Kneeling Demons (1)
I eyed the milk in the glass suspiciously before asking Idwild, "What's this milk?"
"It's just milk, what else?"
"Hmm..."
This didn't seem like cow's milk... A quick glance revealed a wet stain on a certain part of Idwild's chest.
"If you're not gonna drink it, give it to me."
As I hesitated, Marim, who'd been eyeing the glass greedily, snatched it right out of my hand. Her pickpocket instincts made her hands too fast to react to. Before I could even try to stop her, she gulped it down on the spot.
"Wha-wha-wha-what?!"
Idwild flailed her arms in panic, but Marim had already drained the glass and smacked her lips. She tilted her head.
"Huh...? The taste is kinda... off...? Why's it so thin...?"
"Gimme that...!"
In a rare burst of speed, Idwild snatched the glass from Marim's hand, her face flushing red as she fled to the kitchen.
"Ah... something's weird about the taste..."
Marim kept smacking her lips as she wandered off, leaving Della standing there bewildered, clueless about what had just happened. When her eyes met mine, she flashed a pretty smile.
"Master. Keep up the good work today!"
Brione, shoved aside by Idwild, stood fuming in the corner. No wonder she was pissed.
After breakfast cleanup, I spotted Brione coming down the stairs with her bag slung over her shoulder.
"Where you off to?"
"Time to go. Can't stay here forever."
"Oh, yeah? Stick around a bit longer. Haven't even had a proper chat 'cause I've been busy."
Great, the scheming bitch was leaving—I was thrilled inside but played polite on the surface.
Brione smirked. "Cut the fake bullshit. No matter how I look at it, this ain't a place for me."
"Like there's a place that's just right for you?"
"Dunno? But I can't live somewhere I hear you banging other bitches every night."
Oh, right. She'd seen me with Idwild yesterday... That explained the puddle outside the door.
"And I can't stand that it's that dumb cow."
Brione said it loud enough for everyone, glaring at Idwild without a care.
Typical mage. As the saying goes, mages care nothing for anyone below the goddess—they just spout whatever and act on whims. That's why I hate mage pricks.
Unlike Idwild worried, I'd never planned to keep her on at the inn from the start.
Idwild, who'd heard it all, slowed while wiping a table with her back turned. At the kitchen entrance, Pelle leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching us impassively.
"Yeah, if that's how you feel, get lost already. Stop harassing the poor girl just standing there."
Pelle's icy retort, laced with thorns, made Brione laugh in disbelief.
"Holy shit, that's hilarious. Since when did that bloodless, tearless killer start caring about bystanders?"
"Not something a bitch who spread her legs to use that killer should say."
Brione's face froze like stone. She stared up at me stiffly for a moment, then forced a cold smile.
"See ya, has-been hero."
She shoved my shoulder and stormed out of the inn.
Pelle vanished into the kitchen. Idwild, scratching her head with her back to me, resumed wiping the table.
I grabbed the Holy Sword off the wall.
Brione left the inn and walked to the city outskirts. Her unfamiliar adventurer boots—ones she never wore—slowed her steps.
Back at the palace, she'd kick them off and soak in lukewarm rose-petal water. What a ordeal—no proper bath for days.
Bertrand's inn offered constant hot water and fancy soap, a luxury no other place matched. But for Brione, used to palace opulence, it fell short. No attendants, meals mixed with commoners.
Even as a commoner herself, palace work among great nobles made her look down on everyone else.
Still, she'd gathered enough for the intelligence bureau. They wanted updates on the retired top-tier operative Bertrand.
The bureau was convinced his settling in Rosens tied to Golruk's disappearance.
They analyzed his moves and sent Brione to cozy up for high-level intel.
She'd figured it out: he bought the inn cheap, claimed monopoly, wiped out Golruk to boost traffic. That should satisfy them.
She could've dug deeper, but no desire to mingle with plebs longer. The bureau wouldn't push a mage.
To them, Bertrand was a potential kingdom-toppler. His heroic feats—unmatched—and the palace's shady add-ons... But no assassination attempts. Simple: it'd fail, and retaliation would be unprecedented disaster.
So they monitored periodically.
Still, Bertrand's words nagged: using her by spreading legs. True.
In a palace full of elite mages, an apprentice needed extras. Ambitious, she'd stuck by Bertrand—unneeded but useful—building cred as the world-saving hero's mage. Priceless resume.
To get closer, she'd offered her virginity without hesitation. Looking back, he'd probably seen through her then.
At the outskirts, Brione glanced back—no one around. She began teleport to the palace.
