The Skill I Must Hide
The Skill I Must Hide
The Ottoman Empire was an empire at the center of the world. Situated on the boundary connecting two continents, it was perfectly positioned to absorb the cultures of both West and East, and was enjoying unprecedented prosperity.
Of course, their history was filled with countless wars, but they had overcome all of them to become the world's hegemon. Holding that supremacy, they created a blessed land overflowing with milk and honey.
But now, the Sultan who led them was no longer a person of this world. The rumor that he had boldly challenged the Saint and died was already worldwide breaking news known to everyone. Even so, no one immediately invaded the empire.
Even without the Sultan, the Ottoman army was the world's finest. Though they had lost many elites in the Holy War, their weight class was different from the start. Using only the surviving army, they could still stand as conquerors and easily trample other nations.
It was a land without a master, but the guard dogs protecting that land ensured no one could easily target it.
At that moment, the Holy Empire made its move. Cause existed. The Holy War — the Holy Empire had suffered damage from it just the same. They advanced demanding recompense, but the demanded price did not fit the scale. An outrageous demand — in effect, to hand over the empire's territory.
And that outrageous demand soon became a declaration of war.
It was an opportunity. The Holy Empire's Emperor was the Hero. The world's greatest variable and strongest human, possessing heterogeneous talent and power. It was news that a being surpassing even the Sultan — he himself — was personally entering that battlefield.
To grab the crumbs flying from the lions' fight, the hyenas that had been silent until now also began to move.
It didn't matter if the Holy Empire defeated the Ottomans. They just had to claim their share and extort appropriately from them. Conversely, it was the same if the Ottomans won. They would make a deal, saying they had protected them from the Holy Empire.
In an instant, the nations of the world split into two factions and united.
One side was for the Holy Empire, the other for the Ottomans. The allied forces, divided into two branches, moved to take the masterless land — or to protect it and receive tribute.
So much so that only the North remained silent.
It was the moment when a great war, the first in a long time, was about to unfold upon the world.
"You've unnecessarily escalated things."
Canaria, with an expression of annoyance, looked toward that place. The aspect of the war had transformed into a siege. Furthermore, the number of those on the defensive could not be taken lightly. No matter how much Zeke was the Hero, he, too, was human.
Limits existed. His own line existed.
This war wasn't what he wanted in the first place. The disposition of those called "Heroes" was to punish evil, not to be war-mongers crazed for conquest and delighting in war.
"...They were not opponents who could be quickly crushed in a blitz."
Also, unless they were a transcendent being like the Saint or the Demon King, the number of soldiers had an absolute influence on the war. Given the situation, the Ottoman side held the higher weight class. No matter how desperately Zeke struggled, it didn't change much.
One reason he was strong was the holy sword, but not all enemies were evil. Forced to fight with an ordinary sword instead of the holy sword, he couldn't use his full power either.
"...I apologize."
Because of that, time was delayed.
The hyenas who heard the news chose sides, and in the midst of that, the Ottomans made the choice to close their castle gates and fight a siege. Resources were, after all, practically being supplied infinitely. Though it piled up as national debt, it was judged a better situation than annihilation, so with a readiness to fight for years, they locked and barred the castle gates.
"...I'll tell you in advance, I will be returning on the third day. Unlike you, I am not someone with a lot of time."
Habitual Zeke hatred. But Zeke accepted it.
Even if it wasn't his will, in the end, what killed the Saint that day was the blade he had thrown at them. Having incurred a debt to the Demon King that a lifetime couldn't repay, he had no choice but to bow his head endlessly. Their hierarchical relationship was absolute.
"...Still, well, it's not like we didn't assume this possibility."
And perhaps this was the direction Canaria most desired. It was just that the timing wasn't good.
A world alliance? It didn't matter. It meant the annoying kings and heroes were gathered together, so aiming to wipe them all out at once would allow an even faster sprint toward Paradise.
But the timing wasn't good. Canaria's birthday was coming in three days. Because she, having eavesdropped, had learned that Rosaria was making a present for that day.
Returning was absolutely imperative. Yet, she also didn't want to miss the hard-won opportunity to destroy them all at once, so from this position, she intended to begin the unreasonable effort of catching two rabbits at once.
That was the kind of deal it had been from the start, after all.
"So, first, should we just destroy the castle walls?"
They were castle walls upon which numerous robust magical treatments had been performed. Seeing the reinforcing and defensive magics thickly plastered on them, one could immediately tell which direction the Magic Kingdom had sided with.
