I'm a Patient (4)
Adults—a man and a woman—hold hands and walk around. We've socially agreed to call this a date.
That means anywhere can be a date spot if the two like each other. But even I, who's only learned romance from books, think some places are just a no-go.
One of them is definitely the hospital. I mean, do you really need to date right in front of a patient?
"…Fuck?"
Alick, the 1st District Chief lying in the outdoor temporary ward, breaks down. More precisely, his mind shatters.
The cause is obvious to anyone. Me standing there awkwardly, and Sylvia holding my left hand with a soft smile. No judge needed—this case is clear-cut. I'm the perp.
"Hello. I heard you're someone my oppa relies on a lot—"
"My oppa???"
Oof. Sylvia just poured oil on the fire. This is gonna burn bright.
"You fucking—@#%!!"
Before Alick can unleash a barrage of curses, Ceres shuts him down in one go. Though with all those bandages wrapped tight, he didn't really need suppressing anyway.
"What brings you here?"
"Things seem to be escalating, so I came."
"It's a date, right! You fucking bastard—argh! I'm a patient!"
"How's the prognosis?"
"No different from the last report."
Tsk. Not a great sign. Black mages aren't the type to sit idle for a week. They're definitely prepping something big.
That explains the lack of casualties or injuries. Huddled behind defensive barriers, just maintaining them—no incidents gonna happen. You need clapping hands for applause, after all.
Of course, Alick's the exception. Only a madman shoves his head into a workshop those mages slaved over. That's practically natural causes. Even I wouldn't pull that stunt. Different beasts, different moves.
"Deputy Chief. Hate to say it, but… is there something you need to handle here?"
Lost in thought, Vargas—the 3rd District Chief—hits the nail on the head. Classic top-brain-of-the-Execution-Bureau question.
"…Not really?"
Pulling some crazy Possession stunt here? Evangeline's Holy Kingdom jujutsu wouldn't end it. Master and godmother would rush in, strip-search my soul, and Sylvia'd cap it off with social assassination.
But black mages could strike anytime, so I'm on-site standby. Teleport's handy, but being here versus not? Night and day.
Plus, holing up in my office as a "patient" felt off. Especially when Alick looks more invalid than me. Anyone seeing this pic would call bullshit.
"Hey! Deputy Chief! Get over here for work! I've held back till now, but—"
"Save the rest for outside."
Leaving the unleashed Alick behind, I step out with Vargas. Sorry, Alick. Boss luck's just not on your side.
Outside the tent, gazes from Execution Bureau priests swarm us.
First my face. Then Sylvia beside me. Then our clasped hands.
Then eyes fleeing in panic.
Hmm.
I'm dead.
My social rep in the Bureau? Straight to rock bottom. Without the secrecy oath, this rumor'd balloon and flood the entire Holy Knight Order.
Gonna go nuts.
Why do date events keep popping during work? Love's love, work's work. Keep 'em separate, damn it.
"You hate holding my hand?"
"No…"
But against ten years of toying with her crush? My rebuttal's powerless. So can we skip the interlocked fingers or arm links? That's ironclad evidence.
"You seem fine with this much. …Maybe that person was right after all."
"…?"
I turn to Sylvia, and she presses a finger to my lips—quiet. Eyes pour in instantly.
"…You really found him this time?"
"Shh!"
Ah. Arm links and hand-holds? Meaningless. I'm practically married already. No more wedding talk for me.
…Fine.
Everything wraps by year's end anyway. Once it does, I decide—no matter what. So this is my limit now.
"Eek! My hair's ruined!"
Ruffling her pink locks rough, Sylvia pouts and pulls away. Messy suits her better. Why bother adulting it up? More responsibility, no perks.
"Deputy Chief. You really here just to hang out?"
Shit. Forgot Vargas was here. Keep screwing up lately.
"Sorry. So, next plans?"
"We can breach clean in three days. But…"
Vargas trails off. Synonym for "another shitstorm."
"Local nobles are pressuring. Looks like they'll march in any second."
Yeah. Medieval noble average. Spot a scrap? Pounce. Forgot that.
"Got it. Report any issues ASAP—"
Then it hits. Massive trumpet blast rides the air, slamming eardrums.
BWOOOOONG!
A bone-chilling bellow that numbs the legs. Echoes from the Demon War era.
Looking toward the source, a horde of cavalry charges our way.
Speak of the tiger. Couldn't wait, huh? Poor Ludwig Marquis.
"I'll report any anomalies."
"Do."
With that, Vargas dips with the priests. Knew trouble was coming, but as a "patient," I can't join.
Hmm.
