This chapter and the next are alternate "if" side stories. If you despise bad endings, feel free to skip them.
Ending Conditions
1. Lapis Lazuli's Affinity must be 30 or below.
2. Dantalion's Notoriety must be 150 or above.
The morning of January 22nd, Imperial Calendar Year 1506. In other words, it could have been the 21st or the 23rd and it wouldn't have mattered—hell, it could have been December or February for all it mattered. The only thing that distinguished that day was that it snowed. A blizzard. Snow fell as if it were rain. The carriage wheels sank into the snow, and the coachmen refused to take on passengers unless offered a sufficiently generous fare.
"No guarantee we'll arrive on time."
Even after being offered a sufficiently generous fare, the coachman still felt compelled to say exactly that. He used his body to block the snow and wind as he lit his pipe tobacco.
"Hm, this is the heaviest snowfall I've ever seen in my life."
That was a lie. The year before last had seen snow just as heavy—if not last year itself. But what did it matter? Both coachman and passenger understood what "the heaviest I've ever seen" truly meant—that it carried no meaning whatsoever beyond serving as an adverb meaning "incredibly," "tremendously," or "extremely."
"Doesn't matter."
The girl, bundled in a fur coat, spoke firmly.
"To the Tenebris Opera House!"
"Mm. Understood."
The coachman pulled the burlap covers off the horses.
On days like these, even a coachman wanted to kick back and enjoy his pipe tobacco at leisure. The white snow fell from the heavens—which meant it came from God, or at the very least, scattered by angels. Surely some grand intent lay hidden within it. To fly in the face of such divine purpose by merely driving a carriage—what an impious thing to do! …
The coachman frequently visited brothels behind his wife's back and would have been more than willing to cheat given the opportunity. And yet he still believed himself a devout man. He paid not only his own taxes but also the communal levy, and as a member of the coachmen's faith community, he donated to the charity fund. He possessed several justifications for regarding himself as a decent human being. That was enough. As was the case with most people, the coachman needed no more than three reasons to justify his life.
"Must be some rich man's daughter heading out for a stroll."
The coachman glanced at his passenger. A hat attached to her fur coat concealed her face. But the quality of the fur coat and gloves was far from ordinary. At her waist, the young lady wore a rapier—a weapon that had recently become trendy among women as a means of self-defense—which confirmed that she came from a family wealthy enough to afford fencing lessons. In other words, she had something important enough to protect that she needed to learn swordsmanship.
"Tch! Rich people. Always off to watch opera—something utterly useless in life."
The carriage crossed through the snow-covered city.
Everything was slow. The snowflakes falling from the sky were slow. The carriage was slow. The people's footsteps were slow. They passed one another in narrow alleys, the kind fit for beasts, paths made for them by someone else, their coats brushing together. The campfire that the beggars huddled together around flickered lazily. The long plumes of breath they occasionally exhaled rose slowly. The smoke curling up from rooftop to rooftop was slow too.
"……."
The girl sat in the passenger seat—this was the type of carriage with the seat exposed to the outside—and, indifferent to the cold, took in all the slow things of the world with her eyes. She drew a long, slow breath, as though trying to carry the cold air deep into her innards. The breath passed through her small, pink lips. The girl was thinking of a monk who had once attempted enlightenment using a bottle.
Despite the heavy snowfall, the theater was packed with people. Every carriage currently circulating the city had converged here. The opera featured an actor whose name was all the buzz these days. Moreover, it was the premiere.
Nobles, prominent citizens, merchants—everyone with even the slightest foothold in the upper echelons of society had turned out in full. If someone presented an invitation claiming they had been introduced by an acquaintance, the ushers greeted them with broad smiles, all the while keeping a careful eye on whether the invitation was legitimate.
One of the ushers spotted the girl. He quickly took in her coat, gloves, and shoes, and determined without a doubt that she belonged to the upper class.
"Where have you come from, miss?"
"I heard there's a special performance today."
The girl spoke in the particular, dismissive tone that only a woman of high birth could muster.
"I've come to see *The Starving Clown's Feat*."
"……!"
The usher's eyes widened slightly. But he was a professional, and he quickly composed his expression. He was surprised because the girl was far too young for someone coming to see *the Feat*, but it wasn't unheard of for young ladies of this age to come out of sheer curiosity. The usher bowed with considerably more deference than before.
"It is an honor to have you grace our theater today. Allow me to show you in."
"You'd be honored even knowing who I am?"
"Oh? Ah, I…."
The girl snorted. She waved her hand, signaling that he should hurry up and escort her already.
The usher flushed at the humiliating remark—the first he'd received in some time, for being an usher at this opera house was a prestigious job—but he never let a single expression or gesture cross his face that might offend her. He knew full well that every patron who came to watch *the Feat* was upper class among the upper class, nobility among the nobility.
The usher led the girl toward the interior of the theater. They passed through a bustling lobby and walked down a corridor restricted to staff only. At its end stood an iron door. When the usher opened it with a key, a staircase descending underground was revealed.
"Enjoy the performance."
The usher bowed at a ninety-degree angle. The girl shook her head and descended the stairs. Behind her, the iron door boomed shut.
A red carpet ran down the steps, studded with rows of mana glowstones that radiated light. The faint blue hue they emitted made it clear these were the finest quality.
What a waste of money.
A single one of those stones could be sold to feed hundreds of people for several meals. The girl descended the stairs, disgusted by the very existence of this opera house, by the people who came to attend it, by the ornaments adorning their clothing, and finally by the fur coat she herself was wearing. They had said it was a coat made exclusively from fox underarm fur. Even though she had grabbed the cheapest winter garment from her room, it still felt outrageously luxurious.
"Welcome, Your Excellency."
