18
Chapter 18
The Demon Realm is a place where the strong rule.
Strong demons possess everything, while the weak are relentlessly exploited by the powerful—even down to their very lives.
On the surface, it might sound like an ideal society where everyone thrives based on their own ability, but in reality, it's a flawed system.
The strong are few, and the weak are many. Most lower-ranking demons living in the Demon Realm never find a mate in their entire lives.
Conversely, high-ranking demons like my father monopolize several females. The powerful enjoy polygamy, while the weak may go their entire lives without mating once.
I was born into a position of power. Not because I was strong, but because of the name 'Lucifer' and the prestige of the Northern Duke Family.
However, that was only true when considering the Demon Realm as a whole. Within the Northern Duke Family, I was among the weak.
This was because the competition for the Right of Succession to become the Head of Family was incredibly fierce. The fact that my father, the current Head, hadn't clearly named a successor only added to the chaos.
We are four siblings—three sons and one daughter. Adela, the eldest daughter, is at the top, followed by my eldest brother, Leonard, and then me.
As I mentioned, the Demon Realm is governed by the strong. Naturally, by that principle, the strongest should inherit the position of Head of Family.
The problem is that the strongest happens to be Adela. She's already over a thousand years old; how could I, my eldest brother, or Leonard ever hope to surpass her?
Originally, there was no need for a successor because my father, an Absolute Strong One, reigned as the Head. His magical power was so immense that he didn't even need an heir.
That's why he stopped having children after Adela.
But eventually, the curse of aging caught up with my father, who had reigned for too long. I wonder if it's really called aging when he's lived nearly five hundred years after saying he'd die soon, but regardless, he hurriedly gathered female demons and fathered three more children. That's how my eldest brother, Leonard, and I were born—currently aged twenty, nine, and nine.
And among these three potential heirs, I am the frailest.
When I was young, I simply thought it was because I was born without the innate ability to manipulate magical power.
Who could have known that the real reason lay in the food my aunt prepared?
Clink.
I pierce the meat with my fork and slice it into bite-sized pieces with my knife.
As I put a piece in my mouth, the savory seasoning and rich juices blend perfectly, filling my palate.
Who would have guessed that within this culinary paradise lay a mysterious poison designed to block my magical power?
They say the worst thing you can do is mess with someone's food, and my aunt had been doing exactly that for over ten years.
She tried to eliminate the competition to ensure her own son would become the Head of Family. My eldest and second brothers knew about it and went along with it.
Because of that, I spent most of my childhood and adolescence in my previous life disconnected from my magic, so I suppose it was a reasonably effective attempt.
In the end, however, their plan failed miserably. Both my eldest and second brothers were brutally killed during a Magical Beast subjugation in the Demon Beast Forest. At that moment, my shackles vanished, and my talent for manipulating magic began to bloom.
Looking back now, it's truly lamentable.
To think I didn't get to kill the people who messed with me with my own hands.
In this lifetime, I won't make such a mistake again.
"Chomp, chomp..."
"Oscar, you shouldn't make smacking sounds while eating."
As I enthusiastically tore into the turkey, Adela spoke softly. A stickler for the rules is a stickler for the rules, after all.
Still, I don't dislike Adela. I'm not fond of rigidity, but Adela has strong convictions. It means she doesn't suffer from hypocrisy, the biggest flaw of those who obsess over rules.
"Ah, sorry. Aunt's cooking is just so delicious that I can't help myself."
"Is it that good?"
"Aunt's cooking is the best in the Demon Realm. And when it comes to turkey, she's the best in the world."
"I didn't realize she was that skilled with turkey. I'll try some too."
Adela reached out with her fork, an expectant look on her face. It happened just as her sharp fork was about to touch the tender meat on my plate.
"Wait! Adela!"
My aunt jumped up and hurriedly stopped her. Beads of cold sweat were forming on her forehead.
Wow, this is actually kind of fun. Watching my aunt break into a cold sweat is truly satisfying.
"E-eat mine instead."
"No, how could I possibly eat food meant for an elder..."
