WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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◈ Whispers of a Scheming Demon ◈

Chapter 10: The Demon and the Witch (1)

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A human he wanted to kill, or one who deserved to die.

The demon told him to choose someone like that, but the boy could not easily name anyone.

He had never felt the urge to kill.

And choosing someone who deserved death? That would be impossible. He was neither a household head with the authority to execute nor a judge.

He was only a child.

Raguel spoke in a flustered voice.

“Th-there’s no one like that.”

“You don’t have anyone you want to kill?”

“O-of course not!”

“How strange. I thought you’d have at least one kill list.”

“How exactly do you see me...?”

The wronged-looking boy wore an expression so open and innocent.

Having read the original story, Johan found it a little strange.

Raguel’s path had not been so virtuous. Cast out of his household, the boy gradually broke down and eventually walked the path of evil.

An early third-rate villain. That should have been his role, yet Johan had not seen even a hint of wickedness in the boy so far.

It was likely a limitation of the original work. It did not describe his thoughts or circumstances, so readers never had a chance to judge Raguel.

Johan spoke.

“I saw you as someone pitiful. I thought you’d hold at least some resentment toward those who tormented you.”

The boy shook his head.

“Go out into the streets. Starving orphans, wandering slash-and-burn farmers, vagrants shivering in the cold. You can encounter them several times a day.”

“Are you saying you’re happier than they are?”

“I wouldn’t say happy, but it’s true that my situation is better than theirs. I have a home, food, and...”

The boy trailed off. With distant eyes, he briefly glanced at Johan before lowering his head again.

“No. Anyway, I’m not unhappy enough to feel the urge to kill.”

“What a shame. I was thinking of carrying out your revenge so you’d owe me a debt.”

“You really are a demon.”

“That’s right.”

Silence passed for a moment. Raguel spoke first.

“Why did you ask that? It wasn’t really to avenge me, was it? Are you going to kill someone...?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with it. I’ll finish reading the book.”

There was no reason to tell the boy.

“But still!”

“Enough. This conversation is over.”

Johan opened Kazan’s biography again.

As he read aloud, he fell into thought.

A sacrifice was necessary. Who would be suitable?

Someone whose disappearance would cause no great trouble, and whose death might help the story unfold.

One person crossed Johan’s mind.

‘That should work.’

He might also be able to use her to create a link with Ilea.

* * *

The prostitute Betra dug into her ear with a crimson fingernail. Her ear had been itching constantly, as though someone were talking about her.

“Honestly, I haven’t washed for a few days and it’s already this bad.”

Muttering, she raised her finger before her eyes. Yellow clumps were packed beneath her red nail.

“Ugh.”

It was filthy, but she did not care. There was no one she needed to look good for.

Betra only watched the baron’s mood, but lately she rarely even saw him. They did not even share meals.

The baron shut himself in his room, calling only Ilea to sit with him at mealtimes.

There was no reason at all for Betra to dress up or adorn herself.

She blew the earwax away.

The scattered clumps landed on the cold floor.

Several handfuls also stuck to the face of the kneeling girl.

Rowen recoiled in horror and brushed the filth away.

It was a quick movement, but Betra noticed.

“Where do you think you’re moving?!”

She rose from her chair with an irritated shout.

The thirty children receiving punishment alongside Rowen flinched.

“You stupid, useless bitch!”

Betra raised her hand high. Then she began striking Rowen’s head.

Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud!

After beating her like a madwoman, she seized her by the hair and shook her back and forth.

The stress she had accumulated was vanishing in real time. Prostitutes lived on attention, and the baron’s indifference had made her even more hysterical.

It was all the baron’s fault. No, Ilea’s fault.

“Die! Die!”

Rowen clasped her hands and begged desperately.

“I-I was wrong! Mother, please forgive me!”

“If you did wrong, you need to be punished!”

The prostitute paid no attention to the child’s pitiful cries.

She beat her savagely. Just as she was about to start kicking her, someone lightly touched her shoulder.

Betra whipped around, her face twisted. Who dared?

“Mother, that is excessive.”

It was Ilea. She wore a faint smile. Betra had always found that strange smile irritating.

“...What?”

“I said you’re going too far.”

This bitch had recently begun openly challenging her. Backed by the baron, she acted as though this place belonged to her.

It was unbearably irritating.

She did not like the looks in the tribute maidens’ eyes either. They watched Ilea with relief, as though a hero had appeared.

Betra was furious enough for her insides to twist, but she reined in her emotions as best she could. She could not harm Ilea.

With the muscles in her face trembling, she spoke.

“...It’s an expression of love.”

Ilea looked down at the floor. Rowen, her hair a mess, was crying.

“If you love her, cherish her. No one uses damaged goods.”

Betra gave a disbelieving laugh.

“Hah, goods?”

Ilea nodded.

“We are all the baron’s property.”

Then she pointed at Rowen.

“You damaged his property, Mother.”

A crack was forming in Betra’s patience. There was such an age difference between them, yet this brat was trying to play word games with her. She clenched her fist tightly.

“...Damaged? This is education.”

