Chapter 18 (Patreon)

“C-Chiba-san… why?” My classmate looked a little pale. Watching my handsome self beat up several scumbags had clearly left an impression on him.

“Why what, Ise-kun?” I gave Rias-senpai’s servant a mildly puzzled look as he walked beside me, wiping someone else’s blood from the backs of my hands with distaste. Why had he tagged along, anyway? My parents’ place was nowhere along his way home, and I’d decided to visit them today. “Those idiots were smashing a boy’s face against the alley walls. I showed them how to do it properly—with their own faces.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Hyoudou glanced back at the alley with a mixture of distaste and sympathy. The boy I’d just saved from a group beating came staggering out, one hand braced against the wall. He was about our age, very slight of build, and his clothes were torn and bloody. Tough kid. I hadn’t thought he’d have the strength to walk; I’d expected to see him crawl out of there. “Why did you have to beat them… that badly?”

“What, into a bloody pulp? For the educational value. Don’t worry, Ise-kun. None of those losers suffered any serious injuries. It looks awful, but all they’ve really got are bruises and a few bumps. No broken bones, no damage to their internal organs, eyesight, or hearing. Even the concussion I gave each of them is mild and should clear up without lasting effects, provided they aren’t complete idiots. I checked before I left. It hurt like hell, and for a while they’ll have to look at their swollen, blue-and-green mugs in the mirror. But that’s all.”

“I-I see.” Hyoudou lowered his head, studying the pavement beneath his feet.

He still had no real sense of what it meant to be a demon—by this world’s standards, at least. He was a horny teenager, but there wasn’t a bloodthirsty bone in his body. No dreams of dominion, strength, or might. None of my sense of being someone special. For now, his ambitions went no further than wet dreams of a harem, where he’d rake in chick after chick like a hen scratching in the dirt. Unfortunately, that would happen.

Very slowly, I could feel the boy growing stronger. And with strength would come opportunity. He would have girls, just as Ise dreamed—more than one of them.

Naive Japanese kid. Nah, good luck to him. I was the last person who’d JUDGE him on moral grounds. I’d had harems myself. Some had turned into harmems—harems with more grief than pleasure.

The problem had nothing to do with what the garbage calling itself “society” thought. Religion wasn’t the issue either. Nor were strength or money.

Comfort and personal desire—that was what mattered. Powerful cultivators told tradition, public opinion, and moral standards to suck their jade rods. They had strength; everyone else could fuck off. Demons were much the same. At the very least, Christian morality and prudishness could safely be crossed off the list. There were laws, sure, but nothing against having multiple wives or multiple husbands. Strong and rich? Go right ahead. Weak and poor? That worked too. Either way, the only question was whether anyone wanted to join a friendly little group of women—or men—with one “boss.”

But in this world and the cultivation worlds alike, wealth and personal strength were far from the main concern for an experienced cultivator or demon. A seasoned man or woman considering a lifelong bond with one partner—or several—would think hard about the prospect of a NORMAL life with them, and what it might do to their nerves. That mattered a great deal.

After all, even one “wrong” spouse could turn your life into Hell… uh… a nightmare! Hell was actually quite beautiful and scenic. I spent as much of my free time as I could at my little house: fresh air, greenery, not a single annoying neighbor, and far more freedom than I had on Earth. I loved Hell. All thanks to my Lady.

Back to harems, though… As far as I was concerned, they were perfectly acceptable, whether made up of men or women. The question was whether you could live with one—whether it left you comfortable enough for peace of mind and cultivation. Comfortable keeping a dozen wives or husbands even if they fought among themselves or hated you personally? Go right ahead! Kidnap brides, coerce them, dominate them, humiliate them. Just remember that it might all come back to you one way or another. The idea of karma didn’t come from nowhere.

Getting poisoned by a “loving” wife? Easy. Ending up on the sword of a son whose mother you tormented for decades? A real possibility. Losing your head to the vengeance of the poor woman’s brother or other relatives? Happens all the time.

If you managed to build a harmonious family with several people and loved your life together, good for you. Wanted a monogamous relationship? Go for it. As I said, it came down to what you were comfortable with. Just don’t forget that nights of passion could lead to children, and those children would have personalities of their own. If you had standing in the world, wealth, and power, they might even start fighting over the inheritance… In short, it was complicated, and every case was different.

Unfortunately, Ise didn’t understand any of that. He just wanted lots of chicks, tits to suck on, and ideally to fuck—to have actual sex and everything. He had no idea how much work even a casual romance between two people took, let alone a whole family. At least my classmate wasn’t scum like his former buddies. I was almost certain he’d never use force against a girl he liked.

“Um… Chiba-san, why did you help that guy at all?” Ise asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Because I felt like it.” I gave him a slight smile. “A few assholes picking on a nerd is almost normal. If they’d kept it within… certain limits, I would’ve walked right past. But those idiots came dangerously close to doing the kid serious harm while amusing themselves. Sure, their victim was trash himself, and they were scum, but… Hmm…”

Lately, I’d been thinking a great deal about “heroism.” There were plenty of ways to look at it, and each had a right to exist. I’d spoken with countless cultivators: Daoists, Buddhists, followers of dark and demonic teachings. With that last group, one side or the other usually regretted the conversation, depending on who was strapped to the rack.

I’d even talked with members of various personality cults. Devotees of one “Heavenly Demon” or another, for instance—powerful figures who proclaimed themselves something like gods in the lands of mortals. In reality, of course, they were merely very strong cultivators with delusions of grandeur, but those were details.

