The Villain's Second Time

Chapter 3

That's nonsense.

Out of all the things I've ever heard, that's the most nonsensical drivel. It's even worse than trying to express a dog's words in human language.

To think she said something like that in earnest—I can't help but wonder what goes on inside the Saint's head.

"Pfft."

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because the noble Saint is making a joke that only third-rate fools would make."

"I was taught that the most precious things are found in the lowest places."

"I see the Holy Nation teaches idealism, huh?"

"......."

Honestly, what the Saint just said can't even be considered idealism.

Does love have energy? Does it have a form? Does it have mass? Does it have magic?

Love is the basest of all things. It's nothing more than a coarse instinctual desire cloaked in pretentious decorum to appear refined. The essence of love is grotesque lust.

Therefore, it is base. From its etymology, it derives from falsehood.

Which is why I can't understand it. How did the Saint manage to heal my vocal cords?

With holy power that causes convulsions in demons with just a touch, how did she manage to heal me so perfectly without causing any pain?

"Love and idealism are different."

"Living in ridiculous delusions seems more extreme than idealism to me."

"Even if it's a delusion, it doesn't matter. I simply move forward according to the will of the Lord."

"You sure do love your Lord."

Perhaps the Saint isn't even aware of her own abilities.

When it comes to reputation, the Saint is one of the top five on the continent. I'm barely in the top ten.

She might be mistakenly attributing her ability to shatter even the laws of the world to something absurd like love, given her low intelligence. It's a plausible hypothesis.

"Now, now, stop thinking strange thoughts and just tell me what you promised."

Perhaps sensing my suspicious expression, the Saint smiled brightly and moved her lips.

"What promise?"

"The reason you came here, of course."

"Ah, that?"

"If you're repentant, I will take responsibility and help you."

The Saint is undoubtedly a tenacious woman.

Still, I see no harm in telling her. It's not like I mind talking to her in this dull place, but I absolutely hate being pestered too much.

"I’m not repentant in the slightest, so no need to help me. Besides, my crime is the same as yours."

"If it's the same as mine..."

"A crime of disrespect. That damn Demon King threw me in here for that. Damn it, I had more than three of his weaknesses in my grasp, but I got locked up here before I could use any of them, rendering them all useless."

"A crime of disrespect? Do you perhaps believe in the Lord?"

"Don’t get your hopes up. The god I believe in is the Demon God."

I spat the words out with mockery, and the Saint looked a little disappointed. Well, who else would a demon believe in if not the Demon God?

"I still don’t get it, you know? Where would you find a demon as devout as me?"

"Devout, you say?"

"What, you don’t believe me?"

"Honestly, not really... But it’s a relief. Having something to firmly believe in and rely on is a good support."

The Saint let out a sigh, as if she were genuinely relieved. How could she care so much about me after barely having met me?

Truly, she’s a meddlesome woman. Pathetic to the core.

Suddenly, a mischievous desire bubbled up within me to shatter her meddling and her reassurance into pieces. It’s the destructive instinct of a demon. Plus, the Saint spouting nonsense about love or whatever was starting to annoy me.

"You know how devout I was? Whenever I got angry, instead of breaking random objects, I would curse the Demon God."

"......."

"I even stole a Lycanthrope meant for ritual offerings and made soup out of it. When I ran out of things to talk about at a drinking party, I’d crack lewd jokes about the Demon God. Oh, I was truly an exceptionally devout demon."

Even with my limbs bound, I’m thinking of ways to fulfill my destructive urges with words. I really am a remarkable guy.

Of course, the part about me being a devout demon is true. At least compared to the others.

*****

I was a scoundrel.

What does the word "scoundrel" mean? Someone who acts as they please, crude and wicked.

So, I am a perfect scoundrel. A scoundrel with just a bit of extra strength. That’s me.

If someone messed with me, I made sure to get even. If someone messed with my family, I went after their family in turn. If they didn’t have a family, I destroyed whatever was most precious to them.

Burning down the Elves' great forest and cutting down the World Tree is one example of that.

But does that mean I was some reckless savage flailing around wildly? No, that’s not it. I was a classic bully of the strong and cruel to the weak. I stuck to the strong and showed no mercy to the weak.

