Demon Sword

Chapter 7

The night of bloodshed was over. Dawn had come.

“Clovelle of Lant, in the name of the Empire, you are under arrest for unauthorized use of magic. In addition, you are stripped of all rights in the name of the Holy Church and…”

Vermain recited as he tied up Clovelle. Around him laid servants, each with at least a limb missing. The stench of death hung in the air. Half of them were dead, the rest crippled for life.

“It’s all your fault! Everything was fine until you two came!”

Clovelle cried out, coughing up blood. Her disfigured face was purple and swollen.

“Miss Clovelle, a façade of peace is temporary. Why did you lay your hands on magic? With your beauty, you could easily have men do your bidding regardless.”

Vermain pulled the rope tighter. A shiver ran down Clovelle’s back as she groaned.

“Humans, grow old. Skin wrinkles. A woman loved by all will inevitably end up a pitied old crone. I wanted to be an eternal pearl… ”

Clovelle muttered. Vermain snorted and yanked at Clovelle’s hair.

“You attempted to find love and youth through magic? How foolish. Is that why Count Lant doesn’t age either? You tested your magic on your own father?”

“What? I didn’t…”

Clovelle snapped her head back and glared at Vermain. Before she could say anything more, soldiers swarmed into the courtyard. It was the city guard.

The captain and two dozen soldiers froze in their tracks as they peered inside, trying to make sense of the situation.

“What the hell…?!”

The captain of the guard’s eyes widened and he drew his sword. Vermain held up his empty hands to emphasize that he wasn’t attempting to fight.

“Captain, call for the bishop. There’s a witch here.”

Vermain seemed to be accustomed to these situations. Soon the city’s bishop, the captain, and Count Lant were gathered together.

The Count of Lant was furious at first, but sunk into a sullen silence after hearing Vermain’s explanation. The bishop ordered his soldiers to take Clovelle away. The captain of the guard tended to the wounded and began cleaning up the mess.

When Vermain had finished sorting out the situation, he woke Jan, who was sleeping against a pile of firewood. Jan shook his head groggily and looked up at Vermain.

“Jan, are you feeling better?”

“I can move now. And you?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you.”

“I really thought I was going to die last night. Thank goodness the servants didn’t know how to fight. I’d be dead for sure if they had even two decent fighters.”

“Hah, you fought well, and I’m sure your sword had a nice serving of blood. But oil it well, as blood dulls the blade.”

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Vermain helped Jan to his feet. Jan’s legs still tingled, and he stumbled after a few steps.

“Sir, I apologize. I still can’t seem to quite move my legs. I’ll crawl after you instead.”

“Hey, do you really think I’d be so cold? Here. Get on.”

Vermain squatted down and turned his back to Jan. Jan hesitated, but soon got on Vermain’s back. He carried Jan back to his quarters.

While Jan tended to his wounds, the case of witch Clovelle proceeded. The bishop, who had taken her into custody, was questioning her to determine her guilt. Servants and bodyguards who had been freed from their charm testified against her.

Some servants who had been crippled by Jan and Vermain spoke up. They accused Vermain of unnecessary violence, but shut their mouths when Vermain brought up his immunity.

“Will Clovelle die?”

“She will keep her head because of her background, but she will have to spend the rest of her life in a convent.”

Vermain and Jan left the Lord’s manor and spent three more days at the inn. No matter how justified they were, it was hard for the relationship with the count to not sour.

Recovered, Jan relaxed, occasionally oiling his sword in the inn’s backyard. The sword really was a masterpiece. The blade hadn’t dulled despite cutting down so many people.

“You saved my life,” said Jan, “A flimsy sword would’ve snapped back then.”

Jan said, staring at the wavy blade. Having been through a life and death situation, he had become quite attached.

‘No wonder sir told me to treat it like a lover.’

Jan sheathed the oiled sword. The after-effects of the poison were gone, and he felt light as a feather.

‘According to sir, my body had resistance to the poison because I’ve been exposed to it before……’

It was a dreadful poison. Just thinking about it sent a chill down Jan’s spine.

“No need to stress over painful memories.”

Jan shook his head and stood up. Just as he was about to enter the rear entrance of the inn, someone came into the backyard.

