"Here's my house!" Himmel declares.
"I'm leaving," I say, turning on my heel.
His familiar, overly enthusiastic line echoes as I head for the capital's gates. I've got no business here.
"W-Wait!" he cries, flustered. "Why're you leaving?! Sure, it's been a year, so it might be dusty, but it's fine! Plus, I've got grimoires… and, uh, a rare dark dragon horn!"
"Why do you even have that?" I snap, glaring coldly. "Doesn't matter. You tricked me into coming here, so I'm going."
He's scrambling to stop me, tossing out grimoires and dragon horns like I'm some collector. Does he think I'll just obey? What kind of fool keeps a dark dragon horn at home? I could grill him on that, but there's no time. I need to get out of here, now.
"I'm sorry!" he says, unusually apologetic. "But you wouldn't have come if I'd told you!"
"No kidding," I retort. "What kind of idiot wants to visit a place where they might be executed?"
"I'm sorry… but it's fine!" he insists. "I've prepared for this. Trust me, it's all under control!"
"That's what worries me most," I say. "There's no reason for me to be here. You go alone. Now rewrite Azeliese's command and let me leave."
Even he looks sheepish, but I'm not having it. Dragged out of the village for the first time in a year, only to end up in the capital? He didn't lie, but he didn't tell the whole truth either. It's unlike him to be this calculated. I'm furious at being played, but more than that, coming to the capital means risking execution.
(No way I'm getting executed…!)
I've grown too comfortable in that soft imprisonment, but I'm still a criminal on borrowed time. Himmel himself said it a year ago: bringing me here would mean certain death. Even a hero can't keep hiding me forever. The letters from the capital piling up in the village—maybe he couldn't keep it secret any longer. He's not stupid enough to come here without a plan, but that's beside the point. Why drag me along? Azeliese binds me to him, but he could rewrite the command to keep me in the village. That's all it'd take for me to go back alone. I press him to do it, but he just stands there, silent.
"…I'm scared," he mutters.
"What?" I blink.
"I'm scared," he repeats, voice low. "Of the king. Remember when I told you I almost got executed for mouthing off? I've been terrified of meeting him since."
"You're an idiot," I say, stunned.
It's the most pathetic reason I've ever heard from a hero. His face is pale, hands trembling. It's real trauma. Is this guy really a hero? I don't have time for this nonsense. I need to retreat, maybe to the city outskirts—that should be far enough to escape Azeliese's pull. I start to leave, but—
"Wait!" he shouts, grabbing my robe. "Where're you going? That's not fair! I'd love to ditch this too, but I can't keep dodging forever. And this is your problem too! Can't you help a little?"
"Let go!" I yell. "You're not a kid—deal with it yourself! Where's your usual smug confidence?"
Where's the narcissist I know? He's clinging to my robe like his life depends on it. Did he give me this robe just for this? We're grappling, shouting, and before I know it, a crowd gathers. To them, it looks like a hero forcibly detaining a fleeing woman—a disaster.
After an hour of this mess, the guards intervene, and we're both hauled to the castle—
"It's been a while, Hero Himmel," the king says, his voice grand. "A year, yes? The people have eagerly awaited you."
A gaudily dressed old man addresses Himmel from the throne. No, not just gaudy—he's powerful. Himmel bows, kneeling in loyalty, a side of him I've never seen. It suits him, rotten hero that he is. I reluctantly follow, bowing my head. It's humiliating, but I have no choice. My life's at stake. The king sits ahead, flanked by ten retainers—his vassals, probably—and countless guards. This is no lie; he's the real deal.
"It's been too long, Your Majesty," Himmel says. "I'm sorry for the worry."
"No matter," the king replies. "You're well, and that's enough. Raise your head."
I glance at Himmel, playing the perfect hero, but something feels off. It's the dynamic between him and the king.
(No power at all… just a weakling.)
Peering through my hood, I sense no mana, no strength from the king. Just a plump old man. Yet Himmel kneels to him. It's bizarre—like a lowlife demon bowing to the Demon King. Utterly incomprehensible.
(This is human society… the power of money and bloodlines?)
Money and lineage—human concepts absent in demon society, measures of status beyond strength. That's how this king and his vassals lord over a hero. Madness. One wrong move, and Himmel could cut them down, yet they act superior. Human society is a mess of contradictions. Books couldn't prepare me for this, but seeing it firsthand, I have no choice but to believe.
While I muse, Himmel and the king chat—small talk, I guess. Mediating a war in the Southern Countries, subjugating northern demons, even marriage proposals. A hero's life is busy. If he's been slacking because of me, no wonder he's nervous. He struggles most with the marriage talk, too spineless to admit he's fixated on that elf.
"And why have you sought an audience?" the king asks. "Not just a greeting, I presume. It concerns the one beside you."
"Yes," Himmel replies. "May she be granted an audience?"
"Permitted," the king says.
The topic shifts to me. Apparently, Himmel requested this audience, not that we were dragged here by guards. He shoots me a sidelong glance, smug as ever. I know what's expected, even if it's infuriating. I have no choice.
