Slaying the Greater Demon and the Desert Feast
"Ha... but Bertrand... he's begging like that... Didn't you promise...?"
"Do promises with demons mean anything?"
"Well, that's true, but..."
"Fire the holy light beam. You saw his true form earlier. That's the kind of scum they are. They say shit like that with their mouths, but the moment you let them go, they'll curse you from behind."
But Celereja still hesitated, fidgeting anxiously.
"Saintess. You seem swayed by that pathetic look right now, but think back to those two demons we just exorcised. They turned a newborn baby into a monster."
"Y-Yeah..."
"Those lesser demons couldn't have done that on their own. It was this greater demon who lent them power and ordered it."
Bepahr thrashed wildly, screaming in rage.
"That was their own doing! I didn't order it!"
Ignoring his cries, I grabbed Celereja's shoulders.
"Saintess. If I hadn't come here, that baby and its mother would've slaughtered the whole household and devoured the corpses like they did the goats."
"Gasp...!"
Celereja clapped a hand over her mouth at the shocking words.
"And this greater demon might turn the city into a hell on earth just for fun. You must know about the Al-Jasha massacre a few years back, right?"
"I do..."
"That was the work of Margas, this demon's older brother—a greater demon."
Back then, dragging around Idwild, Blaze, and Brione was a real pain...
"Saintess. Demons are fundamentally different from us. Their sense of justice, common sense, and morals are the complete opposite of ours. Telling a demon to live kindly is like ordering them to abandon everything, defy their instincts, and live in agony from their perspective."
Celereja, having graduated from the Holy Academy, probably knew more about demonic nature and origins than I did. Demons could never be reasoned or compromised with. Even the Demon King had subtly complained during our meetings about how hard it was to control them. They obeyed now, but he'd hinted they'd reveal their true nature someday and stab him in the back. He said he needed to strike first but had no clear way to do it.
Huh. The more I think about it, the funnier that bastard seems. Why the hell spill that like a therapy session?
Anyway... that's demons for you. No matter how useful, you never join hands with them.
"Saintess. Kill it. The only good demon is a dead one."
Celereja fidgeted, at a loss, then finally thrust both hands forward.
"Right now, lesser demons are probably doing who-knows-what somewhere we don't know about. Kill the greater demon, and they'll vanish naturally."
"Got it, Bertrand."
A straight beam of holy light shot from her hands, striking Bepahr square in the chest. But Celereja's holy power wasn't strong enough to finish him off instantly, so he merely screamed in agony without dying.
The Holy Sword, drawn from its sheath, erupted in狂 white flames and severed Bepahr's neck.
His head hit the ground bubbling, transforming into a pitch-black demonic one. His voluptuous body collapsed, soon twisting into a hideous demon form.
Mideronde flinched at the sight of the true demon and hurriedly backed away.
Celereja sighed heavily and sank to the ground.
"Well done, Saintess."
"Haa... Bertrand... that sword... the holy power was insanely condensed... I thought the Goddess had descended. What is it?"
She'd asked the same thing long ago, the first time she visited Rosens. She'd sensed the overwhelming holy power and demanded to know what it was. Back then, I shut her down by saying prying too deep into someone wielding such a blade could be dangerous. I didn't trust her fully yet, so no way was I spilling the truth.
But the Celereja now was different.
"We'll wrap things up here first, then I'll explain."
I gave Mideronde some tasks and took a few measures. First up: spatial distortion, naturally.
"Any living thing crossing the barrier will lose all sense of direction—moving forward will feel like going backward. They won't get in."
"You handled visual distortion too?"
"Yeah. Nothing visible from outside."
Next, time to summon golems for harvesting the ripe coffee beans. With a simple gesture, Mideronde conjured dozens of them. Human-sized, varied in appearance and height, but all had delicate fingers.
"They're dumb as rocks, so I have to babysit them constantly. Such a hassle."
Muttering complaints, Mideronde opened a large dimensional gate to the inn—big enough for wagons to pass back and forth.
"Mideronde, we need to finish up this demon business first, so watch the golems for a bit. Be right back."
"Don't take too long. Dealing with golems is infuriating."
"Got it. And sorry, but teleport us to the landowner's mansion."
Mideronde instantly warped us to the landowner's garden. The gardeners trimming trees spotted us and screamed, fleeing into the mansion. Soldiers rushed out at the cries, and Rowell fluently explained in desert tongue, holding up the demon's head for all to see. The soldiers paled and bolted after the gardeners.
"Shall we go in? Gotta show the landowner."
As we left the garden, the barefoot landowner came rushing out in a panic.
"Rowell, explain."
"Understood. Say the Saintess handled it?"
"Smartass. Good head on your shoulders."
Rowell bowed to me, then explained to the landowner. The man alternated stares between the demon head and Celereja, looking dazed. Hearing his coffee farm was ruined not by disaster but a greater demon orgying with goats? Bizarre. But the black demon head in my hand was irrefutable proof.
Once Rowell finished, the landowner gestured us inside urgently.
"What'd he say?"
"He's convinced. Says you've done a great deed and will treat us accordingly."
"What about the missing trees?"
"Said the greater demon thrashed them all in its death throes."
"Well done."
We followed him into the mansion. I murmured to the trailing Saintess.
"Saintess, did you eat anything before coming here?"
"No? Why?"
"Good thing."
Moments later, Celereja gaped as a dozen servants strained to bring in a whole roasted camel.
In the garden, they'd set up a massive free feast for the townsfolk, celebrating the demon's death that ruined the coffee farm. Inside the mansion, our group mingled with priests and city officials. The food dwarfed what Rowell and I got—endless opulent dishes poured out.
The centerpiece: a whole roasted camel. Slice open its belly—a whole sheep. Sheep's belly—a chicken. Chicken's—a fish. Fish's—a boiled egg.
The landowner urged Celereja and me to share the egg. Oblivious, we split it.
Rowell whispered, "Master. This camel dish is for special occasions like weddings. That egg is for the bride and groom. He thinks you and the Saintess are a couple."
Celereja choked violently upon hearing that.
Visitors gawked at the demon head, greeted Celereja with praise. Thanks for solving the incident, no doubt. Each time, her ears reddened as she awkwardly bowed in response.
The sun slowly dipped west. Worried Mideronde might be fuming from golem-wrangling, we decided to call it. Relaying that, the landowner waved dismissively, bellowing.
"Stay the night. Audience with the Caliph tomorrow."
"What? Caliph?"
The Caliph was like a desert king's equivalent. Praising us for the demon kill? Not bad, but staying might piss off Mideronde...
Rowell read my face and whispered, "I'll oversee the farm. Coffee's my job."
"How do we communicate?"
"Nothing special left. Smile through dinner, retire to guest rooms. Palace'll have a translator tomorrow."
Hm. Sounds like a day of luxury ain't bad.
"And for such a deed, expect hefty gifts tomorrow. Desert tradition."
Ah. The real reason.
"Saintess, you good?"
"Yes. Told the nuns it might take days."
"Perfect, Rowell. Check the farm, arrange nun meals via Marim delivery."
"Understood, Master."
Rowell explained in desert tongue and left. Even after, we were dragged around, force-fed, enduring joyful torment.
The feast ended late. Exhausted, servants led us to guest rooms—one for us, assuming couple status?
The room screamed desert style: a massive round bed dominating the center.
"Stuffed to bursting, right, Saintess?"
Turning, Celereja tackled me onto the bed.