Self-Cultivation (2)
The punishments of Hell are determined by the tastes of the Great Demon who rules each district.
A prime example was Lucifer, sovereign of the Pride Hell, who preferred to restrain his prisoners and put them on display. Extracting a prisoner's knowledge was no different from selling museum souvenirs.
In this way, every Hell bore the unfiltered stamp of its Great Demon's preferences…
"Without further ado, let us begin the long-awaited, most anticipated Hell's Greatest Fighting Tournament!!!"
"WAAAAAAAH!"
"Fight and win, lose and die!"
"Show us a prisoner walking free today!"
The Wrath Hell's punishments, too, were a faithful reflection of its Great Demon's tastes.
A colossal colosseum carved from the single largest slab of obsidian in all of Hell. Demons of every shape and color packed the stands as prisoners poured into sixteen divided arenas.
A giant whose head had been replaced by something resembling a siren blared the start of the match.
"Die!"
"Drop dead, drop dead, drop deeeead!"
"I'm getting out! I'm escaping this Hell!!!"
From primitive brutes wielding bone clubs to cyborgs with half their bodies replaced by machinery — tens of thousands of prisoners spanning every age of history hurled themselves into a free-for-all, scattering blood, flesh, and oil across the sand.
Dantalion watched the matches while tearing into the Wrath Hell's famous specialty: Cockatrice Chicken.
"You don't even have teeth. Why order bone-in chicken…?"
"All the better for eating it bones and all, no?"
Technically it was closer to absorbing the chicken than eating it, but enjoying the chicken was what mattered.
Sitri, wearing a bizarre hat with canned colas perched on either side, casually snagged a drumstick.
Nom nom nom.
Watching her devour the drumstick as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Dantalion stared at her hard enough to bore a hole through her skull. He might not be able to taste the chew without a mouth, but snatching the drumstick was still a bridge too far, wasn't it?
"Your superior clearly failed to teach you manners."
"Isn't that a bit late for self-reflection?"
"She was such a well-behaved child when she was young. Tsk… Another order of chicken over here."
"Cockatrice Chicken — keeping your organs in peak condition! Thank you for the additional order!"
After buying more chicken from a thoroughly professional succubus-type demon, Dantalion plucked up a drumstick and went back to watching the fights.
So why, exactly, was he killing time in the Wrath Hell gnawing on chicken?
I came to someone else's workplace. The least I can do is wait until their shift ends.
Naturally, he wasn't here to loaf around. He was here for the person he intended to meet. Most of the ones in charge of the Wrath Hell preferred to administer the punishments personally.
"At last, the Final Sixteen have been decided! Everyone, a round of applause for these idiots who keep repeating this pointless exercise!"
The prisoners who climbed the small hills of corpses were, to a one, in wretched condition. At minimum they were missing an arm or a leg; the worst of them were barely clinging to consciousness, gasping for breath.
As thunderous applause rolled through the stands, the demons of the Wrath Hell cast their sorcery upon the prisoners. Fresh arms sprouted from severed shoulders. Shattered armor plating regenerated and restored itself. Returned to peak condition, the prisoners inspected their bodies and allowed the corners of their mouths to curl upward.
"Fools. Every last one of them thinks they can do it."
"It's not impossible… but they don't look nearly strong enough."
Dantalion, at least, had seen someone overcome the Wrath Hell's trial — exactly one person. That person, however, had not succeeded in escaping Hell after conquering it…
"Now then, shall we all call for Her together!"
"Heaven above, earth below — I alone am supreme!"
"The woman so bored she wants to die!"
"In life, the greatest under heaven! In death, the greatest heroine in Hell!"
As the crowd's cheers thundered, the air split open and a woman stepped through.
A beauty whose black hair, tied in a high ponytail, suited her smiling eyes perfectly. She strode lightly forward, her robe embroidered with golden thread fluttering behind her.
"Who dares raise their head so stiffly before this lady?"
BOOM!
The old saying about a frog never escaping the Buddha's palm — this must have been what it meant. Her feet, treading upon empty air, began to crush the prisoners' bodies like a mountain.
A sovereign's bearing, capable of forcing people to their knees with nothing but a walk…
"A-aieeeeee?!"
