You Can't Even Drink Cold Water in Front of a Child
Messalina's life—no, Messela's life—had flipped one hundred and eighty degrees from a single day onward.
Returning to the city with a child in tow, the first thing she did was sever every connection she had. It wasn't difficult. Most of those ties had already vanished overnight. With lovers and husbands alike wiped clean away, she was as good as a brand-new person.
Having even changed her name to Messela, she sold off belongings to raise a nest egg for leaving to another city. The original owners were dead, after all—wasn't it only proper that the living put those things to use?
Of course, fencing off a dead person's effects was never going to be easy.
"Y-you're really selling this? Jewelry of this quality isn't something you just find lying around."
"Fine blade. But… what became of its owner? This isn't a sword a slender woman like yourself would use."
"This perfume is a luxury piece from the Harpy's Song guild! You're really selling it to me??"
Who wouldn't grow suspicious when a total stranger started offloading valuables at a discount? Anyone with enough eye to recognize quality naturally eyed Messela with doubt.
But who was she, exactly?
A legendary wanton who had kept more than ten lovers and husbands in a single city. Naturally, looks alone weren't going to solve this.
"Sob… every time I look at that jewelry, I see her face. I'm sorry to her, but I just can't bear it anymore."
"It's my brother's keepsake. It's the last thing I have to remember him by, but if it means saving our parents, I know he'd understand."
"Because it'd be a waste on you. If you dressed yourself up a little more, you could be so much more loved… if you miss this chance, you might stay like this forever, you know?"
From the grieving widow to the seductress who charmed without regard for gender—Messela laid bare exactly why, for all her sprawling affairs, she had never once been stabbed, and she raised her nest egg. Then she left the city without a shred of lingering attachment.
Starting over in a new city was never going to be simple, of course…
"Ohhh, a young lady I haven't seen before. Your name is…?"
"Thank you for the warm welcome. My name is Messela, and I only recently moved to this city. And if you wouldn't mind, would you call me madam rather than young lady?"
"Hahaha! My, you're so beautiful I mistook your age entirely!!"
Her skills hadn't dulled one bit. Upon arriving in the new city, she slipped into high society the same way she always had—with dazzling looks and a silver tongue.
There was just one difference.
"Children, Miss Messela is here!"
"Miss Messela! Candy, candy please!"
"Big sister! I don't want candy—I want a doll!!"
"Oh my, no need to fret, everyone—just wait your turn. I've brought plenty of everything you want."
Utterly at odds with her glittering past, Messela established herself in the new city as a model lady. Visit the temple that ran the orphanage and praise for her never stopped. Her dealings with men were so restrained that suitors practically lined up to propose.
"Are you truly all right with this? I'm a widow with a daughter…"
"It doesn't matter. From the moment I saw how the children love you, my heart has been yours."
She even managed to marry a vigorous young knight. A commoner who had earned his knighthood through sheer ability, he was excellent both in competence and in the bedroom.
Having discovered the joy of being loved for who she was, Messela found herself grateful for every single day.
"Hmm-hmm~ Shall I make a delicious gratin for my husband today?"
Today, too, she lost herself in cooking while waiting for him to come home. She could hardly believe she was preparing a meal for someone else—something she had never done in her entire life. Smiling, Messela trimmed the ingredients by hand and layered them into a sauce-filled baking dish.
Pork for stamina. A few of the eggs her husband liked. Some asparagus, said to be good for nighttime activities. Finally she scattered cheese and breadcrumbs over the top and slid the dish into the oven—done.
Knock. Knock-knock.
Someone rapped on the front door in a steady rhythm. An ordinary sound, nothing to startle over—and yet…
"Eek!?"
Messela jolted so hard she nearly dropped the baking dish. Cheese and breadcrumbs smeared across her face, but she had no time to care. She shoved the dish into the oven as if flinging it and scrambled for the entrance.
She flung the door open without even checking who it was, then bowed politely at the waist.
"W-welcome home."
"Mother, if you bow to your own child, won't people find it strange? Running out with something odd stuck to your face doesn't help either."
