You Must Listen to Me
Having shaken off the clinging Asmodeus, Dantalion returned swiftly to his office.
There, seated at his desk, he drained five cans of coffee one after another and sank into thought.
How could he set Yoanna on the right path?
I can't condemn a child's future to Hell just for the sake of my own comfort.
Of course, arriving in Hell did not mean automatic punishment. If it did, why would judges exist? Why would a Chief Justice exist at all?
But that hardly made a trip to Hell a good thing.
After a moment's deliberation, Dantalion pulled out a red book and searched for Yoanna's name.
Fortunately, she hasn't been branded a sinner.
The relief was real — Yoanna's karma had not yet reached the level of a true sinner. Cases like hers were not uncommon. Kill someone who truly deserved killing, and the sin of murder was mitigated. This was especially true in worlds like Yoanna's, where the moral standard was... well, rather abysmal. Given the era, crimes were often settled with an execution and left at that.
Still, I can't keep enabling her murders.
Killing a sinner was still killing a person. Repetition bred familiarity, and when murder became routine, the reasons for it could grow thinner and thinner. Left unchecked, she might come to see killing as her right — and spiral into a self-absorbed butcher.
"Sitri, any good ideas come to mind?"
"Me?"
Sitri, lounging on the office sofa and scrolling through social media, looked up at him with a puzzled expression. She took a long, noisy sip of her honey-syrup latte before answering.
"Why not just leave her alone? She's got potential. If she dies, we could appoint her as a judge."
"A judge, huh..."
It was true that a fair number of judges had once been sinners. Ordinary sinners, of course, never made the cut. Was it right to punish a general who had slain enemy soldiers to defend his nation? Was it just to brand as evil someone who had struck down a greater evil that stood above law and justice itself? Only a select few among those who bore such hard-to-classify sins were ever given the chance to become judges.
No — that wasn't the point.
"We're not discussing this under the assumption that she dies."
"Ugh, what a hassle. Then how about just giving her some advice?"
"That... is actually quite good."
Dantalion nodded. Offering advice rather than intervening directly wouldn't require a particularly large channel.
He fixed Sitri with a pointed stare. Still slurping her latte, she blinked as she felt his gaze. After two or three more blinks, she pointed at herself.
"You want me to go find a channel?"
"You're the expert on this sort of thing."
"Ueeeh..."
Like it or not, she was the secretary who assisted the Chief Justice. What choice did she have? Radiating every ounce of reluctance she could muster, Sitri vanished into the shadows.
Flash!
Before the rooster could crow, Yoanna's body announced the morning. She rose with a half-asleep face, rolling her neck and shoulders to shake off the drowsiness, then made her way to the mirror as if by instinct.
Whoosh!
She spun the mirror around to face the portrait of her savior that she had drawn herself. Kneeling before it, she raised both hands in a reverent prayer.
"May the souls of sinners become Your daily bread. And may You watch over the peaceful days of the righteous. This I pray."
Naturally, Dantalion had never taught her any such prayer. Why on earth would he eat a sinner's soul? He was no gourmand of the grotesque, and certainly not desperate enough to dine on something that unappetizing.
Having offered her homemade prayer, pieced together from the memories of her past, Yoanna circulated power through her entire body.
Fwoosh.
Like a flower unfolding its petals to meet the sun, a blossom of sunset-orange bloomed within her. The heat rising from those petals coursed through her body, banishing sleep and flooding every limb with vitality.
"Hnnngh~!"
A finishing stretch to loosen her muscles, and Yoanna had fully cast off the last traces of sleep. She stepped out of her room — and at that very moment, a man emerging from the bathroom spotted her.
"Yoanna, up early again today!"
The man was Clove, Yoanna's adoptive father. A commoner with no backing who had become a knight through sheer grit, Clove was a man of astonishing diligence. No doubt he had planned to begin his training at the crack of dawn again today...
"Father, I'd recommend something that covers the neck today."
"Hm? What are you talking about all of a sudd— ah!"
Following Yoanna's pointing finger, Clove ran a hand over his own neck and flushed with panic. The traces of last night's time with his beloved wife remained, etched in the shape of teeth marks.
Caught in such an embarrassing state, Clove stammered and flailed, utterly at a loss.
She seems to be getting along well with Messela. That's a relief.
Yoanna herself was not the least bit flustered. After years spent in a den of decadence, was a little thing like this going to make her blush? She simply smiled faintly, as if she understood everything.
"Y-Yoanna. This is, well, you see..."
