Chapter 65

The Vermilion domain consisted mostly of islands.

Most Great Spirits capable of forming contracts took the shapes of marine creatures, like Miro, so licensed contractors who earned their permits here tended to feel more comfortable—and perform better—near the ocean.

Erabelle sprawled across the bench.

Getting up at the crack of dawn had already made her sleepy again.

Ugh. What even was three in the afternoon?

She sat there blankly, waiting for Sanche to bring her beer...

and drifted off.

A short nightmare followed.

She jolted awake drenched in cold sweat, her whole body trembling.

After school.

The school gate beneath a blazing summer sun.

The alley wall.

The sound of footsteps scattering.

A dull ringing in her ears.

Heat haze licking at her feet.

That wavering haze...

“...Yes.”

Her fingers shook as she fumbled for the phone in her pocket and answered the call that had dragged her out of the dream.

“[Erabelle.]”

At the low, languid voice, she drew in a deep breath.

“...Yes, Dezeb.”

With her free hand, she rubbed the back of her neck.

It was slick with cold sweat.

“[Where are you now?]”

“Right now...”

Strange.

She had been forgetting all of it.

Even when she did remember, it had never been like this.

Not this vivid.

The incident fourteen years ago, when she had fallen into a rift, had returned with such clarity that for a moment it felt as though she had been dropped straight back into it.

“I stepped outside for a bit.”

Dezeb gave a soft chuckle.

“[At last? I thought you’d sleep through the whole month and come straight back.]”

Considering that nearly every call over the past few weeks had caught her asleep, trying to sleep, or just waking up, she had no defense.

“[You’re coming up the day after tomorrow, right?]”

“Yes. The day after tomorrow.”

“[Travel safely. What did you go out for today? A movie?]”

“Um...?”

“[Why? ‘Romantic 6’ opens today.]”

“R-really?”

“[You had no idea? Anyway, tell me what you watched when you get here. We’ll go see it again together.]”

“...Yes.”

Her gaze drifting out of focus, Erabelle ended the call.

A small, inexplicable sadness settled over her.

Moving sluggishly, she canceled the tickets she had reserved and started browsing for a summer horror film instead—

then shrieked.

“Agh!! You little bastard!”

Sanche had pressed an ice-cold beer can against the back of her neck.

She swore at him viciously and hurled her shoe ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) at his cackling head.

Naturally, she missed.

***

“...She’s having fun.”

After ending the call, Dezeb sprawled across the bed and muttered the words like a complaint.

The hand holding his phone dropped onto the sheets with a dull thump.

The surveillance network surrounding Erabelle was transmitting information in real time.

Which meant he was currently watching her give up on trying to brain Sanche Vermilion with her shoe and instead charge at him barefoot to yank him by the hair.

The two then spent an absurd amount of time arguing over the socks she had claimed she would wear and ultimately had not.

At least she had canceled the movie tickets.

That part pleased him.

“...”

He slipped a cigarette between his lips.

His eyelids lowered over eyes so red they looked backlit.

Those eyes reflected faintly on the screen.

Inside the flawless exterior, something else stared back.

Still watching, he contacted the head of surveillance.

“Bring her in the day after tomorrow.”

Whatever kind of side effect it was, Erabelle had suddenly begun riding the link and slipping along the timeline.

He turned his head and spat out the bitter saliva gathering in his mouth.

There was a chance she might cross over into his mind, so for now, he severed the link from his side.

“...They’re disgustingly close.”

He licked his slightly tacky lips and kept watching the feed.

He did not particularly enjoy seeing Sanche Vermilion put on an injured expression merely because Erabelle had yanked his hair.

Still, after a moment, Dezeb decided the little brother’s cheap trick was not entirely useless.

***

“I’ll call when I get there.”

The Count was sulking.

This was the aftermath of Erabelle’s constructive advice that if he forced her onto a blind date, everyone involved would regret it.

Exactly as Sanche had warned her before dinner.

Watching from the sidelines, Sanche had added afterward that the Count was wearing the same expression he had worn when Erabelle brought him a waiver of inheritance to sign, announced that she had applied to an academy in outer space, or declared that she intended to attend the New Year’s Festival in the capital.

The Count could hardly ignore the advice of an adopted daughter with such a long history of following through on outrageous declarations.

So, as a last resort, he sulked.

“...Do as you wish.”

“Make sure you eat properly. Don’t overwork yourself just because there’s always more to do, and go to bed at a reasonable hour.”

