The Demon and the Witch (1)
The Demon and the Witch (1)
A human he wished to kill, or one who must die.
The demon told him to choose such a person, but for the boy, it was not something he could point out easily.
He had never harbored murderous intent.
And to choose someone who deserved to die. That would be impossible. He was neither a family head with the right of execution nor a magistrate.
He was nothing more than a mere child.
In a flustered tone, Raguel spoke.
“T-There’s no such person.”
“No one you want to kill?”
“O-Of course not!”
“How strange. I thought you would have at least one kill list.”
“How do you even see me……”
The boy, looking wronged, wore such a transparent and innocent expression.
Johan, having read the original, found it a bit strange.
Raguel’s path had not been so pure. The boy, who was expelled from his family, gradually fell apart and eventually walked the path of a villain.
A third-rate villain in the early chapters. That was the extent of his role, yet the boy in front of him showed not even the slightest hint of evil.
It must have been the limitation of the original. Since it never depicted his inner thoughts or circumstances, readers never had the chance to judge Raguel properly.
Johan spoke.
“I saw you as a pitiful kid. I figured you would at least have some grudges against those who tormented you.”
The boy shook his head.
“Try going out to the streets. Starving orphans, wandering tenant farmers, vagrants shivering in the cold—you can see them countless times a day.”
“Are you trying to say you’re happier than them?”
“Rather than happy, it’s true that my circumstances are better than theirs. I have a home, food, and……”
The boy trailed off. He glanced at Johan with his distant eyes before lowering his head again.
“No, never mind. Anyway, I’m not unhappy enough to harbor murderous intent.”
“That’s unfortunate. I was planning to take on your revenge for you and make you owe me a debt.”
“You really are a demon.”
“That I am.”
A brief silence followed. Raguel spoke first.
“Why did you ask me something like that? It’s not really to avenge me, is it? Are you planning to kill someone……”
“No need for you to worry about it. Let me just finish reading the book.”
There was no need to explain it to the boy.
“But still!”
“That’s enough. This conversation ends here.”
Johan reopened Kazan’s chronicles.
As he read, he fell into thought.
He needed a sacrifice. Who would be the best choice?
Someone whose disappearance would cause no problems and whose death would aid the development of the story.
One person came to mind.
‘She will do.’
Using her, he would also be able to create a connection to Illea.
***
The prostitute Betra dug into her ear with her bright red fingernail. Her ear kept itching, as if someone was talking about her.
“Really, just a few days without washing, and it’s a mess.”
She muttered, bringing her finger in front of her eyes. Under the red nail, yellowish lumps were stuck.
“Eh.”
It was dirty, but she did not care. There was no one she needed to look good for.
Betra only cared about gaining the baron’s favor, but recently, there had been few opportunities to even face him. She couldn’t even share meals with him.
The baron, shut in his room, would only call Illea to sit with him at mealtimes.
For Betra, there was no reason to dress up or put on makeup.
She blew the earwax off her finger.
The lumps fell onto the cold floor.
Some of it landed on the face of the kneeling girl.
Rowen flinched, hastily brushing the discharge off.
Though quick, Betra noticed it.
“Where do you think you’re going!”
She yelled nervously as she rose from her chair.
The thirty children being punished alongside Rowen flinched.
“Stupid, useless brat!”
Betra raised her hand high. Then she began hitting Rowen’s head.
Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack!
Beating her like a madwoman, she grabbed Rowen’s hair and shook it back and forth.
The stress she had accumulated was flying away in real time. A prostitute lives off attention, and the baron’s indifference had made her increasingly hysterical.
It was all the baron’s. No, all Illea’s fault.
“Die! Die!”
Rowen brought her hands together and pleaded.
“I-I’m sorry! Mother, please forgive me!”
“If you’re sorry, then you need to be punished!”
Despite the child’s pitiful cries, the prostitute did not care.
She beat her indiscriminately. Just as she was about to start kicking, someone lightly touched her shoulder.
Betra whipped her head around. Her face was twisted with rage. Who dared!
“Mother, that’s enough.”
It was Illea. She was smiling faintly. That subtle smile always got on Betra’s nerves.
“……What?”
“You’re going too far.”
Lately, this girl had started openly defying her. Acting like the world belonged to her with the baron’s backing.
It was disgustingly unpleasant.
The looks from the other girls were annoying too. Watching Illea, they looked relieved as if a hero had appeared.
Betra felt so furious her insides twisted, but she barely managed to hold back her emotions. She could not harm Illea.
Her facial muscles twitched as she spoke.
“……It’s part of love, you know.”
Illea looked down at the floor. Rowen, her hair a mess, was crying.
“If you love her, cherish her. No one uses a broken object.”
Betra let out a hollow laugh in disbelief.
“Ha, object?”
Illea nodded.
“We’re all the baron’s property, aren’t we?”
Then she pointed at Rowen.
“You just damaged his property.”
Cracks formed in Betra’s patience. How many years younger was this girl, to dare play word games with her? She clenched her fist tightly.
