The Villain's Second Time

Chapter 19

Rosary.

Cross.

Rosario.

This item, which means to offer a spiritual bouquet of roses to the Holy Mother,

was something that had nothing to do with me until I met the Saint Maria.

No, it did have some connection. Just not in a good way.

I used to track down every single one of those holding a cross, test them, and then crush them. They would desperately thrust their gleaming crosses at me and shout,

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit! I will purify this Devil!"

They were pitifully weak. All they could do was rely on their Holy Power and babble nonsense.

Occasionally, there were some who could actually summon the Holy Spirit, but even that was laughable. What could a mere Holy Spirit possibly do to me, the second-in-command of the Demon Army? Unless they summoned an Archangel, it was pointless.

The rosary began to draw my attention after I encountered the Saint in Tartarus.

"There is a profound duty to embrace even the pitiable lambs we fail to care for. The black rosary symbolizes that meaning."

"Are you talking about the trash in the back alleys?"

"I am referring to those abandoned in the shadows where no light reaches."

To the Saint, the rosary was a solemn and precious item, unlike the fake clergy who used it as a mere prop.

It was her guide, her God, and her master. The Saint cherished her rosary more than her own life.

Of course, all clergy claim they are willing to sacrifice their insignificant lives for their Lord. The problem is, they only say that with their mouths.

I’ve never seen a single one of them maintain that claim when a shotgun was pointed at their heads.

It's nothing special. Life reveals its true nature when faced with death, and thanks to me, they merely confronted their inner selves.

That’s why the Saint was extraordinary.

Even as the guillotine’s blade fell mercilessly, slicing through her delicate neck,

she preached her devout love.

The image of the Saint praying with her rosary, emitting a faint glow in the dim darkness, remains vivid in my mind.

However, there’s one thing I can’t understand.

Clink.

"This is absurd."

Clink.

"It’s not like I had a habit of playing with crosses as a child... Damn."

Why did that sacred rosary appear in my pocket when I was a child?

No matter how many times I blink, I’m certain. This is the rosary the Saint carried with her.

Slightly worn, grimy, and blackened. I’ve seen it too many times in Tartarus to mistake it for anything else.

When was the last time I saw this rosary?

Surely...

"It is the treasure I’ve cherished my entire life."

"Treasure, you say."

"Please accept it. It holds my sincerity, my faith, and my love."

"How can something so filthy and grimy be a treasure? Is this how treasures are managed these days?"

"If that’s how you feel, then please clean it thoroughly someday, Joker."

The Saint handed it to me the afternoon before her execution.

I asked her to place it in my possession, and I remember nothing after that.

"...."

There’s nothing I can figure out. Not in this situation.

Clink.

I held the rosary in my hand. Its solid and sharp edges pressed against my fingertips.

The Saint must have anticipated my return. Her final words and this black rosary suggest as much.

And for some inexplicable reason, the black rosary she left me traveled back 500 years into the past with me.

"Tsk."

There doesn’t seem to be anything particularly special hidden in the rosary. It’s just a fairly solid and sharp cross.

"What a bothersome thing to inherit."

I pulled out a clean handkerchief. It was one I had lying around in the room.

"Clean it, you say? Damn it, does she think I’m her servant?"

Grumbling in frustration, I silently began to polish the rosary.

It was something the Saint left me. That alone was more than enough reason for me to treasure it.

She was the only human who ever regarded this lowly Demon with any value. I am a Demon who repays both grudges and kindness thoroughly.

Squeak, squeak.

Before long, the rosary began to gleam with a lustrous shine. Despite its inherently black color, it was, after all, the Saint’s possession, exuding a dignity and elegance unmatched by any other treasure.

It’s almost laughable that a creation of the Demon God is polishing an item meant to convey God’s love.

"I mustn’t let anyone see this."

Among the seven nations of the continent, the Holy Nation, where the Saint would one day be born, is the most hostile toward the Demon Realm.

Naturally, possessing the Holy Nation’s sacred relic, the rosary, in the Demon Realm would be enough to accuse me of treason, blasphemy, or worse. I have no desire to be dragged off by the Demon Realm Police and imprisoned in Tartarus again.