At the bottom of the stairs, a gentleman in a black tailcoat greeted the girl. As the manager, he oversaw not the opera performed on the theater's surface, but the shows held in the back.
"It is an infinite honor that you have graced our theater with your presence."
"Everyone in this place knows nothing but the same tired words. Do you even know who I am before declaring it an infinite honor?"
"Naturally, Your Excellency."
The gentleman approached the girl and bowed at the waist. Then he pressed his lips to her glove.
"Countess Evatlier."
"Hmph."
The girl curled the corner of her lips.
In the Habsburg Empire, by tradition, titles of nobility were bestowed upon members of the royal family. Princes and princesses were each granted fiefs in the order of their birth. Most of these were nominal titles with no actual territory attached, but they served as a stepping stone that allowed the Emperor's sons and daughters to operate not merely as his children, but as full-fledged members of the Imperial nobility.
Of these, the Countess of Evatlier was the title traditionally passed down through generations to the Empire's second princess.
The girl was a princess of one of only three empires on the continent.
"No one must know that I came here today."
"If I may ask — what do you mean, Countess?"
"For the next five years, a shadow will follow you."
The manager swallowed hard.
He had heard vague rumors about the Imperial Shadows as well. Even though the imperial family had declined to the point where their prestige and national power were negligible compared to a century ago, the reason they still wielded absolute authority among the nobility was because so-called Shadows operated in darkness. The manager was well aware that nobles who opposed the imperial family, republicans who rejected monarchy, and priests who promoted heretical claims all tended to vanish without a trace.
"I shall bear that in mind."
"How amusing. And what, pray tell, would you be bearing in mind?"
"……."
"Pathetic."
The girl clicked her tongue softly.
If the manager had been a wiser man, he would have paid closer attention to what the girl had said — "from now on." He would have considered that she might mean it literally, "from now on." And he would not have so much as indirectly acknowledged the existence of the Shadows with something like "I shall bear that in mind." All he needed to do was say nothing and escort her. That was all.
'He'll be dead within two months.'
From experience, the girl knew that someone whose mind worked this poorly was extremely unlikely to pass the Shadow's test for more than two months. By saying "pathetic," she had given the manager one last chance — a nudge to make him reflect on what he had done wrong. But judging by the bewildered look on his face, even that small mercy seemed to have been wasted.
"Lead the way."
"Yes, Your Highness. Allow me with the cloak."
The girl flipped back the hood of her cloak. At that moment, the manager — who had seen countless noble ladies over his twenty-five years of service — gasped in admiration. He had always despised the female sex for a number of intellectual reasons, as successful men tended to do, and had grown somewhat weary of feminine beauty. Yet he was forced to acknowledge that perfect beauty existed in the real world.
Silver — brilliant silver hair cascaded from beneath the hood. The silver that might have looked morbid on anyone else was merely a beautiful ornament on the girl. The reason for this lay primarily in her eyes.
Her blue eyes appeared almost black, framed by thick lashes. They were as deep as steeped tea, yet simultaneously transparent. She looked at the manager with a trace of contempt, as though she had known him all along, and then promptly averted her gaze — as if there were no need to rediscover a scientific principle that someone had already uncovered.
Between her two eyes and her slender lips, an irrepressible vitality surged. Excess power was clearly evident in her expression. She controlled it perfectly through her features — through the subtlest movements of her eyes and lips. There, one could see the flawless harmony of instinct and reason.
The silver hair symbolized the bloodline of the Habsburg imperial family. Rumor had it that the imperial family frequently resorted to incest in order to preserve this hair color. The manager had believed the rumor to be true and had long considered the imperial family a den of madmen for engaging in such practices. But not anymore. Hair of that caliber was worth such a price……
"I told you to lead the way, and you're staring at my face like you're trying to burn a hole through it."
"Guh! S-Sorry, Your Highness. I'll escort you at once."
"Tch."
The princess shortened the manager's expected survival period from two months to fifteen days. The Shadows who served the princess were generally impatient. Among them was one who happened to be a fervent devotee of the princess — and that man had no desire to let anyone who had fallen for her live.
The manager led her to a guest room made entirely of glass. It was a one-way glass chamber — those inside could see out, but no one outside could see in. A top-of-the-line sofa sat inside, and a cup of tea on the table was already steaming, though when it could have been prepared was anyone's guess.
There was also a bed, for the record. The princess realized immediately why it was there, and her brows drew together. Even that furrowed scowl was a masterwork, captured with exquisite precision by a truly consummate artist. The manager stole a sidelong glance at her — which, though he would never know it, meant his remaining lifespan had just shrunk from fifteen days to two — and once again marveled at her flawless control over every facial expression.
"If you need anything at all, simply touch the mana stone on the table. I will attend to you immediately. Do enjoy your stay, Lord Count."
The manager closed the door and left.
"Phew."
The girl sank into the sofa.
The muscles that had been held taut in the winter air gradually loosened. She looked around. Beyond the glass wall was another glass wall — the next room. Dozens of identical glass chambers stretched out, all just like the one the princess now occupied. Imagining what scenes might be unfolding inside each of them, the princess was hit with a wave of mild nausea.
That only meant today's performance was wildly popular.
'Come to think of it, wasn't I lured here just the same?'
The princess mocked herself. She quietly buried her body into the sofa.
A short while later, the mana-glow stones illuminating the entire room blinked out in unison. From somewhere, the manager's voice drifted in.
—I would like to express my sincere gratitude to all of you who have come to see today's performance.
The princess did not bother listening to words like those. She had not the slightest interest. Before long the tedious greetings ended, and a stage — constructed so that it could be viewed from every guest room — lit up. A man was dragged out onto it. He had black hair and a lean but firm body. He was wearing nothing at all.
The girl's gaze settled on him.
The man was Dantalion, the 71st-ranked Demon Lord.