As for interfering in mortal lives to help people—or, conversely, to harm them…

“Hmm… Long ago, Young Master Wu was returning from an errand for his mentor. He was the first and only personal disciple of Li Laoshan, head of the Ink Blood Sect—a dark cultivator known throughout the world as Misty Cloud.

“Master Wu passed an ordinary village, far from his sect’s territory. Just then, bandits from the mountains attacked it. Murder, looting, violence… But the lives of the people there had nothing to do with him, so he kept walking. What was happening should not have troubled his soul.

“Struggle ran through every dark teaching, but it was not always the cornerstone of a sect’s philosophy, however far that sect stood from the ideals of goodness and justice. So Master Wu, as a cultivator to whom the villagers ought to have meant nothing, might not even have spared the raid a glance.”

Indeed, unlike cults whose members cultivated through a connection to the Underworld, dark paths did not always call for endless slaughter. Selfishness, to my mind, lay at their heart. And after following nearly every path there was, I found the dark ones closest to me. Personal strength. Doing good for yourself and those close to you. Honest, undisguised cynicism. Cruelty toward enemies. Duplicity—blatant, glorious duplicity.

Steal what you need and feel no guilt. Kill anyone who tries to steal from you, choking on outrage, seething with fury. Refuse to forgive the insult. Never spare a thought for the fact that you could have met the same fate yourself. Accept it: someone may kill you, but you may kill them too. Complete freedom, limited only by your desires, your character… and what you are capable of, of course.

Demand respect. You worked to gain your strength, and you earned it. Value your greatness and the effort it took to achieve it. Forgive no insults; punish wrongdoing. But don’t go overboard with pointless cruelty.

Dark-path sects did not wipe out villages and towns that paid them tribute. Junior cultivators could not kill mortals on a whim; their masters punished them severely for it. Mortals were one source of wealth and prosperity, after all. The wise also knew that bloodshed without cause could lead to… all sorts of trouble. Some called it Heaven’s punishment. Personally, I thought it was just the usual consequence of stupidity.

And most of all, the dark paths were, strangely enough, less hypocritical. I’d lost count of the times I’d seen the “righteous” do truly fucked-up things while hiding behind noble words. Or take the principle so beloved by Daoist cultivators: acting through inaction, wu wei. Mmm… now there was a good one. Fuck everything except my own path—that was how most of the “righteous” understood it.

“He walked past the village, searching his own heart for an answer. Lives that should have meant nothing to him were being cut short, and to the young master, that felt wrong. Yet he could not understand why. Ordinary mortals died by the tens of thousands every second, all across the world. Martial masters perished. Even Gods and Immortals met their end. Somewhere in the endless universe, entire worlds ceased to exist.

“He could not stop all of that. He was the most gifted of his sect’s young men and women, the first of his generation to be recognized as a Master. Yet for all his strength, he would never have enough power to help everyone in need. Nor did he want to race around even the lands under his sect’s control, keeping order.”

I gave a quiet snort at the memory. “Young Master Wu” truly owed that village nothing. There wasn’t even the prospect of a decent reward. The bandits were a bunch of broke-ass weaklings who could only rob and kill peasants even weaker than themselves, people who couldn’t put up a proper fight.

A young village woman might have offered herself to “Master Wu” in gratitude. But a cultivator hailed as his sect’s genius, a talent born once in a thousand years, could easily find more than a pretty mortal girl. He could find a beautiful maiden who followed the path of cultivation herself. Women practically lined up to get into his bed, willing to become his lovers for the mere hope of practicing dual cultivation with a prodigy like him.

“In the end, the young master stopped, turned toward the village, and killed every attacker. He didn’t stay to hear the mortals thank him. Instead, he went up into the mountains and wiped out the bandits who remained in their camp. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to, Ise-kun. He realized he wanted to save that village and kill the mountain bandits. We could talk for hours about justice, about how important it is for a cultivator to have peace in his soul and be at one with himself. But underneath it all was a selfish desire. He helped them because he wanted to. Not for some humanitarian ideal, not out of pity, not for revenge. Young Master Wu wanted to. He could. So he did. That’s all.

“The same goes for me today. I could dress it up in pretty words about helping the weak. I could say that, after seeing one person strong enough to throw several idiots around, that feeble little piece of trash might decide to seek strength of his own. I could talk about the lesson I taught those scumbags, about how some of them might reflect on their lives and turn away from the path that’s leading them to ruin… But the truth is, my only real motive was the selfish desire to do exactly what I did. Do you understand?”

“Um… Yeah, yeah. I understand,” my classmate said, though the look in his eyes told me he hadn’t understood at all.

Never mind. Ise would understand someday, I thought. He had an eternity now—unless he died, of course. So he’d get there. He might not accept it; he might even condemn it. But he would understand.

“Chiba-san.” The boy gave a decisive shake of his head. “Is it true you’re training Yura-san? I’ve heard her call you Master a few times, and Rias-senpai mentioned yesterday that you two train together…”

“Yes,” I said, giving my classmate a surprised look.

Yura Tsubasa really was my student now, and when she called me “Master,” I could hear genuine respect in her voice. I thought she ought to stop addressing me that way in front of outsiders. But if Rias-senpai knew the details, Sona-san must have decided it was fine to share them.

Or someone from the student council had let it slip, though that seemed unlikely. Across our two peerages, the only ones who spent much time together were Ise and me, and my Lady and the president of the Occult Research Club. The others knew each other in passing, but no one on the student council would tell Gremory’s people about our internal affairs.