"I'm glad you and Mother seem so happily married. I already know, so don't worry about it — just head downstairs."
"Ahem, what do you mean you already know! It's not like that—"
"Yes, yes, I understand."
Yoanna gave Clove a firm push between the shoulder blades. Being a kind-hearted man, her adoptive father let himself be herded along without resistance — though the sheer mortification certainly helped.
Once she confirmed he had gone downstairs, Yoanna entered the bathroom. She washed thoroughly, then followed her usual routine of admiring the flower Dantalion had planted within her.
"Yoanna~ Come down for breakfast~"
"Yes."
Messela, already up, called for her. Yoanna quickly dried off and left the bathroom.
For breakfast, something simple — bacon and eggs, and bread...
"I learned a new recipe recently, so I tried frying a whole chicken."
"Ooooh!!"
...as an appetizer. Messela set the fried chicken before Clove and Yoanna. Having inhaled the appetizer, Yoanna picked up a drumstick. A delicious aroma rose in wisps from the reddish-hued chicken leg.
Chomp!
"!"
"Whoa, this is no joke!"
The reactions of the two big eaters and food lovers were a resounding success. And as for Messela...
"Honey, say aah~"
...she held out a carefully shredded piece of chicken to the husband who had given her heaven the night before. Anyone who didn't know her past would have sworn she was the picture of a devoted wife.
"Hahaha! Honey, I love it, but the kid is watching..."
Embarrassed, Clove glanced at Yoanna. But there was nothing to worry about — Yoanna was far too busy dismantling her chicken to notice a thing. And so the couple cooed and flirted to their hearts' content.
Having filled their stomachs with a hearty morning meal, Yoanna and Clove headed to the rear of the estate. A clean training ground without a single loose pebble in sight. Practice dummies and wooden weapons stood in one corner — but the two of them had no business with those.
"Live steel again today, please."
"Haha, thanks to my daughter, I never have to worry about post-meal exercise. How wonderful is that?"
They took a suitable distance and drew their swords. By any ordinary standard, a father who didn't stop his young daughter from sparring with live blades would be considered strange indeed...
That kind of drive is exactly what she needs!
Could a man who had clawed his way from commoner to knighthood be ordinary? Far from restraining her, Clove was the type to cheer on Yoanna's ambition. There was also a touch of that rural-boy ignorance — the belief that a few beatings in childhood made for a sturdier adult. More than anything, though, Clove saw Yoanna's talent for what it was.
"Here I come!"
Boom!
Yoanna kicked off the ground and closed the distance to Clove in an instant. The tip of her blade shot straight for her father's heart. Two separate motions fused into one seamless flow.
But a knight was a reaper of the battlefield, his combat arts honed to the extreme.
"You've improved even more!"
Reading her attack from the very first movement, Clove twisted his body lightly. Yoanna's sword pierced empty air, and Clove put his core into a horizontal sweep of his rectangular longsword.
Crash!
"Kh!?"
Yoanna yanked her blade back just in time to block. Her adoptive father was a master of the heavy sword and the strong sword, styles built on raw power and stamina. A mere waist-driven horizontal cut rattled her entire body.
Ordinarily, a father might hesitate the moment his daughter let out a pained sound...
"Don't give up!"
Clove, it turned out, had more than a little battle-maniac in him. His powerful strikes came from every direction without pause, each one as ferocious as a charging boar.
But Yoanna did not yield. The instant Clove's arm overextended —
Now!
From a lowered stance that looked almost like a collapse, a terrifying burst of propulsion erupted. Had she managed to swing her sword from that position, it would have been genuinely threatening...
Thud!
"You need to tell the difference between an opening and a trap."
"Ghk!?"
Clove's knee drove into Yoanna's stomach from a blind angle. The sudden impact loosened her grip, and his blade flicked hers away with almost insulting ease. Yoanna fought to keep her wits and retreat, but —
Whoooosh!!
"Well? Want to keep going?"
"...No. I lost again."
A chilling wind skimmed past Yoanna's throat. She stared at her own face reflected in her father's blade and let out a sigh. Looking down at her, Clove smiled.
I was told I had talent growing up, but my daughter is a monster beyond that.
An eleven-year-old girl holding her own against a knight was absurd to begin with. And she hadn't even picked up a sword in early childhood — what kind of achievement was this?
Still, one thing nagged at him.
There's a strange killing intent in Yoanna's swordsmanship.
It was odd. Killing intent wasn't something you could simply decide to project. It was something you felt only from those who had truly taken a life — and among them, only those born with the talent for it. So what of Yoanna's?
