Temptation in the Mansion (3)
“…”
The elf sat with her knees drawn together in a bathtub scented with bath salts.
Steam rose from the warmed water, brushed her face, and dissolved, only to gather again. She had been staring vacantly at the surface for some time when she finally lifted her head and looked around.
The bathroom was lined with clean, orderly tiles. Not even the luxurious washbasin bore a stain. On the shelf mounted beside it, the necessary bathing supplies stood in neat rows, with nothing superfluous among them.
They said you could judge a person's character by the place where they lived.
The bathroom's elegance, refined without being extravagant, seemed to speak of Theorad himself.
That only made her heart sink further.
For so long, she had believed that human beings were evil, every one of them. Now that belief was beginning to shake at its roots. If she abandoned it, what was she supposed to make of everything she had experienced? Of the judgments she had held for so long?
Remember me.
Theorad had said that to her long, long ago. His figure was engraved so sharply in the elf's memory that she could almost reach out and touch it.
But…
Was that really Theorad? Could I have been mistaken?
Unfamiliar feelings left her confused. A doppelgänger? Some sort of illusion magic? She had considered both possibilities again and again and found no answer.
Nothing she tried could explain why Theorad had been there—or how he could have existed in that distant time at all.
All she truly had was a brief exchange of words, a conversation over almost as soon as it began. Through the haze of her memories, she could still see him.
The elf let out a sigh and curled in on herself.
“An insolent little toy…”
Thinking about the past would change nothing. What mattered was that Theorad had made her a promise. She was merely testing him to see whether he could keep it. Whatever bitter hatred had passed between them along the way was beside the point.
Then why…?
Something she couldn't understand kept eating at her. It ought to have been an easy game. Yet the longer she played the part of his slave, the harder that part became.
“Insolent…”
The familiar word died on her lips.
As she looked down at her faint reflection, a little toy duck floated into view. Its worn surface showed the marks of countless fingers. Plainly Theorad had played with it since childhood, and the fact that it remained here suggested it held memories he treasured.
Without thinking, she caught the duck by its belly, held it up, and stared into its round, untroubled eyes for a long time before whispering hoarsely:
“Insolent Theorad…”
Squeak!
The duck, crushed slightly in her grip, let out a belated cry.
The director’s office at Weaving Turbulence Academy.
“Have you lost your mind? Huh? Have you all gone completely insane?”
Dremes bared her teeth as she shouted.
Across the desk, Weedra, director of the academy, sighed from her chair.
“Why are you starting this again…?”
“Do I look like I'm joking? You said you're ending the search! The Witch of Black Flame has obviously returned, and you're ending the search? Are you all out of your minds?”
“Dremes. I've told you how many times—the Witch of Black Flame herself asked for this, so there was no other—”
“Don't give me that bullshit!”
Weedra plugged her ears. Dremes had marched straight into the director's office on arriving at the academy, and the yelling was already giving her a headache.
“The Witch of Black Flame cared about us more than anyone! She wouldn't have left if the elders of your association hadn't caused all that trouble!”
“Oh, yes. Of course. It's the association's fault again. Yes, yes, we're sorry.”
“Weedra!”
Weedra pulled her hands away from her ears and frowned.
“Stop shouting. The elders responsible aren't even here anymore. Why insist on taking it out on us?”
“Because you keep trying to cover up what happened!”
“Get your facts straight. Yes, the association wants to keep the case concerning the Witch of Black Flame quiet. But are you saying that ending this search couldn't possibly have been her own request?”
Dremes stared at her in open disbelief.
Clicking her tongue, Weedra took a sheet of paper from her desk and held it out.
[Individual document: V1QG-CA0QJH]
Dremes accepted it with a frown. There was barely enough written on it to warrant reading.
Don't look for me. I have nothing to discuss with any of you.
She looked it over twice, but that was all.
“…What is this?”
“A letter the Witch of Black Flame sent to Pares, one of our students. What you're holding is a copy.”
“The handwriting looks like hers. That doesn't mean she actually wrote it.”
“I copied the magic pattern as well. If you doubt it, channel mana into the pattern and see what it produces.”
Dremes glanced up at Weedra, then nodded. She sent mana through the faded lines on the paper.
Black flames leaped from the pattern, giving off a gentle glow. They gathered into a sharp-eyed crow that spread its wings proudly, beat them once, and vanished back into the fire.
There could be no mistake. That crow of black mana was the emblem the Witch of Black Flame had always used. With the handwriting as well, it was impossible to believe the message had come from someone else.