Yet, perhaps due to my nature, I hated attaching myself to anyone. I hated bowing my head to others, and I hated living under someone else’s thumb.

So, I gained strength.

Though I was a bully of the strong and weak, I made sure there was only one person in the world stronger than me. That person was the Demon King, a transcendent being I couldn’t dare challenge.

Aside from the Demon King, not even the Demon God could look down on me. I made it so.

I was just a scoundrel who lived as I pleased, but I wasn’t a loose cannon. At the very least, I knew how to take care of myself. I wasn’t sloppy by any means.

When I slept, I surrounded myself with an 11-layer protective barrier that even an 8th-circle mage would struggle with. I only kept people by my side who had been with me for at least twenty years. Even if it was the Demon King himself, if they were within my circle, I’d make sure to have leverage over them.

How’s that for meticulous? Though now I’m a death row inmate, bound hand and foot and locked in Tartarus, an inescapable prison.

...It seems I’ve been having a lot of idle thoughts as I linger at the end of my life. Thinking about such pointless things proves it.

"I pray to the Lord."

In the corner, the Saint is praying.

The soft light flowing along her graceful form slightly brightens the dim darkness.

"Thank you for providing us with precious daily sustenance today as well."

"Saint, our meals are given by the guards, not your precious Lord."

"...To this wretched lamb as well, please grant mercy and grace. A lost and pitiful sheep."

"......."

No matter how divine the Saint of the Sun may be, this place is the scorching hell of Tartarus. It must already be unbearably hot, so why would she kneel and make it even hotter for herself?

Truly, she is an abnormal human. Perhaps she hit her head as a child.

"Hey, Saint. I have a question."

"Please, ask."

At the sound of my voice, the Saint interrupted her prayer. She looked delighted that I had something to ask, her lips curling into a clear smile.

Of course, since the Saint is always smiling, it was hard to tell for sure.

"That rosary of yours."

"Yes."

"Why is it black? Is it just filthy from dirt?"

"Are you referring to this, which I hold in my hand?"

The Saint lifted the rosary she had been holding in her hand as she answered. Amid the halo of light, the black cross stood out strikingly.

"Yes, that one. Usually, priests carry rosaries that are pure white, symbolizing purity, or golden, representing holiness."

"That is true in most cases."

The Saint cradled the rosary to her chest as if it were something precious. She held it in the same manner she had embraced me earlier.

"However, my duty is to embrace those who are neglected, the pitiful sheep whom others cannot afford to care for. The black color of this rosary symbolizes that obligation."

"Are you talking about the trash in the back alleys?"

"I am referring to those who are alienated in the shadows where no light reaches."

"Bullshit. If those scum heard you, they'd laugh out loud. Do you know how vicious the ones living in those alleys are?"

"And that is why they must be embraced all the more. Like this black rosary. Or perhaps, like you."

Wrapped in bandages stained with dried blood, who does she think she is to talk about helping anyone?

Just as I was about to voice my disgruntled doubt, the iron door of the prison, which had remained closed since the Saint's arrival, creaked open.

Is it feeding time already? There should still be about two hours left.

Ever since tasting the soft bread the Saint gave me, no other bread has been as appealing.

...Surely, it's not another newcomer? I’d rather die than go through that again.

The Saint alone is already bothersome enough. If someone like the Elf Queen or the Emperor were to walk in, I’d lose my mind.

My worries were interrupted by the voice of Kelth that followed.

"Saint, there is a visitation request."

Kelth's composed voice echoed through the room.

A visitation... Since coming to Tartarus, I haven’t had a single visitor, so I never thought I'd need to know this, but in Tartarus, visitations are conducted with only the iron bars separating the visitor and the prisoner.

It's not that I don’t have friends. Demons simply aren’t the type to bother with things as sentimental as visitations.

Ahem.

Anyway, the word "visitor" brought a smile of anticipation to the Saint's face as she prepared to greet them. Not that she would realize how grotesque she looks with blood dripping from her bandages.

"A visitation, you say? Please, let them in."

At the Saint’s response, Kelth fully opened the iron door and stepped inside Tartarus. Beside him stood a human man, standing upright.