I stand, pulling back my hood to reveal my horns—proof I'm a demon, my pride. The room stirs with fear and curiosity. I'm almost refreshed by it; I've changed too much. But the king remains unfazed, appraising me. He's different from his vassals.
"So, a demon," he says. "Your name?"
"One of the Seven Sages of Destruction," I reply coolly. "Aura the Guillotine."
I consider groveling like Himmel but decide against it. The king knows demons deceive; faking humility is pointless. Minimal courtesy will do. My bluntness doesn't faze him—he's too focused on the fact a demon's here at all.
"So, it's true," he says to Himmel. "The rumors of you living with a demon were real."
"My apologies for the delayed report," Himmel says. "I'm here to explain."
"Speak," the king commands.
The room tenses, ritual-like. Maybe they understand each other's motives. Himmel recounts our story: our reunion, my submission via Azeliese, my confined life in the village. It's a humiliating retelling, but I endure it.
His defense is meticulous, as promised. He presents a letter from the village chief, read aloud by the king, adding third-party credibility. He even mentions my mana protecting the village from monsters—a recent discovery. His request: to take custody of me. I'm impressed, despite myself. Even a deceitful demon like me can't fault his logic. If he'd explained this earlier, we could've skipped that pathetic argument. His fear of execution must've rattled him.
"I understand," the king says, nodding. "Taming a Sage of Destruction, no less. Truly a hero, never satisfied with just slaying the Demon King. Very like you."
I begrudge the praise, but he's right about Himmel's nature. How did I end up in this mess?
"And you, Aura," the king says, his tone regal. "Are you willing to serve Hero Himmel, a human?"
"I obey his commands," I reply.
No loyalty here, but I'm not suicidal enough to say that. It's the same answer I give Himmel—pure fact.
"Demons deceive," the king says, turning to Himmel. "She obeys now, but what if she betrays you?"
I'm dismissed, as expected. This audience is a formality, a performance for the court. The real question is for Himmel. Betrayal is obvious to humans—demons are untrustworthy. What will he do?
"If that happens," Himmel says without hesitation, "I'll deal with her myself, until my dying breath."
His immediate answer stuns me. It's not rehearsed; it's just him. My eyes drift to the accessory on my chest—proof his words aren't empty. He truly plans to bind me until he dies. It's a death sentence in all but name, barely better than execution.
"A lifetime's vow," the king muses. "As straightforward as ever."
The king's mix of exasperation and admiration softens the room's tension. The audience seems over, my execution avoided—for now. Other problems loom, but I start to relax—
"If I may, Your Majesty," a retainer interrupts.
"…Speak," the king says.
"It's too hasty," the retainer says. "Demons can't be trusted, especially a Sage of Destruction. Her spell can enslave anyone forever, correct?"
The room stirs again. Himmel's explanation barely touched Azeliese, which I thought was an oversight. Now I see why.
"I hate to believe it," the retainer continues, "but could Hero Himmel be under her control? A hero taming a demon is unthinkable."
"Exactly," another chimes in. "If true, she's a threat to humanity itself. She could control us, the entire kingdom!"
"I've heard rumors," a third adds. "The hero, enthralled by a demon…"
Fear and suspicion spread like wildfire. It's logical—humans can't fathom a hero sparing a demon. The only explanation is that I'm controlling him. My Azeliese makes it plausible. I realize now: it's not just that I'm a demon, but that I'm Aura the Guillotine, wielder of a spell that could topple nations.
"That's not true!" Himmel protests, frantic. "Her spell is a threat, but she's bound to me. She can't harm or feed on humans!"
He's right, but it's irrelevant. Azeliese could override that. His assurances mean nothing.
"Can you prove you're not controlled?" a retainer demands. "How do we know you're not her puppet?"
"I… The villagers' accounts—" Himmel stammers.
"The village could be under her sway too!" another snaps. "No proof! Your Majesty, she must be executed. We can't wait until we're deceived!"
Himmel can't prove his freedom—no one can, not even the Goddess herself. Even villagers' testimony could be manipulated by Azeliese. I didn't fully grasp my spell's terror until Himmel bound me. A single fool king controlled by Azeliese could destroy a nation. Controlling these retainers could seize the kingdom. The fear of being unknowingly enslaved is paralyzing.
Some retainers fan the flames, eyeing Himmel with disdain. They likely resent the flawless hero who slew the Demon King, seizing this chance to tear him down.
(Even Himmel's out of moves…)
He might've known about these enemies, but he's struggling. It's not just his naivety—my own underestimation of Azeliese's threat played a part. I was careless.
Yet, I'm strangely calm, despite the looming execution. This past year, devouring human books, taught me about their "trials"—a baffling concept I've come to understand. It's a scale, weighing invisible human worth. Each side piles on advantages, and the heavier side wins. My Azeliese is fundamentally the same. Himmel and the king were balancing my fate, the king wanting my threat gone while using Himmel's strength, Himmel seeking to protect me in exchange for cooperation. They kept the scales even, delaying judgment, until these retainers tipped it against me. Now, I must tip it back.