"Even so, it wouldn't be right for me to take food from the youngest."
Adela repeatedly waved her hands in refusal, but my aunt insisted, tearing off a piece of her own turkey and handing it over.
Of course she would. Even in the Demon Realm, where the law of the jungle prevails and the victim is seen as the loser, she couldn't exactly admit to the strictly principled Adela that she'd poisoned the meal to suppress an eight-year-old child.
One might wonder why she'd take such a dangerous risk during a family dinner, but from my aunt's perspective, she had no choice.
Since I'd been a little brat, I was incredibly cautious and never touched food given to me by others.
The only opportunity she had was during these shared family meals.
"Hmm... if you insist..."
Adela reluctantly took a bite of the meat my aunt offered.
Then, she tilted her head. It tasted good, but she seemed to wonder, 'Is this really worth all the fuss?'
"Hehe."
"Why are you laughing so frivolously?"
"The situation is just too amusing."
"...He must have really hit his head..."
Adela has been misunderstanding things for a while now. My head is perfectly fine, so why does she keep treating me like I'm sick?
"Just let him be, sister. Isn't the youngest always a bit uncouth?"
I was about to insist that I'd never injured my head, but the muscular demon sitting across from me cut in.
My eldest brother, Retavis.
Retavis, Leonard, and I—we are three half-brothers.
"Too much talking during a meal. Focus on your dinner quietly."
"Yes, I will restrain myself."
"My apologies, Eldest Aunt."
As the Eldest Aunt, seated at the head of the table, spoke softly, Adela and Retavis apologized politely and returned to eating.
Clink.
To an outsider, this looked like a perfectly normal dinner. A happy, harmonious family.
But one mustn't be fooled. Everyone except Adela and my mother has a heart of pure darkness.
Even now, they are probably holding their breath and stealing glances to see if I'm actually swallowing the food.
They've made a grave mistake.
Blinded by family sentiment, they created an enemy and then failed to kill him.
Even if they'd cut off my limbs, I could have just bitten and torn them apart with my teeth.
Though, having regressed, I plan to put those limbs back on as well.
"Hehe."
"Oscar."
"Ah, I can't stop laughing. Hehe."
I'm happy.
I'm thrilled by the thought that I can finally achieve the revenge that failed in my previous life.
I'm already looking forward to that day. After I obtain information from the Southern Grand Duke, I keep imagining how I'll crush them as quickly as possible.
Good grief, this laughing habit doesn't disappear even if I've become younger.
Still, I need to restrain myself for now. The look of worry and concern in Adela's eyes is deepening.
Munch.
To suppress the sneers leaking out, I greedily shove in soup, sandwiches, rye bread, and everything else. The sweet flavors, spicy aromas, and chewy textures fill my mouth.
I've been taking the poison for so long that eating a bit more now won't be a problem.
Above all, it is far too different from the pathetic meals I ate for 111 days in Tartarus.
Yes! This is what real food is!
Who cares if it's laced with poison! It tastes amazing!
Even after I've finished my revenge on Retavis and Leonard, I must never kill my precious aunt. She has to keep cooking for me until her very last breath.
*****
"Lord, my great and noble Godmother."
"Saint, are you praying again?"
"That You, who always guided me, have placed me in such a dark place..."
"Geez, I told you it was the Demon King, not the Lord, who locked you up here. Why do you keep confusing the Demon King with the Lord?"
"Perhaps You have given me the task of finding my own path forward."
"From where I'm standing, it looks like you're just supposed to sit still and get your head chopped off... Sigh, what's the point of talking to the Saint."
The Saint was a person who belonged in an ideal world.
An ideal sought by those who pursue and revere goodness. The Saint was as if she had been fashioned from that very ideal.
"Does Tartarus feel dark to you, Joker?"
"Yeah, super dark."
"You are correct. Tartarus is an abyss filled with darkness."
How should I put it? The Saint was a very deep thinker.
"That is because you viewed it with the eyes of the flesh. Since it is a space where not a single speck of light enters, it is only natural that it seems dark to the physical eye."
