I dream.
A nostalgic dream. I remember that figure, that voice.
But it will surely fade, won't it? I'll forget, bit by bit.
Even so, I—
"…Ngh."
I wake, blinking at a familiar yet unfamiliar scene—the church's interior. I must've dozed off. A nostalgic dream, foolish and laughable now. I haven't had it in a while. Why now?
My gaze falls to the silver accessory on my chest—a freesia, this country's namesake and national flower. I touch it absently. Eighty years, and it hasn't changed. To a demon, that's nothing. But for me? I recall—
"I had so much fun. I'm glad I didn't kill you back then."
Words from someone insufferably kind.
(Idiot.)
I scoff, shoving the thought away. Dwelling on it changes nothing. I sit up, perched on the throne where a Goddess statue would stand in a human church. No worshippers are here, nor are my priests, Lügner and Linie. It's past noon, I think. My mind drifts to this morning's audience.
(Lügner… does he even understand his role?)
Three days from now, peace talks with the Granat Earldom loom. I chose Lügner as envoy, but he seems to misunderstand the goal. To be clear, I—no, the demon nation of Freesia—have no desire to clash with Granat. If they strike first, that's another matter, but there's no sign of that.
(Poking the hornet's nest only makes humans unpredictable…)
As I told Lügner, brute force is foolish. Maintaining the status quo is our best move. Whatever humans truly intend, peace is effectively our victory—it strips them of any justification to attack. But Lügner, and perhaps all demons here, may not grasp that.
(Bloodlust is inevitable… our demonic nature, I suppose.)
I muse, holding my scales. It's our instinct, our essence. I'm no exception. Even sated, we crave human blood, driven by pure impulse, not reason. Suppressing it isn't easy. Hence, these scales.
(Blessing, huh? Quite a name.)
"Blessing" is what they call the constraints of my obedience magic, Azeliyuze, in Freesia. Specifically, the shackles it imposes, mainly on demons. The core rule: Do not eat humans. It's the first precept of the Aura Cult, proven by me and Linie, the foundation of human-demon coexistence. Every demon in Freesia, without exception, bears this blessing. Those who refuse cannot live here.
The next common rule: Do not harm humans. I no longer need it, but some demons do. Even without eating humans, our instinct to harm persists. For demons, this strips away even self-defense, which clashes with Freesia's doctrine of equality. Thus, demons wishing to live here must spend a month in the "Paradise" district—a village where demons and human criminals coexist. Those who live without harming humans gain entry. Those who can't, or doubt they can, receive the blessing. Refusers are exiled. Humans who commit crimes in Freesia face the same—sent to Paradise, mocked as "Paradise-bound."
(Linie's with Lügner, so it should be fine…)
Lügner seems to think I plan to attack Granat. Maybe all demons here do. I act tough to avoid seeming weak, but they take it literally—a downside of our skill at deceiving humans but not each other. That's why I've paired him with Linie these past years. She lacks priestly grace, untouched by schemes, making her a perfect foil for Lügner. They balance each other, though his pride won't admit it. I'd prefer a human priest, but Freesia's a demon nation. Demons negotiating peace with humans holds meaning. As I ponder—
"Aura-sama, may I enter?" a familiar voice calls, accompanied by a knock.
I release the accessory and grant permission, shifting into my role as Freesia's king and cult leader.
"Were you resting?" the voice asks. "I can return later."
"No need," I say. "What is it?"
"It's the regular report. Tomorrow's trials and blessing schedule…"
The small, elderly human notices my grogginess, showing concern. He's a high priest, the highest human title in Freesia. He drones on about schedules—routine, unremarkable. Yet I feel a faint dissatisfaction. Is it my demonic nature, or something else? Then—
"Also, about Draht," he says. "The investigation confirms issues. He's been favoring demons in judgments."
A different, troublesome matter.
"Hm… young ones are too hot-blooded," I mutter, leaning on my hand, sighing. My regal facade slips, but it's fine—this isn't new. Draht, a young demon who rose to priest, is capable but premature for Lügner and Linie's ranks. Fidelity to Freesia's doctrine is required, but that's the hardest part for demons.
"Fine," I say. "Strip his priesthood. Observe him for now."