Hyoudou was a blabbermouth, come to think of it. I still didn’t understand how he’d managed not to tell a single human that he’d been reincarnated as a demon. Aika Kiryu, for example—he chatted with her practically every break. She couldn’t care less about the reputation of the Pervert Trio’s last remaining member, and she roasted him mercilessly. They even saw eye to eye on the looks of our female classmates! They’d park themselves beside my desk and get on my nerves discussing one girl or another: her looks, her figure, and on and on. Though I suspected Aika mostly did it to troll me. She certainly enjoyed watching me roll my eyes while I was stuck listening to them.

“Um… Chiba-san… could you train me too?” I wouldn’t say his question shocked me, but it did catch me off guard. “I was going to find a martial arts club,” Ise said quickly when I raised my eyebrows, “but Rias-san forbade it. Because of my demon strength…”

“Say no more. I get it.” Hyoudou would give himself away with his increased strength, especially if he got carried away during a sparring match. “What about your peerage?”

“I… ahem… asked Koneko-chan, but she turned me down.”

“Of course she did.”

“Heh.” A little embarrassed, he ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head. “Rias-san promised we’d train eventually, but honestly, I’d like to know how to do something before that starts. You know, Chiba-san… the girls and all…”

“You want to make a good impression,” I said with a chuckle. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Yes! Exactly!” He nodded rapidly.

“Well…” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “I don’t see any problem with that. But I should tell you up front: I can’t turn an ordinary demon schoolboy into the terror of warriors across all worlds in a couple of months. No chance. I can get you into better shape, though, so you won’t look like a scrawny weakling when your peerage starts training.”

“Like going to the gym?”

“Something like that. Going to a gym on Earth is out of the question for you now. The other members would be pretty startled to see a skinny schoolboy lifting weights that even a professional weightlifter would struggle with. At my place in Hell, I’ve got a training ground and all the equipment we need. Hmm… Tell you what. I’ll speak to my Lady first, since I live on Sitri land. If she doesn’t object, I’ll schedule your sessions for the same days and times as Tsubasa-chan’s. But let’s agree on one thing right now, Ise. The girls in my peerage…”

“Of course, of course!” My classmate threw up his hands when I let the warning hang. “I’ll stay as far away from Yura-san as I can.”

“No need to take it that far. Just behave yourself. I know you can.”

“I’ll be a good boy, Sensei!”

“And don’t call me that. If Sona-san agrees, I’ll help you get into shape. I won’t teach you any skills or secret techniques. Don’t forget: close as our peerages are, we still serve different Houses. I swore allegiance to my Lady, which means my skills belong to her as well. We might face each other in a Rating Game someday. I’m not going to make a Sacred Gear wielder in a potential opponent’s peerage stronger, and I won’t even ask Sitri-san for permission to do so. Even if ours is a friendly match, Rating Game standings matter a great deal to pureblood demons, especially those from the Great Houses.”

“Got it.” Ise nodded. “Chiba-san, you said you have a house in Hell? What’s it… like there?”

“Oh, you’re better off seeing it for yourself than hearing me describe it. But you’ll definitely like it.” Seeing the face my classmate pulled, I added, “No, there aren’t any naked girls begging you to punish them!”

“Whaaat?!” Hyoudou stared at me. “Chiba-san, you can read minds now?!”

If there were anything to read, I thought, smiling and shaking my head. The boy’s thoughts were written all over his face. Another moment and he’d have started drooling.

Reika Marikawa sat at the desk in her small rented studio apartment, staring miserably at a sheet of paper bearing a strange drawing. The room served as both her bedroom and her study.

The past month had been awful. A nightmare, really. Trouble had rained down on her and her family as though fate had tipped an entire wagonload of it over their heads.

And it had started with someone she’d considered a friend. That vile animal, whom she’d once thought of as a fellow student with rich parents, had first tried to win her attention in the usual ways. But Reika wasn’t attracted to Ken. She liked him as a person—he’d seemed perfectly decent—but she simply couldn’t imagine anything more with him.

Reika hadn’t planned on getting into a relationship at all. Her studies took up a great deal of time, and her parents paid a lot for her education. On top of that, she worked part-time to cover the rent on her small place and pay for food. She simply didn’t want any distractions.

At first, the attention from a student a couple of years ahead of her had been a little flattering. That didn’t mean she wanted it to lead anywhere. Ken was handsome, came from a wealthy family, and had connections reaching all the way to the prefectural level.

Yes, Reika had enjoyed the attention. In the beginning, they’d just talked now and then. He hinted that he wanted more, but Marikawa had thought he was a good guy and didn’t want to lead him on. So she explained: she liked him as a person, but other men were more her type. She told him about her plans and about the responsibility she felt toward her parents.

He’d seemed to understand. He’d even suggested they stay friends, and she’d… agreed. Ken Tagawa was an interesting conversationalist and a pleasant person.

Or so he’d seemed.

Over the next month, as they kept talking, he would mention that the woman who shared his life would never want for anything. She wouldn’t need to work—or even get an education. At first, Reika didn’t realize he was dropping hints. She thought they were simply talking. Friends shared their thoughts; that was normal. So she shared hers, too: that kind of life wasn’t for her.

She’d meant nothing more by it. She wasn’t against having a family or children, or even taking care of a home. But her dreams lay elsewhere. Or rather, that wasn’t what she wanted yet. Perhaps someday. For now, she intended to finish her studies, become a specialist in her chosen field, and grow into a capable, respected professional. She wanted to contribute to society. That was her path to fulfillment. A dream she could even call a goal.