Anyone familiar with Tartarus knows it is a place of heat comparable to magma. For a human to stand there so composedly—he must be at least on Kelth’s level.

Step.

The man took a step forward alongside Kelth. His stride was confident. For a mere visitor to walk ahead of Tartarus’s warden—his presence was not just commanding but almost arrogant.

Yet, he was a man deserving of such confidence.

"I apologize for my inability to see, as I cannot recognize the guest who has come to visit."

As the Saint softly murmured, the light spilling in through the open door illuminated the man's face.

A face I knew well glimmered in the light. No, not just me—the entire Continent recognized him.

The traitor, Vincent.

A man humans despised, elves cursed, and dragons had placed a bounty on.

...And at the same time, a legendary figure who had risen to the rank of Legion Commander in the Demon Army as a mere human. I had crossed paths with him a few times myself.

Among the information Vincent had passed to the Demon Army were highly classified secrets of the Empire that would have cost a fortune to obtain. This was the primary reason he had been able to climb the ranks so swiftly within the Demon Army.

Of course, from the perspective of the Continental Alliance Army, he was the number one target for elimination. The fact that he was still alive, even after the long war had ended, was a testament to Vincent’s cunning survival skills.

Being a traitor is no simple feat.

"Must my identity be revealed?"

Vincent asked softly, his gaze resting on the Saint.

It must be uncomfortable for him. I didn’t know why he had come to visit the Saint of the Sun, but she had been the Continent's steadfast leader, never betraying the Continental Army.

If she learned that the visitor was a traitor, her anger would be inevitable.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to reveal it. I do not force choices upon others."

Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, the Saint offered him the choice.

"...No, I must disclose my identity to discuss my business. I’ll speak plainly."

Yet the visitor declined the opportunity she gave him, stepping firmly before the Saint with thick iron bars between them.

From the shadows deep within Tartarus, I silently observed. Hidden in the darkness, Vincent could not see me.

What a shame. If he had seen me, it might have led to an amusing situation. Though, it could have also ended in disaster, with the Saint discovering my true identity.

"My name is Vincent."

With a voice devoid of emotion, Vincent introduced himself.

The Saint flashed a bright smile in response.

"I can think of ten people named Vincent."

"Think of the one you hate the most."

"Hate... Such a dreadful word to describe yourself."

"The world, the people, the Continent—that’s what they all call me. Every single one of them."

The Saint’s pale face subtly shifted. Her already snow-white complexion grew a shade lighter.

"So, you are Vincent, the Legion Commander of the Demon Army."

"You are the first 'person,' Saint, to address me with respect after learning my identity."

"It is an honor."

"The honor is mine."

And that was it. The Saint neither displayed hostility nor exuded an air of disdain. The gentle and warm aura she had shown even to me flowed through the iron bars of Tartarus like a soothing current.

At that, the traitor Vincent was quite surprised. His dark pupils trembled faintly.

"But why has the Legion Commander of the Demon Army come to see me, a condemned criminal?"

"I have come, risking discourtesy, to seek your help."

"Help, you say?"

How shameless. It was because of him that the Saint was imprisoned in Tartarus. If Vincent hadn't handed over precious information about the Continental Army, particularly the Empire's secret routes, to the Demon Army, the collapse of the Continental Army might not have been so devastating.

Ah, of course, the war was fierce. When I say "devastating," I mean only in comparison to the "original Continental Army." A war that could collapse because of one defector wouldn't even deserve to be called a war in the first place.

"I have heard that the Saint's White Wisdom Eye holds the world's greatest insight and wisdom."

"That is an exaggerated rumor. It is a title far too grand for me."

"Even so, it is surely enough to solve the foolish dilemma of this humble human."

"...For now, go ahead and speak."

Vincent nodded briefly. Although the Saint could not see it directly, she could vaguely sense it through the flow of the atmosphere.

"As you know, I was once a man of the Empire. And you, Saint, were a daughter of the Holy Nation."

"Hmm... Calling me a daughter feels a bit shameful. I was merely one of the Lord's people, just like anyone else."

"I hated the Empire. I thought it was a nation that deserved to fall, and when the Demon Army invaded the continent, I gladly sided with them."

Vincent spoke steadily without hesitation. However, from my perspective, watching from the shadows where the Saint could not see, the sweat on the back of Vincent's neck revealed his tension.