"But I can’t just throw it away... What a troublesome gift."

After polishing it until it gleamed brilliantly, I tucked the rosary into my pocket. Then I securely zipped the pocket shut and changed into my outfit for going out.

Although the sudden appearance of the rosary delayed me for a moment, I needed to hurry to the Southern Grand Duke. Information is always more valuable the sooner you obtain it.

Creak.

Resolving myself, I opened the door.

"Sister?"

Standing at the door was a female Demon with pale skin and jet-black hair.

Her crimson eyes were cast downward, and for some reason, she was fidgeting with her fingers interlocked.

"What brings you here, Sister?"

"Well... Oscar, I have something to say about what happened earlier today."

"Do you have something to say? Shall we talk inside?"

"Ah, no! I just need to hand this over...."

My sister, Adela, cautiously reached into her coat and pulled out a small box.

Adela held it out to me, her lips trembling as if confessing a sin.

"I want to apologize here and now for what happened earlier today."

"Pardon?"

"It seems my rash actions have caused a significant problem for your head...."

"No, I’m perfectly fine...."

"This is the Eagle King Horus's Egg, which I obtained during a recent trip to the Demon Beast Forest. If you eat this, your injured head should heal somewhat."

"Ugh! S-suddenly, my-my head...!"

"Oscar...? Oscar!"

At the mention of the words "Eagle King Horus's Egg" from Adela's lips, I immediately clutched my head and collapsed, my face contorted as if I were about to die.

Watching me, Adela was at a loss, panicking like a helpless puppy, pacing nervously.

"Ugh...! Sister...! My-my head hurts so much...!"

"I’m sorry! I-I’ll find better elixirs! I’ll go to Bigo right now and bring every healing potion I can find! Please hold on just a little longer!"

"Healing potions are good, but... I think something to restore vitality might help more......."

"V-vitality potions, you mean? Got it! I’ll bring them right away!"

Adela still seemed to misunderstand that I had injured my head. Perhaps it was due to her past trauma.

To put it kindly, she’s a warrior through and through, but to be blunt, she’s utterly clueless about anything outside of combat.

Her combat skills are extraordinary. That much I acknowledge. Her sense for battle, her ability to read the tide of war, her mastery of weaponry, martial arts, and magical prowess surpass those of most Demons. Even five hundred years into the future, she would still be among the strongest.

If only she hadn’t died so meaninglessly in a past life while trying to protect me, she would have been the second-in-command of the Demon King’s Army. That’s how much of a genius she was in battle.

However, in every other field, she’s utterly ignorant. When she was very young, she suffered an unfortunate accident that caused a severe head injury, leading to cognitive regression. I wasn’t even born at the time, so I don’t know the details.

At the very least, as a warrior roaming the battlefield, she should know some basic medical knowledge. But Adela, who lacks social skills and only knows how to solo-play, doesn’t even know that. Not that there are many creatures capable of injuring her body in the first place.

If Adela had even a little knowledge of medicine, no matter how dull she might be, she would have realized that my head is perfectly fine. This situation is a gift created by circumstances.

"Heh heh."

"Lucifer? Why have you been laughing so suspiciously for a while now?"

"Ahh! My head! My head!"

"Ugh...! I-I’ll be right back! Just wait a moment!"

"Elixirs... I need elixirs...."

"Ah, understood! Please hold on just a little longer! I’ll be back in the blink of an eye!"

My convincing act as a patient made Adela hastily place the box on the ground. Then, with a powerful leap, she vanished beyond the horizon like a shooting star.

To think that a Demon with such incredible leg strength could be fooled by such a simple performance. It’s pitiful to think she’s my sister, but it’s an unparalleled boon for me.

"Heh heh."

The Eagle King Horus's Egg, one of the Five Kings reigning over the Demon Beast Forest, is so valuable that its worth cannot be measured in mere currency. Even the continent’s greatest poachers have failed to find it.

Its rarity is such that no one knows what it tastes like, but considering its ability to elevate magical power to its utmost limit, it’s more than worth consuming.

