(What am I doing…)
I'm stunned by the scene before me. I thought the same earlier, but it's unavoidable.
Solitär, the demon woman, sits silently, engrossed in books, oblivious to her surroundings. Her focus is striking. We're in the scriptures department's library at her request. She's been like this for hours, flipping pages at an unbelievable pace, a stack of books piling up. She's like a human child with a toy. I can't interrupt, but I can't neglect my surveillance duty either.
"Ugh… Done!"
Linie, my other headache, stacks books like building blocks—a human child would do better. She's not just shirking duty; she's sabotaging it. The staff say nothing, likely resigned. Everyone in Freesia knows Linie—idolized, almost more than Aura.
"Learn the scriptures, maybe?"
"I know them. Stop fights, punish Aura's insulters. Easy."
"That's enough for you. Impressive."
"Really? No reward."
Linie, thinking I'm praising her, brags about no apples. Her thought process is baffling. She probably hasn't grasped half the scriptures—maybe not even reading them. Priests spread doctrine and punish violators. Expecting the former from her is harsh; even Aura's likely given up.
(I don't fully understand them either…)
I open a scripture. Freesia's foundation, memorized but not fully grasped. It's filled with human concepts—faith, equality—alien to demons. They're illogical, extreme. Why do humans follow them? Not bound by Aura's mana, unlike us. I can only assume it's their nature.
"Sorry, I lost track of time. Bored you, didn't I?"
"Not at all. I learned too. Ignore Linie."
Solitär finally speaks, satisfied. I hide my frustration—Aura's deputy can't show weakness, unlike Linie, napping nearby. Solitär doesn't mind, probably used to her from twenty years ago. I'll never understand her.
"You love research. Never seen a demon so passionate outside magic."
"I'm called eccentric. I pursue magic too—this is my hobby."
Smiling human-like, she confirms her oddity. Demons dedicate lives to magic, indifferent to else. What's fun about her "hobby"?
"Hobby? Studying humans?"
"Yes. I explore their habits, culture, and magic through conversation. I've always loved talking."
Her joy is palpable, even knowing it's mimicry. Conversation—a human imitation—holds meaning for her. Magic tech makes sense, but culture? Pointless.
"Aura wanted my knowledge. I was intrigued by her theme. A friend studied the same, so we collaborated for mutual benefit."
She rambles, oblivious to my thoughts. Linie was right—she talks endlessly. No wonder Linie hates her; they're opposites.
Aura researching? Human-demon coexistence? Absurd. Why would she? Another demon doing the same is plausible only for mutual gain.
"What specifically?"
"Mainly the doctrine and scriptures. They were nearly complete when I arrived, very human-centric—natural, since humans made them. But they were perfect, worth preserving."
I let her talk—it's efficient. She's ideal for scripture work, so human-savvy. Unfitting for a demon mage, though.
"I added demon perspectives. It aligned with my research, so it wasn't hard. The containment zone was tougher—I designed its system."
She recalls wistfully. The containment zone—a garden trapping demons and humans, branded with a blessing against harm. A shameful mark of inferiority.
"They call it paradise now. Ironic, like calling servitude magic a blessing. Very Aura."
She murmurs, enraptured. Why design such a place? Exterminate the disobedient instead. Paradise, blessing—human-friendly names, likely ironic. I don't fully grasp it, but she might.
"This country's fascinating. Locking incompatible humans and demons together—what happens? Twenty years of records are here. Wonderful."
She praises the books, valuing her "experiment." Testing something—unfamiliar to demons.
"Records seem pointless."
I can't help but say it. Past records are useless; results are final. Time's better spent planning ahead.
"Not true. Experiments fail often. Those failures lead to answers. These records are valuable because they're failures."
"Value in failure?"
She explains gently, as if teaching. Failure's meaning eludes me—it's death for demons, unacceptable. What value?
"Look. These are containment zone records. Most violations—harming others—drop yearly. Blessings rise, but recently fall. Know why?"
"No…"
She spreads a book, showing numbers and text. I peer through her deathly stench. It's gibberish—scriptures are clearer. Why keep this?
"It means fewer violators, mostly demons, harming others. Conditioning works—less need for blessings. The paradise system functions."
Her words shift my view. The data gains meaning through her lens—not individual points, but a line. Demons, living instinctively despite long lives, lack this perspective.
"Also, trial punishments changed. Early on, demons faced harsher penalties."
"Really? Why?"
