The Sleeping Devil

"Oh, oh, if it isn't Count Beriard. What a surprise to have you visit us."

With a jiggling belly, the priest of the Orausteria Kingdom's Sixth Temple, Gerhult, let out a self-deprecating laugh. Despite his deliberately exaggerated greeting, Sergio responded with his usual calm smile, showing no sign of discomfort.

"Yes, I just submitted an application to the palace a moment ago. My daughter has received the blessing safely."

Emphasizing his last words with a meaningful tone, Sergio faced the priest seated across from him. Gerhult, though visibly contorting his face unnaturally, responded with words befitting a noble.

"Oh, that's good to hear. There was a time when I wondered how things might turn out, but we were relieved on this side as well."

Even to Sergio, who wasn't as skilled in mind-reading as Hermes or Didier, the man's thoughts were as clear as day. The priest, unfamiliar with social interactions, couldn't hide his innermost thoughts. The world of nobles wasn't lenient, after all.

The priest, just as Sergio had deduced, hadn't expected this baptism to succeed. After all, the individual sent to Beriard's domain was not even a fully-fledged priest; he was merely a vessel for impurity. When the news of the failed baptism arrived, the priest was in such a good mood that he couldn't hold back his laughter. If someone complained, he planned to casually send a young priest and perhaps make a snide remark, maybe even spread rumors about a failed baptism involving a certain problematic young lady.

But how things had changed. Sergio kept smiling, talking about his daughter as if everything had gone as planned. The priest couldn't help but think that it wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Now, there's something I must report. That's why I've come all the way here."

"What might it be?"

"Well, he... It seems that the young priest was greatly affected by the failure of the first baptism. My daughter is deeply worried as well. You see, my daughter is an incredibly kind-hearted child. She's been so kind, like a saint, caring for him tenderly---everything from arranging meals to arranging maids. Yes, she really has gone to great lengths to take care of him."

Gerhult didn't seem to understand what he was being told, listening to Sergio's eerie boasting about his daughter. He had no chance to interject, just sweating nervously and listening intently.

He wasn't a frog that had caught the snake's eye. The snake had slithered up behind the frog, peering over its shoulder, sticking out its forked tongue. Gerhult was doing his best to endure this uncomfortable situation.

"And then, he lost his mind. We were surprised too. We had intended to have him go through the ceremony again. I wonder why? Was his sense of guilt so strong? Or had something in the Beriard estate driven him to despair? Well, I don't really care, but I thought I should give you a direct report."

"W-Well, it can't be... He couldn't have fallen into impurity over something like that."

"What's that? Do you have resistance to impurity?"

Gerhult couldn't continue the interrupted sentence. Faced with Sergio's smile that seemed to say "I know everything," he realized that any slip of the tongue might cost him his head.

"So, does this mean he's been... disposed of, in other words, he's dead?"

"Yes, he became my daughter's first conquest. It was good practice for her. I'm thankful for that much."

Gerhult, who no longer had the composure to smile, clenched his teeth and fists in frustration. Sergio seemed to enjoy watching his expression that seemed to say "you devil." When he had seemingly satisfied himself, Sergio got up from his seat.

Finally relieved that this wretched heretic was leaving, Gerhult also rose to lead him to the door.

"Oops, I almost forgot. As a token of gratitude, let me share something good with you."

Sergio suddenly turned around and lowered his posture as if peering into Gerhult's face.

"Beriards don't like being underestimated. If you want to play, you better use your head a bit more."

A shiver ran through Gerhult's entire body, and the chilling voice made his blood run cold.

There was no sense of magical pressure. It was just pure killing intent, yet Gerhult felt as if his head was about to roll off. He involuntarily placed his hand on his neck, needing to touch it to confirm that he was still whole.

"Well then, I'll take my leave."

With a start, Gerhult's focus returned to the present, and Sergio put on the same composed smile he had when he arrived, swiftly turning away.

Dispersing the demonic killing intent, Sergio left the temple behind.

As Sergio departed, the temple was left with Gerhult pacing back and forth, stomping his feet. His face was red enough to steam, and due to his jiggling belly, he could barely see the ground beneath him.

"Damn it! That devil!"

Gerhult hadn't truly understood the characteristics of the Beriard family. They were flawed individuals devoid of sympathy or mercy, yet they possessed resistance to impurity, making them useful for battling monsters.

