WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B
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◈ Whispers of a Scheming Demon ◈
Chapter 56: Kembell (1)
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Geren Village, a fief of Myatro.
Darkness fell over the small hamlet. One by one, the residents began returning home. Even the village's only tavern closed its doors.
It was an old southern tradition.
After sunset, clear the streets. Return home to avoid evil spirits and malicious ghosts.
No one forced them to follow it, but every southerner lived by that rule.
The once bustling village settled into silence.
On the deserted street, the knight Kembell grumbled.
“...That damned curfew. Who even follows it these days? Those country bumpkins are unbearably old-fashioned.”
He had been drinking since broad daylight and was already thoroughly drunk. A sour stench of alcohol wafted through the gaps in his visor.
Maira looked at him with disdain.
“You should go in and rest as well. We have to move to another village tomorrow, so at least sober up before then.”
A knight could use Aura to purge impurities from their body. Maira had already sobered himself up.
Kembell snorted.
“I refuse. What’s the point of drinking if I’m going to chase away the buzz? I’m having another drink, so you should go get some sleep, brother.”
Maira sighed and turned away.
“Do whatever you want. Just don’t be groaning in pain tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes. I understand, so rest well.”
The two entered the village chief’s house and separated into their respective rooms.
Geren Village did not operate an inn, so travelers usually stayed at the village chief’s home. Small villages with little foot traffic were often like that.
It was a somewhat unfamiliar custom, but Kembell did not particularly complain. Having alcohol mattered far more to him than his sleeping arrangements.
Kembell sprawled carelessly across the single-room chamber. Only then did he remove and toss aside the visor he had worn all day. As always, he held a bottle in his hand.
Gulp, gulp.
A quiet melody followed.
“Honor at the blade’s edge, pride held within the heart. Even should death stand before us, chivalry shall never break...”
As he hummed, he suddenly snorted.
“Chivalry, my ass. They’re nothing but parasites feeding on power.”
It was difficult to find honor or pride in the knights of this age. Their glorious oaths had been forgotten long ago, and the vows written in blood had weathered away with time until not even traces remained.
Swords were drawn for power, not the weak.
Shields had become tools for obstructing justice.
Kembell’s sword and shield were no different.
Kembell Laura.
His family had safeguarded the royal family for generations, but now their blades were aimed at a powerless king.
They had forgotten their ancient vow and become parasites who fed on power.
They had infiltrated the palace in the dead of night, assassinated the queen, and placed all the blame upon the young prince.
They were destroying the very things they were meant to protect.
He had no right to speak of chivalry.
Whenever he closed his eyes, that day still returned to him like a nightmare.
The prince, howling with grief as he held the queen in his arms. His cries, his eyes, his resentment never left Kembell’s mind.
Without alcohol, Kembell could not sleep.
He took another drink. The sharp scent spread through his whole body, and his face flushed red from the intoxication.
Kembell suddenly shouted toward the window.
“Great Saint! If you can hear me, tell me! How am I supposed to pay for these sins?!”
The moon only cast its gentle light down upon him. It gave no reply.
“Damn it! Why are you always silent?! Are my prayers not reaching you?! I just... I just, just...”
Kembell’s voice gradually faded.
“...I’m asking you to punish me, at least. Please help me wash away this sin.”
His loud cries had turned into sobs.
Tears welled in Kembell’s eyes as he clutched his head.
No one was more desperate than he was, yet God did not listen.
His pain and despair reached only a wicked being.
“Fallen honor, shattered pride, and yet still, a knight who repents. Please cease your tears.”
A gentle yet somehow chilling voice settled over the room.
Kembell slowly raised his head. There was nothing there.
“...Wh-who are you?”
“I am the judge who shall condemn you, and the redeemer who shall share in your atonement.”
Kembell’s eyes began to tremble.
“Could it be?!”
“Shh. Do not speak that name. Simply meditate and reflect upon yourself. There must surely be a path to atonement within the abyss.”
In the original work, Kembell could not overcome his guilt and eventually confessed his crime formally to the church.
The result went in a direction somewhat different from common sense.
Only Kembell was killed. The count, the ringleader, suffered no consequences.
The church was made up of the count’s people.
The truth behind that day was buried away like that.
This time would be a little different.
Kembell murmured in a trembling voice.
“Forgiveness... I must ask for forgiveness.”
“From whom?”
“...God!”
“Reflect once more.”
Kembell tore at his hair. After a moment, he slowly opened his mouth.
“Your Highness. The Third Prince.”
He had to confess his sin directly to Gawain.
Then the course of events would surely proceed in a different direction.
“You have found the path, so do not wander any longer.”
Kembell bowed his head deeply.
“Saint Marziel. Please watch over this fool’s atonement.”
“No. No, I told you not to speak that name.”
Only coldness remained in the voice now.
Kembell raised his head. Confusion crossed his face.
“G-Great Saint?”
“Your god is nowhere to be found. How long will you chase an illusion?”
