14
Chapter 14
"Mmm..."
A groan escapes, not yet fully awake from the dream.
The grip of the dream clings to the nape of my neck, asking why I don't sleep a bit more, since it's my last sleep.
It's because I was having a wonderfully happy dream until just now.
Though I can't actually remember what the dream was.
"...."
As I look down under the crushing pressure on my chest, I see the Saint breathing softly in the dark. Her pale, pursed lips catch my eye.
Ah, right.
I almost kissed her yesterday.
'...!'
Recalling the events of last night, a wave of shame washes over me. My face burns as if engulfed in flames.
I'm too embarrassed to even lift my head and look at her.
I'm not usually such a timid demon, but spending time with the Saint has rubbed off on me.
"Haa... you're far too relaxed."
The Saint was breathing in soft, steady rhythms.
I instinctively felt like moving my hand to stroke her hair covered by the nun's habit.
Clatter-.
"...."
I couldn't do it because the mood was broken by the rustle of iron chains during another fit.
Damn it, how much more does this clattering have to torture me? I shouldn't have let that old hag Merlin die so peacefully.
"Umm... Lord Joker?"
The Saint woke up, her lips fluttering as she stirred. It seemed to be because my body surged and shook from the fit.
"Are you wide awake now?"
"I believe so. My mind feels as clear as if it were washed with water."
"Must be nice. Though that head of yours will be rolling on the ground in a bit anyway."
"It is all thanks to your chest pillow, Lord Joker."
As if to show off, the Saint rubbed her face against my chest. Like a newborn baby seeking its mother's breast.
"Why the unsuitable cute act? It's pathetic."
"Please be generous. As you just said, isn't our time nearly up?"
"Whatever, you old maid."
"Precisely because I am an old maid, I want to lean on you more. You are the first man I've ever leaned on, Lord Joker."
"Is that something to be proud of?"
I spoke bluntly, as if scolding her. The Saint just accepted it all with a benevolent smile.
This was our conversation. This is how it's been, and probably how it will be... Ah, there is no 'will be'.
"Saint."
"Yes, what is it?"
"Actually, I have a sandwich I left over earlier."
"I see."
"Want it?"
Without a word, the Saint nodded like a puppy.
"It should be where the meal service tray was."
I gave directions to the sandwich's location.
The Saint struggled to crawl toward where I pointed.
"...It's not here."
Her words were completely unexpected.
"Not there? Nothing?"
"Yes, there is only an empty meal service tray; there is nothing here."
"That can't be... Did you eat it while I was sleeping, Saint?"
When I cast a suspicious glance, she hurriedly waved her hands, perhaps sensing my doubt.
"I am not a shameless servant who dares to covet another's food."
"Whatever, so you're saying I'm the shameless one for always eating your meal service?"
"Giving is different from coveting."
"...I guess that's true."
Judging by her reaction, it really seems the Saint didn't eat that sandwich.
Then where did the sandwich go? In Tartarus, a sealed room where not a single person can enter or leave.
"Just close your eyes and confess now. Tell me you were going to give it to me anyway."
"Actually..."
Just as I was about to rack my brain for an excuse, the Saint spoke.
"Lord Joker ate it."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You seemed to be craving something in your sleep, as you were licking your lips. So, I fed you the sandwich."
"What, I actually ate it?"
The Saint moved her arm toward my face. Her fingers brushed my eyes, nose, and cheeks before lingering on the corners of my mouth.
Then, she picked something off the edge of my lips with her finger and showed it to me.
"Look."
Crumbs of bread, clearly visible even in the dark.
I guess I really did eat it. With evidence like that, there's no point in arguing.
"You ate it so well. Just hearing the sound of it was enough to make me feel good."
"What does it matter to you how well I eat?"
"Still, we are practically at the point of having kissed, are we not?"
"Cut the crap. If that's the case, what about the female demons I've slept with every single day?"
"...My purity is a sin, then."
The Saint's smile shifted from moment to moment.
A benevolent smile, a generous smile, a bright smile, a hopeful smile, a happy smile...
Among those countless smiles, not one ever held a single negative emotion. As if she were born in and raised in a flower garden, the Saint possessed a mind of absolute purity.
She would turn cold when facing the Demon King, but that was only because necessity demanded a sharp reprimand.
Even now, the Saint wore a smile. A beautiful smile.
"Do you enjoy hearing about me rolling around with other females? Why are you smiling?"
"Haha."
"Don't tell me you have some perverted fetish? I'd be a bit disappointed if that were true. I don't have a thing for being cheated on."
"Please do not misunderstand. I simply laughed because I realized that no matter how many women you've held in your arms, in the end, I am the only one left by your side."