‘A cloak?’

It was a man with his hood pushed down to hide his identity.

“You’re Vermain’s squire.”

The voice was familiar.

“Count Lant?”

The hooded man was Count Lant. Jan couldn’t see his face, but it was clear from his voice and mannerisms.

“I have no business with you, so fetch Vermain.”

Jan hesitated, then entered the inn. In their room, Vermain was reading a book.

“Sir, Count Lant is here. Do you think he might hurt you?”

“He’s not that kind of man.”

Vermain closed his book and stood up. He and Jan went out into the backyard.

Count Lant pulled back his hood and faced Vermain. Vermain and Jan’s eyes widened.

‘He still looked incredibly young for his age.’

Even with Clovelle’s spell broken, Count Lant still looked like he was Vermain’s age.

“I was foolish not to recognize my daughter straying.”

“… Not every child grows like their parents wish.”

“But you approached me with hidden intentions. I cannot forget this incident. You will never again be a guest in my home.”

“I’m used to being resented. I also originally thought you were the mage. I’d never imagined it to be Clovelle.”

Count Lant raised his eyebrows.

“How could you think of me to be a mage? You know my piety better than anyone!”

“Well, it’s because you look the way you do at your age. Who would guess you’re my father’s age from looking at you, Count?”

“……That’s because you look particularly old for your age, and I just look a little young. How could you suspect me for such a nonsensical reason?!”

“You speak harshly, Count. I don’t look that old, I just happen to have a lot of scars on my face. Isn’t that right, Jan?”

The back-and-forth escalated. Jan covered his mouth and tried not to smirk. Vermain rarely scowled.

The bickering Count Lant and Vermain soon grew tired, and began laughing. They sat down on the first floor of the inn and began drinking.

“So what’s the secret to looking so young?”

A drunken Vermain asked, and Count Lant pointed to his moist skin and laughed.

“Snail oil, of course.”

Rain poured down on Jan and Vermain as they walked.

The two sheltered from the rain under a tree.

“Jan, how many snails do you need to catch to get enough oil?”

Vermain said, staring at the snails crawling on the blades of grass.

“I’m not sure sir, but wouldn’t we need at least a bucketful? Sir, are you still bothered by what the count said?”

“Nuh-uh, a real man wouldn’t mind looking young or old, would he?”

“Well, it’s still better to be handsome than ugly, and better to look young than old.”

“…You aren’t particularly that handsome either.”

“What? Why are you bringing up my…”

“Just shut up.”

Vermain crossed his arms and stared at the sky. Jan shut up too. The awkward silence was drowned out by the rain.

The rain was falling in torrents. It showed no sign of letting up.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to walk in the rain, sir.”

Jan rummaged through his pack and pulled out an oiled coat.

“The cold rain aches my bones, but…….”

Vermain had no choice but to wrap himself in his coat. They couldn’t wait any longer.

“Sir! there’s a carriage coming our way!”

Jan pointed down the path they had been walking. A procession of carriages could be seen through the rain. The carriages gradually drew closer.

‘This is a large group. Are they migrants?’

There were five carriages, and more than ten people followed on horseback.

Jan stepped out onto the road and waved. The carriages gradually slowed down. The coachman looked at Jan in annoyance.

“What do you want?”

“Could you take us to the nearest checkpoint? We will compensate you.”

“There’s no room for more people. Move aside.”

“Oh, come on, look at the rain. We’re fine riding with the cargo, just offer us some shelter from the rain.”

Jan stubbornly clung on. With him in the way, the coachman couldn’t leave.

“You!”

The coachman raised his whip. He was about to trample over Jan if he needed to.

“My sir is an old man, and he’ll collapse in weather like this. If there’s no room, I’ll run behind you, so please just offer my sir…”

“What? Run? You’re speaking nonsense! What you’re doing is helping neither of us!”

The coachman waved behind him. The bodyguards on horseback crept forward.

Shrrk.

The window of the luxurious carriage opened. A noble young man with an arrogant look stuck his head out.

“Your loyalty has touched my heart! Servant, what is thy name?”

“My name is Jan.”

“Oho, Jan, bring thy master here. I see that you are a good servant, and your master must be a gentleman.”