Chapter 171: Intrigues of Contracts and Nightmares

At that moment, the Duke sneered.

Foolish as it is to rely on emotions, he couldn’t believe you’d expect affection from none other than me.

Mark my words. Once the contract period expires, I will kill them if necessary. And if I choose to spare them, it won’t be out of sentiment, but because they either remain useful or pose no lethal threat.

[Anyway, it’s been 10 years. Until then, treat them as your nephews and care for them well.]

[Your Majesty, aside from the other children, the age difference between the 9th Prince and myself is a mere 5 years. They are just children.]

[Then, your own sibling?]

[…I suppose I’ll consider them as such.]

Even after those 10 years, several more have passed.

Though the 1st Prince never intended it, setting a 10-year period turned out to be an excellent choice. The Duke received magic from the Demon King and soon discovered that with it, he could nullify the contract.

The set term allowed him to conserve his magic; had there been no deadline, he would have expended it to lift the contract’s restrictions, endangering the lives of the 1st Prince’s ‘children’.

“I thought the contract would be simple, but it got far more complicated than expected; nonetheless, I endured it until the term’s end.”

Originally, the Duke planned to let the 1st Prince die and then back up his choice by promoting another mere scarecrow candidate, using the resulting power to protect the 1st Prince’s ‘children’ as he pleased.

Unexpectedly, Eudoardo Deserte, the very subject of protection—the 9th Prince—killed others and ascended the throne. The Duke found himself in an unavoidable dilemma.

To protect them, above all, he needed overwhelming power. Naturally, that pinnacle of power was the ruler’s seat.

But, of all things, the person under protection now occupied that very position. And due to the contract, his free will had been upheld.

The Duke made his decision.

“Let’s assume power through peaceful means. With just the right amount of pressure, we can make them willing to hand it over.”

That plan should suffice for now.

It was a decision born of his failure to grasp the unfathomable and onerous sense of responsibility that plagued Eudoardo Deserte. Even if he understood it, he felt there was no alternative.

Anyhow, the Duke watched over the three subjects for 10 years, as agreed in the contract with the 1st Prince.

So now, has the Duke grown fond of those ‘children’—of Eudoardo Deserte, that is?

“…”

Even after the 10-year term ended, the Emperor remained Emperor.

After a decade, the Crown Prince continued as Crown Prince and the Princess as Princess.

“Since the timing is off anyway, we can’t interfere now.”

It was a period when even mobilizing to safeguard the Empire was nearly impossible.

Turning away from the thorny subject with no simple answer, the Duke refocused on the present. With limited options, he concentrated on the Salvation Church, employing public opinion warfare to strengthen internal unity in the Human Realm.

Even that process was fraught with obstacles and unsightly issues – truly the worst of times.

“Demon Church, Revolutionary Army… Things that once wouldn’t even have raised an eyebrow are now surfacing.”

In particular, the Revolutionary Army was rapidly improving its image. They were being marked, almost indelibly, as a group dedicated to humanity.

Though irritation welled up inside him, the Duke knew they were useful, so he set aside personal feelings. After all, there was another far more troublesome organization at play.

“Demon Church.”

A religion that, by all accounts, must have demons pulling its strings. Yet, inexplicably, it was wildly popular.

Reports had arrived that in the slums, people were quietly muttering ‘De-Se’ more and more. Finally, unable to withstand his surging stress any longer, the Duke ran a hand over his face in grim resignation.

***

“Sir Deon said, ‘Do whatever you can; might as well make a move into the Human Realm.'”

While handling paperwork related to the Demon Church’s clandestine expansion into the Human Realm, Commander of the 11th Corps, Lirinel, began to reminisce about the past.

[It’s better to have things done in advance—even if it ends up being in vain—than to miss out due to a lack of time when needed.]

[Y-yes.]

[Exactly. The Demon Church can be used in the public opinion war, and while the gains might be modest, it could also serve for demon summoning.]

It was an intoxicating private audience.

The human before him, with a sharply defined jawline and a slight smile, exuded an elegance and beauty that was almost painful. Not even the shadow under his eyes could diminish his allure, and Lirinel nodded in a daze.

[Y-yes. Everything Sir Deon said is absolutely right! With the Demon King’s permission, we should immediately advance into the Human Realm…!]

[But must we really ask the Demon King for permission?]

[Well, since it concerns the Human Realm…]

[Huh?]

Deon Hart tilted his head to the side with a soft curl of his lips. His finger, tapping lightly on the desk, circled above Lirinel’s knuckles.

Clang. His heart skipped a beat.

“No, I can’t die now!”

Before Sir Deon, he could never let himself die.

Grabbing at the fleeting spirit of escape, Lirinel sprang to his feet. Noticing blood steadily streaming from his nose, he shouted with renewed determination.

[Of course it will work! I’m proceeding right away!]

Deon Hart merely smiled.

Even if the advance is covert, he didn’t believe the Demon King would notice. It was merely a test.

Do demons follow the Demon King simply because he is their father figure? Is it absolute, or merely a bond born of respect for the being who shoulders the fate of their race?

If it were the latter, rebellion would be possible. They might even dare defy the Demon King.

[There’s no need to change the name of the Demon Church. Let it advance as is.]

[Yes!]

And right before his eyes, the legion commander was prioritizing ‘me’ over the Demon King.

A flash of red eyes peeked through softly smiling eyelids.

***

Saving a life demands an equal measure of resolve.