"...."
This is unbelievable.
She confessed her love for me just yesterday.
And yet, when I tell her about the countless other women I've been with, she tries to console herself by saying she's the only one remaining at the end.
No, maybe it's not consolation. With a mind as naive as hers, she might genuinely believe that.
"Sigh, I shouldn't even bother talking to you."
"Lord Joker, there is something I wish to ask."
"What is it?"
"What kind of dream were you having that made you eat so greedily in your sleep?"
"I don't know, I don't remember. You usually forget your dreams once you wake up."
"Is that so?"
The Saint leaned her head back against my chest. She even subtly rested her thin leg across my lower abdomen.
At that action, a faint memory began to surface.
The final scene of the dream I saw just before waking.
It was—.
"Ah, right. That's what it was."
"Do you remember now?"
"Yeah, so it was like this..."
In a scenic flower garden with a gentle breeze blowing.
I was sitting on a neatly trimmed tree stump.
And on my lap, the Saint sat curled up, leaning into me.
We were happily sharing a single piece of bread, breaking it in half.
And then, just like that, we kissed, confirmed our feelings for one another, broke into a deep sweat, and explored each other's bodies with mouths, hands, and lust... Fuck, what kind of dream was that!
I can never tell her this. The sudden heat in my loins, feeling this for the first time in centuries, screamed that I'd die of shame long before I ever reached the guillotine if I revealed the contents of that dream.
"Haha."
"Why—why are you suddenly laughing!"
"Reading your aura, the contents of your dream naturally painted themselves in my mind."
"...!"
Why is it that the Saint's smile seems so sly today, like a thousand-year-old serpent?
To think she used to tremble just at the mention of intimacy not long ago.
"Still, it feels good."
Why does my face feel so hot?
The way our positions have completely swapped.
It was truly ironic.
*****
Clank-.
The sound of the heavy bars of Tartarus sliding open echoes through the air.
Since both meal service and visitation are forbidden today, there is only one reason for the door to open.
Now, it is time to go.
"Escort them."
A total of five people entered through the open door.
Kelth was among them, on the receiving end of the orders.
Step, step-.
The one who gave the order in a solemn voice remained still in the back, while four jailers, including Kelth, approached us. Two of them clung to me, and two to the Saint.
"Unlock the chains."
Clatter-Clank-.
Kelth pulled a golden key from his coat and inserted it into the lock of the iron chains that had bound my limbs for one hundred and eleven days.
After a brief metallic sound, the feeling of restraint on my arms vanished.
As I loosely waved my arms, something thin flashed before my eyes. Damn, I've become so gaunt that there's nothing left but bone.
"Can you walk?"
The jailer chief asked calmly. His question was completely devoid of emotion.
Being human, one would naturally have some goodwill or ill will toward the Saint or me, but he truly embodied the image of a professional jailer chief.
"The Saint seems too weak to manage, but I think I can walk. I'm not entirely sure since I haven't moved in so long, though."
"Stand up."
I obediently put my feet on the ground and straightened my knees. The sense of stability beneath my soles was so welcome that a shiver ran down my spine.
"Ah... yes, this is the feeling."
"Move your feet. You may run or jump if you wish."
Thump, thump-!
As I stomped, a slight vibration spread through Tartarus. Having been bound for so long, I didn't have the power I once did in my prime, but fortunately, a tiny fraction of it remained.
For a moment, I considered using that power to knock them down and break out with the Saint, but I quickly dismissed the idea. Trying to defeat them with such meager strength would be like hitting a rock with an egg.
The jailers of the Babel Tower were all former big shots. Just look at Kelth; wasn't he once a White Knight, classified among the top powerhouses of the Holy Nation?
Even if I somehow managed to suppress the jailers, it was clear I could never defeat the jailer chief standing before me.
Fist Star Theseus. His former title was as impressive as 'Godslayer'.
He had entered Eden Academy, the empire's finest, as a commoner scholar, but after being bullied and growing to hate humans, he became one of the 'Absolute Strong Ones' of the continent—yet he was one of the few humans who did not oppose the Demon Army.
That didn't mean he supported the Demon Army. If anything, Theseus loathed everyone. The brutal murder of Pluto, the God of Wealth and Power, was likely due to his childhood trauma.
He probably accepted the position of jailer chief in Tartarus because everyone here becomes an equal prisoner.
"No problem. Kelth and Bella, take prisoner 379 by both arms. Derio and Luca, carry prisoner 386."
Look at them, referring to us by prisoner numbers rather than names or titles.
He is truly a man as rigid as an iron wall, this Theseus.