"In the end, my wish came true, and the mighty Empire crumbled like grains of sand. Its officials scattered, the Emperor was assassinated by an agent sent by the Demon Army, and it ultimately collapsed due to the schemes of a devil named Joker."

"You must be pleased."

"...I thought I would be, but in truth, I am not pleased at all."

For the record, I am quite fond of Vincent.

Because I was the Second-in-Command of the Demon Army, you think I like him simply because he was the Empire's traitor? No, my affection for Vincent stems from something far more profound than such a trivial reason.

Among the countless human masses, there are many opportunistic jackals who cling to the strong. Vincent is renowned not because he was a defector, but because he was the first and also the one who rose to the highest position among humans.

I don't like all defectors. On the contrary, I despise those pathetic villains. What charm could there be in something so pitiful and wretched?

But Vincent is different.

"When I finally set things in motion, the Demon Army's world turned out to be an even greater hell than the Empire. It’s not as though I didn’t foresee this, but now I find myself questioning whether my choice back then was the right one."

"You are consumed by the anguish of regret."

"That is why I ask for your answer. Are you not the wisest person on the continent, Saint? I have no doubt that you can dispel the foolish torment of my mind in an instant."

The Saint faintly smiled. Perhaps the repeated, sincere compliments had slightly lifted her spirits.

Separated by nothing but one set of iron bars, Vincent looked at the Saint with a desperate gaze, as if she were his sole beacon of salvation. Though, given his naturally rigid demeanor, it wasn’t all that striking.

Vincent is principled and blunt. You could even call him a strict adherent to rules. So why did he betray the Empire and join the Demon Army?

"Do you regret betraying the Empire?"

"No, absolutely not. But I do question whether the choice I made back then was correct."

"And for such a trivial doubt, you came all the way to Babel Tower to see me?"

"...In truth."

Suddenly, Vincent lifted the garment covering his abdomen.

His well-defined six-pack, smooth and firm, was fully revealed. Watching this, Kelth and I both furrowed our brows slightly.

A faint scent of blood wafted through the air. It was the kind of smell that heightened aggression and incited violence. It came directly from three gaping, crimson holes in Vincent's abdomen.

The Saint, though blind, was not devoid of her sense of smell. Her brows furrowed in response to the scent of blood.

"I lived so cautiously... but the resentment of millions is proving too heavy to bear."

"It seems you were struck in a rather unfortunate area."

"I am barely holding on by gathering my energy, but even that will only last five more minutes."

"You chose to spend your precious, honey-sweet minutes coming to me."

"I have no family or anything else to lose, anyway. The remnants of the Empire ensured that everyone around me disappeared."

"...."

"I thought I had evaded them well, but I was wrong. The war’s outcome had already been decided, so the Empire deliberately didn’t kill me, their detestable traitor. Instead, they isolated me by killing my subordinates, family, and comrades one by one, until finally delivering punishment when the continent was fully conquered and at its most jubilant."

Oh, I hadn’t known that. No wonder Vincent’s aides seemed to change constantly. So that was the work of the Empire’s remnants.

Deciding they would lose the war anyway, they resolved to ruin the life of their traitor. Such a ruthless, quintessentially Imperial method. Knowing I was part of the force that toppled such a nation makes me newly proud of myself.

"As I was enjoying the victor's feast as usual, a glint from the corner caught my eye. A flash of light, like that of a cigarette spark, flickered about three times. Bang, bang, bang. I immediately killed the shooter, but the Empire’s bullets had already pierced my lungs and intestines."

"Did you not consider seeking out priests for treatment?"

"Hah, do you think they would use Holy Power on someone like me?"

When the continent’s strongest nation, the Empire, fell, other nations and races followed suit, walking the path of destruction. The Holy Nation, home to the Saint and the priests, was among them.

"It may be shameless of me, but, Saint, you were the only one who came to mind in my final moments."

"Is that so."

"I deeply regret that my actions led to the downfall of the Holy Nation. It wasn’t an unforeseen consequence, but it was something I couldn’t avoid."

The Saint’s eyebrows twitched slightly. The mention of the Holy Nation seemed to stir memories of her homeland.