"Simple. Demons are stronger, more dangerous—cannibalistic monsters. Harsher penalties curb that. We don't grasp sin, either."
She glances at me, offering a new angle. Aura's "Scales" judgments were just rules—break them, die. But demons faced stricter penalties for their threat. I obey, fearing death or paradise. Humans faced lighter penalties, like imprisonment.
"Now, the gap's closing. Early demon-on-human violence dropped; now human-on-demon or human-on-human violence rises, shifting from direct to indirect—discrimination. Human malice. Aura's struggle."
She smiles, amused. I see only humans outnumbering demons in disobedience. She sees more, troubling Aura.
"Malice?"
"A human emotion we'll never grasp. We don't notice their discrimination. If we're eradicated, it'll be their malice."
Her resigned tone feels alien. Is she demonic? Something else?
"Sorry, I digress. The scripture revision six years ago was brilliant, anticipating this. Such foresight—pity they're gone. I'd love to talk."
She muses over the human monk who made the scriptures, predicting Freesia's state six years prior. No foresight magic, yet they did. Most scripture staff are human, likely for this ingenuity demons lack. That old priest's value to Aura makes sense. Can demons not match this?
"Can you predict Freesia's future problems?"
She might, being an exception.
"Maybe… The second generation of demons."
"Second generation?"
"First generation—like you—came from outside. Second generation—born here. Few and young now, but they'll spark issues."
An unexpected answer. I'd heard the term but ignored it. What's the issue?
"Generational gaps. We lack family or child-rearing concepts. Human discrimination will worsen."
Family—alien to demons—will cause problems. Human malice-driven discrimination will yield undesirable outcomes.
"Does Aura know?"
"Of course. She's savvier than me, with solutions. You see it daily."
"Me?"
"Linie. She's the key—raised mostly in human society, the first second generation."
Her cheerful reveal stuns me. Linie, sleeping blissfully, saving Freesia? Unimaginable.
"Linie's a perfect sample. Aura's acting—foster systems, orphanages for demon children, fostering human understanding."
Aura's already moving. Demons lack parenting, but Aura, forced into it by humans, applied it. Linie's oddity makes sense. Foster systems were mentioned in meetings—part of her plan.
"How far does she see…?"
Beyond foresight—she's godlike.
"Freesia's systems stem from Aura's experiences," Solitär adds, like a teacher.
"Labor from her magic work, economy from human society, doctrine and trials from her Holy Capital judge role, next generation from raising Linie. Combined with human collective wisdom, that's Freesia."
Aura's blood and sweat, forged through servitude, hiding her claws for revenge. Enduring failures, a realm demons' fleeting lives can't reach.
"A paradise where humans and demons live equally. Without Aura, it'd collapse overnight—a dreamlike nation."
Humans flock to Aura's light, blind to their exploitation. Foolish.
"The biggest issue will be numbers—how much population growth, human desire, and malice can be controlled."
Her cryptic mutter—population, malice—feels ominous.
"Careless, and Freesia could become a living army of death."
Her gaze chills me. Her smile shifts, real and foreboding. Army of death—Aura's old moniker. Why does it unsettle me, a demon?
"Sorry, I rambled again."
"No, it's fine."
She's back to gentle concern, as if it was a dream.
"Can I learn human psychology?"
"Why? You're adept at deceiving them."
I steel myself to ask. She tilts her head—natural. I prided myself on outwitting humans, until her.
"Your words showed my inexperience. I've a peace talk in three days. Please guide me."
Until meeting Solitär, whose human deception rivals Aura's. I must use her. Demons can't lag humans in strength or cunning.
"Wonderful. Aura chose well. This nation lacks such talent. I'll help—you could be Aura's unique asset, unlike Linie."
She praises me, sensing my intent. I'm better than Linie, worthy of Aura's side. I'll use anything to prove it.
"But you're that talent."
"I'm just a researcher. Aura's playing pretend; I'm playing alone. We're incompatible."
She dismisses it, uninterested. Research is like that? Play? Irrelevant to me.
"Then, for this short time, I'm in your care, Lyugner. It'll be fun."
I hesitate but take her offered hand—a human gesture of friendship. I must master it.
"Linie, how long will you sleep? We're leaving."
"Huh…? Lyugner? Where's Lily?"
I drag the groggy Linie from the library, eager to escape babysitting her and focus on the talks.
Lyugner pulls Linie along; Solitär follows gracefully, smiling as a researcher.
He doesn't yet know the difference between Aura and Solitär's "play" or what it'll bring him.
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