The Kneeling Demon (8)
"Are you insane?"
"Any reason we can't?"
"How are we supposed to sleep in the same room?"
Pelle narrowed her eyes at me.
"It's just sleeping separately, right? No big deal... unless you're thinking something weird?"
"Weird? Nah, it's not that... the problem is—"
"What's the problem, then?"
"You hate my guts."
My blunt words left her silent for a moment.
"Not enough to make you sleep on the cold stone floor."
"Really? I figured you'd have me in the bed and you'd crash in the chapel."
Pelle shot me a glare, then turned and headed into the priest's quarters.
"I'll take the sofa."
She said it like she was graciously yielding the bed, dumping her bag on the sofa as she did. As if I wouldn't notice it was closer to the fireplace. We stripped off our soaked cloaks and boots, spreading them out on the floor by the hearth. I tossed a few more logs on the fire, poked at it with the poker to get the flames roaring, then plopped down on my cloak to warm my hands and feet.
"Warmer than the inn. Turned out for the best, huh?"
"Yeah."
Pelle, off to my right rear, sat on the sofa too, extending her palms toward the fire. Her slender hands glowed crimson in the light.
"Let's check one more spot tomorrow, and if nothing, we bail. Guards are this useless—sticking around'll just stir up trouble."
"The black mage'll be disappointed."
"It's not summer year-round... she'll manage."
I felt bad picturing Idi sweating and suffering, but Asenaris didn't grow on trees. What was I supposed to do, magic one up? Plus, if word of tonight spread through the city, riots could erupt by tomorrow. Citizens grabbing blades, charging to kill us. We'd be fine, but their lives? Not so much. Best for everyone if we crashed here and slipped out early.
Should've brought ID papers. Left 'em behind like an idiot. Tsk.
"Little sweat's fine. You didn't stink."
"No smell doesn't mean no stickiness."
"Hm. Fair. We'll just bathe in the Buren River every day, then."
Not amused, Pelle clammed up. The narrow shutters rattled, cold wind and faint chill seeping through to prickle my back. But with the blaze roaring right in front of us, it felt even cozier by contrast. Nothing quite like sitting by a hearth on a winter night to make you drowsy. A hot drink, and I'd be out cold.
My frozen body thawed, eyes glazing over at the flames. Consciousness fading, I glimpsed Idi lying in bed, beckoning me over with a crooked finger. Her thin shirt clung transparent with sweat, revealing the dense thicket below... Mid healthy workout with sweating Idi, Della burst in, furious. Too noisy for studying—she'd help us finish quick, stripping as she yelled.
"Got a question."
"Huh...?"
I snapped awake from the shallow dream on the verge of climax, lifting my head and wiping drool.
"Damn, you made me miss Della."
Like she'd peeked into my dream, Pelle stared at me pitifully.
"What'd you wanna ask?"
"About this trip."
"Yeah? Shoot."
"Don't you hate me?"
Her question made zero sense. I blinked dumbly. Why would I...?
I stayed quiet, so she elaborated.
"Everything drags because of me. More hassle, no proper meals down south, fighting humans here."
"Why would I hate you for that? Not your fault. You think I'm gonna blame you just for being a demon?"
"Not that, but demons get shunned by humans. Discrimination's normal. I'm used to it."
"And?"
"Why bother protecting me? Turning humans into enemies, enduring all this."
More nonsense. What was she getting at...?
I scratched my chin. "So what? What do you want me to do?"
"You enter the city alone, I camp outside. Or treat me like a slave, abuse me to fool the humans. You're a killer liar."
Thawing by the fire melted her brain? Why spout crazy shit? Normally she'd turn away and fake sleep by now. What wind blew this chatty?
"Dunno. First option, you'd freeze. Second, I don't wanna."
"Why? Since when do you care that much?"
"...What're you really trying to say?"
Staring at her toes, Pelle spoke.
"Honestly? I'm confused."
"About?"
"What kind of person you are."
Odd coming from her usual icy self, but I listened quietly.
"You're the biggest killer I know."