Unfortunately, that path was crumbling into an abyss beneath her feet.

Right now.

It didn’t take much longer for Reika to realize that Tagawa hadn’t given up on her. She was planning to talk to him again when she happened to overhear him speaking with his friends. It was an ugly, revolting conversation. They talked about her as if she were prey—something to be hunted.

The rich boy had never wanted friendship, or even a serious relationship. From the start, he’d planned to pull the wool over a first-year student’s eyes: impress her with his manners, his social standing, his money; deceive her with promises of a family, stability, and security. All of it… just to get her into bed.

It had hurt so much. Reika had thought she’d found a friend, at least until she began to suspect that he hadn’t given up. Even then, she’d wanted to have an honest conversation with him, however heavy her heart felt, though it might have ended their friendship. Because… she’d thought Ken Tagawa loved her!

But it turned out…

That day, Reika lost her temper and told Ken and his two spoiled rich friends exactly what she thought of them. It was a mistake.

After their shouting match—in which she learned plenty of new and thoroughly unpleasant things about herself—her “friend” launched a campaign of harassment against her. He humiliated her in public and even bribed lecturers to be as hard on her as possible.

She endured it. She gritted her teeth, talked back, sometimes went home and cried into her pillow, but she held on.

Unfortunately, things only got worse. The three bastards began crossing a line beyond law or rules: the line of basic human decency.

The first time one of them hit her, Reika went to the police. The bastard who’d struck her and his friends kept quiet for a few days. Then they tried to rape her. Only the intervention of some women from her year, who happened to pass the empty classroom they’d lured her into, saved her.

Going to the police again didn’t merely get Reika nowhere. It brought more trouble down on her. The women who’d helped her suddenly denied that anyone had tried to rape her. With a revolting smile, Ken told her it was time she stopped struggling. He was suing her for slander, too.

Then things got worse. Her father was fired. It turned out his boss’s boss was a close friend of Ken’s beloved uncle—another wealthy man with power and influence. After that, some “hooligans” nearly crippled her younger brother in an alley. If an athlete passing by hadn’t stepped in and beaten the attackers, those little bastards might even have killed him. Shinji was now in the hospital with a concussion, three cracked ribs, a split lip, a cut eyebrow, and a swollen face.

And today, the monster Reika had once considered her friend had given her a smug, disgusting grin and told her she had nowhere left to turn. Either she became his obedient little lapdog, or her entire family would suffer. Then he’d walked away chuckling, as proud of himself as if he’d saved the world.

Bastard.

Walking home in utter despair, cursing her fate, the bastard who was doing this to her, the police, and every god she could think of, Reika met… a very strange woman.

She wore a severe navy suit and glasses, with her hair tied in a ponytail. And that was all Reika could remember about her. She couldn’t recall the woman’s face, but she knew one thing for certain: something about it had been wrong. Unnatural. As if the woman standing before her hadn’t been real. A fake, a counterfeit person. The feeling was terrifying.

That… unusual woman had given her the sheet of paper now lying on her desk, the one with the strange drawing in vivid blue.

“You need this,” the stranger had said calmly, and Reika had taken the paper from her hand.

Now, looking at the drawing, Reika KNEW what it was. If she WANTED, something would come and solve her problems. There would be a price, of course. A steep one.

Did she want that? Was Marikawa Reika, filled with fear, despair, and hatred, ready to make a bargain with forces people considered dark and evil?

“Yes,” she answered her own question firmly.

Then she flinched. Out of the corner of her eye, Reika saw a human figure to her left. The bed creaked as someone sat down on it…

He’s so young. About Shinji’s age? she thought, then caught herself. Whoever was supposed to come—who had already come—wasn’t human. And his age… How could she know whether the handsome high school boy sitting there was real, or some unknown thing pretending to be one?

Not young at all, she thought with a shiver when her eyes met those of her “guest.”

She knew she would never remember that face. The eyes watching her were perfectly calm, at once focused and bored. He reminded her of a civil servant with only a few weeks left before retirement. He knew his job inside out. Over the years, he’d encountered every sort of problem and dealt with them all. Nothing could surprise him anymore. Whatever love or interest he’d once had for the work had burned away, but from their ashes professionalism had taken root and grown into a mighty tree.

“Marikawa Reika-san,” the young man said in a pleasant voice, without smiling. “I’d like to say ‘good evening,’ but mortals—at least in my case—don’t summon demons when all is well. So let’s get straight to business. What is it you want?”

“Ah… Excuse me, what’s your name?”

“That doesn’t matter.” The young man gave a slight shake of his head. “You’ll forget my name as soon as I leave. If you like, you can call me ‘demon’ or ‘contractor.’”

“I see.” Reika nodded calmly. Strangely, the knowledge of WHO was sitting on the bed in her little room didn’t bother her at all. She had no doubt that he was a demon, that she had touched something secret, mystical, and frightening. Yet she felt no anxiety about that whatsoever. “I want… I want you to help me.”

“All right. Let’s discuss the details.”

Reika sighed heavily. Oddly enough, what troubled her far more than the identity of the visitor in her modest rented apartment was the prospect of telling him what had driven her to… invite a demon into her home.

……

“Marikawa-san, I understand your problem,” the demon said thoughtfully when she finished. Telling it had been so painful that, by the end, she’d had to force each stubborn word past the tight noose of hurt and anger closing around her throat again. “In short, you don’t just want those three pieces of trash punished. You want them… reformed?”