"Understood," the priest replies. "Youth is a privilege, though—room to grow."
"Enviable," he adds, oblivious to my burdens. His attitude flips, baffling me.
"Hmph… done playing priest, Stroh?" I ask.
"No, no," he retorts, grinning. "You dropped the cult leader act first, big sis."
Tit for tat. Priest Stroh's cheeky reply would make worshippers faint. I shouldn't let it slide, but I gave him the opening.
"Fine, I'll ignore that," I say. "Youth's privilege, huh? From a skirt-flipping brat to this."
"Hm? What's that?" he feigns. "Old age makes me forgetful."
"Scratch that—you're just a cunning old man."
He plays dumb, but his slyness has only grown. Respected as a priest, yet I hear he farms in a straw hat on days off. Probably enjoying life more than anyone in Freesia.
"Ho ho, that stings," he says. "But you're as beautiful as ever, big sis. I'm jealous."
"Save the flattery," I reply. "Is that all?"
"Well… there's a petition to revise the doctrine's 'wine is the best medicine' clause."
"Whatever," I groan. "Probably that drunk monk's hobby."
The petty petition exhausts me. What does that monk think doctrine is? I've spared it for old debts, but if complaints persist, I might scrap it.
"No doubt," Stroh says. "Oh, and this—sent from the village. Thought you'd like it."
"What's this?" I ask.
He hands me a large package. I tilt my head, but as I take it, I know—familiar.
"Apples," I say. "They still send these like idiots."
"Everyone knows you love them," Stroh says. "The letter says they want you to visit."
"Hm… maybe if I feel like it," I reply, holding a red fruit.
Eighty years, and they keep coming. Like me, unchanged by time, unlike humans.
"Also, the letter mentioned—" Stroh starts.
"Hey! Apples! No fair keeping them to yourselves!" a loud voice interrupts as the door bursts open.
A chaotic intruder appears—Linie, a priest in a corset dress, not her robes, devoid of dignity.
"Loud as ever," I say. "I wasn't hiding them. Take one."
"Really? Thanks, Aura-sama!"
Pouting over some misunderstanding, Linie's mood flips as I toss her an apple. She bites into it, eyes sparkling. Even I, an apple lover, find it absurd. How did it come to this? I must've raised her wrong. No, demons don't raise kids—that's the doting Hero's fault.
"Hey, eat properly, Linie," Stroh scolds.
"Shut up, Stroh! I'm older than you!" she snaps.
"Are you? I look older to others," he retorts.
"You're just old! I'll tell Lily you flipped my skirt!"
"S-spare me! That's ancient history…"
Stroh panics, his slyness gone. Linie might have the upper hand. Growing up together, they're like human siblings, though who's older is debatable. But—
"Listen, Aura-sama!" Linie says. "I'm older than Himmel now!"
The air freezes. Not just me—Stroh too. For the same reason. He's probably worrying needlessly. Linie means no harm—not as a demon, but as Linie, a rare demon who lives without deceiving humans.
"Good for you," I say, exasperated. "Act more refined, or you'll end up like Himmel."
It's been a while since I said his name. No reason—just fewer chances. He'd argue if he heard.
"He'd be mad, big sis," Stroh says. "This reminds me of old times."
"Does it?" I reply. "Wasn't that recent? You and Himmel age too fast. Back then—"
Stroh matches my mood, sensing it. Linie, oblivious, keeps her usual pace. A nostalgic air settles. If he were here, what would he say? Then—
"Sounds like a fun chat," a woman's voice cuts in. "Mind if I join?"
The air ices over, not like before. This is the tension of life-or-death. My demonic instincts flare. Linie drops her apple, sword drawn. Stroh retreats behind us. I alone don't move—I know it's futile.
A woman stands before us. Long aqua hair, drooping eyes, a paradox of gentle allure and captivating danger. She exudes a sweet, honey-like scent. Not human—her twin horns betray her as a demon. But she has no epithet. No human who meets her survives.
Nameless.
The only word to describe her—a great demon who slays all humans she encounters.
"Long time no see, Aura," she says. "Twenty years, maybe?"
This is the reunion of Aura and Solitair, the Nameless great demon, after two decades.