Recently, the two demons had come face-to-face with that fact.

“Derniban, the baby won’t stop crying. What do we do?”

“…”

Or rather, only one of them truly felt it.

Derniban met his superior’s vacant stare and then extended his hand toward the baby.

***

Was it when Deon Hart caught the head of King of Rweche’s brother, or when the news came that Paras Territory had fallen? From some point onward, nightmares began to plague him.

They were nightmares of exceptionally low quality.

Terrible visions populated by vengeful spirits in ghastly forms that defied sober logic.

[They kill us and then expect us to sleep peacefully?]

[Why did you do this? Why, why, why did you do it?]

[Die! Stop shamelessly clinging to life and just die!]

Ah, if you have any conscience, you wouldn’t curse them after seeing their wretched state. For it was none other than yourself who had brought them to this fate.

Standing amidst the nightmare, Deon Hart silently watched as grotesque spirits pressed in on him. He could have averted his gaze, or closed his eyes, but he simply stood his ground, meeting their stares until he awoke.

As the cycle repeated, even the spirits he once ignored – those mimicking the form they had when they died – began to transform into familiar faces, shouting for him to die.

“Perhaps it was inevitable…”

Today, as Deon Hart observed the myriad damned spirits unleashing curses, he raised one eyebrow as if sensing something.

[Die… just die!]

He ignored the constant curses he had grown so accustomed to.

A jet-black, contorted mist slithered as if attempting to imitate someone’s form.

With a familiar build and stature, Deon Hart felt a vague recognition and smiled faintly.

“Finally.”

He had been waiting. Waiting for the moment when that figure would appear, attempting to mimic his form.

It took him far too long to realize what could hurt him the most: a vengeful spirit parasitizing his mind. He truly felt he’d been waiting until his neck nearly broke.

Slowly, the form solidified and familiar black hair came into view. Just as the face was about to be completed…

A blinding flash exploded!

From one corner of his vision, a burst of radiant light overwhelmed everything.

“…!”

Deon Hart opened his eyes.

The formerly clamorous room now greeted him with an eerie silence. After a brief blink, he slowly sat up.

For a moment he was in a daze, until a cool draft from the slightly opened window scraped away the cold sweat, reminding him that this was reality.

“…sigh.”

He exhaled deeply, burying his face in his hands. A hollow laugh escaped him.

“I never thought I’d be kicked out…”

He instinctively knew it—it was as if he’d been ejected from a dream.

…No, he couldn’t have been ‘kicked out.’ After all, he was the master of his dreams. It must have been his own choice to wake up.

Could this be the raw survival instinct inherent in all living things? Nausea surged as he looked up. The fluttering curtains caught his eye.

A chill breeze blew in through the window, and a solitary flower placed there caught his gaze. Blooming vividly in the soft moonlight, it was strikingly out of place, mesmerizing him.

“Hien said it was a flower plucked from the Human Realm, right?”

He slowly descended from the bed.

Once freed from the blankets, his sweat-soaked body was exposed to the cold air, and he shivered, yet he made his way to the window regardless.

Up close, the flower appeared in surprisingly pristine condition.

“It shouldn’t even be here… yet it remains so full of life.”

Had it been touched by the magic of the Demon Realm? Anyone looking at it might think it was freshly plucked.

He stared blankly at the steadfast flower before leaning against the windowsill, tilting his head in a cocked manner as he murmured.

His quiet soliloquy filled the serene space.

“If my brother had told me to die, I would have gladly followed.”

At the last moment, as the spirit’s form shifted, he instantly recognized it.

That was Cruel. The brother he’d been waiting for. Bound by the life his brother had saved, a vengeful spirit in Cruel’s form now urged the living man to embrace death.

A chill wind tossed his hair, and the flower, unable to withstand the gust, trembled. It was as if it were pleading with him not to act, and Deon managed a small, ironic smile.

“Well then, if today’s not the day, so be it.”

If you ever change your mind, come find me, brother.

Ironically, from that day on, he no longer suffered from nightmares.

It was a quiet dawn, when the world lay in deep silence.

***

“…What are you doing?”

“Let me fasten your belt.”

“Then why on earth are you wrapping it around my thigh?”

It was a day not of battle, but of meetings. Yet, here he was, wearing a belt typically used with a dagger sheath—without even the sheath itself, just the belt.

Ignoring the stinging look of disbelief, Ben diligently fastened the sturdy leather belt around Deon’s thigh.

“Since you keep smearing it on your thigh, I might as well secure it for you.”

“…”

Though his words were sparse, their meaning was clear.

Ben, glancing up at the silent Deon, added pointedly, as if nailing his point home.

“From now on, let the cigarette butt rest on this belt.”

“…At this rate, I’ll be late for the meeting. It seems it’s over—now, stand up.”

Though Ben’s eyes narrowed in response to the obvious evasion, Deon ignored him and rose from his seat.

Accustomed to wearing the dagger sheath frequently, he should have been used to it. Yet today, the constricting sensation on his thigh made him steal a glance at the belt.

Walking down the corridor, he gathered his thoughts.

“What should I say to make them understand?”

Last time, he had mentioned a path through the Duke’s territory. Then, when Idelia tried to interject, he even pressed her for details.

Now, he was forced to retract those words. With the Demon King unlikely to intervene even for such a trivial matter, he needed a sound reason…

“The Commander of the 0th Legion has arrived.”

Before he could fully organize his thoughts, he found himself standing before the conference room door.