Complex runes floated in the air. The magic circle underfoot glowed intensely—then she sighed, canceling it.
Standing on the fading circle, she looked toward the inn.
Post-apprenticeship split, she'd never seen his face. Sometimes wondered how he lived.
Impure motives at first, but she liked Bertrand: decisive, kind-hearted, handsome voice and looks. Seeing him healthy again felt good.
Even witnessing him with that lowly black mage...
What now? She wasn't his lover; his flings were none of her business.
She'd return to palace duties unrelated to him, dreaming of chief mage.
As she restarted the spell, white lightning struck—Brione recoiled in shock.
The flash faded; Bertrand stood over her, Holy Sword at his waist.
"Huh...? What're you doing? Miss me already and come chasing?"
"Heading back to the palace now?"
Her budding smile wilted at his question.
"Palace...? I quit already. You got memory issues or...?"
"Your boots."
Brione looked down at her high-heeled adventurer boots.
Bertrand loomed over her head. "Too clean for an adventurer's. If you're gonna spy, do it right."
She chuckled lowly, staring at them. "Retired hero's still a hero. Knew all along?"
"You're an ambitious woman. Never bought you coming from the palace."
Brione stared silently. They locked eyes awhile.
"Sent by intel? Check if I'm behaving?"
"If I spilled easy, would've fooled you from the start?"
"So intel sent you."
She scoffed back at his point. "Think the palace cares about a has-been like you? Overinflated ego much?"
"Dunno. But if I wanted, I could truss you up and smash the palace gates now. Not that overinflated."
She couldn't argue. He could.
"Tell 'em: monitor, fine. But don't interfere. Remind 'em of Dortargel Island if they do."
Dortargel Island. Dimensional gate spewed monsters. Gone now—Bertrand sank it.
"Harsh joke..."
Cold sweat trickled down her back anyway. Limitless power; he'd do it if he wanted. Palace feared that, sleepless.
"Go now."
At his non-permission permission, she sighed relief, cast the spell.
"See ya, has-been hero."
"Hope not."
With bright light, she vanished. The fading circle scorched the grass black.
Bertrand stomped out embers, strolled back leisurely.
Days after Brione left, summer hit full—endless rainy season, not scorching sun.
Buren River behind inn rose perilously to the banks; Kali's house flooded, moved near entrance.
Statue in wagon lot stood lonely in rain—maybe set Holy Sword atop to neutralize black magic naturally?
Inn grew muggy, air sticky, black mold everywhere. Staff cleaned diligently, but humidity won.
No breeze despite open doors, just pouring rain; not cool, so sweat poured with any movement.
Della, who barely sweats, pouted; Pelle wiped brow with handkerchief—says it all.
Marim returned from deliveries soaked like drowned rat. Her bag preserved by Pelle's Preservation Ritual, but not her body.
Still, pour her beer for her troubles, she grins ear-to-ear. Hope she doesn't turn alcoholic.
Rain kept Celereja and Hildeva away—too much hassle; better eat/sleep at temple/city hall.
"Saintess says she misses you, Master. Brace yourself post-rainy season," Marim chirped after temple run.
Crazy saintess. Told her to relay that?
Biggest issue: humidity wrecked Idwild. Heat-sensitive, sweaty—rainy hell.
Clothes soaked, sweat dripping from chin to cleavage. Drained her stamina; constant groaning.
"So hooot..."
Her one phrase from dawn to dusk.
Lucky low customers; more and she'd collapse.
"What if Idwild suddenly drops dead...?" Della whispered, genuinely worried.
Not dying, but half-dead already.
If mage, she'd freeze water for ice—but black magic ain't "wholesome."
Post-rainy real heat worse... Hmm, fix?
Can't ignore her suffering...
Idwild dragged over from table, desperate. "Bertrand... c-can I ask a f-favor...?"
Sweat beaded on lashes; so pitiful, I was sold already.
"C-catch... one Asenaris... p-pretty please...?"
"Asenaris?"
"Y-yeah... it'd cool things d-down... right...?"
I knew 'em: northern spirit-like monsters, lifelong cold aura.
Never thought, but one'd chill the inn fine.
Good idea. Apenzel minimum; hell horse round-trip week plenty.
Rain lasts that long, few guests. Return for summer peak; cool inn explodes business.
New inn prepping across street—crush 'em early.
One issue: great at killing monsters, sucks at capture.
...Perfect talent for this at inn.
I yelled to kitchen. "Hey! Pelle!"
Pelle leaned at door, eyeing me sideways. "What."