12
Chapter 12
I hated cliché evil.
I hated predictable villains.
I believed that even a villain should have some class.
Just as those on the side of justice pursue pure goodness—rather than money, fame, or power—I wanted to pursue pure evil, blind to such trivialities.
The soaring flames, the screams of the panicked, and the mad roars of the villains who sparked the fire—I hated it all. Those worn-out atrocities felt tedious.
So, I began to smile. Whether my plans succeeded or failed, whether I felt joy or sorrow, I unified every emotional expression into a smile. This was the birth of the Joker.
But after running and running for so long—.
The one called the Demon King, who should have been leading the way, had taken a detour.
The woman called the Duke of the West, who had run alongside me, was floundering in a river of conscience.
And that pathetic excuse for a Hero had broken under the weight of their own ideals, becoming a hypocrite of neither here nor there.
It was truly lamentable. Though it didn't mean much to me, since I only had one day left.
"Lord Joker."
"What."
"Are you in a bad mood?"
"Does it look that way? Especially to someone who can't even see?"
"A creature's breathing, presence, and temperature reveal a great deal about their emotions."
"You're truly omnipotent, Saint."
The Saint, with her knees on the floor, crawled toward me.
Just as always, wearing a benevolent smile. A smile worlds apart from my own.
"If I give you a gift, would it cheer you up a bit?"
As she spoke, the Saint reached into her robes and rummaged around.
"Giving me bread again? I'm not particularly keen on eating bread that smells like you."
"Haha, that would be nice too, but..."
Something not-so-light was placed upon my chest. I looked down, and the object's identity came into view, illuminated by the light emanating from the Saint.
"It is a treasure that has been with me my entire life."
"Treasure, my foot."
"Please accept it. It is my sincerity, my faith, and my love."
"How is this filthy, grimy thing a treasure? Is this how treasures are managed these days?"
"In that case, I shall leave it to Lord Joker to clean it later."
What the Saint had handed me was a rosary. The black rosary she always held while praying.
Giving something like this to a Demon, an evil creation of the Demon God—was she asking me to crush it right now?
"You're not just handing it off to me because you're too lazy to wash it, right?"
"Do I seem like that kind of person? I'm a bit hurt."
"Yeah, you do."
"Pfft."
The Saint covered her mouth with her hand and let out a light laugh.
Not to be outdone, I laughed along. It was just too absurd that I was exchanging casual jokes with Maria, the Saint of the Sun—the strongest and most virtuous person on the continent—just one day before my execution.
"Keeheehee—."
"Your laughter is so clear. It's pleasant to hear."
"This is a first. No one has ever spoken positively about my laughter."
"That's because your sincerity is within it."
I don't mind these trivial conversations.
For someone like me, with no family, no friends, and the Demon King as my only visitor.
The Saint, my fellow inmate in Tartarus, had managed to dig deep into my heart in just seven days.
"Saint, shall I tell you the story of why I first laughed?"
"Please do."
"It's not a touching tale. It's a damn comedy. A bit risqué, too."
Like a bard describing a grand epic, I began to recount the story.
At the mention of the word 'risqué,' the Saint covered her flushed face with her palm, her ears perking up.
"It was shortly after my mother and father married. They were passing through the northern part of the Demon Realm. Of course, I hadn't been born yet."
"A story from long ago, then."
"Right. But apparently, my mother was quite a beauty. She caught the eye of the Demon Realm Police. Naturally, those demon sorts can't control themselves when their desires peak. The police were no exception."
The Saint didn't react. She likely instinctively felt that the story I was telling was not pleasant at all.
"They arrested my father, claiming he was a spy sent by the Empire. Then, they threatened my mother. They told her if she didn't spend a passionate night with them, they would execute my father on the spot."
"...."
"She had no choice. My mother loved my father immensely. In the end, she succumbed. But those bastards were more vicious than expected. After saying it would be one night, they held onto her for several days."
"...."
Looking at the Saint, who had frozen like a stone, I continued slyly.
"Well, after all that huffing and puffing was over, my father was eventually released. I don't think they intended to kill him in the first place. Both my father and mother kept quiet about that day, as if they had agreed to. A few months passed... and then the incident happened."
"...."
"Lo and behold, my mother's belly began to grow. Naturally, what was inside wasn't my father's bloodline."
"...!"
"It must have been a massive shock. My mother endured and endured, but finally, a week before giving birth, she hanged herself and jumped. My father wailed in front of her. But then, while my mother was hanging from the tree, her belly began to split open."
The Saint's expression turned pale. I wondered how the Saint, who likely grew up loved in a wealthy Church, would react to such a gruesome and gloomy tale.
I was incredibly curious. One might call me cruel for this, but what can I do? I was born a demon.
"That's how I was born. According to my father, I was covered in my mother's blood and laughing. Hehehe, isn't it just a damn comedy?"
I licked my lips and posed the question.
I wondered, I really wondered—how our noble and innocent Saint would respond.
Just as I was becoming impatient, bored of waiting for the answer.
"Lord Joker, didn't you say last time that your mother was decapitated by dragons?"