Ilea smiled gently and shook her head.

“Even if you wash a rag, it won’t become a towel. You only need to look at yourself to know that, Mother. So don’t dirty them from the beginning.”

Once a prostitute, always a prostitute. Betra had settled here after wandering from place to place, but she still made her living as a prostitute.

“Understood?”

It struck a nerve.

Her expression contorted. Veins bulged across her forehead. She could not endure it any longer.

“Y-you insolent bitch!”

She raised her hand. Just as she was about to strike, Ilea’s eyes turned black. The blue of her pupils vanished, replaced by a deep shadow.

Betra froze.

The shadow she had just seen was already gone, but it remained clear in her mind.

Those were not human eyes. A demon she had seen in the royal capital long ago had possessed eyes like that. It had been so terrifying that she froze rigid.

It was the same now.

Ilea tilted her head.

“Mother, are you unwell?”

That innocent expression created a dreadful disconnect.

Betra stepped back.

“Y-you...”

“Oh dear, your complexion looks terrible. You should get some rest.”

Ilea then looked at the children.

“Now, shall we all stand? Mother is not feeling well, so today’s lesson ends here. Return to your quarters, everyone.”

The children, who had been watching Ilea and Betra in turn, rose one by one.

As usual, they lined up in a row.

“Mother’s grace has reached Heaven. Great Saint Marziel.”

They bowed, then poured out of the study.

Betra could not stop them. The lingering terror from moments ago had not faded. Ilea bowed toward the frozen woman.

“Then, have a peaceful night.”

She too left the hidden room.

* * *

Ilea’s destination differed from that of the tribute maidens.

She crossed the central courtyard and descended underground.

With a dark expression, she murmured.

“I told you not to come out carelessly.”

At the same time, a giggling laugh followed.

“My apologies. I was too excited. Aren’t you the same? That demonic energy looked quite appetizing.”

A moment ago, someone had released demonic energy. It had been faint, but the witch and the demon could sense it well enough.

A sharp voice added with a cackle.

“It is dense but unrefined. In other words, it belongs to an Imp of fine blood. What satisfying prey. This old crone is already drooling.”

Every demon went through an imp stage. No matter how fearsome the bloodline, while they were an imp, they were no more than prey for other demons.

The Crone Spirit could not help being excited.

“If we capture and consume it, Master will gain high-quality demonic energy as well. It is truly a blessing that has fallen into our laps.”

A blessing? Ilea thought differently.

The imp had not accidentally left a trace behind. It was clearly drawing her in. She could infer it from the nature of the demonic energy.

When demonic energy was used as a medium for possession or contracts, it inevitably contained impurities, like an exhale.

But this was different.

The demonic energy from before had been extremely pure. There was no trace of it having been used. It had simply been scattered into the air for no reason.

Who would do such a thing? If a newly born imp had been testing its demonic energy, Ilea could understand it to some extent.

But that was unlikely.

A creature with two contractors was already a demon skilled in handling demonic energy. It would not make such a foolish mistake.

Then its intent was obvious.

I’m here. Come.

“...Hmm.”

Was it looking to become her servant? Ilea weighed the Crone Spirit against the imp.

A full-grown petty demon and an imp with a promising future. There was not even a need to compare them. Before placing them on a scale, one side had already hit the floor.

Ilea reached a decision.

She would feed the Crone Spirit to the imp.

Of course, she might be getting ahead of herself. It was only a hypothesis. It was difficult to know the imp’s exact intentions.

Whether it knew its master’s thoughts or not, the Crone Spirit was in high spirits. It even began singing. Fortunately, the sound did not leak outside, but it echoed in Ilea’s mind.

It was a disgusting melody.

It irritated the witch.

“I hope the imp wants me.”

She wanted to replace it.

Only then did the Crone Spirit, sensing the mood, fall silent.

“...I apologize.”

“No, it is fine. You might simply be stupid.”

Ilea stopped abruptly before the spiral staircase.

She had visited this place many times.

“The imp chose this place as well.”

The Crone Spirit answered in a subdued voice.

“...It is likely the only place where the Forbidden Archive could be.”

“Yes. We could not find it, though.”

“I-it is all because I am inadequate.”

“Shall we see whether the imp is capable?”

Ilea stepped forward. Lightly treading one step after another, she descended.

The deeper she went, the more darkness swallowed the surroundings. The torches at the entrance did not reach far into the underground. No one visited this passage. There was no reason to keep it lit.

When she reached complete darkness, her footsteps stopped.

The area was silent. The smell of mold stung her nose.

“Let us see.”

Fwoosh.

A small flame blossomed in the darkness.

It flickered like a lantern flame. One by one, clusters of light multiplied, dotting the darkness like embroidery.

The interior gradually brightened. Cobwebs reflected the light and glimmered. Pale dust drifted through the air. A cylindrical space surrounded by bookshelves. A vast underground library revealed itself.

Ilea stared ahead.

Red eyes stared back at her.

The demon seated at a round table spoke.

“So, the witch is here.”

He pointed to a chair.

“Sit here.”

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