was afraid of that Killing Karma.
She felt that if she were caught up in the flames of that karma's calamity, her soul would go neither to heaven nor to hell.
"I will... explain."
"Before that explanation, let me ask again. Sir Mikel, do you sincerely respect Ronan?"
What intent lay behind this question? She wondered, but did not voice it.
It had been the same earlier. The question had come out of nowhere.
She had naturally thought it was a random question.
Asking which of the Heroes she respected most.
She had been suspicious, but she answered first.
That she respected Ronan Luzarak.
It was true. Mikel respected Ronan the most.
So much so that she could list a dozen more reasons beyond the ones she had recited to Eliarnes.
So she had answered, and since Eliarnes's mood seemed to have improved because of it, Mikel had endlessly pondered the intent of the question.
But now, the question had come up again.
What was the intent?
Even if she couldn't grasp the intent, the correct answer was fixed.
"Yes. It is not anyone's will or coercion, but my own desire to respect and emulate him."
Answer first. Think later.
"You're certain?"
"Yes. I am certain. I can even swear it upon the name of Yurphia."
She answered without averting her eyes.
There was nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing to be caught on. Respecting Ronan Luzarak was Mikel's sincere truth.
"Hoh. So that's how it is."
Eliarnes's intensity softened.
Her pink twintails swayed gently as if pleased. Her legs, propped on the desk, stretched out long as if yawning, and her soft toes spread wide.
Because of that, the gap in her short shorts widened, and the pastel-blue underwear revealed itself fully.
Was her mood better? She couldn't tell.
Mikel didn't relax.
She had a strong premonition that every one of those trivial actions might be testing her.
Surely that was the case.
The question about which of the Heroes from 400 years ago she respected most.
She felt she was beginning to understand its intent, little by little.
The Executors, failed products of an experiment to create Heroes. And she was asking those Executors which hero they respected most.
Why?
Perhaps she was asking because she suspected that even their minds and souls had been remodeled to their master's taste. That possibility was very high.
Which meant.
Eliarnes had been grasping the essence of the Executors since earlier.
How on earth?
From where to where did she understand?
Was this really the level of information a seventeen-year-old girl could have?
Countless questions stretched on, one after another, but as before, there was no chance to resolve them.
Eliarnes whispered in a lovely voice.
"Good. Then just one last thing... no, this time it's not a question but a one-sided order. If you refuse this, things won't be fun for us. Understood?"
She had no intention of lying, but she also thought she must not lie. Eliarnes might be testing her with information she had already grasped.
"Yes."
Swallowing dryly, Mikel looked straight at Eliarnes, who wore a peculiar expression, and readied herself.
"You just have to repeat after me."
What would she make her do?
An oath forcing some kind of action?
That was likely. She felt no fear of that. If it was to protect the Holy Kingdom, Mikel was ready to burn her own life.
She had steeled her heart so firmly.
"Patriarch Yusopa St. Johannidis is a son of a bitch. The Twelve Cardinals are fucking bastards. Try repeating that."
"...Excuse me?"
"I said repeat it."
"B-but..."
"Huh? What's this. Why aren't you repeating it? You worthless piece of shit! You had no problem running your mouth calling Eustetia heretics! Don't tell me you were a spy?! You traitor! I trusted you!!"
What on earth was she saying?
The confusion didn't last long.
With a flash of light— crack— Eliarnes's sole slammed into Mikel's face.