Even being a Demon Lord who belonged to the Plains Faction didn't make one easy to meet.
I had been trying to contact Leraje, ranked fourteenth, since a few days ago. The reply I received wasn't pleasant. The other party clearly expressed reluctance—why wasn't I trying to meet through official channels?
What ulterior motive did I have, approaching through unofficial ones? For starters, why was a Demon Lord who should be participating in the Habsburg campaign suddenly in Frank of all places… In short, it was suspicious.
There was one fortunate thing, however. The name Dantalion held enough weight to make anyone reconsider their position. I had recently risen to become the de facto power within the Plains Faction.
Even if I'd been pushed back a step in the factional power struggle, the seat of fourteenth in the Demon Lord hierarchy wasn't something you won in a card game. Leraje couldn't possibly not know about me. As expected, Leraje quickly informed me of where we should meet.
The meeting location was quite unusual.
"So we're meeting in a human city. Their Excellency is quite the eccentric one."
"And look carefully—there's even a polite opera invitation tucked in."
"Oh my, really? Are they suggesting a secret rendezvous at the opera house?"
Jeremy read the invitation and chuckled with amusement.
A Demon Lord would normally hold audience at the Demon Lord's Castle. It was their home ground, after all. A human city, on the other hand, was a rather dangerous place for Demon Lords. You never knew when or where your identity might be exposed.
"Should our assassination squad go into the city first and lay low?"
"No. There's no need. Leraje is probably testing my nerve. I'd better bring only a minimal escort."
I headed to the city with only Jeremy in tow.
It was evening. We arrived at the opera house by carriage, just like the other guests.
In front of the theater, beggars were scuffling. They were fighting over the best spots for begging. Those who lost in the scramble were chased off to the margins. Faint music drifted out from the opera house.
When we stepped down from the carriage, a young girl came running over.
"Ma'am, please, just a penny!"
The girl threw her arms wide and latched onto Jeremy.
"May God's blessing be with you."
"Oh my. How kind of you to bless someone like me."
Jeremy placed a coin in the child's hand.
"Thank you! Thank you! Ma'am, may God's blessing be with you."
The girl bowed with exaggerated grace, then held her hand out to me with the look of someone who had spotted new prey. I smiled and dropped a silver coin into her palm. Even in the dim evening light, the silver gleamed brightly. The girl's eyes went wide with surprise.
I leaned down toward the child and whispered.
"I'm a well-known brothel owner in Parisiorum. I'm going to grab you and raise you into a prostitute. I'll use you as a slave for life, kiddo. But in return, I'll hand you a fistful of silver coins every week. How about that?"
"Aaah! Aaaah!"
The girl screamed and bolted for dear life.
I snickered as the child's figure grew smaller and smaller down the street. Beside me, Jeremy looked exasperated.
"What was that all about?"
"Now the little one will be suspicious every time she sees a silver coin. Wondering whether someone has an ulterior motive. I was simply being charitable — giving her the small dose of suspicion you need to survive in this world."
"...Sometimes I can't tell whether you act like a gentleman so magnificently that you look insane to normal people, or whether you're actually insane and just happen to look like a gentleman."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Who cares? Insane gentleman, probably."
Jeremy let out a soft laugh.
"A wise answer to a foolish question, my dashing gentleman."
And with that, she casually linked her arm through mine.
Today the two of us were playing the parts of a nobleman and his lover. I wore a wig to conceal the small single horn protruding from the back of my head, and Jeremy wore a hat fitted with a veil to hide her scarred face. To anyone around us, we must have looked like a perfectly ordinary couple.
Upper-class humans were crowding the theater entrance in a noisy throng. From what I could hear them chattering about, this opera was not only a premiere but also featured some remarkable actors. Men and women of all ages who frequented the city's social scene had all converged on the theater.
The theater attendant received our invitations and led us inside. We arrived at a private box — a perfect view of the stage, dead center.
"Oh my. The most expensive seats."
"Really?"
"Monsieur doesn't seem interested in opera?"
I gave a small nod. Across both my past life and this one, this was my first time attending an opera. I can say with absolute certainty that I felt zero excitement about the performance.
I'm fully aware of how terrible my artistic taste is. I am a man who once dozed off while listening to Beethoven's Symphony of Destiny. I can still clearly remember my high school music teacher staring at me in disbelief. Ah, yes — it really was the perfect nap-inducing class.
"When will Her Excellency Leraje arrive?"
"She'll probably show up when everyone's too absorbed in the performance to notice."
Jeremy, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely enjoy this sort of thing. Even before this, she'd been radiating giddy excitement in little waves. She knew full well that the opera itself was secondary — the real purpose was meeting Leraje in secret. It was an unexpected side of her, and honestly, kind of entertaining.
Someone like Laura would be far better suited to these cultural outings. As the duke's second daughter, she would surely have considerable artistic refinement.
She'd be the type to come out of a movie or play and earnestly rattle off her impressions: "This production was excellent in this regard," "Though the direction was a touch overdone — a subtler approach would have suited it better," "The director's interpretation leaned somewhat too subjective…" Ten to one, that's exactly what she'd do.