“You see, Demon-san,” Reika said, forcing a smile, “if I’ve had to ask for your help, I’d like to do more than get rid of them. I want to protect other people—the ones who might become their victims, just as I did.”

“Calling trash like that people is an insult to the entire human race.” The demon gave an unpleasant smile. “It would be easier to kill them, of course, but it’s your wish. Give me a couple of minutes to calculate the price and draw up the contract, then we can continue… Hmm?” Her visitor went still for a moment. “Something interesting is about to happen.”

“Excuse me?” Reika asked, startled.

“Someone just put up a barrier, and from what I can sense, a member of… ah… the opposing side has arrived. I think someone is about to try to lead you back onto the righteous path, Marikawa-san. I should warn you—”

Reika never found out what the demon had been about to say. Glass shattered, and a man flew into her room amid a spray of shards.

“The Lord’s judgment upon evildoers!” the new, thoroughly uninvited guest proclaimed in triumph.

An ash-blond man with European features, gripping… a Jedi lightsaber?! Reika blinked at the strange weapon. A white blade of light extended from its hilt, giving off a steady hum.

“Smashing windows seems rather petty for the Lord.” The first visitor’s composure cracked just enough for a wry smile to appear. He didn’t look worried in the slightest. “An impressive entrance, certainly, but I struggle to imagine what you spend each month paying for the damage from stunts like that. Do you enter your own home this way too, Priest-san? If so, even the church mice must be richer than you.”

“Who’s this little chatterbox? A demon brat? Oh-ho! So young and already so mouthy. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Well, I’m Father Freed Sellzen, and my job is to carve up demons! Love my job! No need to introduce yourself. Or your little whore. Remembering the names of Underworld filth—let alone the filthy sinners who deal with you—is a waste of brain space. You’ll both be dead soon, trust me. It might hurt a little at first, but later you’ll know true ecstasy!”

After that speech, the blond man… began to sing. A simple “la-la-la,” spectacularly off-key.

He’s insane, Reika thought. She’d jumped up from her chair when the window shattered; now she edged a couple of steps toward the demon who had answered her summons. He might have come from Hell, but she was far more afraid of the man calling himself a priest.

“Sellzen-san,” the demon interrupted, “have you seen a specialist? You clearly have problems with your mental health.” Then he turned to Reika. “Forgive me, Marikawa-san. It seems a madman has interrupted us. I’ll throw him out, and we can continue.”

“Throw me out? Sure you will. First I’ll get rid of this little whore, and then I’ll deal with you, mouthy demon brat…”

It happened too fast for Reika even to feel afraid. The blond man blurred into motion… and an instant later stood right in front of her. He hadn’t stopped of his own accord.

The priest’s hand gripped the hilt of his lightsaber. The demon held it by the blade, preventing it from coming down… on her head!!!

“What?!” Reika recoiled in fright and landed on the bed.

“How?!” the blond man cried, stunned.

“That’s why I called you a madman,” the demon said calmly, still gripping the blade of light in his bare hand. “With strength like yours, Sellzen-san, how exactly do you intend to… what was it you said? Carve up demons? I suspect you just drive them to suicide with the endless nonsense coming out of your mouth.”

“Damn it!” the blond man cursed. The beam of light vanished from the hilt, and the intruder stepped back. “How did you withstand divine power?”

“With my hand.” Her protector shrugged. “It burned a little. Nothing remarkable. Are you finished with this theater of the absurd? If so, wait a moment while Marikawa-san and I conclude our business. Then I’ll deal with you.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Deal with me?” The self-proclaimed priest bared his teeth in a vicious snarl.

“You attacked my client. On my peerage’s territory. My Lady did advise me against starting conflicts with Heaven or the Fallen without good reason, but letting this pass would mean losing face. You and your accomplice outside will be punished.”

“Heaven? The Fallen?” Reika looked fearfully from the demon to the blond man. She didn’t understand any of it.

“The Fallen,” the calm, dark-haired young man confirmed with a nod. “At first I thought we’d been visited by a priest and exorcist who served the Church and Heaven. But judging by your behavior, you serve the Fallen Angels. Unless you’re acting on your own, Sellzen-san?”

Wait, aren’t demons and Fallen Angels the same thing? Reika wondered. She didn’t know much about Christianity, but she’d heard a little.

“You think far too much of yourself, you stinking demon. Learned a couple of tricks and decided you’re king of the world? Think again!” The blond man suddenly pulled a pistol Reika hadn’t noticed and opened fire. She saw the muzzle flashes but heard no shots.

He moved fast again, though this time he aimed at the demon. Reika clapped her hands over her ears, bracing for the noise, and watched in astonishment as the dark-haired young man’s hands blurred.

“Finished?” the demon asked. Reika could have sworn he sounded bored. He looked down at his open palms, where the glowing bullets lay. “Special ammunition? Have you got anything else, or will you finally stop interrupting me?”

“Tsk! Freak! My badass gun!!!” The blond man was no longer grinning and growling. He was screaming, eyes bulging, spittle flying. “What kind of trick was that? Answer me, bastard! Answer me, or I’ll kill you!!!”

“Completely unhinged,” the demon pronounced when the priest paused his screaming to draw breath. “I think you’re operating on your own after all. I doubt anyone serious would employ a degenerate like you. Unless they wanted an idiot to serve as court jester.”

