Kneeling Demon (2)
"Come to Apenzel with me."
Pelle showed no reaction, no opinion whatsoever. But I could read the words she wasn't saying out loud in her eyes.
What the actual fuck?
The real reactions came from the other employees instead. Both Della and Idwild looked stunned by this out-of-nowhere, batshit insane suggestion.
"Master... you're going to Apenzel? With Pelle?"
Della's eyes went wide. She didn't know the exact reason, but she could guess our relationship was frosty at best. The idea of me and Pelle heading off alone to that distant hellhole clearly worried her.
"Uh... I'll just stay in the hot room... I'm feeling better now..."
Idwild waved her hands frantically, trying to talk me out of it as things started to escalate. She must've thought I'd just hop on a Hell Horse and zip there solo.
But if I went alone, the monsters would charge me on sight—no way I'd capture any alive. I needed a demon with me. Demons could handle monsters within their power range, just like humans handle dogs. And with an Asenaris, our inn would claim an unbeatable edge. Who could compete with a cool inn even in the dog days of summer?
It had started as doing Idwild a personal favor, but now it was straight-up business.
Pelle, who'd been silent until then, finally spoke up.
"What about the ingredients without me? They'll spoil fast."
"We'll ask Mollo to speed up the rotations, even if it costs extra. Long-term, snagging an Asenaris is the bigger win."
It was the rainy season anyway—no crowds, low ingredient turnover. Meanwhile, scorching summer lasted two full months.
"We're leaving at dawn tomorrow. Pack your shit."
Pelle said nothing more, but Della and Idwild fidgeted like it was their trip.
The next day, early dawn before the sun rose. Rain still pattered outside.
Pelle stood in the hall waiting for me, raincoat on, small pack slung over her shoulder. We'd buy cold-weather gear in Lithelm, so not much baggage.
"I summoned the Hell Horse outside..."
Idwild came in cradling rain-soaked Kali, set him by the hearth, snapped her fingers to light the fire. Kali shook himself happily and flopped down in front.
Stepping out, the cool, damp dawn air clung stickily to my skin. In the pitch-dark yard, the Hell Horse loomed silently, black flames flickering.
"Master, here's your travel pouch."
Della pulled coins from the register, stuffed them in a pouch.
"Promise you'll get separate rooms if you stop at an inn. Got it?"
She gripped my hand tight, extracting the vow like a promise ring.
Pelle had gone ahead, grunting as she hauled herself awkwardly onto the Hell Horse. Probably beat me to it so I wouldn't offer help.
"Hey, Idwild. If anyone starts shit while I'm gone, just blast 'em with black magic. I'll handle the fallout."
"O-okay... Got it... As long as I don't kill 'em... right?"
"Yeah. Tell Marim too."
Marim was still out cold—no surprise at this hour.
No need to wake early just to see me off.
I swung up behind Pelle. Idwild and Della braved the rain to the porch eaves, waving us goodbye.
"Don't get soaked—head in! I'll be back quick!"
The Hell Horse bolted across the yard. Oddly, it splashed through puddles without a drop flying up, and the downpour didn't lash our faces. Maybe like Beldra's Curse Rope, Hell Horses ignored this world's rules.
Less of a soaking than expected—kinda comfy, actually?—as we headed north.
The Hell Horse was insanely fast. By noon, we'd escaped the rainy season's grip.
Blue skies for once, sun blazing, but still way more bearable than muggy Rosens.
Stomach rumbling, and that damp raincoat was driving me nuts, so we pulled into the village ahead.
Situated in vast farmlands stretching to the horizon, it was more town than village. Common in the kingdom's central-northern plains: a few big farms, hundreds of workers, merchants serving them all.
We followed the long path between fields to the village edge, stashed the Hell Horse by a brick two-story building corner, ditched the raincoats.
"Fuck, thought I was gonna melt. Let's grab food."
Streets lined with decent-looking eateries. We picked one with a proper sign.
Smells of lunch prep wafted from the back; a few patrons already chatted at tables.
"Welcome... uh..."
The waiter greeting us froze at the sight of me and Pelle. His eyes locked on her horns.
"D-Demon...?"
"Yes."
Pelle's curt reply left him flustered. He told us to wait and bolted to the kitchen. Out came the owner/chef.
"A demon, huh."
He stared holes through her horns. Shit wasn't going south yet, but not friendly.
"What, demons get a discount?"
The owner barked a laugh, jabbed a finger at a table—tucked in the dingy corner by the back door.
"What the hell, horns showing up outta nowhere—fucking bad luck..."
He grumbled loud on his way back to the kitchen, no shits given.
"The fuck? Shitty place, shitty asshole."
The owner whipped around, glaring daggers.
"What? Talkin' to me?"
"Who else?"
"You little shit..."
But he spotted the Holy Sword at my waist, muttered under his breath, and backed off.
"Let's bounce, Pelle."
No way I'd pay to eat after that treatment—makes me a sucker.
I stormed out. Across the street, another eatery. But they straight-up refused service.
"Not serving. Beat it."
"Why not?"
"Bad vibes. Gotta have a reason to hate cockroaches?"
Pelle stood silent like she heard nothing, but I wasn't the type to eat that shit sandwich with a smile.
"Your folks get slaughtered by demons, leaving you with some grudge and hate?"
"Wh-what?! Fuck off! Get out!"
I pinched the flying plate between thumb and forefinger, smashed it on the floor, dragged Pelle out.
"Yo, Pelle."
"What."
"What'd you guys do around here? Everyone's acting like this."
"Dunno. Guess they just hate demons."
Demons had a shitty rep overall—different from half-elf discrimination. Half-elves got shit for their moms spreading legs for non-humans, guilt by blood.
Demons? Until last year, they were actively threatening humans. Not world-ending villainy from trash novels—no, they hunkered in Demon King's Castle, bred monster armies, expanded like any power-hungry nation.
Normal for strong countries, but their overwhelming might and freakish troops terrified folks. Picture human knights in armor vs. howling monster hordes. Same invasion, different nightmares.
Kingdom brass thought the same—hired me to wipe 'em out.
So the villagers' attitude made sense. Problem: it got worse up north. Northerners were hardcore conservative, xenophobic—non-humans were bugs. Sparse pop, harsh land.
Third rejection. Pelle shrugged coldly.
"Not hungry."
"Hold up."
I left her, hit the grocer. Bought a pot, basic cookware, some rations.
No service? Can't beat owners into cooking. DIY it is.
"Mommy! That sister's got horns!"
"It's a demon!"
Commotion outside—I paid quick, stepped out. Onlookers whispered about Pelle from afar.
She stood stone-faced under the stares.
"Let's move."
We pushed past to the edge, where the Hell Horse waited. Pelle mounted first, clutched my bundle. No saddle—deal with it.
Village crossed on demon-mounted Hell Horse: screams erupted.
"Demon King's army! They're invading!"
"Not the Demon King's army! Carry on with your day!"
We left the panic behind, speeding out.
If it's this bad already... north'll be a headache.
But I needed Pelle...
No better plan—wrap it fast and bail. Northerners racist as hell, but they'd really charge with pickaxes to kill?