Personal kills? Yeah. Tens of thousands of Demon King's troops alone.
"I figured you were a bloodthirsty brute, emotionless machine, revenge-obsessed, or arrogant do-gooder. Maybe all of it."
"That so."
"That's why everyone's scared. Me too. Natural for a demon to fear the hero."
Still avoiding my eyes, staring at her feet, she went on.
"Heard how you recruited the inn staff. Human girl—you became her new creditor. Black mage—hostage to her pathetic life. Me—the lives of other demons as collateral. Half-elf—violence and threats."
Not entirely wrong. But hearing it like that, I sounded like a total villain. Maybe I was.
"You move by self-interest. Help others only if it suits. Use force without hesitation for your goals."
"True."
"You're materialistic."
"That too."
Pelle glanced up briefly, then down again.
"When I first joined the inn, I expected abuse, misery. But no. The others all like you."
"Good to hear."
"If you were just hiding your true nature for Rosens' reputation, you wouldn't bother with me here in this far-off land."
She fell silent, sorting her thoughts.
"I hate you. You destroyed everything precious to me. That won't change."
"Yeah."
"If you hadn't shown up in Kerno, that hate would've stuck. But the hero who appeared wasn't the demons' calamity or world's savior—just an ordinary human."
Ordinary human. Spot on. Setting aside the goddess's favor and my power, I was just an innkeeper merchant.
"You don't care about universal hate or praise. Don't seem to want it. How'd someone like you become the hero?"
Pelle met my eyes.
"What are you?"
I pondered, then answered.
"Materialistic. Just like you see."
She gazed at me with quiet eyes. The dancing hearth flames and my silhouette reflected in her pupils.
"Toppling the Demon King's Castle was necessary, my job. Now no need, so I live for myself."
Pelle waited for more. Listening to the wind outside the shutters, I continued.
"Hate me, dislike me—your call. Won't tell you how to feel. Just that you're useful to me, and I'll protect you. Wish you'd believe that."
"If your 'job' meant killing humans, you'd still do it?"
"Of course."
Pelle said no more. In the silence, I recalled the Demon King's Castle.
After slaughtering the final Demon King's army and beheading the king, the Holy Sword alerted me to fleeing demons. Peering out the window, I saw a few bolting into the forest without looking back. About to chase, I spotted one collapsed between forest and castle, staring blankly our way, unmoving in despair.
Seeing that, I decided to let them go. Non-combatants, unarmed, defenseless. With the castle fallen, a handful couldn't rebuild. So I sheathed the Holy Sword and returned to the capital.
"Hey."
Pelle called the hero, snapping him from his reverie. He turned sharply.
"What?"
"That thing you said earlier..."
"Huh? What?"
"...That you'd kill anyone who touches me."
"Yeah. So?"
"Am I that important to you? Worth killing for?"
The hero stared, then asked.
"All this long talk just to ask that?"
"Yes."
Months at the inn, he'd shown no hostility toward Pelle—treated her equally, granted every request. Inside her, the demon hating the hero warred fiercely with the employee slowly lowering her guard.
He'd taken everything because he was the hero, on humanity's side. Now, as plain Bertrand living normally, he showered endless kindness and tolerance on those under him.
So, toppling the Demon King's Castle—was that the hero's deed, or Bertrand dubbed hero? Her hatred stemmed from the fall, but that fall wasn't Bertrand's personal choice.
What if... her hatred's target was wrong from the start?
The doubt grew working at the inn, watching him—snowballing on this northern trek. Journeys smoother without her consideration, yet he'd endured for her sake.
Decisively, his declaration to the intruders surfaced it: She's my employee. Touch a hair, you all die.
That sparked her curiosity: how did he see her? It could answer the massive question rolling in her mind.
Her wavering heart, unsure how to face him, hinged on his answer now.
After long staring, Bertrand spoke.
"To me, you're—"
Suddenly, he cut off, bolting up and kicking open the priest's quarters door. Pelle followed cluelessly into the chapel, hit by a sharp oil stench wafting fiercely.