Expected outside meddling, but not this fast.
Noble greed for a bite, or black mage puppets? Either way, not welcome.
Facing black mages breeds suspicion of everything. Half the nobles bitching around Hero Party? Demon-linked. Insane otherwise. No wonder paranoia sticks. The pure crazies? Even dumber. What makes that blood so special?
Leading that cavalry? Lerogent Count family. Their academy stunt still burns. Told 'em never cross paths again.
Who knows what I'd do. So—
"Kyaa!"
Yanking Sylvia into my arms, she yelps in surprise.
"W-what is it?"
"…Trouble's brewing."
"…Huh?"
Gaze. Or instinct. Something shitty sweeps over us—from that cavalry. Black mage themselves, or equivalent, eyeing us.
Good I brought it.
Check the censer in my arms. Knew my gut was off—didn't expect immediate use.
"Sylvia."
Looks like I owe her an apology. Those bastards never spit out prey once eyed. Sorry, but Sylvia as bait—
"I'll do it."
"…Huh?"
Haven't said a word yet?
"Oppa. Your face screams it—serious shit, right?"
Yeah. Hope it's nothing, but odds say those fucks move.
"Guess I need more acting practice."
She nods at my self-mockery.
"Then make it up to me. Sunflowers need water too, not just sun."
Her beaming smile. My hand's on her head before I know it.
"Got it."
"Not that kinda attention—more man-woman stuff! Eek! It's messy!"
The time has come. Countless humans unable to ditch their greed have arrived. Time to awaken the War God.
We want one thing: regression to the evil-overflowing era.
When malice soaked the land, oceans spewed filth, human screams drenched the air. The weak devoured by the strong, countless grudges birthed.
Wasn't it a beautiful world?
"Master. We've arrived."
Snapping Helix Belladon from reverie is his disciple. Crude black robe, dark red velvet outfit. Demon-forged magic tools everywhere.
Comm orb lit—external contact made.
"Good. They've held out long enough. How many gathered?"
"Nine-tenths of local knight orders. Still swelling—rumors spread to distant territories."
Perfect. Aura Experts'll frenzy on mere whiff. Plenty of blood for our great work. One stroke wipes those priest scum.
Birth a true god, restart the half-assed Demon War. Faith crumbles, pure desire rules. Beautiful.
"…Master, sorry, but one anomaly."
"What?"
"Take a look."
Fuzzy image forms over the orb. Blurry kid scribble without focus.
But Helix's eyes spike its value.
"Disciple. This true, no lies?"
"Yes. Why lie? …Guess my hunch was right."
He knows the disciple eyes his back. Planned to off post-job. Didn't expect this twist. If true, needs the help.
"Change of plans."
"Yes."
Ten years ago, when his master lived, human-god research peaked.
Found the perfect vessel among subjects.
"Most perfect, stable. What can you hold?"
Perfectly digested all human desires—a contradiction of life and death.
"Didn't know the Great Witch lived."
Last from Babaya hut.
Only one to fully accept god-shards. Thought Holy Kingdom scrapped her. Alive and well? Unimaginable.
Funny bastards. Tore demons like trash, yet mercy like nobles? Helix laughs.
Still priest-bound. Pitiful kids. Bound to lose.
"Prep everything in two hours."
"Yes!"
Priests can do jack. Since nameless saint died in Demon War, what scares us?
Great Saintess? Fake saint kneeling to evil gods. Fear a god-loser? At best, tricks.
Recently burned relics for six gods' miracles on our black fortress. Their forces? Laughably depleted.
Thanks for the gift.
Soak the earth in orphan screams and white blood. Makes our path pretty, no?
"Or something like that?"
"…"
"…"
Lianna and Sylvia shut up at my wild guess. Sounds off even to me, but fits those fucks—no better explanation.
"…They know it's a trap and still come?"
"Yup."
Sylvia's logical pushback. Normal smarts? Dodge it.
Why step in a dug pit?
"They'll come for sure."
I'd bet everything.
Their thinking? One track: own grudges. Brainless otherwise. Too easy. Dance to my tune.
"Prep like old times. Get it, Lianna?"
"Yes. Been ages for grand magic."
Empty forest. Catalysts scattered in plain dirt and grass. 1km birdcage, no bars.
All set. Just watch 'em rage at "this magic?"
"Sylvia, right hand?"
"Sure, Lianna unnie."
"Okay. Marking done—signal when ready."
With that, Lianna vanishes into invisible night sky. We wait for black mage fish to bite.
Dealing with self-proclaimed geniuses? Easiest.
Why can't they learn?
Beyond me.