"...Why."

With a slightly trembling voice, the Saint parted her lips.

"Why did you betray the Empire?"

Assuming Vincent’s position from where she stood, the Saint asked, suppressing her seething emotions.

"The Empire was a strong nation. Under the strict laws decreed by the Emperor, it ran like a machine, leaving no room for corruption. Why did you betray such an Empire?"

The question was posed in a low tone, but the emotions within it were rather intense.

The Saint could never understand Vincent. Despite experiencing the ravages of war firsthand, the Saint had ultimately grown up in the protective embrace of the Holy Nation, a veritable flower garden.

Did I mention earlier that I like Vincent?

That’s because he has one distinct quality that sets him apart from other "traitors."

"Why did I betray the Empire? That’s such an obvious question."

"Obvious, you say...?"

After a brief pause, the traitor opened his mouth with a bitter expression.

"The Empire did not treat me as a human being."

"...."

Yes, that’s it.

Vincent was a slave in the Empire.

Treated as less than human, as objects, livestock, and beasts—the lowest rung of society.

When guests visited the house, they became disposable entertainment, living lives worse than drug addicts in the slums, at the very bottom of the barrel.

This was how Vincent was treated in the Empire.

"I simply did not regard them as a nation, either."

"Such a... Ah."

I don’t like pathetic villains. Villains who chase after money, fame, or power are no different. Isn’t that just too dull?

Most of the humans who joined the Demon Army were of that sort. They would spout empty words about loyalty to the Demon King or claim they had admired the Demon Army since long ago. I’ve never seen such words hold up when faced with death.

But Vincent is different. What he harbored against the Empire was a deeply rooted desire for vengeance. He’s not some petty opportunist. If Vincent were an opportunist, he wouldn’t have risked his life on the front lines of every battle, nor would he have risen through the ranks so rapidly, eventually becoming a Legion Commander.

That’s why I like Vincent. Villains driven by revenge may be cliché, but classics are classics for a reason—they’re compelling.

He believes he’s merely enacting justified retaliation, but in the end, once his revenge is complete, he’ll find himself looking in the mirror at someone who has become exactly like those he so despised.

What a fascinating villain that makes him.

"You are a man with a sorrowful story."

"If it’s someone like you, Saint, I imagine you’d show even a wretch like me your compassion."

"Is there any lamb in this world without a story?"

"Since you understand that, I trust you’ll answer my question as well."

"Hmm...."

"Was I right to destroy the Empire? Even if it was a vile nation, was I obligated to protect it simply because it was my homeland?"

That’s the wrong question.

Vincent himself doesn’t realize it, but the agony he’s trapped in isn’t regret over his choices. Such trivialities don’t suit a man of principle like him.

Vincent’s torment isn’t about regret; it’s about becoming the very 'villain' that the Empire once was.

The man who abhorred the Empire has turned into it, and every time he looks in the mirror, a deep self-loathing must surge within him. It’s a common downfall for villains driven by revenge.

If I were one of the Empire’s remnants, I wouldn’t have killed Vincent. Left alone, he wouldn’t have enjoyed wealth or glory but would’ve sunk into a pit of endless self-reproach, eventually taking his own life.

The most agonizing death isn’t by fire, beheading, or gunshot—it’s suicide. Suicide is chosen when life becomes more painful than death, meaning those who take their own lives endure torment far greater than death itself.

"Hmm...."

I wonder if the Saint truly understood the depths of Vincent’s inner struggles.

"I am neither a prophet who predicts the future nor a scholar who digs into the past."

Huh? What’s this? What elegant groundwork is she laying now?

"I am but a foolish lamb, tasked by the Lord to heal people and purify this world."

"...So even the great Saint cannot give me an answer?"

"The answer is for you to find yourself. However, I can at least help you search for it."

Wuuuung-.

A white halo of light began to emanate from the Saint’s hands. It was the same light she used to heal the searing pain in my throat. The most sacred and compassionate touch of radiance slowly approached Vincent.

She called that light 'love.'

"What are you trying to do, Saint?"

"This is all I know how to do. I hope you can understand—it’s the precious duty the Lord granted me at birth."

"...I asked for an answer, and you give me something entirely unrelated."

Wuuuung-.