As for Lapis… she'd point out precisely what went wrong with the performance, like an ice-cold critic. "The lead actor bit his tongue during the fifteenth line of Act Three, Scene Two," or "If the actress doesn't change her approach within three years, her career won't last much longer." And after delivering a thorough critique, she'd cap it all off with, "It was a perfectly decent play."
Barbatos would just pass out. No question. He's the type who snores loudly enough to ruin the experience for everyone else in the theater. Then on the way out, he'd stretch his arms wide and grin, saying, "That was a great nap!"
"Look, Monsieur — it's starting!"
Lost in idle daydreams to kill the boring wait, I felt Jeremy press close against me. Two large, soft masses pushed against my forearm. She was definitely more excited than usual. Did she really love opera that much?
The opera was every bit as boring as I'd expected. A story about a disowned prince who rebels against his father and ultimately brings about the downfall of his own kingdom. Jeremy watched the stage with sparkling eyes — not the polished smile she wore for her performances, but something genuinely lively. My personal take? The prince was a complete and utter idiot.
Why would you advertise the fact that you're planning treason to everyone around you? Why throw a public fit just because your sister married off to a foreign country? It made no sense whatsoever. If he'd sent his sister abroad to forge foreign alliances, the coup would have been far easier. All he had to do outwardly was show obedience to his father. But parading his hostility so openly — of course the old king would keep a wary eye on the crown prince.
How crude… unbelievably crude. Wasn't he nothing more than a brat who knew absolutely nothing about politics? And the king who designated him as crown prince must have been completely out of his mind. What were the other nobles doing — why weren't they backing a different heir? Was that entire country populated by nothing but imbeciles?
Die already. A politician like you would do the world and the nation a favor by dying quickly. If this play didn't end with a bad ending, I would be more than willing to start a riot. So do everyone a favor — hang yourself and put this tedious performance out of its misery.
'…Anyway.'
I swept my gaze across the surroundings. The audience was all focused on the stage.
'Leraje isn't coming.'
The opera was hurtling past its midpoint. If Leraje were going to arrive, he should have arrived long ago. Three hours would have been a generous buffer for a private conversation. Yet despite two hours already having passed since the performance began, there was no sign of Leraje, let alone any of his subordinates…
Could this be a trap?
My head cooled. The possibility of Leraje handing me over to the humans. Was that likely? …No. If he feared Barbatos's wrath, that couldn't possibly be the case. Leraje didn't even know what our objective was. The chances of a sudden attack were exceedingly slim.
"Excuse me, Lord Dantalion."
"Hm."
Jeremy whispered to me. We had agreed to avoid using that title as much as possible since it was dangerous in a human city. She probably thought the same thing I did — that the current situation was odd.
But what Jeremy said was far from what I expected.
"Would you like me to give you a blowie?"
"…What?"
My voice rose involuntarily. I looked at Jeremy, and she was smiling brightly, just as usual. What did this girl just say?
"It seems like Lord Dantalion isn't enjoying the performance at all. How could I, a mere maid, be having a grand old time while my master is bored? So I'll make sure you can enjoy it too."
"No, what are you—"
"I'm well aware that you've shared quite a few sophisticated tastes with Lord Barbatos, you know. Doing it in a place like this, all sealed off in the outdoors — I'm sure it'll satisfy your preferences."
She sounded like she meant every word.
I was flabbergasted. Regardless, how could she suggest getting a blowjob in a theater? Thanks to Barbatos running his mouth and spreading scandalous rumors throughout the Demon Lord's Army, my image had been established in a thoroughly bizarre direction. I had no interest in public exposure or anything of the sort.
"Never mind me — stop joking around and—"
I was about to wave her off when I realized the look in Jeremy's eyes was dead serious. And then a good idea struck me.
"…Actually. That might not be a bad thought."
"Right?"
Jeremy flashed a lewd grin. The corners of my mouth curled up to match.
"Good, Jeremy. Permission granted. Suck me off as filthy as you can."
"Consider it done. I've mastered every technique there is. You won't be disappointed."
Jeremy knelt on the floor. My waistband dropped. She licked eagerly at my exposed length, and before long her scorching mouth enveloped me completely.
"Mmph… nngph, hmph…"
Pleasure crept upward from my lower body.
I fixed both eyes on the theater, scanning it sharply.
'Now then. Where are you, Demon Lord Leraje?'
The private box we were seated in had partitions installed around it. Whatever Jeremy was doing, nobody nearby could see it. However…
'If she's been watching our box since the play started, she's definitely noticed.'
A guest suddenly doing something obscene. It's an outrageous breach of decorum. But making a guest wait for two hours is every bit as rude. In other words, we were protesting to Leraje. You invited us here — what on earth are you doing?
There weren't many vantage points in the theater from which this box could be surveilled. The far ends of the side wings on either side, at best. I turned my eyes left, then right, calmly waiting for any reaction.
And then.
The song cut off abruptly in the middle. The orchestra kept playing, but the male lead had suddenly stopped singing. Of course, only for a moment. He hurriedly picked the song back up again.
I broke into a grin.
'So that's where you are.'
My gaze settled on the stage.
It was directed at a masked male actor.