That's all he had grasped. Whether they were high-ranking nobles or not, he had no respect for nobles who lacked human qualities. The cruel events that went down in history were often symbolic of heresy, and perhaps that was the reason they were called demons.

But that wasn't the case. He had been completely deceived by Sergio's soft-spoken demeanor. The smile that seemed to respect the other person, that seemed to convey a lack of hostility -- it concealed an imminent danger, as though he would snatch away a life in an instant.

Always relied upon, healed, and thanked, Gerhult was experiencing an aberration. The master of House Beriard, a lord, and the captain of the Order of Knights, his killing intent shattered Gerhult's self-esteem into tiny pieces.

The irritation in his gut wouldn't abate. He wanted to erase the memory of his own fear. These thoughts led Gerhult to a certain tower.

As he ascended the dim, stone spiral staircase, he lost track of which direction he was facing. Small, latticed windows occasionally revealed glimpses of the cityscape, confirming that he had climbed quite high.

It was a prison exclusively for nobles within the capital city.

As a noble, one never descended to the underground cells, no matter how grave their offense. However, escape from the tall tower was impossible, and the window in the cell had just enough room for two birds to perch -- the cell never received ample sunlight.

Already climbing nearly to the top floor, Gerhult's legs felt as heavy as lead, and his lungs ached as though they were on fire.

Passing a silver coin to the jailer and catching his breath, he had the door opened to reveal his intended destination.

After taking two or three steps, he was met with robust iron bars embedded from the ceiling to the floor, and further back on a large lump, a figure lay still on a cot.

"What do you want?"

A low, angry voice emanated from the lump. Simultaneously, it reshaped itself. Despite the distance between Gerhult and the figure, he couldn't see the face without looking up, due to the figure's sheer size. With its unkempt hair and beard, the figure appeared like a giant.

Or rather, the man's well-built muscles, the aura he exuded-- it gave the impression of a presence that almost felt like a devil. In reality, there was a bit of space to the ceiling.

"Today, I have some news for you. I've come all this way just to let you know. You should be grateful."

"Your news is never good. Get me out of here already."

---Thud.

The man, a prisoner, struck the cell wall forcefully. Taken aback by the force and instinctively stepping back, Gerhult was reminded of the humiliation he had felt in front of Sergio. This only fueled his growing malevolence.

"Hmph, you'll never leave this place again. Anyway, the news is about your son..."

Muttering that name was enough to trigger a wave of disgust. While it had been amusing to think of such a name, actually saying it aloud felt as if he was besmirching himself with filth.

The prisoner stared at Gerhult with bloodshot eyes, and despite the distance, the prisoner's thick arm clung to the bars as if it could tear the cell apart at any moment.

"It seems he's dead. You know that demon duke, right? I sent him there, but he failed the ritual and was disposed of. Such a shame, he was your only son, wasn't he?"

Watching the prisoner across the cell, emitting nothing but murderous intent, Gerhult felt his mood finally lifting.

That's right, this is it. You're a prisoner, and I'm a priest. You're a small existence that can only kneel to me, beg for mercy, and envy me. He was loudly proclaiming this in his heart.

"Thirteen was still too young for my son... Yet he was still a priest?"

The man's voice was trembling, not with fear or sadness, but pure anger. His words carried a bristling hatred, as if the hair on his body was standing on end, and it seemed he could barely force out his words.

"I'm also feeling regret. Just how valuable were devoted followers like him, strong against impurity just like you? I thought I'd share that sorrow with you, the father."

Gerhult couldn't hide the smile that crept onto his face as he regained his self-esteem. Watching the man in front of him, a prisoner, bending under pressure was Gerhult's secret pleasure.

This is justice. A person who has been judged, who has accumulated impurity without self-reflection, and who has continuously escaped from the punishments that God bestows. That's why Gerhult administers his own punishment.

In this dimly lit room without sunlight, with no one to talk to, he occasionally hears voices of people suffering. But even so, he doesn't lose his mind; this person is also a heretic, undoubtedly.

Gerhult didn't care about why this man didn't accumulate impurity, why he kept training his body so much.

Drunk on the exhilaration of punishing evil and the satisfying self-esteem, Gerhult relished in torturing the prisoner from a safe distance, free from violence.

Satisfied, Gerhult descended the tower, still gazing at the sky before the sun had fully set.

"With this, my impurity has been purified as well. He's occasionally useful too."

Considering how to fill the gap left by the absent priest, Gerhult boarded the carriage.

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