Had even the heavy-bottomed Tower Masters come out? She could somewhat guess why the Holy Empire's coalition side hadn't been able to penetrate that defense, but... she didn't understand. The power of conquest was given for a swift victory anticipating exactly that, wasn't it? Was it that the Hero, unfamiliar with slaughtering people, was like that? Zeke had become a fine horse, but one difficult to handle. Of course, it was also ambiguous for Canaria to strike him down.
In any case, the Hero was almost the only being in this world who could kill the Demon King. The snowball wouldn't roll any further, but she had to somehow control him — the sole variable that existed for her. She had nothing to do but click her tongue and curse him. If she killed him in a fit of rage and the Hero's qualification passed to another being, it would be troublesome. Even if she found him detestable, she had to keep him alive.
"...Probably, if we break the walls, a manageable arrangement will settle between us. Because in close combat, we hold the advantage."
Zeke affirmed Canaria's strategy. If only the walls were broken, he was confident he could steer the battle advantageously. He had become somewhat accustomed to using the authority of conquest lately. If the stage was set, he was confident he could perform the finest play.
And Canaria trusted him, for now. For the scripture said to trust up to two times. Since she was currently coexisting with the Saint's power, it was hard to deny the scripture. She gave Zeke a last chance.
Of course, it was not Canaria who stood on the battlefield 'now'. There were limits to fighting in the Saint's form. A power suited for this kind of war was not the Saint's but the Demon King's, and using the power she was most accustomed to was the right thing to do.
"...It's the appointed time."
As soon as those words finished, the perception of those around her warped. Black smoke rose, reversing the perception of the being before their eyes. They began to remember her not as the Saint but as another existence.
And simultaneously, her appearance slightly changed.
Black hair, the symbol of ominousness.
Golden eyes, the symbol of a demon.
And a black crown proving it.
Canaria's face changed subtly.
An existence erased from history. But an existence that Zeke, at least, knew.
The King of the Moon who eclipses the sun.
The ruler of vulgar desires,
and the betrayer of evil who loved the Saint.
The Demon King, Serena.
"...What's this? You purely handed over the body?"
The being who makes unreason into reality manifests. It was the moment the Demon King descended upon that battlefield.
Simultaneously, the momentum of the battlefield began to tilt. For in a world without the Saint, no being existed to stop the Demon King.
"...I've finally come to keep that promise, Solomon."
She moved to fulfill a promise only she remembered.
"As promised then, I will pass judgment upon humanity, which has committed unforgivable sins."
Behind her, the Demon King smiled mischievously. Extremely happily, at the judgment finally being delivered. Reveling in the fact that those wings and arms would be drenched in blood, she began to surround the battlefield with a black mist harboring death.
*
At this hour, House Versian.
It was the moment the Demon King descended upon that kitchen.
Rosaria's special homemade birthday cake was completed. For no being existed to stop Rosaria, except Canaria.
"Isn't it perfect as a birthday present?"
She had made it for Canaria's birthday, which only she remembered.
"If I just sprinkle pepper on it here, it'll be perfect!"
Rosaria laughed joyfully. Happily, at Canaria's birthday she was celebrating for the first time in a long while. Gladdened by the fact that she was giving a cake filled with her sincerity.
A cake harboring chaos manifested in that kitchen.
"How is it? Doesn't it look delicious?"
A salty fresh cream cake containing fish and salad. Upon it, a nutritionally complete cake revealed itself to the world, finished with pepper and lemon decorations to cut the fishiness of the cream and fish.
A dish that the world could not yet keep up with was born in the kitchen. Isabella was appalled at the appearance of a cake 2000 years ahead of its time.
"Especially, I'll yield the most delicious first bite to Isabella."
So saying, as a token of recognizing her contributions, Rosaria bestowed that trophy upon Isabella, the most meritorious servant.
She thought receiving an empty lunchbox might be better. But with a sentiment of 'so be it, even if I die,' Isabella began to sample that cake laden with Rosaria's sincerity.
'...If I die here, please let me go to dessert heaven.'
Briefly praying to the main god, she put that monster into her mouth. The first bite tasted bitter. What's this? Why is the cake bitter? Where on earth did the sweetness go?
"How is it? I paid attention to health and added some herbs too."
Rosaria immediately explained the reason.