CRUNCH!
Correction: a conqueror's bearing, capable of pulverizing a human body with nothing but a walk.
"Very well. Let us see if any among you can defeat me and inherit the title of Heavenly Demon."
One who had walked the Demonic Path and reached the realm of the Buddha. The Heavenly Demon, Chun Sowol, descended into the arena wearing a smile as cool and beautiful as the moon in a night sky.
She was the first prisoner to ever overcome the Wrath Hell's trial — and one of the Great Demons who now governed it.
I hope she finishes this quickly.
She was the person Dantalion had arranged to meet today.
As expected — if one could call it expected.
The sixteen, or rather fifteen, survivors who had reached the final stage all failed to overcome the trial. Of course they did. The only way out of the Wrath Hell was to defeat its Great Demon.
"Tsk… When will this lady ever meet a prisoner with spirit to match her own?"
"Speaking as a Great Demon of Hell, I'd rather not. One more of those would be a headache."
Dantalion sipped the tea Chun Sowol's maidservant had poured for him.
The Great Demon of the Wrath Hell had been renowned as the strongest in Hell — until one day Chun Sowol appeared out of nowhere, fought him for a full month, and won. The other Great Demons, confronted with something they had believed utterly impossible, scrambled together to face her…
"I would rather pick up the duel we never finished back then."
"I'll pass. You looked so deranged back then that even demons found you unnerving."
The mere memory of Chun Sowol smiling brightly with one arm torn off was enough to raise goosebumps. More to the point, having faced her personally, Dantalion had absolutely no desire to fight her again. Frankly, the Heavenly Demon's karmic weight was also uncomfortably balanced against his own.
"Still, fighting you was rather enjoyable for this lady as well."
Chun Sowol sipped her tea, savoring blood-soaked memories. Afraid she would draw her sword if left to wallow any longer, Dantalion changed the subject.
"Did you check the mail Sitri sent?"
"Do you take this lady for some doddering elder? The message sent through Sitri was received by my attendants."
"……"
"Why do you stare so?"
"What are you talking about? I wasn't looking at you — I was savoring the tea. Your subordinates brew a fine cup."
Dantalion was freshly reminded that she came from a far more ancient era than he did. He drained his tea and got down to business.
"Lately I've been receiving support from Heaven and starting various projects."
"This lady is aware. Something about raising a band of wandering heroes, was it?"
"Something like that."
A being of special power who conceals their identity and bestows good deeds upon the world — if that wasn't a wandering hero, what was? Magical girls could be considered wandering heroes in the broad sense. Chun Sowol herself had once developed strange things like death beams, after all.
Having emptied her cup, Chun Sowol traced a finger along its rim and murmured.
"Wandering heroes…"
"Someone who never asks for favors asked me if I could help the people who follow her."
"Is it not the same in every world? Those who know how to shine alone always attract followers."
She, too, seemed to have lived through something similar; her eyes grew distant as she gazed into her teacup. Then, quite naturally, she drew a bottle of clear rice wine from her sleeve and began to pour it into the cup—
"Don't pretend to be lost in nostalgia just so you can drink."
"Ah?! That is this lady's rice wine! Give it back!"
The moment he snatched the bottle, Chun Sowol's face crumpled as though she had lost a lover. Just then, a maidservant waiting outside poked her head through the door with a smile.
"My lady, you weren't about to drink again, were you?"
"Ha, hahaha! This lady, drinking? What nonsense is that?"
"Of course not. You have a child, after all. You wouldn't dream of drinking."
Living point of interest: Chun Sowol, who had died a virgin, had become a married woman in Hell. Her husband was no ordinary fellow, either — he was the previous Great Demon of the Wrath Hell. That Shaitan character had been over the moon about the woman who first handed him a defeat…
Having failed to sneak a drink, Chun Sowol dropped all pretense. She hiked one leg up, sat however she pleased, and grumbled as she poured fresh tea.
"This lady's baby would hardly be harmed by a little wine. Everyone is far too overprotective."
"Well… as I recall, you're not exactly a strong drinker yourself."
"That is the fault of Hell's liquor. Cheh. No smoking, no drinking — this is torture by another name."