“...”

“You need to start taking care of your health. Cut back on the drinking too.”

Standing in front of the waiting shuttle, the Count stared at his tiny adopted daughter as she rattled off one admonition after another.

His expression plainly said he wanted to smack her.

“Who are you to nag anyone?”

“Who else? I’m nagging you, Count.”

“...”

Forget dignity.

For a moment, the Count looked genuinely tempted to raise a fist right there in front of everyone.

But he could not afford to fall for the brat’s obvious scheme.

If he hit her even once, she would immediately try to declare them even.

He drew a deep breath instead.

“Think about it again. I can find you a decent, respectable young man...”

“Mike! Mic! Ugh, my throat. The air is so dry.”

“...”

Mike Wilson.

The Count’s ex.

An alcoholic.

And the one before him had been a gambling addict.

The Count’s misfortune lay in the fact that his adopted daughter had memorized his disastrous romantic history.

There was no rebuttal to the implication that someone with such a dating record had no business lecturing anyone else about choosing a partner.

Only his blood pressure rose.

“...Go.”

“Eat properly.”

A vein bulged on the Count’s forehead.

“Go. Now.”

“You held out well.”

Erabelle clicked her tongue.

If he would just smack her once and get it over with, everything could be settled cleanly.

But after bottling it up for more than a year, the Count clearly had no intention of giving her that satisfaction.

“Don’t cause trouble.”

Lately, she had been hearing that almost as often as the completely baseless accusation that she was a flirt.

It was becoming tiresome.

“Listen well.”

The implied object of listen was Dezeb.

As far as Erabelle knew, the Count had called him at least two more times...

“Then I’ll leave her in your care.”

“Yes. We’ll make sure she arrives safely.”

Having lowered the recognition veil for the first time in a month, Aries Cider treated the Count with impeccable courtesy.

“You two are very close.”

As they headed toward the shuttle, Aries cast a sidelong glance at the Count, who was still standing there watching with a worried expression.

Erabelle felt compelled to explain.

“It’s a business relationship. Something like the charity project the Count’s household runs.”

“Right...”

He did not sound convinced in the slightest.

Erabelle simply quickened her pace and escaped onto the shuttle.

She boarded the small-to-mid-sized vessel together with the Dogs.

She wondered how they intended to reach the capital in something this size, but midway through the journey they rendezvoused with a ship belonging to Kronos Operations.

The planetary-class vessel was a blunt reminder of Dezeb’s wealth.

Even so, compared with headquarters on the scale of an entire planetary system, it was remarkably modest.

Not that the sight inspired any particular awe.

Partly because the scale was too enormous for an ordinary person to properly comprehend.

But more than that, because Dezeb himself could reduce the whole thing to ruins in an instant.

“Team lead. The captain requests an audience.”

“What, does he have a death wish...? Decline.”

Even Aries Cider, merely one of Dezeb’s Dogs, was a humanoid monster capable of wrecking a planetary-class ship by himself.

Watching that same monster abruptly switch to formal speech simply because she was present, Erabelle let out a quiet sigh.

To creatures like them, all of this was nothing but toys.

The Empire.

The civil war.

Human society itself.

All toys.

Just as credit points were little more than numbers on a scoreboard.

Speaking of credit points...

Was he really done making bets?

“Why are you staring at me...?”

Noticing her gaze, Aries visibly shuddered.

“It’s just...”

“If you have something to say, could you please just say it?”

“Are there no more bets?”

“Just... huh? Bets?”

Looking puzzled, Aries listened while Erabelle carefully explained.

“Yes. I’m asking purely out of curiosity. It’s been more than a year since my last deposit, and I haven’t heard anything since. Pure curiosity. Really.”

“...”

By the time she finished, Aries looked miserable.

“Do you need money?”

“No.”

She always needed money.

“You could just ask Commander Dezeb...”

The damned mutt had just suggested suicide.

“Ah, then how about this? This ship. It’s a good size, and the main guns and defensive systems are decent. You could conquer most minor domains in under a week... If you have something to say, please don’t look at me like that. Just say it.”

“Could I put it up as collateral at a bank?”

“...”

Aries wilted.

“I actually know a very good banking product with a solid interest ra—”

He abruptly buried his face in both hands.

Erabelle closed her mouth, suddenly awkward.

One more word and he looked ready to cry.

In any case, it seemed there would be no more bets.

What a shame.