“You-u-u-u!!!” the exorcist howled. Reika thought his eyes were about to pop out. With a calm disgust that surprised even her, she realized how unpleasant it would be to pick his eyeballs up off the floor…

When the deranged blond man paused for another breath, the doorbell rang.

Who the hell is that now?! Reika wondered in a panic. The last thing she needed was for someone she knew—or her parents, dropping by unannounced—to see what was happening here.

“I’ll get it,” the demon said. In the same instant, he lunged forward and touched the blond man’s forehead with one finger. Then he calmly turned toward the front door.

“Huh?!” Reika was too startled to get her question out. The “priest” who’d been screaming like a madman a moment ago had collapsed in a heap.

“That piece of trash’s associate is here,” the dark-haired young man explained as he walked away. Oddly enough, his words reassured her. Tonight had been completely insane, of course, but…

The demon’s composure, together with the ease with which he’d defeated the blond man, gave Reika a strange confidence that everything would be all right. She really was more afraid of a relative or acquaintance turning up than another lunatic. How odd. She didn’t consider herself prone to hysterics, but someone had tried to attack her with a lightsaber, fired a strange pistol—silently, somehow—and claimed to be a priest. Her own calm in the face of all that surprised her.

“Sorry to distur—Taro?!” The young woman’s voice came from the doorway, frightened and worried at first, then startled. “What… what are you doing here?”

She’s speaking Italian, Reika realized in surprise. She was studying linguistics, and Italian was one of the languages she’d chosen, alongside English—which the mad exorcist had spoken—and German. Embarrassing as it was to admit, she’d picked Italian because of a childhood crush on the actor Adriano Celentano.

“I’m working.” The demon—whose name Reika had finally learned—sounded much warmer than he had when speaking to her, let alone to that… what was his name? Sellzen? “Hello, Asia. Come in.”

Well, this is where my life is now, Reika thought with a strange, giddy irony. A demon I’ve never met is inviting strangers into my home, and I learn his name from an accomplice of a baby-faced lunatic priest. What next? An angel in garish makeup and latex?

“I… Oh… A-all right.”

A few seconds later, the dark-haired young man returned to the apartment’s single room with a girl beside him.

“G-good evening,” said the very young but remarkably lovely blonde in a nun’s habit. Her eyes were a vivid green, and she looked both nervous and embarrassed. “Where is… Father Freed!!!”

Asia’s gaze fell on the motionless body, and the nun hurried over to the unconscious madman.

Do they recruit them straight out of school? Reika wondered. All three of her “guests” looked remarkably young—high school age at most. She’d had a good look at the demon and was almost certain his appearance wasn’t real, judging by his eyes and his behavior. Freed looked young too, though she’d been more focused on his lunatic antics. But the latest arrival was practically a child.

“He’s unconscious,” the dark-haired Taro explained. “He attacked my client, so I had to knock him out.”

“You knocked him out? W-wait! Your… who?” The nun had checked the “priest’s” pulse. Now she froze and looked up at Taro, whom Reika gathered she already knew.

“My client,” Taro repeated with a small, gentle smile. His face, pleasant enough before, became truly handsome. “I’m a demon. I’m here to draw up a contract.”

“A demon? A contract?!” Asia seemed even more shocked than Reika.

“Exactly. This… Freed burst in just as Marikawa-san and I were about to calculate the price of her wish. Please wait until I’m finished, and then we can continue our conversation.”

The nun could only blink at him. The demon somehow produced a tablet from nowhere and began entering something on its touchscreen. For a while, the room fell silent.

Reika drew her legs up onto the bed, moved closer to the wall, and watched. Her unaccustomed calm, though punctuated by moments of fear, didn’t keep her from thinking. If anything, it helped.

Reika had heard the demon’s name, yet somehow she knew she would forget it. It would be erased from her memory, along with the nun’s name, the name of the madman who’d called himself a priest, and all three of their faces. Strange—and at the same time, perfectly understandable.

While the dark-haired Taro worked on his device, Asia looked around in bewilderment. Her gaze moved from the broken window—Reika sincerely hoped some unknown magic would repair it, because she couldn’t afford a replacement, and her parents had money troubles of their own now that her father had lost his job and her brother was in the hospital—to the “priest” lying on the floor, to the acquaintance who had turned out to be a demon, and finally to Reika herself. The nun was clearly upset and confused. Judging by the fear growing in her eyes, she was slipping into panic.

“Good news, Marikawa-san.” The young man looked up from his tablet. “Since this piece of trash attacked you in my presence and put your life at risk, the Sitri peerage will grant your wish at no cost to you, to compensate for the inconvenience. The captured attacker will cover our expenses.”

“Is that… good?” Reika asked cautiously.

“Of course it is.” For the first time, the demon smiled at her. “My Lady cares about our clients’ comfort. She wants them to enjoy working with us as much as possible—in the hope, naturally, that they’ll come to us again. By the way, your window will be replaced tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure the workers arrive early, so you won’t be late for class. Oh, and one more thing. You needn’t worry about this piece of trash coming back.” He nodded toward the “priest” lying at the nun’s feet. “He won’t bother you again.”

“Thank you.” Reika couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You’re welcome.” A sheet of paper covered in printed text appeared in the dark-haired young man’s hands. More magic, she noted with an indifference that was becoming familiar. “Please read and sign it. You’ll notice a dash in the payment field.”

“But then what’s the…”

“Point of the contract? Recordkeeping and statistics.” The demon’s smile widened. “Bureaucracy, Marikawa-san. We invented it in the Underworld.”

