Chapter 15: The Angel and the Demon

The figure Baskerville had failed to capture in a painting stood before Riff now.

Black eyes, black hair, healthy skin tanned by the sun. His features were refined and balanced enough to bring a flawless magic circle to mind, and his body looked strong enough to tear a troll apart barehanded.

It was a face that could only be described as an angel manifesting in the human world.

‘A painting? It could be a sculpture too. Or a real angel? Whatever he is, I want a closer look.’

Any wizard who discovered ruins from the Age of Magic would feel exactly the same. He was perfect. Riff even wondered if the man resembled an angel, or if the angel had been modeled after him.

Riff was seized by the urge to take the man in more clearly, but there was a problem. When he tried to step closer, his body would not move, as if something had bound him tight.

‘Am I dreaming a nightmare? But I’ve never had this kind of nightmare before.’

While Riff was confused, he realized something shocking. This was not his first time seeing the man. He had met him before.

No, that made no sense. His memory had to be wrong. If they had met before, why had he not thought of an angel when he first saw the man?

Riff searched his memory for when he had seen the man and sucked in a sharp breath. He had remembered the moment the prince’s eyes were red like blood, not black as they were now.

“Ugh, ah…”

He knew the prince’s eyes had only looked red because lamplight reflected off the red cover of a book on the shelf. It was an illusion. Even so, Riff could not overcome the fear he had felt when his eyes met the prince’s. The terror came back vivid and made his heart shrink.

Those eyes had shone with anger and hatred. The prince had looked like an evil god or a demon determined to drag him to hell. There had been nothing angelic about him.

Yes. Not an angel, but…

“It was because he looked like a demon.”

Riff spoke the thought aloud and flinched. A hot killing intent pressed against his cheek like a torch held close. The person giving it off was Iska.

‘Why is he angry?’

Unfortunately, Riff could not remember what expression Iska had been wearing before. What mattered was that Iska’s face, reflected in Riff’s eyes, was hardening like a man who had just been rejected. Iska clenched his jaw until the muscles stood out.

“Did you call me a demon?”

Only after hearing Iska’s cold voice did Riff realize he had made a terrible mistake while half asleep.

“N-no! I, I was having a nightmare… ugh.”

Riff tried to bow his head to the floor but failed. It was not because his body would not move from the aftereffects of torture. Iska had grabbed his hair and pulled him up. Riff heard hair rip from his scalp.

“Your Highness, it’s a misunderstanding. Agh.”

Iska shook Riff’s long hair roughly left and right.

“No wonder you’re a spy. Lies come out the moment you open your mouth.”

“I-I am not a spy, aaagh!“

Riff struggled in pain and clung to Iska’s arm. It was instinct, an attempt to lessen the pain.

“Are you insane? A lowly s*ave dares lay hands on a royal?”

Iska roared and kicked Riff away. The kick sent Riff flying into the wall. He bounced off and fell to the floor, and the impact crushed the breath from him so hard he could not even scream.

“Hek, u… ah.”

Iska strode over and pressed his foot firmly on Riff’s cheek.

“I thought you were a dull, naive s*ave who did not know what he was doing. I thought an enemy spy had used you. I pitied your situation and treated you humanely despite your crime, and yet you dare mock royalty? You called me a demon, so I will show you what a real demon is.”

Iska’s eyes flashed fiercely, as if to say he would no longer treat Riff with kindness.

****

“Where did Riff go? When is Riff coming back?”

Joaquin stared down endlessly at a few potatoes wrapped neatly in yellow cloth and some boiled eggs. He had saved them for Riff, but Riff had not returned for three days.

The s*ave quarters built from planks had been turned upside down as if hit by a flood. On the dawn Riff disappeared, soldiers led by the s*ave overseer had stormed in and wrecked the place.

“Search every corner!”

“Don’t leave a single suspicious item. Put it all here!”

“You bastards! What are you hiding? Are you accomplices too?”

“No, no!“

“Oh, sir, please don’t break that!”