"Still, it got a bit brighter after you arrived."
"However, it is different when you close your eyes and look with the eyes of the heart. Warmth, comfort, and a love like a stone flower blooming even in this wretched prison only enter one's vision after closing their eyes."
"Um... I don't really get what you just said."
"I, a humble servant of the Lord, foolishly realized how to truly see the world only after losing my physical sight."
Every word, every action—she never spoke or acted without purpose.
"Isn't that just saying you'll see whatever you feel like seeing? You're just seeing what you want to see."
"If you put it that way, I would say you are correct."
"Huh, what?"
"However, that is the path I walk. In a darkness where I cannot see an inch in front of me, I have found my path and intend to carve it out."
Whether dealing with the Hero, the Demon King, the traitor Vincent, or Duke of the West Lilith, she always kept the aftermath in mind.
It was different from simply being brilliant. No matter what the Saint looked at, she saw straight through it, and with that small head of hers, she perceived everything in the world.
Despite not being able to see a thing.
"No matter what hardships you face, please never forget."
"Forget what?"
"Find your own path, Joker, and move forward. For it is the human, not the Lord, who lives this life. Of course, you are a demon."
"Wasn't that just now a blasphemous remark? Can you just say things like that? You're basically telling me to ignore God and even live however I feel like."
"The Lord suggests directions to us in various ways, but He never confirms that there is only one right path. Judging, executing, and taking responsibility is our burden."
When we were together in Tartarus, the Saint often spoke in vague, airy terms.
At the time, I brushed them off without much thought.
But now that I'm in this situation, for some reason, her words come back to me.
Right now, I am standing at a crossroads.
Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of futures are unfolding before me. Though not omnipotent, knowing the information of the future makes me omniscient; I can succeed in this life in things I failed in my previous one.
There are many possible futures.
My ultimate ideal, just as it was in my previous life, is chaos and madness.
But in this life, I intend to add a different kind of seasoning.
Light.
Or perhaps, love.
I believed that even evil should possess a certain level of class.
Now, I'll try mixing in some love.
Loving evil—how novel is that? It's truly a fascinating goal.
Some might dismiss it as the ravings of a lunatic, but dreams are meant to be ambitious, even if they seem impossible.
However, these are all just abstract concepts. A general attitude toward life cannot be a final goal. One can lack a plan, but one must have a goal.
Then, what should I set as my destination?
Having traveled back in time to five hundred years before my death, what should I strive for?
......
It's a foolish question.
Didn't the Saint tell me? To join the Reading Club at Eden Academy in five hundred years.
Didn't I realize it when I stood upon the guillotine? That I could never understand the love the Saint showed me on my own.
Five hundred years.
I'm not yet sure what to prepare or how to get ready in the meantime.
But time passes faster than you'd think. I know this, having lived through it once.
So, Saint.
It's only five hundred years; I'll wait patiently for you.
Let's meet soon.
I'm already looking forward to it.
"Hehe."
I brushed off my pants and stood up. It was time to set out for the Southern Demon Realm.
First, I need to dig up information about this bizarre phenomenon I'm experiencing. Information is the most important and useful thing in the world.
Rustle.
I walked to the wardrobe to take off my current clothes and change into proper outing attire.
Thud.
As I stepped out of my pants, I heard something hard hit the floor.
Wondering what it was, I reached into my pocket and felt a hard, rectangular object against my palm.
No, it wasn't exactly a rectangle.
"Huh?"
I let out a dumbfounded sound and fiddled with it. The more I felt its shape, the more I was plunged into shock.
Clatter.
With trembling hands, I managed to grasp it and pull it from my pocket. Then, I looked at it.
It was a very familiar object.
I had seen it so often in Tartarus that it was impossible not to recognize it.
A rectangular bar, with another bar half its length attached horizontally.
Twelve centimeters long, seven centimeters wide, and a long string of beads forming its shape.
A light yet substantial weight, sharp edges, and a pitch-black color symbolizing those in the shadows.
The object was the Black Cross that the Saint always carried with her.