Thinking, 'Please, write in the scripture not to put such things in cakes.' Isabella, focusing all her nerves to manage her expression, began chewing what had entered her mouth.
Salty. It was the taste of fish and salt. But also sweet. Because cream and sugar were added. Furthermore, fishy. It was because the oil had congealed. Slippery fish oil jelly was fervently asserting itself.
Even with just that, she wanted to die. But it didn't end there. Because this cake, thousands of years ahead, was like an onion — no matter how much you peeled, new flavors emerged.
A refreshing taste filled her mouth.
"I added mint too, so you won't get sick of it while eating."
Her knowledge increased. For she came to know the taste of raw, chewed mint leaves. And then she hit asparagus.
A bitter taste instantly assaulted the tip of her tongue. What's this? Doesn't it originally have a refined taste? It should be subtly sweet and flavorful, but why is it bitter and acrid?
"And it was tough roasting the asparagus until it turned the color of the Saintess's symbolic black clothes. It took a really long time."
Rosaria kept leaking verses from the Forbidden Grimoire. Isabella was now afraid to chew any further. She didn't want to realize the dark cosmos contained within that single small bite, so much so that her outstanding tongue, detecting the subtly perceived taste of olives and their oil, terrified her.
Thus, Isabella felt cosmic horror in one bite of cake. She somehow managed to swallow it, but what remained was the creator of this cake, looking at her with sparkling eyes, awaiting her evaluation.
...But Isabella was a good person. She wasn't someone who would insult a child in front of its mother. She couldn't even speak ill of cooking in front of its chef.
"...It was delicious, Lady Rosaria."
She managed her expression as much as possible, giving a thumbs up.
Then, at that moment, a brilliant idea struck her. The faces of her seniors who kept making bets and tormenting her came to mind. Thinking this was a chance to teach them the same sense of horror felt in that irresistible force, Isabella opened her mouth.
"...Lady Rosaria."
When going to the afterlife, take many friends.
"What is it, Isabella?"
So, let's introduce friends to the ferryman before her eyes.
"It's a shame for just us to eat it... how about sharing it with everyone else? Since there's a little time left before Saintess-nim arrives. Before it spoils, I wish we could all eat together and share this happiness a little."
Isn't happiness multiplied when shared? Because surely everyone here would be happy if they ate the cake full of her sincerity. Isabella steeled herself to become an evangelist of happiness and presented this opinion to her, and...
"...That's a good idea. I also wanted to hear other people's opinions."
Rosaria affirmed the suggestion. And then she began cutting her homemade cake to give it to the maids who were working hard.
It might have been better not to see the cross-section. Because inside the cake were many things that shouldn't be there — foods that shouldn't have taken on those colors.
The moment she saw it, Isabella thought.
'...Maybe, did Saintess-nim do something wrong?'
Is she trying to kill her with food because poison and curses don't work? Thinking that playfully, she imagined the future a little more. When the person married to Rosaria eats her homemade cooking. Just what kind of expression would that person make while eating it?
'...It's really fortunate that you're a noble, young lady.'
Since you're rich, you can just have maids do it, right? If you made it homemade yourself, wouldn't your husband suddenly drop dead? Wouldn't you instantly become a beautiful widow — by your own fault? Of course, your appearance is too precious to marry a commoner, but... anyway, hypothetically speaking.
She thought that maybe the way to maintain peace in a household would be to marry a chef and have that person cook instead. To that extent, Rosaria's cooking was akin to the Demon King of that world.
Truly a talent that must be hidden.
But that cake had already become reality, and now the Demon King herself was moving, having them taste it. For the maids were beings who could not refuse that request. Just like Isabella, they prayed inwardly and bit into the chaotic cosmos fed to them by those benevolent hands.
Everyone's faces were smiling, but their insides were anything but. Isabella, who had been hit first, watched the scene with delight. She clasped her hands and prayed for the first time in a long while.
"...Please, let Saintess-nim be safe."
To prevent Rosaria from achieving the great feat of Saint-slaying, Isabella began to pray to the main god with genuine sincerity for almost the first time ever.
Regardless, Rosaria was eating her cake deliciously.
'It tastes like something Canaria would like too.'
As expected, I'm a good cook, she thought. She was quite delighted, thinking she had finished the first of the surprise presents that her beloved Canaria would fall deeply for.
And now, she was slowly thinking of preparing the second surprise present. This was truly the time for her past-life knowledge to step forward.