Old Tiago and Bato sensed something was wrong and tried to hide the toys Riff had made for Joaquin. But ignorant slaves had no chance of fooling soldiers trained for this. The soldiers with axes smashed walls, floors, and rafters without mercy, and they even searched the bottom of the well. Every toy Riff had made was stolen and thrown into the sacks the soldiers brought.

“Bato, you said you would talk to Carlo. Did you hear nothing about Riff?”

“I heard a s*ave is being interrogated, but Carlo has no way of knowing exactly what happened. It’s not an atmosphere where I can ask the wizards anything either.”

Bato shook his head weakly.

According to Carlo, something big seemed about to happen at the Tower of Twilight, and the wizards were on edge. They had set aside the research they usually clung to obsessively and spent all day tearing at their hair. If the atmosphere was bad, it was very bad.

“A-are you still safe?”

At the word interrogation, Old Tiago’s hands trembled.

“I want to believe he is safe, but there is no way to know…”

Bato could not finish and bowed his head. He tried to look calm, but tears pooled in his eyes.

To them, Riff was like a son. The three men had taken turns finding milk for Riff when he was a baby, and they had taken food from their own portions to feed him. When young Riff ran a fever and lay sick, all three grabbed the s*ave overseer’s legs and begged for mercy while trying to find medicine.

To Old Tiago, Bato, and Joaquin, Riff was the hope and light that let them endure s*ave life. He was a dreamlike being worth trading their lives for. Now that precious child, raised with all their devotion, was locked somewhere in the Tower of Twilight and they could not even see his face.

Bato’s eyes filled with tears, and Joaquin burst into crying. Joaquin was not clever enough to understand why Riff could not return, but he could feel that something had gone wrong.

“R-Riff, I won’t whine for toys anymore, so come back quickly. It’s all my fault!”

“Don’t worry. He will come back soon.”

Old Tiago stroked Joaquin’s back as Joaquin curled up on the floor like a rock. But there was no confidence in Tiago’s voice as he comforted the boy.

“God of mercy. Please bring Riff back to us. Please.”

“We do not ask for much. Just let us see his face one last time. Let us bury him with our own hands.”

Old Tiago and Bato knelt before the small altar and prayed. But they did not dare ask for Riff to return safely. They had seen and suffered too much as slaves to hold on to that hope.

Please, at least let us recover Riff’s body.

That was the only miracle Old Tiago and Bato could expect. In the worst case, they might watch Riff’s hanged corpse rot, or he might be thrown to a monster as feed and not even a bone would be found.

****

“Snore, phoo. Snore, phoo.”

In Russell’s office, a bear-sized knight lay stretched out on the sofa, asleep.

“Hampton, you bast*.”

Russell returned to his office carrying the items confiscated from the magic tower. He saw Hampton enjoying a nap while he had been working, and his blood pressure rose.

“What are you doing in someone else’s office!”

Russell set the box on the desk with a loud thud. The noise was not enough to pierce Hampton’s blocked ears. Hampton smacked his lips and kept sleeping. Russell’s anger rose, and he pulled a wand from his sleeve and began beating Hampton like a goblin.

“Ugh! Ack! Who is it! Russell?”

“Get up.”

“I’m up! Can’t you see my eyes are open?”

Hampton pointed at his eyes with his finger, but Russell did not stop the punishment.

“I said get up, meaning get off the sofa, you salary thief.”

Hampton scrambled from the sofa to the floor and curled his huge body into a ball.

“I got down! Stop hitting me now.”

“Shut up. If you wanted to slack off, do it in the stable. Why crawl into someone else’s office?”

“I didn’t come to slack off! Greta told me to bring you some cookies she baked, so I stopped by!”

Hampton pointed at the small picnic basket on the table. Russell stopped swinging the wand and hurried to open the basket. Inside were cookies and madeleines, just as Hampton said. Russell hugged his sister’s gift, his sister who had married into the Hampton family.

“Tell the baroness, no, my sister, that I thank her and will enjoy them.”

“I’m telling Greta you hit me.”

Hampton rubbed the spots where Russell had beaten him and pouted.

“If I tell her you were napping in my office under the excuse of delivering cookies, wouldn’t my sister say you deserved it?”

Hampton had tried to get an apology from Russell and got nothing, so he cleared his throat and approached the desk.

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