The fact that they still let her come out and slaughter prisoners in that condition was the real miracle. Dantalion swallowed the remark and said something else instead.
"Back to the point. I requested your cooperation because I want to help her followers protect themselves."
"Protect themselves? Could you not simply share your own power and be done with it?"
"That could interfere with supporting Yoanna herself, so I want to solve this with as few resources as possible. Which is why I'd like you to teach them martial arts that humans can actually use."
"Martial arts…"
Chun Sowol stared into empty air with the look of someone gazing at a distant horizon. Finding the expression slightly vacant, Dantalion set down his teacup and asked,
"Is that too much?"
"No, no, nothing of the sort…"
"?"
Chun Sowol scratched her cheek and laughed awkwardly.
"This lady simply cannot quite recall what level of martial arts is appropriate by human standards… Shall I select something capable of erasing roughly one mountain?"
"Absolutely not."
Dantalion heaved a deep sigh. It seemed he was going to need to spend a fair amount of time with Chun Sowol.
Once Yoanna became occupied with academy admissions, Padir and Modir's daily lives grew busier still.
Guiding visitors to the church, teaching doctrine to new converts, welcoming the occasional street orphans who wandered by…
"Haa… Lately it feels like we're stretched too thin."
"Well, it can't be helped. Until we find the right people, the seven of us will just have to coordinate and get the work done."
As a result, the two of them finished their duties quite late. As the eldest man and woman among them, both felt a sense of responsibility and led by example — which kept them constantly on the move.
So did they rest easy once the day's work was done…?
"A new miracle appeared this morning too."
"Really? Lord Dantalion must be watching over us."
Not quite. A new miracle surfaced every morning, and they could hardly leave those alone.
After finishing their duties, the two spent their remaining hours in a temporary training ground they had fashioned by clearing out a storage room. There had to be a reason the divine power had been granted to them of all people — they could not afford to be lazy in their efforts.
The difference between the two, however, was quite clear…
"Padir, have any new miracles appeared for you lately?"
Modir asked as she manipulated chains rising from empty air. Padir smiled bitterly and nodded. Unlike her, no new miracles had come to him for several days now.
"I suppose that means I've learned everything my level can handle."
"You don't have to put it like that…"
"What? It was the same back home. Unlike you, I was thick-headed — physical work always suited me better."
They had been born in the same village, which was why their names were so similar. Unfortunately, unlike Modir, Padir had never been bright. A dim-witted priest — was there any phrase less fitting?
If anything, Padir felt profound gratitude toward Dantalion for granting miracles even to someone like him.
"Padir…"
"I said I'm fine. Stop looking at me like I'm pitiful and focus on your training."
Knowing when to abandon what you cannot have was both Padir's strength and his weakness. He threw himself into assisting Modir's training with genuine enthusiasm, free of lingering regret. Whatever else he lacked, he had properly learned the miracle of restoring the body.
And so, after a grueling session spent bound in Modir's chains, Padir collapsed onto his bed without even the strength to wash. Staring up at the blue-tinged ceiling, he murmured without realizing it.
"Am I even useful…?"
Unable to answer the question he had put to himself, Padir sank into sleep as if slipping underwater.
And the next day.
"Aaagh?!"
Padir bolted upright, startled by the impact that had smashed into his face. Scanning the room, he found a book lying by his pillow and tilted his head.
"What on earth is this book…?"
He had no memory of placing a book anywhere it could fall on his face. More importantly, he had never brought a book reeking of age into his room…
Rubbing his stinging nose bridge, Padir checked the cover.
72 Arts of the Demonic Cult
The book was written in characters he had never seen before in his life. But a book like this would not have casually smacked him in the face by coincidence.
Without realizing it, Padir composed himself into a reverent posture and turned the page.
"……"
Flip… flip…
The only sound filling Padir's room was the turning of paper. The vivid illustrations packing every page and the sentences that shimmered in red could not be understood by the mind — yet they seemed to seep into the heart.
As if terrified of losing the current, Padir read the book again and again without end. So that he might grasp even a fraction of the profound principles contained within.
As though bewitched by a demon, Padir could not stop. He kept reading.