Kembell’s eyes wavered without focus.
“What are you suddenly...”
A sinister laugh suddenly echoed through the room.
“The Great Saint cannot hear your prayers. He will not show you the way. Forget his name. From now on, the god you remember is Mapheltan.”
Black mist billowed through the air.
Kembell could not comprehend what was happening.
The black fairy approached the rigid knight.
It was the Dream Demon.
The Dream Demon placed a single blue leaf upon Kembell’s face.
Immediately, the hideous burn scars began to vanish. New flesh grew in their place.
As his skin began to itch, Kembell touched his face.
Shock filled his expression.
“An... an illusion!”
Nothing he was experiencing felt real.
“It is a reward for your repentance. Something impossible for Marziel. Once your atonement is complete, this body shall devour even the shadows in your heart. Do not forget who answered your prayer.”
The billowing Demonic Energy began to fade. The chilling laughter gradually receded.
Before long, silence settled over the room.
Kembell, who had remained frozen in place, abruptly sprang to his feet.
Deep blue Aura surged from his entire body.
His drunkenness vanished at once.
With a tense expression, Kembell brought a hand to his face.
The scars were truly gone. The Dream Demon still rested upon his shoulder.
Everything he had just experienced was not a dream.
Nor was it a hallucination brought on by alcohol.
It was undeniably real.
He collapsed to the floor. Strength had left his legs.
* * *
Deep in the mountains, Mapheltan walked while fiddling with a dark blue leaf.
‘Its effects are certain.’
The leaf was from the World Tree. It was a miraculous medicine that healed even serious wounds in an instant. This leaf had also played a major role in healing Raguel’s dislocation before.
Only one remained now. He had used it where it was needed, but that did not make it feel any less wasteful.
As he was lost in thought, Gaf spoke.
“I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“Kembell. Why did you reveal your identity to him? You had almost completely deceived him into thinking you were the Great Saint.”
Revealing himself as a demon would naturally invite resistance.
Kembell might not act according to Mapheltan’s intentions.
That was what Gaf thought.
Mapheltan replied.
“If I hadn’t told him, who would Kembell have spent his life thanking? I couldn’t stand to see that.”
“Is that truly the only reason?”
“Well, while I’m at it, I’m making a follower for myself too.”
Demon worshippers. In the end, Mapheltan needed people like that as well.
Gaf fell silent in thought for a moment before speaking.
“I heard what you said. You were acting like a god. What exactly are you trying to become?”
“Please don’t get ahead of yourself. What do I have to lose if he reveres me like a god?”
It was not wrong, but Gaf could not shake his uneasy feeling.
“You damned Half-Demon. You really do have a silver tongue.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Think whatever you like, and get lost already.”
Gaf intended to return to the territory alone.
Mapheltan frowned.
“You’re really going to walk?”
“I’ll handle it myself, so stay out of it.”
Mapheltan spread his wings.
“This is your last chance.”
“Go.”
Mapheltan’s body slowly rose into the air.
“I’m going?”
Gaf answered with a look. Killing intent filled his eyes.
Mapheltan sighed and put on an exaggerated act.
“Your damned loyalty is the problem.”
His enormous tail instantly wrapped around Gaf’s waist.
A black figure shot into the sky.
Gaf thrashed wildly in midair.
“Just you wait! One day, I’ll throw you into hell myself!”
A stream of filthy curses spread through the night sky.
* * *
The underground library was steeped in silence.
“Great End, have you returned?!”
Only Zalkarin was excited. The Imp could barely contain its joy at the thought of going to Narak.
Ilea and Raguel wore troubled expressions.
Fear and anxiety could be seen especially clearly on Raguel’s face.
Mapheltan spoke in confusion.
“Everyone seems particularly lifeless today. Especially you, Raguel. You might regain your sight, so shouldn’t you be a little happier?”
The previous night, Mapheltan had clearly indicated that he intended to uphold the contract concerning Raguel’s vision before leaving the library.
Raguel should have been more excited.
Yet there was not even a trace of expectation on his face.
Raguel slowly opened his mouth.
“Jo... no, Mapheltan.”
“Speak.”
Raguel swallowed dryly. A certain resolve appeared on his face.
The blind boy stared directly at Mapheltan with eyes that could no longer see.
“...Mapheltan, am I going to Narak to die?”
An ordinary human would lose their life the moment they entered Narak. It was an unavoidable death. No matter how thoroughly they prepared, they could not survive for two weeks.
Everyone knew that well.
Ilea looked at Mapheltan. Her expression was drier than usual, revealing no emotion.
Mapheltan scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, something like that. Your body won’t survive in Narak.”
Raguel hiccupped. Countless emotions swirled across his face.
“Y-you’re joking, right? Like you usually do...”
Mapheltan shook his head.
“I’m serious. So, Raguel, are you ready to die?”
He spoke of something so dreadful as though it were nothing of importance.
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