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Overhearing Luke’s disjointed mutterings, Eren’s suspicions hardened into certainty.

“That’s why I’ve decided, dear stars. I won’t rely on anyone else. I’m going to save Jill all by myself!”

She declared it with firm resolve. At that moment, the girl whose drive, emotional toughness, and sheer devotion to Jill far surpassed that of Luke or Cestlavie, resolved to fight with her back against the wall.

“—You’re not alone!”

Just then, the door behind Eren swung open, and Bruno—dressed in loungewear—burst in with gusto.

“I’m going with you to save Jill! I always thought that pampered pretty-boy wasn’t reliable. Leave it to me, I’m an F-rank adventurer now!”

He struck a smug pose. Eren slowly turned to glare at her childhood friend, her eyes half-lidded in cold disdain.

“…Were you eavesdropping? You’re the worst! And on top of that, barging into a girl’s room without permission? Have you no manners!?”

Without waiting for a reply, she stomped over to the doorway and slammed the door shut right in his face.

As Bruno stood dumbfounded on the other side, Eren could hear his foolishly confused “Huh…!?” through the door while she calmly turned the key in the lock.

♢♦♢♦♢

Due to an unavoidable matter, Mr. Cervantes had to return to his duties with apologies, so we were guided instead by his trusted aide—“Steel Ball” Dan—to a separate room, which, like the others, was another gaudy space full of eye-straining gold and vivid primary colors.

The reason we came here was to look for clues regarding the whereabouts of Maria Lou, a girl with a peculiar ability who goes by the name of the phantom thief “Red Ram.”

I’d rather not use the blunt term “purchased,” but the man who acquired her at an auction here three years ago—now her adoptive father—is the editor-in-chief of the Holy City’s tabloid, The Daily Septentrio. Cestlavie and Coppelia have gone to speak with him, but from what we’ve heard, when questioned previously by members of the Order, he consistently played dumb and denied everything, so we’re not expecting much from that lead.

So, while they pursue that angle, we came here to approach the case from another direction by tracing her past.

“A girl handled here three years ago, around eleven or twelve years old at the time? No rare beastfolk traits? No added value like noble blood, fallen knights, or gentry background? Hmm… That’s a bit like grasping at clouds, isn’t it?”

Not exactly a promising response.

Still, we did receive a tentative commitment that they would look into it as best they could. While we waited for them to check their records, they invited us to enjoy lunch in a separate room.

The meal was fairly extravagant, and I, along with the members of Twinfang of the Snowy Peaks, savored it. Also present was Luke’s cat, Sechs, chewing contentedly on some mysterious meat served on a flat plate.

Emil, on the other hand, politely declined the food with a “I’m on duty,” and opted for a drink instead.

In that regard, adventurers and soldiers see eating when they can as part of the job, so Kaisa and the others were helping themselves to seconds and thirds of the luxurious ingredients without hesitation.

Watching them out of the corner of my eye, I tried to stick to eating only about 70% full, but I couldn’t deny the surge of joy I felt at the rare intake of protein—and just barely stopped myself from crossing the line into “Danger: one more bite and you’ll revert to Ragweed Mode.”

While we devoured the meal with healthy appetites, Dan stood silently by the wall, observing us with sharp, calculating eyes.

Normally, with this many attractive women eating together in a cheerful mood, you’d expect a bit more friendliness, wouldn’t you?

I mean, come on—watching beautiful women enjoy a meal should be a treat for the eyes, right? And yet, rather than admiring, Dan was clearly studying us. The word “observation” suited his detached stare far better than “appreciation.”

Even the young, pretty boy slaves serving the meal showed a hint of interest in us, but Dan kept looking at us like we were nothing more than furniture. I guess you could say it showed admirable professional focus…?

Speaking of unchanged expressions, the young demon boy assigned as my personal server was also moving with mechanical precision, clearing dishes and bringing extras without a hint of emotion.

Back when they offered to gift him to me, I hadn’t given a clear answer—just smiled vaguely to deflect—but now I had a strong feeling they were going to foist him on me regardless.

“I’m quite full now, thank you. By the way, I don’t think I ever asked your name. What should I call you?”

Only after asking did I realize I hadn’t even heard the boy’s voice, let alone his name.

Oddly, when asked, the boy’s gaze flicked briefly to Dan by the wall.

“He has no name,” Dan said gruffly in his place. “If you must call him something, we took the ‘Ma’ from ‘mazoku’ and call him Ma Number Six. He’s the sixth demon we’ve handled here.”

With a sharp look and gesture, Dan pointed at the elaborate Stigma collar around the boy’s neck.

“That collar is a special make. He can’t even open his mouth without a direct command from his master. …I don’t need to spell out the reason why, do I?”

If a demon is born with an immense amount of mana, then even the simplest household spell—like lighting a match—could have enough power to completely incinerate a human being.

So this was a safety mechanism, plain and simple.

Suddenly, the once-delicious food turned to ashes in my mouth.

“Right now, I’ve temporarily borrowed master authority from the boss… but well, once you officially become his master, you’d do well to watch yourself too, Shrine Maiden.”

For an instant, a flicker of scorn passed across Dan’s face.

…Could it be that this man actually dislikes me?

Realizing that a bit late, I found myself inwardly tilting my head, wondering what on earth I’d done to earn his contempt.

Author’s Note:

A typical human mage has about 1,000 MP.

Elves average around 10,000, while demons generally range between 10,000 and 50,000.

Incidentally, demons have their own nation (naturally, their king is the Demon King), and the countries on the continent officially recognize their autonomy and human rights. On the surface, at least.

The Demon Nation Dormeet comes up in “The Misadventures of the Demon King Subjugation Squad” (currently on indefinite hiatus), where it’s touched on briefly.

Also, the idea of an itinerant preacher playing a hand accordion is quite rare—if it exists at all—since the hand accordion itself is an instrument that didn’t appear until the 18th century, which makes it a somewhat questionable anachronism.

That said, the image of a missionary with an organ is famous from the Middle Ages. It’s often said, “There are cultures without writing, but none without song,” and missionaries used music to aid in religious instruction.

During the Tokugawa shogunate’s ban on Christianity, many organs were destroyed, but among them were reportedly some extremely valuable instruments—rarities even in Europe. From both a historical and cultural perspective, it’s truly a shame.

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