Unlike me from the last time, Vincent didn’t resist. Even if he was a Legion Commander of the Demon Realm, he was human by nature. Perhaps it was because he had nothing left to lose.

The Saint’s budding flower of light descended onto Vincent’s wounded body. The radiant dew seeped into the three red circles etched into his flesh. Vincent spoke up.

"Saint, why are you saving me?"

The Saint’s holy power was potent. Vincent’s wounds began healing almost instantly, and the color slowly returned to his face.

Vincent, seemingly unable to comprehend, continued to speak.

"I am a traitor. I betrayed the Continent and, though unintentionally, played a significant role in the defeat of the Holy Nation to which you belong. Why are you saving me from the clutches of death?"

"That is......."

"Ah, is it perhaps to keep me alive so that I may suffer the eternal torment of life? If that’s the case, I will accept it gladly, considering it repayment for the precious holy power you’ve bestowed upon me......."

"Surely, that’s not the case."

The Saint shook her head firmly as she replied.

"When I see a sick person, I heal them. Whether they are a sinner, a traitor, a beast without words, or a former enemy general I once faced on the battlefield—it matters not. While emotions may harbor bias, holy power must not be tainted by personal feelings."

Ah, now that’s a true saint. I let out a silent exclamation.

"...Even mercy for a traitor."

Wuuuung... Shaaa-.

Vincent, now fully healed from his pierced organs to his outer skin, touched his abdomen with a bewildered expression. He murmured under his breath, seemingly deeply moved.

"I have never seen a priest like you, Saint."

"Is that so? Surely there are countless saints in this world more remarkable than I."

"No, even if you gathered every priest in the world, none would heal a traitor."

"The Lord has commanded us to love our enemies. As one of His servants, I simply follow His will."

Wow, now there’s a true believer.

To love even one’s enemies. I think I understand now why the Saint lost the war. Injecting notions of mercy and love into a war is bound to lead to defeat.

Not that it would’ve made a difference. Even if she had fought with cold, ruthless efficiency, the insurmountable wall that was the Demon King would’ve ensured her loss anyway.

"Love your enemies... May I ask what you call such a concept in the Holy Nation?"

Was it because he had just been saved? The traitor asked with teary eyes. In his gaze glimmered a strange light, something I had never seen in him before.

When I was with the Demon Army, what I instilled in Vincent was madness, malice, and a thirst for vengeance. But this... was something else entirely.......

"I’ve never heard such words before. Yet, hearing them for the first time stirs my heart so profoundly—it must be something extraordinary."

The soft glow flowing through the Saint’s body.

It resembled that light perfectly.

"We call it"

Pausing for a moment, the Saint turned toward me. She had no eyes, so saying she ‘looked’ would be inaccurate, but she faced my direction and spoke, as if explaining to me, though I hadn’t asked.

"compassion."

Compassion—a simple, two-syllable word. Hearing it, Vincent closed his eyes for a brief moment, then quietly opened them and turned to leave.

"...I’ve learned something valuable today."

"Are you leaving?"

"A Legion Commander's job isn’t so leisurely that I can afford to leave it vacant for long."

"Yes, please do not forget what you have learned from me."

It seemed Vincent’s claim of being busy wasn’t a lie. He hurriedly left Tartarus. The lethargic steps he had taken upon entering were replaced with a gait that was brisk and upright, perhaps the most vibrant and poised in the world. His overflowing vitality and energy lingered as remnants in the gloom-ridden Tartarus.

"How unfortunate."

While the lingering shadow of the traitor had yet to completely fade, the Saint returned to her previous spot and opened her mouth to speak. She appeared slightly more emaciated and pale than before.

"What is?"

"If he had grown up under proper circumstances, he wouldn’t have sold out his country."

"Who knows? You can never tell with human lives. Maybe he would’ve turned traitor even if things had gone well. There are plenty like that, aren’t there?"

"Hmm... They must each have their own stories, I suppose."

"You’ve got a head full of flowers, don’t you, Saint?"

The Saint slowly approached and knelt demurely beside me. What now, what are you trying to do?

"I wanted to embrace people like him."

"Is that so?"

