A Blooming Nightmare
Lisianthus looked ready to charge the girl barehanded, bristling with fury. Unless one was a complete fool, rushing in recklessly alone in a situation like this would be out of the question—yet Lisianthus was, on occasion, exceptionally reckless.
The pack of demonic beasts had thinned out considerably compared to before. The guests who had once packed the hall were now either dead or fled, and both the stage and the surrounding architecture were reduced to mangled ruins.
Even if he wasn't quite on Raymon's level, Lisianthus was formidable in his own right. For a slip of a girl who stood a full head shorter to match him blow for blow was deeply unsettling. Her eerie, almost inhuman demeanor, her halting speech, and above all, the fact that she was acting on the orders of a "Master" was deeply troubling.
“You are weak. And foolish.”
The girl's lips twisted into a forced sneer. Rather than conveying genuine mockery, it looked like an awkward mimicry, as if a doll had learned human emotions solely from paintings or theatrical plays—a smile made all the more chilling for its clumsy imitation.
“Until, next time.”
Her black skirts billowed softly in the air like an inflating balloon. Leaving behind that curt farewell, the girl vanished from the spot faster than the eye could follow. The swarm of demonic beasts surged after her, trailing in her wake like rats behind the Pied Piper.
The sight of those pitch-black, grotesque beasts swarming away in a tight mass was utterly bizarre.
After all that frantic slashing, burning, and tearing them apart, countless more had somehow crawled out from the shadows. Watching them follow the girl into the distance, Debbie clicked her tongue in disbelief.
“…Seriously, what kind of creature was that?”
“Damn it, you’re the one who’s supposed to be sharp on intelligence! If you don’t know, who the hell does?!”
Lisianthus spat in frustrated anger, only to suddenly wince and hiss through his teeth.
“Ow, ow, ow! Damn, that stings! Ow, ow, ow. Hurting like hell… Ah, damn it.”
“Wow, you’re covered in blisters. Should we count it a blessing it isn’t worse…?”
Debbie clicked her tongue as she inspected Lisianthus's arm. Phlux looked equally shocked.
“…Did, er, wielding that fire do this to you?”
“Can’t you tell just by looking? Damn it. That’s what I get for showing off. Whatever that thing is, she’s monstrously strong. It’s almost as if…”
“As if?”
Lisianthus looked at Phlux, hesitating for a moment.
“…She moves like a demonic beast.”
“Pardon?”
Having previously lived in terror of being consumed by demonic energy and morphing into a beast himself, Phlux flinched. Lisianthus, looking thoroughly perturbed, scratched vigorously at his forehead with his uninjured left hand.
“It’s like… she doesn’t feel any weight at all. Moving completely effortlessly, swinging a spear the size of a grown man’s torso with those spindly little arms. A human being can’t do that! It’s the kind of movement you only see in demonic beasts, which ignore muscles, bones, and anatomy entirely to move purely on the power of their cores. Demonic beasts can generate absurd strength—sometimes a thing the size of a rat pellet can topple an entire tree. Usually, the size of the core corresponds roughly to the size of the body and the strength it can wield… but…”
Lisianthus trailed off, something clearly snagging in his thoughts.
His expression turned sour—worse than if he had returned to his quarters after a long absence only to be informed of a vermin infestation under his bed.
Unlike Phlux, who merely tilted his head in confusion due to his lack of expertise regarding demonic beasts, Debbie instantly grasped the terrifying implications of his words. Her face drained of color.
“…Then, what if it’s a high-ranking demonic beast with a core… the size of a human?”
“A catastrophe,” Lisianthus sighed, looking as though he didn't even want to imagine it.
“Ugh, damn it… There has never been a documented case of someone retaining human reason and taking on the form of a demonic beast. It was obvious that such an entity would become the absolute worst enemy imaginable for mankind, which is why we’ve spent all this time fighting tooth and nail to prevent it.”
His gaze darkened.
“Honestly, I’d rather hope she’s just some freakish prodigy I’ve never heard of… or someone using strange magic. In the first place, demonic beasts don’t cooperate with each other. They might swarm together temporarily when prey is dangled in front of them, but any ordinary wild beast can do that…”
Lisianthus’s eyes turned grim.