An answer that didn't match my expectations came back to me.
Ah, I had mentioned that in passing; she actually remembered?
"Which one is the truth? Your mother was..."
As she trailed off, seemingly confused, I felt my momentum vanish and spoke to her playfully.
"Hey, Saint."
"Yes."
"Why so serious?"
"Pardon?"
"Whether this is the truth, that one is, or some third version is, it's all in the past anyway."
The Saint looked stunned, as if she'd been hit over the head with a hammer. Oh, that reaction is actually quite amusing.
"Keke, just laugh off other people's pasts. Whether it's a tragedy or a comedy, why care about someone else's business? After all, the world is nothing more than a third-rate comedy play."
I let out a fluttering laugh, as if I had been playing with her.
In response, without snapping back, the Saint drew closer and tucked my head into her embrace once again.
Sigh, there goes my good mood. I'm just tired of telling her to stop now.
"No matter if it's a joke, you shouldn't say such things."
"That's just your opinion, Saint."
"I believe the reason you make such jokes so casually, Lord Joker, is because you haven't received enough love."
"You're completely wrong. I've received plenty of love."
"But please, never forget. Even if the world abandons you, even if it shows you nothing but a cold and callous back."
Tight squeeze—.
"That I alone... love you—."
The cozy warmth I'd grown accustomed to enveloped my face. As I breathed in, her scent settled on the tip of my nose.
In that moment, I felt an indescribable sense of shame.
The fact that I had unconsciously thought her scent was fragrant.
As a demon, it was deeply embarrassing.
*****
Clatter—.
"Ouch."
"Are you in pain? Could you tell me where it hurts?"
"Everywhere. Because of what I mentioned last time."
"Ah, I'm sorry. If only my love had been a bit more devoted, I might have been able to heal you...."
"Forget it. It'll all be over tomorrow anyway."
The Saint gazed at me with eyes wrapped in bandages. I wonder if scarred pupils lie beneath, or if there is only a hollow void.
Suddenly, I became curious.
"My role is to take away the pain of others... yet I am useless."
"Why the sudden self-deprecation?"
"I am ashamed."
"Just having you by my side is a big help, so stop blaming yourself."
"What?"
"Do you have any idea how lonely I've been, spending the last 104 days with nothing but a dark-skinned man like Kelth?"
"Ah...."
Wait, was it just my imagination, or did I see a spark of hope flicker and then vanish in the Saint's presence?
"Saint."
"Yes."
"Can I speak more casually with you?"
"You've been doing that since the beginning."
"That's why I'm asking for permission now, so I'm not too late."
"I had no idea the great Joker was the type to ask for permission for every little thing."
"What's with that? I'm actually a very polite villain if you get to know me."
The Saint asked back, sounding surprised.
"Is that so?"
"Of course. I'm considerate enough to shove a shotgun into the mouth of someone I've just met and kindly sing them a lullaby before killing them. I was so good at using honorifics that my dragons nicknamed me the 'Rude Demon,' you know?"
"...."
"Keke."
Ah, teasing the Saint is always a joy. It is the only moment when the smile lingering on her lips completely vanishes.
Screeech—.
Clang—.
"Saint, it's meal service."
Kelth stepped into Tartarus, opening the stifling iron door.
"Kelth, why didn't you call my name? Are you discriminating against prisoners now?"
"...."
Normally, Kelth would have jokingly replied, 'Yes, I am,' to that question. After all, I have no right to lodge a complaint.
"Right, I'm sorry. Here, here is your bread."
However, Kelth handed me my meal quite obediently, looking a bit gloomy. He didn't throw it or drop it, but gave it to me very politely.
"Here's some milk, and I asked the chef to give me some soup and sandwiches. I bought the butter and jam with my own money."
Thump—.
Moreover, there were several times more items on the menu than usual. Everything he must have learned about 'the breads I like' through our trivial conversations was there. There was even rye bread.
"You should've given me this much normally."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm joking. They say those who die eating well have a beautiful complexion; I hope tomorrow's breakfast is like this too."
"I heard there's no breakfast tomorrow. They said if you're too nervous, you might vomit on the guillotine... please understand."
"Bwahahaha!"
At Kelth's words, a vulgar laugh erupted, completely clashing with the gloomy atmosphere.
Nervous? Vomiting? Who? Me, Joker Oscar Lucifer? Or Saint Maria of the Sun?
"Ahaha."
Whether she found it equally amusing, the Saint joined in with a clear laugh. The only one not laughing was Kelth.
"Kelth, why aren't you laughing?"
"How can you two be so detached in the face of death...."
"Two heinous death row prisoners are disappearing from the world tomorrow; shouldn't it be a happy occasion worth a toast?"
"Hah."
"So try laughing. You should smile on a happy day. If I see you laughing after we're dead, I'll think you're being a hypocrite and cast a filthy ghost's curse on you."
But no matter how much I coaxed him, Kelth didn't budge. With a heavy face, he delivered the Saint's meal and left Tartarus, maintaining that expression until the end.