"Those who dwell in places untouched by God’s grace… Before the war broke out, I traveled across the continent, visiting its darkest corners. It’s just a shame that I only have one body to do it all."

"Well, that can’t be helped. If you’re dissatisfied, you could create something like a homunculus. But I’m sure our devout Saint wouldn’t even dare to think of such a thing."

"...A synthetic human? Why would anyone create something so dreadful?"

"I was just saying. Let it go."

The Saint nodded as if in agreement. A faint halo of light, diminished compared to before Vincent’s arrival, enveloped her entire body. It was the sole, unparalleled light in the endlessly dark Tartarus.

"Ah, it reminds me of the old days."

"The old days?"

"Yeah, the place I was born—the Demon Realm—was incredibly dark and violent. Being in Tartarus stirs up memories of those times. All that fervent madness and fiery passion… I don’t particularly miss it, though."

Speaking with a wistful gaze, I noticed the Saint slightly lower her head, her lips twitching faintly.

"...You, too, have a sorrowful past like others, don’t you?"

"...? What? Why are you suddenly making assumptions about my past?"

"Do you believe you had a happy past?"

"Of course. I grew up in a wonderfully happy family. Why are you treating me like some tragic figure?"

"I have committed a discourtesy. I apologize."

The Saint bowed her head toward the empty space beside me.

Her gesture was saturated with politeness, but since she couldn’t see, her apology ended up directed at the wrong spot. A faint chuckle escaped my lips. I opened my mouth to tease her.

"You want to know how happy my family was? Well, my sister had her head chopped off by humans and her head displayed in the town square. Dragons beheaded my mother and tossed her to the orcs as food."

"......."

"And my father? He was burned alive by the elves. Isn’t that a wonderfully happy family? I bet there isn’t another Demon out there who grew up in such a privileged household as mine."

A mischievous desire surged within me once again. I really need to stop this. But teasing people is just too much fun to quit.

So, our noble and compassionate Saint Maria, how will you react this time?

I’ve toyed with you twice already. Doesn’t anger boil inside you? Can your so-called love remain steady even amidst the turmoil of rage?

"...You."

Hmm, her voice didn’t sound agitated. It seems the Saint didn’t get as enraged as I had hoped.

But her voice was trembling slightly, suggesting she was at least somewhat upset.

Yes, show even a hint of irritation. Break that disgusting tolerance of yours with your own hands. Just once, if you complain, I’ll use that as a clue to unearth the darkness within you.

"You seem to carry many burdens within."

...What?

"Anger, after all, is best dispelled with love. I will take it all—your resentment and your trauma. Lay everything on me."

Saying so, the Saint lifted my head and placed it on her lap. Her thin thighs, far from being plump, were felt against the back of my head.

Along with the smooth yet durable texture of the black nun’s habit that encased them.

"Hey, what are you doing right now?"

"I am embracing you."

A foreign sensation coiled around my head like a snake. My already dim vision turned completely dark.

Something dull and solid blocked my nostrils.

"...Seriously, what are you doing?"

I asked with a tinge of irritation. I hate feeling stifled. Darkness is fine, but I can’t stand confinement.

"I am embracing you."

"What, what? Embracing?"

"I cannot fully understand you, but I can embrace you."

"Hey, get a grip. Did you get hit on the head? I’m a Demon, you know."

"All the more reason to embrace you with utmost care."

Damn it, I just remembered that this woman even embraced a traitor who destroyed her homeland. Hell, persuasion won’t work on her.

Squeeze—

It’s been nearly five hundred years since I’ve been held like this. Ugh, it’s still as unpleasant and disgusting as ever.

What kind of embrace is this? She could’ve just infused holy power into me like she did with Vincent earlier.

Squeeze—

Wait, why does it feel like it’s getting harder to breathe? It’s like my nostrils are being blocked by something heavy.

"The purpose of embracing is repentance. A stronger embrace leads to deeper repentance, doesn’t it?"

"You, you wicked human...!"

"Relax. Repentance comes from a peaceful heart."

"W-Wait...! L-Let go of me right this instant...!"

Squeeze—

"Gahhh...!"

I take it back. The Saint is one of my kind. No, she’s an even greater fiend than me.

At this moment, the smile on the Saint’s face appeared to be the most wicked smile in the world.