A golden-haired child stepped inside and spoke in a flat, dry voice. Startled, Messela hurriedly shut the door—then dropped to her knees as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It might have looked strange to anyone else, but to Messela it was only right.
"I-I'm sorry, Miss Yoanna. I did it out of habit without thinking…"
"Please be more careful next time. What if I had come home with Father?"
The child standing before her held both her past and her life in her hands. Meeting Yoanna's indifferent eyes, Messela trembled from head to toe.
Once inside the manor, Yoanna held out her sword to Messela. In the Empire, it was hardly unusual for a young lady of a knightly household to carry a blade. However…
"You know what to do. Clean it thoroughly, as always."
"Y-yes, of course."
Messela had washed the blood from Yoanna's sword more times than she could count. On the days she was asked to clean it, she knew perfectly well what Yoanna had been doing. Any normal adult would have tried to stop her, of course—but…
What right do I have to say anything?
Messela couldn't. That was the nature of karmic debt. The moment you recognized your own sins, the weight only grew heavier. And Yoanna had been the one to grant her the grace of escaping the influence of the "Blessing." Having received both her life and a new beginning through that mercy, Messela believed she had no standing to object.
"W-would you like to wash up? I've prepared the beef stew you like, Miss Yoanna."
So the only atonement left to her was to look after Yoanna. And that, as it turned out, was not a bad decision.
Yoanna paused for a moment, then pulled off her bloodstained hood.
"Please wash the hood as well. I'll eat once I've finished bathing, so dinner too, if you would."
"Of course—leave it to me!"
Beaming, Messela gathered up the sword and the hood. Yoanna watched her go with an indifferent gaze, though the look in her eyes was complicated.
I was going to send her to Him once she was settled.
Albert's cult had grown as large as it had not only because of the addictive nature of the "Blessing," but also because of Messela's influence. When the biggest player in the city's social circles extended a personal invitation, no one declined. She hadn't been the one who dragged Yoanna's parents in, but she was still a villain without question.
And yet…
Has the weight of Messela's sins grown lighter?
Unlike at the beginning, Messela no longer inspired revulsion. The good deeds Yoanna had expected her to abandon once she found her footing had continued, and the aversion toward her had steadily faded. After a moment's thought, Yoanna headed for the bath.
It doesn't matter. Perhaps He spared her because He saw that possibility.
In truth, He had simply forgotten—but Yoanna had no way of knowing that.
Arriving at the bathroom, she undressed and stepped before the mirror, turning this way and that as she examined her body.
Have the muscles grown a little more? Thanks to His grace I'm developing faster and stronger than my peers, but I can't afford to neglect training.
Yoanna had already left her age-mates far behind. At eleven, her figure and chest were those of a young woman. But her eyes went to the muscle. Why else had she arranged for Messela to marry a young knight? The two were thoroughly smitten now, but the original purpose had been for Yoanna to learn the martial arts of knighthood.
The most fundamental muscle groups for Kunst des Fechten, the ones Father taught me, have settled in properly.
Kunst des Fechten—the collective name for the combat arts of knights who wielded aura. Commanding power beyond human limits was never easy. How could a body without a single developed muscle hope to cleave steel and shatter stone? Geniuses of that sort were born from time to time, but Yoanna did not consider herself one of them. How could someone who carried out a god's will afford to neglect self-discipline? The proof of that discipline was written across her body in muscle.
Finished with her inspection, Yoanna stepped into the bath and washed herself clean. Then she slipped into the warm tub, closed her eyes, and sank beneath the surface.
Whoosh.
As if cradling a sunset, her hair flushed a deep vermilion. This was the moment that reminded her her god was always watching over her—and it was precious beyond measure. Opening her eyes gently, she imagined that day's flower bud and bloomed a blossom across her palm. For all that she executed sinners and trained without rest, she was still an eleven-year-old child. A girlish smile bloomed across her face.
Part of her wished this moment could last forever…
If I stay in too long, my head will hurt.
