The Church (1)
Let's see... Wood can be procured on-site, so should I focus on buying tools like nails and hammers?
No, wait. I remember hearing that if you use fresh, unseasoned timber to build a house, the moisture evaporates over time, warping the entire frame and causing an absolute catastrophe.
In that case, I'd better purchase proper lumber as well.
"Here is payment in full for everything—the foundation stones, plywood, seasoned lumber, nails, and hammer. The five extra gold coins are a gratuity for your trouble; keep them."
"Thank you, milord!"
Living as Faust had taught me one invaluable lesson: never be stingy with money.
How else could a suspicious man who concealed his entire body beneath a deep hood and never revealed his face, possessing nothing more than an archaic, aristocratic cadence, survive in the city unharmed for so long?
It was all because I greased palms properly. Generous bribes brought peace, and the locals handled all the tedious errands on their own, drastically improving my quality of life.
Of course, pure generosity wasn't enough on its own; projecting an aura that warned people never to cross you was equally vital.
When a suspicious vagrant starts handing out coin, meddlesome skeptics are bound to sniff around. But when a suspicious figure radiating a suffocating, terrifying pressure and speaking with haughty, archaic elegance drops gold into their hands, people naturally deceive themselves into believing he is an almighty existence they could never hope to provoke.
My bizarre demonic speech patterns used to give me such a headache, but in moments like this, they were a blessing.
Maintaining this lifestyle did cost a considerable amount of coin, but even that was never an issue.
"Ah, for fuck's sake, why won't this earwax come ou—... Ah, welcome. I look forward to doing business with you again."
All I had to do was pull trinkets from my subspace armory and fence them at the general store.
Catching sight of me, the ear-clipped elf shopkeeper hastily stopped picking her ear and assumed her customary merchant's posture.
Not that it did much to conceal the sunken dark circles under her eyes, the reek of stale tobacco, or the unkempt aura of a degenerate shut-in.
...Good grief. Aren't elves supposed to be noble beings who love nature? Granted, I've only met two elves in this world so far, but why do both of them have so many loose screws?
Still, despite her slovenly appearance, her business acumen was exceptionally sharp, making her thoroughly trustworthy.
She managed to liquidate the Eclipse flawlessly, after all.
If a mere mortal got their hands on an artifact as priceless as the Eclipse, just attempting to fence it would be a nightmare. High-ranking nobles or even monarchs might lean on them to surrender it, or armed cutthroats might slaughter them in the dead of night.
Yet this shopkeeper had deftly sidestepped every hazard, keeping both my identity and hers completely sealed while converting the Eclipse into hard currency. At a staggering valuation of 120,000 gold, no less.
I had taken 45,000 gold from that sale, which meant, by simple arithmetic, I had absorbed a 75,000 gold loss.
Even so, without her cooperation, I wouldn't have seen a single copper. More importantly, my identity had been preserved flawlessly, and taking a steep cut was simply the cost of doing business with a black-market fence. I felt no real bitterness over the arrangement.
"A mana stone."
"Mmm... Five thousand gold."
Meaning it would fetch around ten thousand through legitimate channels.
Factor in taxes, brokerage fees, transit costs, and the premium for laundering my identity, and the fair value would land around seven thousand gold. Offering five thousand on the spot with zero questions asked was more than reasonable.
"Very well. I accept."
Knowing the margins well, I accepted her offer without haggling. The shopkeeper nodded with practiced ease and slid the payment across the counter.
Five thousand gold. That should be plenty for interior furnishings.
It wouldn't match the absurd, hyper-modified luxury of my previous estate, but it would certainly build a comfortable, high-quality home.
Let's see. The exterior materials are settled, so where should I look for the interior furnishings and decor—
"Um... Valued Customer."
Just as I gathered the coins and turned toward the door, the shopkeeper called out, halting me in my tracks.
Wait... she's never stopped me like this before.
Our interactions had always been strictly business, limited entirely to the valuation of goods.
Or rather, setting aside our very first meeting, our transactions consisted of me handing over an item, her naming a price, and me accepting it. Strictly speaking, we had never held a proper conversation.
"What is the matter?"
"Word is that the Seraphia Church is deploying a large-scale exorcism squad to this city."
"An exorcism squad, you say."
"Those fanatics consider victims nothing more than collateral damage. When it comes to purging demons, they stop at nothing—whether it means blockading the entire city or slaughtering civilians on the mere suspicion of possession. Please, take utmost care."
The Seraphia Church was a central pillar in the lore of Noah. Worshipping Seraphia, the Goddess of Light, the holy order dedicated itself to eradicating demons by any means necessary.
If a shadow formed, rather than erecting a new source of illumination, they would violently obliterate every single object casting the shadow.