Black mana belongs to the Witch of Black Flame alone, even among witches…
She was the first and last witch whose mana had been treated as an individuality unto itself. Dremes could no longer dispute the evidence.
“Do you feel any better now, leader of the Dokwol Guild?”
Weedra's naked sarcasm only made Dremes clench her fists.
“Why… Why would she tell us not to look for her?”
“I don't know. I'm sure she has her reasons.”
“Stop pretending you don't understand! It's because of you—”
So much for persuading her. They were right back where they'd started.
Weedra rubbed her throbbing brow, straightened in her chair, and looked Dremes in the eye.
“Dremes. The traitors are all dead.”
“That doesn't absolve you of responsibility!”
“Fine. There were probably people who looked the other way for the sake of the association. And then what? Shall we reopen the trials and drag everyone into court again? Is that truly what the Witch of Black Flame would want?”
“You…!”
“She wouldn't want it. All we'd accomplish would be to hand the bastards in the Church news that could tear witch society apart. Is that what you want, Dremes?”
Dremes fell silent.
If people learned that the Witch of Black Flame, whom all witches revered, had disappeared because of the association's betrayal, there would be infighting. Organizations spread throughout the world under the association's authority would lose their center and weaken.
The struggle against the Church was still going on beneath the surface. Publicizing the truth offered them no advantage.
“Until the Witch of Black Flame returns, don't break the vow of non-retaliation. That's how we keep everyone alive.”
Dremes's voice was cutting, but Weedra only shrugged.
“If you think I'm wrong, go tell the whole world.”
“You make me sick.”
“Yes, yes. Everything's my fault. I'm a horrible bitch for speaking on behalf of the association.”
“…The Witch of Black Flame will return. When she does, I'll see that you answer for your sins.”
Was that supposed to frighten me?
Weedra didn't consider the threat worth answering. Instead, she waved a hand.
“All right. Will you leave now? My schedule isn't exactly empty.”
Dremes glared at her before turning and walking out.
Weedra watched her go, then called after her as though remembering something.
“Oh, and if you have time, try the cafeteria. You can eat for free if—”
Bang!
The door slammed hard enough to tremble in its frame.
“Tsk. What a temper…”
Weedra muttered to herself and drew a location note from her desk. The Witch of Black Flame had unexpectedly done her a favor.
It was time to move on to the next plan.
Meanwhile, in the realm of the Grand Duke of Lust.
Under a night sky washed in red moonlight, Lerazie sat astride a roof spire, a cat resting in her lap. The Grand Duke of the Hell of Carnal Love was deep in thought.
…How did she know?
To find out what sort of place the Deharem mansion was, Lerazie had sent a letter under a false name, then dispatched a demonic cat to serve as her familiar.
But before the familiar could even enter the mansion, a maid had caught it. Worse, she'd somehow identified what it was.
Tell me who sent you before I kill you.
Those had been the maid's unmistakable words.
The demonic magic concealed within the familiar was so faint that even a seasoned priest would have difficulty detecting it.
No matter how I look at it, something's strange.
Was that elf really an ordinary maid?
Lerazie's eyes narrowed to dark crescents. She scratched her chin thoughtfully with a sharp fingernail.
Baal's next convocation was still some way off. There was plenty of time to amuse herself before then.
I suppose I'll have to visit in person.
At first she'd intended to send a subordinate, but she'd changed her mind.
If a maid at the mansion could notice even that tiny trace of demonic energy, then Theorad—the man who kept such a maid as his slave—must be unimaginably powerful.
Perhaps she couldn't beat him in a contest of brute strength. Lerazie didn't care. She had no intention of fighting him.
Charm. Allure. Dazzle.
Those were the arts she would use.
Against a man, she was certain the beguiling powers of a dream demon would leave him no escape. And she wasn't just any dream demon. As Grand Duke of the Hell of Carnal Love, she stood at their pinnacle.
However strong Theorad's mind might be, Lerazie was confident she could handle him as easily as a spider handled a worm caught in its web.
Theorad? I'll make you submit to me.
Lerazie extended a hand and snapped her fingers.
Fwoosh!
Pale pink fire blossomed in the air. Above it shimmered an illusion of Theorad's face, reconstructed from what she had seen through her cat's eyes.
He was handsome. Visiting in person would be even more entertaining than she'd thought.
Lerazie licked her lips and traced his cheek with one playful finger. The firm, level gaze of his phantom eyes only excited her further.
What secrets will I make you spill? I can hardly wait to find out.
She smiled wickedly at the image of Theorad.