“I see.” Reika found herself smiling back at her visitor from the demon world. It wasn’t that she’d never heard the joke before, but in this situation it seemed perfectly apt. If not for everything that had happened in the last few minutes…

Actually, it’s a good thing that lunatic showed up, Reika thought, surprising herself as she signed the document with an ordinary ballpoint pen. She hadn’t known what she would have had to pay, but somehow she’d understood the price would be high. So the madman who, by his own admission, killed people had arrived at just the right time.

“Tell me… um… Demon Taro-san, does this… happen often?” She glanced at the blond man lying on the floor.

“Attacks on clients? Not really.” Her visitor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The days of pyres, the Inquisition, and bloody conflicts between the biblical races ended centuries ago, Marikawa-san. Unfortunately, as you know, people like him still turn up among humans. Among other races too, for that matter. There are lunatics everywhere, and he is a lunatic. A worthless, weak piece of trash, going around claiming he ‘carves up demons and the people who make contracts with them’… You’d have to have no sense at all to do that. This parody of an exorcist could only pose a threat to a newborn demon.”

“How much stronger are real exorcists?”

“Would you like the answer in kilograms or meters?” The dark-haired young man laughed pleasantly. “Don’t take offense. I’ve never fought a real Church exorcist, so I can’t give you a number. They wouldn’t attack a human or a demon with a sword of light under circumstances like these. Not in this day and age. There’s no love or friendship between us, of course, but when I sensed the barrier, I expected a reasonable representative of the Church to appear and fight for you—with arguments, not weapons. If you’d refused my terms, I would have had no right to force you to work with me. A normal churchman would certainly have tried to PERSUADE you not to deal with demons. I can’t say whether they’d have helped you with those would-be rapists or simply told you, ‘Pray, and the Lord will help you,’ but a real exorcist would have drawn a weapon only if I’d threatened you or attacked a servant of the Church first. Unfortunately, that applies to reasonable people. This isn’t one of them.”

“Wait!” The blonde seemed to have made enough sense of what was happening to speak at last. “Father Freed attacked you?”

“Ahem… Asia, first, yes: he tried to kill Marikawa-san, then shot at me.” The young man pointed to the glowing bullets he’d left on the desk when he went to answer the door. “Second, I can’t understand how a good, innocent girl like you ended up with a murderous lunatic, much less started helping him with his dirty work. You were maintaining the barrier this… priest put up, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was. But… wait, how could… Father Freed wouldn’t do that…”

“Third, that snot-nosed brat is about as much a father as I am Her Majesty, the venerable Serafall Leviathan—may she reign forever. And fourth, I can hear the doubt in your voice when you speak of this… ‘father.’ It seems he’s already shown you his rotten nature.”

“No! He… he’s a little rough, but we… we were guiding lost souls back onto the righteous path!”

“And how many lost souls did you visit?” The dark-haired young man frowned.

“A few addresses.” The nun sounded as though she were struggling with herself. She really did seem to have doubts about Freed.

“How many of those conversations were you present for?”

“None…” Asia bit her lip. “But Father Freed would never attack ordinary people!” Now Reika could hear the doubt in her voice too.

“If you don’t believe me, ask Marikawa-san.”

“It’s true,” Reika said, carefully pronouncing the Italian words. “He smashed my window and used language so filthy that even some back-alley thugs would think twice before saying it. Then he came at me with a sword—a lightsaber, I guess? Demon Taro-san caught its blade in his bare hand. That lunatic switched it off, pulled out a gun, and started shooting! When that didn’t work, he just screamed like a madman, threatening to kill us, cut us up, dismember us. Sister Asia-chan, he’s completely insane. You should… stay away from priests like him. One day the few brain cells he has left might short-circuit, and you’ll be the next person he cuts to pieces.”

“Exactly.” The dark-haired young man nodded.

“It can’t be.” The nun was close to tears. The more she doubted, the clearer it became that she couldn’t convince even herself that “Father Freed” was a good man—or that the people he’d visited earlier were all right.

“All right.” Taro-san sighed, giving the blonde a sympathetic look. “Marikawa-san, do you have any plastic sheeting and wide tape? I’ll help you cover the window for now.”

“Hmm…” Reika thought for a moment. “I have tape. As for plastic… there’s a plastic tablecloth on the kitchen table.”

“That’ll do.” He gave her a small smile. “Tomorrow you can take it off the window and put it back on the table.”

“I’ll get it.” Reika rose from the chair she’d moved to when she signed the contract and headed for the tiny kitchenette.

Then… more… bullshit happened. There was no other word for it. Reika got scared again, then nearly spat on the floor in exasperation. Thank goodness for whatever strange state was protecting her nerves; without it, she would surely have fainted.

Just as Taro-san started covering the window, that lunatic excuse for a priest sprang to his feet. “I heard everything! You bitch, you’re that demon’s whore too!” he shouted, and lunged at the nun with his sword blazing again. Asia had been deep in thought, so she screamed in both fright and surprise.

It happened fast, but this time Reika could follow it. One moment the “priest” was on his feet, hurling insults as the blade of light flared and he swung at the nun. The next, the demon appeared in front of him and struck him in the chest hard enough for Reika to hear his ribs crack. The madman flew into the opposite wall and slid down it to the floor.

“B-bas… bastard,” “Father Freed” managed to force out before he broke into a fit of coughing, spitting up blood.