Yet that righteous crusade was nothing more than their outward veneer; stripped of their holy rhetoric, they were a fanatical death cult.
They declared sprawling holy wars against non-believing nations to 'purify' heretics, and because Seraphia drew her divine power solely from mortal faith, they deliberately orchestrated demonic incursions to terrorize the populace into fervent worship. Most damning of all, Goddess Seraphia did not merely tolerate their atrocities—she actively encouraged and directed them from behind the scenes.
Though hailed as the Goddess of Light, her metaphysical mentality differed little from a demon treating mortals as living batteries. For that very reason, she had long been slated as a raid boss in Noah.
If I remember our dev roadmap correctly, we were going to release Azrael first, followed by Samael, and then Seraphia. After a brief grace period, Faust was scheduled to descend.
In any case, why would the Church suddenly dispatch an exorcism squad here—ah. Is it because of me?
Come to think of it, I had let those priests walk away alive. If they reported back to their superiors, an inquisitorial subjugation force was the natural response.
Uh... wait.
Why was the shopkeeper sharing this with me? Did she figure out what I am?
"And why do you impart such intelligence to me without demanding a price?"
"It is... merely a small courtesy to a long-standing patron. A city blockade would prove inconvenient for you, so I thought it wise to give you advance warning so you might withdraw in time. I intend to pack up and settle elsewhere shortly as well."
I had braced myself, fearing my demonic identity had been exposed, but it seemed I had overthought things.
Mmm, makes sense.
If she had truly realized I was a demon, she would have fled town long ago.
Still, for an organization as clandestine as the Church to leak movements like this, her network was remarkably well-informed.
"Your connections run deep."
"Isn't that the sole reason I've survived in this trade for so long?"
The shopkeeper puffed her chest, visibly buoyed by my praise.
Truth be told, with teleportation at my disposal and the overwhelming combat power to crush whatever inquisitors they sent, the information was practically useless to me. Even so, it would be bad manners not to acknowledge her goodwill.
"Shopkeeper, what is your name? I am Faust."
"...Irene. Irene of the Golden Leaf."
"Irene. Should fate permit, let us cross paths again."
Such a degenerate, unwashed demeanor, and her name is Irene...? She sounds like a delicate, adorable little girl.
If I hadn't been trapped inside Faust's grim demonic physiology, I would have burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of the contrast.
"...He's gone."
Irene desperately prayed that the demon, Faust, would heed her warning and vanish from the city posthaste.
If he did not, an unimaginable catastrophe would unfold—devastation on a scale beyond human reckoning.
Though he possessed an extraordinarily bizarre temperament for a demon, showing zero malice or interest toward mortals, there was no chance he would stand idle if attacked.
The moment the Seraphia Church's exorcism squad struck Faust, the ensuing shockwave would devour the entire city.
Of course, Irene intended to flee beforehand, meaning she would be safe from the fallout... but she had no desire to see the city she had inhabited for nearly fifty years obliterated alongside its residents.
...Still, he truly is an anomaly.
A demon's very nature was evil; their cognitive framework diverged fundamentally from that of any living creature.
A demon could never comprehend the thoughts, empathy, or conduct of mortal beings. To them, mortals were merely cattle and nourishment.
Yet what on earth was this demon named Faust?
Not only did he function seamlessly within civilized society, he displayed zero hostility or predatory instinct. And that was despite harboring a catastrophic reserve of power!
It felt as unnatural as watching a rabbit stand upright on its hind legs, tearing a lion apart with its teeth to devour it. It defied every law of reality.
Yet defying logic or not, the living proof stood before her eyes. She had no choice but to accept it.
Faust...
It was a name entirely absent from her memory.
For an elf so ancient that her long-lived kin called her an old hag, to encounter an archdemon she had never once heard of... Hah.
Naturally, a low-ranking imp wouldn't be worth remembering. But an entity wielding power so monstrous that it reduced archdemons and demon dukes to squalor? It was inconceivable that such a name had remained buried in obscurity until now.
There had to be some profound, unfathomable reason behind his emergence.
An alias...? No, what a foolish thought.
Could it be a fabricated name? Absolutely impossible.
Unlike physical organisms composed of flesh, bone, and matter, demons existed as manifestations of pure concept, magic, and sheer will. They could never speak a falsehood when declaring the True Name that anchored their very existence to reality.
Granted, the world was vast, and there might exist obscure arcana beyond her reckoning... but Faust, Faust...
No, enough.
Prying any deeper into this would only invite her own demise. It was best to shut her eyes and let it lie.
After all, the true secret to surviving across centuries was knowing precisely when to look away from that which was never meant to be known.