Could she be a genius who mastered killing intent entirely on her own?
It wasn't unheard of, so Clove let the thought rest. After all, a girl as kind as Yoanna would never actually kill anyone... would she?
In that regard, Dantalion owed Clove an apology.
Late that night, while Clove was away from home, Yoanna made her way to the red-light district. Hooded in a worn cloak, she sat on a rooftop and surveyed the night streets with a listless expression.
Drunks staggering and reeling. Courtesans smoking and luring passing men. People laughing and chattering as if the world would end tomorrow.
Watching them, Yoanna thought:
Is that really fun?
The pinnacle of pleasure was said to be transgression — the inexpressible liberation of doing things you would never dare attempt in ordinary life. But Yoanna, who had seen the very bottom of decadence, could not understand it. She knew that when transgression continued unchecked, its end was ruin.
Having lost interest, she turned her gaze toward the alleys.
Wanted criminals don't walk the main roads.
Of course, the lower classes paid little attention to wanted posters. The red-light district, where the city's darkness gathered, was already crawling with unsavory types even without fugitives in the mix. Getting involved with a bounty target could just as easily land you in shackles yourself, so people kept their noses out of it.
But human psychology was what it was.
Found him!
A guilty conscience always showed in a person's behavior. Yoanna spotted a man whose features matched her target heading deeper into an alley. She pulled the wanted poster from her coat.
Roughly two meters tall, a muscular build, brown hair, a scar carved across his cheek. It was unmistakably Yohaim, her next mark.
Shing.
She drew her sword and smeared prepared mud along the blade. The gleam of steel vanished. Descending silently to the ground, she began to tail him.
"You'll really give me silver just for letting you stay the night at my place?"
"Of course! And if your service is excellent, I might even give you something better."
Yohaim laughed lewdly, stroking the courtesan's shoulder. His fingers flipped two silver coins, and greed lit up in her eyes. Pressing herself closer, she led him toward her house deeper in the alley.
Once the two of them entered the dilapidated building, Yoanna waited.
Three to five minutes... they should be getting started around then.
She waited for the moment when living beings were most off their guard. Using her heartbeat as a second hand, she tracked the time, then slowly approached the house. Just as she quietly reached for the door —
KRAAASH!!
The wall exploded outward, and Yohaim burst through. Having seized her rear, he swung his sword at her shoulder.
"What the hell are you, you little rat?!"
"Kh!?"
Screeech!
Yoanna deflected Yohaim's blade and scrambled back. Clicking his tongue, he tapped his own shoulder with his sword.
"What, are you some knight family's brat? That reaction was sharp — someone's trained you."
"……"
Yoanna answered by settling into her stance. The ambush had failed, but she had no intention of simply walking away. Her hair flushed with the color of sunset, and the mud-smeared blade began to glow a deep red.
Yohaim's eyes went wide, and he stammered.
"W-wait. Is that Aura?!"
As he faltered, Yoanna seized the initiative, kicking off the ground. Her sword shot forward at maximum speed, carving a crimson flash through the darkness.
But Yoanna had miscalculated.
CLANG!!
"Ugh!?"
"Too bad for you. I know what that is — and it's not real Aura yet."
Yohaim was nothing like the criminals she had faced so far. His blade, wreathed in a dark current, shattered her thrust.
Boom!
Her sword buried itself in the wall. She wrenched it free and spun toward him —
"Here, a present!"
— and in that instant, the blood-soaked head of the courtesan came flying at her.
Meeting the empty eyes of the dead woman, Yoanna froze despite herself. Her mind screamed at her to ignore it and swing, but her body refused. Then the courtesan's head burst apart, and the remains splattered across Yoanna's face.
Blood and brain matter — the residue of a woman's entire life. All of it swallowed her vision whole. Blinded in an instant, Yoanna faltered in shock.
"I'll put that dead body of yours to good use!"
A single moment of hesitation led straight to death — that was the fate of anyone who lived by the blade. Certain of his victory, Yohaim swung for Yoanna's neck. A thrust through the heart would have been faster, but he wanted to watch her face twist in despair.
And so, as the blade closed in on her throat, beyond the reach of her senses —
"!"
A voice only Yoanna could hear struck her ear. She dropped her head, and Yohaim's sword whistled past above her. At that lightning-quick reaction, his brow twitched.
She reacted to that?
Impossible. Everything until now had marked her as an inexperienced brat. There was no way she could stay composed after losing her sight.
And yet...
"She's... smiling???"
She was smiling.