“……Damaged? This is education.”
Illea shook her head with a gentle smile.
“No matter how much you wash a rag, you can’t use it as a towel. You’re proof of that, Mother. So please, don’t soil things in the first place.”
Once a prostitute, always a prostitute. Though the wandering Betra had settled here, she still lived the life of a prostitute.
“Understood?”
It was a direct hit.
Her expression twisted. Veins bulged on her forehead. She could no longer hold back.
“Y-You insolent bitch!”
She raised her hand. Just as she was about to strike down, Illea’s eyes turned pitch black. The blue pupils vanished, leaving behind a dark shadow.
Betra froze.
The shadow was gone in an instant, but it remained vivid in her mind.
Those were not human eyes. The demons she had once seen in the capital had eyes like that. Back then, she had been so terrified she had frozen completely.
And it is the same now.
Illea tilted her head.
“Mother, are you feeling unwell?”
Her innocent expression created a horrific sense of dissonance.
Betra stepped back.
“Y-You…….”
“Oh dear, you look pale. You should get some rest.”
Saying this, Illea looked at the children.
“Now, shall we all get up? Mother is not feeling well, so today’s lesson will end here. Return to your quarters.”
The children, who had been glancing between Illea and Betra, slowly stood up one by one.
They lined up as usual.
— Mother’s grace reaches heaven. Great Saint, Marziel.
Bowing, they left the study in a rush.
Betra could not stop them. The memory of a moment ago had not faded. As she stood frozen, Illea bowed her head toward her.
“Then, have a peaceful night.”
She too left the room.
***
Illea’s destination was different from the other girls.
She passed through the inner courtyard, heading underground.
With a sunken expression, she murmured.
“I told you not to reveal yourself carelessly.”
At the same time, giggling laughter followed.
“My apologies. I was too excited. But aren’t you the same? That miasma was incredibly tempting.”
A moment ago, someone had released miasma. It was faint, but to a witch and a demon, it was clear enough to sense.
A sharp voice chuckled as it continued.
“Thick yet unrefined. In other words, it’s a high-blooded imp. Such a satisfying prey, this old hag is already salivating.”
Every demon went through a fledgling stage. No matter how threatening their bloodline, an imp was nothing more than prey for other demons in that state.
The old hag spirit could not help but be excited.
“If we capture and devour it, even Master will gain high-quality miasma. Truly a treasure rolling in on its own.”
A treasure? Illea thought differently.
An imp would not have left a trace by accident. It was clearly drawing her in. She could infer this through the nature of the miasma.
When miasma was used as a medium for possession or contracts, it usually contained impurities like an exhaled breath.
But this was different.
The miasma from a moment ago was of very high purity. There was no sign it had been used. It had simply been dispersed into the air without meaning.
Who would do such a thing? If it had been a newborn imp trying out its miasma, Illea could have accepted it to some extent.
But it would not have done that.
A demon who already had two contractors was already well-versed in miasma. There was no way it would make a foolish mistake.
In that case, the intention was clear.
I am here. Come.
“……Hmm.”
Was it seeking to be commanded? Illea weighed the old hag spirit against the imp.
An adult low demon and a promising imp. There was no comparison. Even before placing them on the scale, it was already tilted heavily to one side.
Illea made her decision.
She would feed the old hag spirit to the imp.
Of course, it might all be premature. It was all just a hypothesis. It was difficult to grasp the imp’s exact intentions.
Whether her master knew it or not, the old hag spirit was humming in excitement. She even began singing. Thankfully, the sound did not leak outside, but it rang in Illea’s mind.
It was a repulsive melody.
As a witch, it was irritating.
“I hope the imp wants me.”
She wanted to replace it.
Sensing the mood, the old hag spirit finally closed her mouth.
“……I apologize.”
“It’s fine. One can be foolish.”
Saying that, Illea stopped in front of the spiral staircase.
It was a place she had heard of many times.
“So the imp chose this place too.”
The old hag spirit responded in a subdued voice.
“……There’s nowhere else the Forbidden Archive could be.”
“Right. We couldn’t find it, though.”
“It’s all my fault.”
“Well then, let’s see how capable the imp is.”
Illea stepped forward. She descended the stairs softly, step by step.
The lower she went, the more darkness enveloped her surroundings. The torches set at the entrance did not reach deep underground. This was a passage no one visited. There was no reason to light it.
When she reached complete darkness, her footsteps stopped.
The surroundings were silent. The smell of mold pricked her nose.
“Let’s see.”
Fwoosh.
A small flame bloomed in the darkness.
It flickered like a lantern. The lights multiplied one by one, weaving through the darkness.
Gradually, the interior grew brighter. Spiderwebs reflected the light, shimmering. Dust floated in the air. A cylindrical space surrounded by bookshelves. The vast underground library revealed itself.
Illea stared straight ahead.
A pair of red, glowing eyes was looking back at her.
The demon sitting at the round table spoke.
“So, the witch has come.”
He gestured toward a chair.
“Sit here.”