Yoanna knew restraint. Drawing back her power until her hair returned to its natural gold, she left the bath. She dried herself with a soft towel and went to find Messela again.
Messela was already waiting, the table set with beef stew, bread, salad, and more.
"Thank you for the meal."
"Of course—eat as much as you like!"
And Yoanna did. A big eater to match her accelerated growth, she finished three bowls of beef stew and refilled the bread twice. She only picked at the salad; she wasn't old enough yet to enjoy bitter flavors.
When the meal was done, she spoke to Messela as the woman cleared the dishes.
"Please let me know when Father comes home."
"Of course. Don't worry."
Yoanna nodded and headed to her room. The room itself was thoroughly ordinary—or, for a girl her age, perhaps a little austere. But appearances and interiors were not always the same thing.
She walked to the full-length mirror and turned it around. On the reverse side, sheets of paper had been joined together into a single drawing: a monster with two horns, smiling with gentle warmth.
"Hmm… maybe I'll work on the arms today."
Wearing a fresh, bright smile she had never shown anyone, Yoanna picked up her pen. Spreading fresh sheets across the desk, she closed her eyes and summoned the memory of that day. His warmth. His words. His touch. Holding onto that unforgettable tenderness, she drew the form of the one who had turned to stone.
Skill with a sword and skill with a pen, however, were entirely different domains. Her artistic sense was as crude as her god's own visage.
"I'll have to start over."
But she didn't mind in the slightest. Having met Him—and having watched Messela begin a new life—she lived by the conviction that one could always start again. She cheerfully burned the ruined drawing and set to work on a fresh sheet. After five more failures, she finally produced a page she was satisfied with and joined it to the paper bundle.
Up to this point, it had been a hobby. Maintaining peace of mind and relieving stress were important, after all.
She rose, stretched, and walked to the bed—then lifted the entire thing in one motion.
Flutter!
"Let's see… the one I executed yesterday was named Jackson."
Yoanna pulled a wanted poster from the secret compartment beneath the bed, carried it to her desk, and spread a whole stack of posters across the surface. From behind the desk she retrieved a map of the city. Along the edge of the map, twenty-seven tally marks had been carved. She added one more.
Twenty-eight sinners executed at last.
His words had been right. This world was steeped in sin, and even this small city overflowed with creatures who didn't deserve the air they breathed. She tore Jackson's poster in half and drew out the next one.
"Name: Joachim Ventel. Judging by his face and bearing, he isn't the type to show up where the upper class gathers. With a criminal record weighted so heavily toward rape, the red-light district seems the most likely place to find him."
The advantage of being a clever, pretty child was how easily people shared stories with you. Playing the part of her new father's sweet daughter, Yoanna had made her face known all over the city. Naturally, people fretted that something bad might befall such a good child and told her all sorts of things. That a rough crowd had started hanging around a certain alley. That so-and-so's son was a wanted man, and someone slipped out at night with food for him. That a killer who left wanted men dead in the streets was roaming the city.
Yoanna synthesized every scrap of information and marked the criminals' probable routes on the map. Pinning each wanted name to the map with twisted scraps of metal, she thought:
If I weed out every sin in this city… will I be able to see Him again?
For all that she trained like a knight and deduced criminal psychology with a sharp mind, Yoanna was still an eleven-year-old girl. Even with a new father and a mother-like figure, neither could become a pillar as solid as her savior.
Confirming that it was nearly time for her father to return, she put the map away and approached the mirror to turn it back around.
"…It would be nice if I at least knew His name."
With a wistful hand she traced the face of the savior she had drawn. Wearing a bitter expression, she flipped the mirror and left her room.
And…
"Dante, you're the worst. You just left a sweet kid like that on her own??"
"You understand a fraction of His Lordship the Chief Justice's greatness, I see. Not quite at my level, of course."
"…"
Three demons were watching the scene. Dantalion smoked in silence. Spent cigarette butts littered the ground at his feet. Savoring the smoke—vanilla blended with cocoa—he thought:
If I don't do something, this kid's life is going to be thoroughly ruined.
Some kind of intervention was needed.