Prisoner 379 was me, and 386 was the Saint. The jailers called Derio and Luca approached her.
They grabbed the Saint, who was too weak to stand on her own. Their hands fumbled over her limbs.
Grip-.
"Ugh..."
Their grip was unexpectedly rough, sending a chill through me. It was a coarse touch, devoid of any compassion, showing no consideration for the Saint's fragile condition.
It was especially jarring because I saw her brow furrow deeply in pain.
"Take your hands off her."
I growled unconsciously. A dense killing intent surged in my voice.
"She is not someone for the likes of you to treat so carelessly."
The atmosphere turned freezing. Despite knowing I shouldn't, the words just poured out.
"I'll carry the Saint. You lot hold onto me."
"Lord Joker...?"
"What did you just...!"
The Saint stared at me with a bewildered expression. The jailers were also quite taken aback by my sudden action.
"What's wrong? You want to go a round right here? Should I rip a few arms off?"
I had always used honorifics with the jailers, but now I vented my rage as if those days were long gone. It was because they were still gripping the Saint's slender wrists with brutal force-.
Theseus, receiving my menacing suggestion, pondered for a moment before giving a short nod.
"I allow it."
"Chief, according to the regulations, death row prisoners must be escorted by the jailers..."
"If he holds prisoner 379, it's essentially the same. If he's willing to do the work, there's no reason to refuse."
"B-but..."
"Do you wish to have a brawl with him right here? I won't stop you, but you'll be late for the arrival time."
"Ah."
As soon as permission was granted, I roughly shoved away the hands of the jailers holding the Saint. They looked displeased, but since Theseus had given the word, there was nothing they could do.
I carefully lifted the Saint and rested her gently on my back. She leaned against me weakly, like a wet puppy. My palms softly supported her small backside.
Hidden by the thick nun's habit, her backside felt like nothing but bone. My heart sank at the sight.
The Saint's hips weren't small, per se. She was simply severely underweight.
Resting her chin on my shoulder, the Saint whispered into my ear in a worried tone.
"I am imposing on you..."
"What are you talking about? I'm doing this because I want to."
"Thank you..."
"Forget it. Don't be so cheesy, no need to thank me for this."
I carried the Saint, and the jailers linked arms with me. Theseus commanded us.
"Walk."
Step-.
For the first time in ages, the sound of my footsteps filled the space. Though I usually walked with a flippant and vulgar stride, I stepped more cautiously than anyone else in the world while carrying the frail Saint.
Step-.
Once we left Tartarus, a long stone staircase appeared before us. The spiral staircase was filled with ominous traces of past battles in various spots.
Step-.
The Saint's breath, which had been tickling the nape of my neck, grew faint. Her consciousness, which had plummeted since yesterday, was slowly slipping away.
Whenever that happened, I pinched the flesh of her thigh with my index finger as if scolding her.
Startled, the Saint would momentarily wake up, only to nod off again shortly after.
I had a lingering feeling that if she fell asleep now, it would be like falling asleep in the polar regions—never to wake again.
"Saint, stay awake. You're not going to die pathetically in a place like this, are you?"
"Mmm..."
"Keep your head straight. I'll escort you safely to the guillotine. You should at least live as long as you possibly can."
"Truly... I am receiving a grace beyond words."
"It's nothing. You literally burned your own life to ease my pain."
Step-.
The stairs were long.
It was only natural, as they connected the lowest floor of the Babel Tower, which plummeted underground, to the surface.
As we ascended, I saw prisoners of various floors through the bars.
The Fire Spirit King, intermediate gods, the Princess of the Empire, an Elder of the Elf Tribe, infamous serial killers, and so on... The number of prisoners increased exponentially as we went higher.
This was because prisoners with lighter crimes were incarcerated on the upper floors.
Step-.
They buzzed in confusion upon seeing us. No floor was an exception.
The combination of the Saint, one of the continent's most famous figures, and me, the man responsible for throwing most of them into the Babel Tower, must have been quite a sight.
Step-.
"Saint! Saint! Where are you going!"
"Joker! You piece of trash demon! It seems it's finally time for you to die!"
"S-stop! You lot! Where are you taking the Sun God's daughter!"
"Heh, seeing the Saint and Joker both heading to their deaths is quite a pleasure."
Occasionally, cries of lament, shouts of grief, and jeers echoed. The Saint and I ignored them and continued our silent ascent.
Toward the bright, radiant world that lay at the end of these long stairs.
And toward the guillotine in the square that would sever our necks in a single stroke.
Simply, silently, and endlessly, we walked.
Step-.
Step-.
Step.......