To think such a precious elixir would fall into my lap with just one blow to the head, and even more treasures are bound to follow like a pumpkin vine. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind getting hit on the head a hundred more times.

How could I possibly suppress my smile?

The Demon God himself seems to be smiling benevolently upon me.

Should I fry the Horus's Egg or make an omelet with it? It’s truly a delightful dilemma.

*****

Traveling from the Northern Demon Realm to the Southern Demon Realm didn’t take long.

Though the Demon Realm is vast and desolate, I have the convenience of teleportation scrolls, a product of magical civilization.

Humans may have cars and ships, but for Demons who ride wyverns, such things aren’t particularly necessary. It’s even said that the rapid development of human science is due to their lack of magical power, which speaks volumes about the difference.

As a high-ranking Demon, I have something far more convenient than wyverns—teleportation scrolls.

Knock knock.

"Ah, is anyone there?"

The Southern Duke’s Mansion has no servants living in it.

That’s because the Southern Grand Duke, King, turned them all into artworks and put them on display.

Knock knock.

"Oh, beautiful, elegant, and gentlemanly Southern Duke, can’t you hear me?"

I knocked on the door and spoke in a sing-song tone.

Moments later, the iron gate of the mansion creaked open ominously, granting me entry.

A long, dark path shrouded in pitch-black darkness revealed itself before me.

"Wow, are you trying to test my courage or something?"

After surviving 111 days in the lightless depths of Tartarus, a dark cliffside path like this is nothing but amusing to me.

However, the only thing I find amusing is the darkness. I have no intention of underestimating the Southern Duke’s Mansion.

"Using a magic circle against an eight-year-old kid? If I end up wetting myself, it’s your house that’ll get dirty, you know."

An ancient relic of the Demon Realm’s origin.

A Demon who committed so many evils that he lost interest in malevolence and ultimately turned to the pursuit of art.

An outsider who, after living for over a million years and losing friends, lovers, and grandchildren, sank into the river of indolence and locked himself away in his mansion.

The only absolute powerhouse in the Demon Realm whom even the Demon King dares not treat lightly.

The Southern Grand Duke, King.

The being waiting at the end of this dark path is such a figure.

How could I possibly approach this with a light heart?

Step.

Step.

Step.......

The path behind the door stretched endlessly, no matter how far I walked.

There’s no way such a long path could exist within the confines of the mansion, so it’s clear that King has prepared a magic circle that distorts the laws of nature.

Whether it’s a trap meant to toy with me or fireworks for a grand illusion, I cannot yet tell.

Thus, I walk, exuding an unwarranted sense of leisure.

Step.

It felt like I had been walking for an hour or two. Yet, the path still showed no sign of ending.

However, my unhesitant steps came to a halt. It was because of a creature floating in the air before me.

"Wow, have you taken a liking to vegetables this time?"

A bizarre creature.

Its eyes were crimson tomatoes.

Its cheeks were bright red apples.

Its forehead was an orange pumpkin.

Its chin was a purple eggplant.

Its nose was a green cucumber.

Its ears were vivid yellow oranges.

A being whose facial features were composed of various vegetables and fruits. At least in this Demon Realm, one would be hard-pressed to find anything stranger than this.

Yet, the harmony of colors and the symmetry of its form proved that King was a masterful artist.

"Well, I must admit, your sense of novelty is commendable. At your age, only the Duke could come up with such an original idea."

"...Who are you?"

Lips woven from brown millet quivered as they moved.

From between the parted lips, an unexpectedly normal voice emerged.

"You look like you’ve barely weaned. Did you lose your way?"

The question was dripping with an intent to mock.

I understand. To someone who has lived for a million years, I must seem like a newborn, barely ten years old.

"I’m young, so I wander. And in doing so, I sometimes lose my way."

Now, it begins.

"Isn’t that better than being old and cooped up in your house for a thousand or ten thousand years like someone I know?"

"...."

I must somehow draw 'interest' from this decrepit being whose passion has long since withered.

To extract information about my regression.