“I was born in lawful wedlock, but you will answer for insulting my honored parents. Tell me, ‘exorcist,’ what god do you serve? What idol approves of attacks on defenseless girls? Of trying to murder a sister in your own faith? You’re such trash that comparing you to the scum of this world feels like an insult to them. No wonder the Church threw out someone so worthless and stupid. Or perhaps… Oh, admit it, fake Priest-san: did you steal those vestments and that weapon, deceive trusting Asia, and start committing these atrocities? Are you really just a common lowlife using holy scripture to justify your bloody crimes?”

“You… You-u-u-u!!!” Those were the last printable words Reika heard from Freed. After that, the madman rasped nothing but curses and threats: vile, utterly depraved promises of what he would do to her, the nun, and Taro. The “priest” swore he would slaughter the relatives of the “traitors and heretics” after violating them first. He hurled abuse at everyone—those in the room, demons, the Church, angels, the Fallen, and even his own God. The thing hiding behind a human face had shown every bit of the rot inside it.

Strangely, Reika found herself comparing that to Ken, whose cruelty had started all this, and realized he still had plenty of room to “grow” before he could match Freed. The nun, meanwhile, had gone green with nausea. She stared in horror at the man who had surely ceased to be her “father” in the faith—especially when he began describing what he intended to do to the green-eyed blonde herself.

“Enough.” The demon snapped his fingers, and the “priest” fell silent. Not by choice, judging by the way his eyes bulged. The dark-haired young man crouched in front of him and met his crazed stare.

“You thought you were strong when you came to as Asia entered the room. You thought I was an idiot because I hadn’t taken your weapon. But I brought you back to consciousness myself, after deliberately leaving the sword with you. I implanted an array in your head to dull your reactions and reflexes. So when you decided I’d foolishly let the broken window distract me, your body was clumsy and slow. Your attack looked like a drunk sloth lashing out.

“You did exactly what I expected: you raised your weapon against whoever was closest, the person you thought would be easiest to kill. From the beginning, Freed, you danced to my tune like a puppet. And yes, I knew that once you felt powerless—helpless, lying on the floor before someone immeasurably stronger than you—you’d do what any first-rate piece of trash would do. You’d spew filth from that mouth of yours, with a few scraps of useful information mixed in.”

The young man performed his trick again: a voice recorder appeared from nowhere, held between his thumb and forefinger. It was still recording.

“I don’t know which backwater zoo they dragged you out of, but in the world of serious people, you answer for what you say. Soon, you’ll envy Judas’s soul, which, according to biblical tales, Satan himself torments. Your attack alone guaranteed punishment once I’d defeated you. A worm attacking a dragon… laughable. But after everything you’ve said, you idiot, the Great Houses of the Underworld will compete for the chance to flay you alive. You’ll enjoy it, Freed. It might hurt a little at first, but later you’ll know true ecstasy.”

The demon laughed as he looked into the “exorcist’s” bloodshot eyes.

“And, of course, we’ll find out who Raynare, Dohnaseek, and the others you so helpfully mentioned in your curses and threats are. They’re right when they say a talkative ally is worse than a spy.”

When he finished speaking, the dark-haired young man touched the madman’s forehead with one finger. Freed went limp, his head slumping onto his chest.

“Now then, Asia.” Taro turned to the shocked nun sitting on the floor. “I hope you don’t intend to go back to the place where you met that sorry excuse for a priest. Especially considering what this Raynare has planned for you.”

“I…” The blonde faltered, looking from the demon to the “priest” with fear and disillusionment in her eyes. “I don’t want to. But… where can I go?”

“That’s no problem.” He smiled warmly and held out an open hand to her. What a strange sight: a demon helping a servant of the Church to her feet. “I’ll hide you for as long as you need to make sense of everything that happened today, think it over, and decide what to do.”

“O-okay.” Asia let out a grateful sigh and gave him a faint smile. “Thank you, Taro.”

“It’s nothing.” The demon waved it off and turned to Reika. “Marikawa-san, I’m sorry for that spectacle.”

“It’s fine.” Reika almost snorted. “It was… interesting, even.”

“I’m glad you think so.” For some reason, Reika felt a twinge of disappointment that he didn’t smile at her the way he’d smiled at the nun. There was no warmth in it now, only professional courtesy. “The workers will come tomorrow morning, as promised. You’ll forget the names and faces of everyone you saw in this room tonight. You’ll remember what happened, but I strongly recommend that you tell no one about it.”

“Who would believe me anyway…?”

“You’d be surprised how many people in this city would take your story seriously. That could put you in danger.” The dark-haired young man frowned slightly. “You, Marikawa Reika-san. Not me or my peerage. Not Asia, whom I’ll hide where none of the… interested parties can find her. You live among mortals without a protector. What happened tonight was concealed by two barriers—mine and the one that lunatic put up—so no one has any reason to take an interest in you now. But if you start making noise…”

“No, no, I understand. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“Excellent.” The young man waved a hand. Behind him, the plastic tablecloth lifted itself over the window, and the tape unrolled to fasten it in place. The shards of glass and the blood Freed had spat onto the floor vanished just as mysteriously. “Then I’ll say goodbye. Try to get some rest, and don’t worry about your tormentors. I’ll see to their re-education as soon as I’ve taken Asia somewhere safe and this lunatic to his… accommodations.”

Reika remembered the blade of light the demon had stopped from coming down on her head and grimaced.

“I hope he doesn’t like it there.”

“I can guarantee he won’t.” This time, the demon’s smile held genuine anticipation.

Still holding the nun’s hand, the dark-haired young man seized the unconscious “priest” by the collar with his free hand. Then all three vanished in a flash of bright red light.