Indeed, that was the very reason they had been able to sweep away the demonic beasts lured as bait to the Imperial Palace so easily before. Demonic beasts possessed only the intellect of wild animals. Furthermore, while humans lumped them all together under the umbrella term of "demonic beasts," in truth there were dozens, even hundreds of completely unclassifiable varieties.
Whether they could even communicate amongst themselves was doubtful; at most, weaker specimens would instinctively follow an exceptionally strong alpha. Thus, the idea of demonic beasts uniting against a shared enemy or obeying the commands of a specific individual had always been unthinkable.
“…Yet looking at this ambush just now, she brought them all with her and then retreated with them. It means someone clearly has a way to control them.”
As the weight of those words hit him, Phlux’s face turned as pale as a sheet of parchment.
Lisianthus concluded his thought, his tone rife with reluctance to accept reality.
“Damn it all… I don’t know who the hell it is, but we’ve run into one terrifyingly monstrous enemy.”
Lilacs. Anemones. Camellias. Forget-me-nots. Lilies of the valley. And primroses.
It was a greenhouse brimming with flowers blooming entirely out of season.
Nor was it merely blossoms. Low shrubs, evergreens that stayed lush year-round, and carnivorous flora of every description flaunted their scents and shapes from every corner.
Anyone with even a modest knowledge of horticulture would have found the sight profoundly baffling. Delicate, finicky blossoms that despised both harsh sunlight and deep shade grew side by side with rugged cacti bred for desert sands, intermingling indiscriminately in an uncanny harmony.
Yet whenever Primrose gazed upon this sight, her chest swelled with reverence.
This very sanctuary was the living proof that her young lady was the true, chosen sovereign of this world.
The plants flourishing in this greenhouse cared nothing for sunlight or moonlight. They had no need for water. Regardless of the nutrients in the soil, they bloomed vibrant and fresh in all four seasons, eternally lush and healthy.
In stark contrast, human beings were frail and foolish. They died of cold, they died of heat, they died of old age, they died of disease. Often, even when their bodies were whole, their minds festered and rotted away. They were creatures far too stupid and brittle to discern the purpose of their own lives—inferior things that could only barely draw breath when transplanted into a palm-sized flowerpot.
Once, Primrose too had been the lowliest, most foolish creature in the world, just like them.
A useless child unworthy of breath. A life cast aside by everyone. A wretched insect crawling toward death, utterly incapable of sustaining its own existence. But her lady had chosen her. She had revived her, breathed life into her, and bestowed upon her the name of a flower. She had told her that the color of her hair and eyes, dyed the shade of flower petals, was beautiful.
From that moment, "Primrose" bloomed. A flower that existed solely for one person.
“Master.”
A touch of warmth entered Primrose’s voice, which usually sounded completely devoid of emotion.
“Prim!”
Lilium, Primrose’s precious lady, beamed like a blossoming flower. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield herself from the sun, her long hair woven into a loose braid. Having been tending to her flora, she brushed the soil from her hands with an endearing, effortless grace.
“Well? Did things go smoothly?”
“Yes.”
Primrose set down the "gift" in her hands. The movement was so light and airy she might as well have been setting down a bundle of quilts.
The "gift" was a middle-aged man bound tightly from head to toe in thick ropes. Bruises mottled his limbs where the coarse hemp had chafed against his frantic struggles. His bloodshot eyes darted wildly in sheer panic, trying to take in his surroundings, while saliva dribbled pathetically past the gag stuffed into his mouth. It was a truly unsightly spectacle—though naturally, few would look dignified after being kidnapped and dragged across the city tied up like a slaughtered pig.
“The person, My Lady ordered brought, instead.”
“Mmph! Mmmph!”
“Still… a vulgar, foolish male, clearly. Must My Lady, look upon him, with her own eyes?”
Primrose made no effort to conceal her distaste. In stark contrast to her usual doll-like indifference toward the rest of the world, genuine concern for her mistress shone through.
“Oh, now. Haven’t I told you time and time again that appearance and usefulness are two entirely different things, Prim? Goodness. Though I do understand your desire to show me only pretty, beautiful things.”
Lilium smiled like an angel.