(Begging the king? Useless. He and his retainers won't budge.)
Pleading is a demon's go-to, tilting human scales to survive. But not here. The king knows our nature, and the retainers are too many. Begging won't shift this tide.
(Proving my usefulness? No good either. Azeliese makes any claim untrustworthy.)
Offering my strength—subjugating monsters or aiding wars—would tempt any kingdom. But Azeliese renders it moot. No one would keep a weapon that could turn on them. My spell dooms me. Ironic—I can't survive because of it.
(Then my last move…)
One option remains: not adding weight to the scale, but shattering it. A desperate gamble, risking my ruin. But I know it'll work. That certainty infuriates me. I clutch the silver Freesia in my hand.
It's a demon's instinct—deceiving humans. But for me, it's the opposite, an unforgivable act.
Embracing this contradiction, I choose—not as the Guillotine, but as the Scales for the first time—
(How did it come to this?!)
Himmel's thoughts race. Everything was going well. Despite hiccups, the audience with the king was smooth. He sensed the king accommodating him, relieving his fears. Aura's safety was within reach—his goal for the past year, backed by the village chief and villagers. Yet one retainer's words unraveled it all, in the worst way.
(How do I fix this?! No one believes me…)
His pleas fall on deaf ears, drowned by fear and doubt. It's not just the resentful retainer—it's human terror of demons, amplified by Azeliese's threat. He underestimated its horror. He can't prove he's free, leaving him powerless.
He glances at Aura, her face blank, like the demon she is. He hasn't seen that look lately. His failure brought it back. He shouldn't have brought her here, wanting her to see her life was safe.
"…Himmel," the king says. "Their arguments hold weight. I cannot accept this demon, even if you're the hero who slew the Demon King."
The death sentence lands. The king's not wrong—Himmel would rule the same. He must act, as a hero, delivering the judgment deferred a year ago.
But before he can—
"Ugh, so noisy!" Aura's cold voice cuts through. "Is this place full of brainless monsters?"
"You dare insult us, demon?!" a retainer snaps.
"Sorry," she says, smirking. "It's just funny. If Himmel wanted, he could take your heads in seconds. So why act so high and mighty?"
"What?!" the retainers gasp.
Her words stun everyone, including Himmel. It's a demon's perspective—unthinkable to humans. She's right; he has the power. The retainers pale, speechless.
"Seriously," she continues, her gaze predatory. "You think Himmel will just obey you? How naive. Money, bloodlines—none of that matters before strength. You're alive only because of his whim."
Her logic is brutal—might makes right. No one can refute it, not even Himmel. As the hero who slew the Demon King, abandoning coexistence for the sword, he knows it's true.
"If Himmel were my puppet," she says, "this audience would've ended already. I'd turn you all into puppets. Or rather, useless ones like you? I'd make you kill yourselves."
She tears into human folly, incomprehensible to demons.
(Aura… what are you doing?!)
Himmel's baffled. She's no fool—she knows this will seal her execution. Is she giving up?
"Heard that, Your Majesty?" she says, turning to the king. "Ten copper coins to defeat the Demon King, and this is how you treat him? Aren't you ashamed?"
Her jab hits hard, a sore spot for the king and the Hero's Party. Himmel's horrified, but then their eyes meet. Her gaze stops his breath—a challenge, testing him.
(…I see. Aura, you're—)
He understands. She's testing him, not the king or retainers. Her reckless words are to force his hand, risking her life to ask: Will you stand by me?
He recalls his vow, the dream he once abandoned, his responsibility for sparing her. The village chief's words. His own answer: the greater the challenge, the better.
Aura's a demon, deceiving him by cornering herself to force his aid. But it's more—she trusts him to protect her, even now. She believes he will.
Humans and demons can't understand each other. Yet this is their trust, built through steps toward each other.
"…It's come to this," the king says, raising his hand. "Hero Himmel, I order you to execute the Sage of Destruction, Aura the Guillotine, here and now."
No hesitation remains.
They'll call him a naive show-off, but he can't betray the hero they believed in.
"Sorry, Your Majesty," he says, grinning. "Guess I haven't changed in ten years."
He speaks casually, as he did a decade ago. It's who he is.
"Really, Himmel?" Aura teases. "Won't that get you executed?"
"You're in the same boat," he retorts. "I said I don't lie. I'll keep my promise to you, my friend."
"What a hassle," she sighs.
Her usual expression returns, no longer the cold demon mask. Seeing it makes any challenge worthwhile.
"Is that your answer, Hero Himmel?" the king says.
He signals the guards, who surround them. Unlike ten years ago, no comrades are here to back him. As he braces for action—
"Oh my, trouble brewing?" a familiar, playful voice echoes. "Am I interrupting?"
Everyone turns, stunned, but Himmel doesn't need to look. He knows that voice better than anyone.
It's the long-overdue reunion with his trusted, boorish priest friend—