(What's with this guy?)
I sigh at the sight. Two figures trek a mountain path, robed in red and blue—clashing colors, painfully conspicuous. From afar, they're suspicious strangers. I can't distance myself; I'm in a red robe too, lumped in with them.
"Himmel, hurry up, or I'll leave you!" Linie, the red-robed one, snaps at Himmel, the blue.
She's nagging like a child pestering a parent, annoyed at his slow pace.
"Don't overwork an old man. I'm not as young as you," Himmel replies.
His wry smile is clear, even under the robe. Understandable—human versus demon physiology, worsened by age. His staff and snail-like pace prove it. Linie's irritation makes sense.
"You say that, but you trekked to the northern highlands alone recently," I point out.
Not as vocal as Linie, I agree. Claiming age, yet he wandered the rugged, monster-filled north alone. What business he had, I don't know, but it's no excuse.
"Years ago. Don't compare," Himmel retorts.
"Want me to carry you? One swoop!" Linie offers.
"I want to walk. It's an adventure."
Exaggerating a few years back. He brushes off Linie's suggestion—flying's a trauma, like Heiter. Humans aren't built for it. When will they fly like us? Still, his stubbornness persists, even in old age.
"Annoying guy. Where's the adventure in this?" I grumble.
"A journey with others is an adventure. Exciting, right?" Himmel says.
"Sure. Great."
"It's fun!" Linie beams.
His childlike excitement mirrors Linie's. Journey or adventure—it's the same to him. Linie's infected by it. Like master, like disciple.
"Where are we going, anyway?"
"You'll see when we get there."
"Typical."
No point pressing—his whims are old news. This "adventure" started on his impulse. I don't mind; overthinking his antics is futile.
He dodges the question, as expected. Reminds me of being tricked into the capital. Never changes. What's fun about it? Fine—any destination's okay, as long as it's not an execution.
"But no monsters is nice. Thanks, Aura," Himmel says.
"Don't call me bug spray."
Sensing my exasperation or just bored, he teases. Infuriating. Can't he live without poking at me?
My mana's the reason—great demon aura scares off monsters and lesser demons. Once a hindrance on our first joint monster hunt, now it's useful. He's calling me pest repellent. What am I to him? But unlike then—
"If they come, leave it to me! Even a dragon won't win!" Linie boasts, flashing her sword.
Dragon or not, Linie's decades with Himmel make her formidable. I overheard him say she's mastered everything—a full-fledged warrior. He once joked she'd surpass him. Her confidence is earned.
Her sword, another Eisen original, countless iterations refined. Even I, no expert, see its quality improve yearly. Eisen apprenticed with a northern dwarf smith—serious about blacksmithing? Linie must find it reliable.
"Counting on you," I say.
"Yup! I'm Linie the Exception!" she declares, posing with her sword.
Himmel's influence—bet he brainstormed that pose. His "handsome pose collection" obsession proves it.
"That was your title…" I mutter.
"I named her, with Heiter," Himmel brags.
"No need to say it."
His smugness is tiring. I know—I got hit first. My title's stuck as "the Scales" since a past journey, replacing "Guillotine." No attachment to the old one, but humans' quick shifts stun me. No need for this robe to deceive now. If I'd planned to trick them, it'd be too late. Fifty years post-Demon King, humans forget demons' terror—even the hero party. In a hundred, five hundred years, all might be erased.
"Why need titles?"
"They're cool. How else do you declare yourself?" Himmel says.
"My mistake for asking."
His pointless passion. My fault for expecting logic. Not just him—human warriors and mages often declare themselves. Why not attack? Even demons mimic it, cluelessly.
"I'm Aura's servant, Linie the Exception!" she proclaims again.
No one rivals her mimicry. "Exception" fits her perfectly, ironic beside my "Scales." But—
"Not his top disciple?" I ask.
"Very Linie," Himmel chuckles.
Shouldn't she lead with "Himmel's top disciple"? A hierarchy issue? Himmel watches, satisfied, past any disappointment. Better than being Eisen's disciple, maybe.
We banter pointlessly, trudging toward an unknown destination.
Night falls, chilly, stars and crackling campfire lighting the scene. We warm ourselves at a distance. A typical adventurer's camp, though rare for me after Holy Capital life.
"She's out cold," I note, seeing Linie curled up like a cat, asleep.
Claimed she'd handle monsters, but this? Too careless, even with me here.
"She was extra excited. Probably because of you," Himmel says, warming opposite me.
"Don't blame me."
His fault—she's his disciple. Her adventure obsession is on him.
"But Linie's grown most these fifty years. Not just strength—she's tough enough to live alone," he says.
"Obviously. She's a demon. You're too overprotective."
"Maybe."
He admits it, unrepentant, amused. Stung or aware?
Linie's growth is undeniable. Her cooking rivals mine—natural for her mimicry magic. Copying's not enough; mastery matters. Himmel taught her swordsmanship, I cooking. Same principle.
Not just cooking—I taught practical spells like fire-starting. She travels solo without issue, a full-fledged adventurer, per Himmel. A demon adventurer? Too absurd to question.
Demons live solitary lives. Yet these meddlers coddle her. Accompanying her early "errands"—really begging—was overkill. Parent or disciple doting, deservedly mocked.
"Good timing. Couldn't show this with her awake," Himmel says.
Thinking the same, he stares at Linie, then pulls something from his bag.
"You…" I gasp.
I'm speechless. It's a nightmare—grape wine, identical to what I discarded long ago.
"Remember? Same wine. Heiter brought it," Himmel says, smirking proudly.
How could I forget? Wanted to. Heiter's gift—really sober? I'll grill him later.
"Can't forget. You and Heiter tormented me with wine."
"Did we? Old age makes me forgetful," he feigns.
No shame, playing dumb like Heiter. Using age this way—demons can't. Humans are foolish.
"We never drank this together. You did with Eisen, right?" he jabs.
"You're infuriating."
"Thanks."
His real goal—knew or Eisen spilled? Hates being left out. Fifty-year grudge? Even demons forget that.
I reluctantly join his toast, clinking glasses. I've adapted too much to human ways. We chat idly, pointless talk he treasures. He's chattier—wine's effect? I barely feel it. Fine, it kills boredom.
"This reminds me. Remember our trip to my hometown?" he says.
I scowl. He brings it up constantly, especially lately. Do humans repeat old stories with age?
"How could I? You and Linie ran me ragged."
Unforgettable, not just for that. Shortly after taking Linie to the village, Himmel suggested a trip—destination secret, like now. Linie, young and unaccustomed, made it chaos. Lost her repeatedly, tracked her with magic. At Himmel's hometown, explaining demons was a hassle. Linie ate the prized blue moon grass. Apples thrilled her more. Himmel carried her back, exhausted. A ridiculous memory.
"Nostalgic. All silly, fun times," he says, beaming.
Silly yet fun—a contradiction. I know it's true; he doesn't lie to me. Obvious—more transparent than Linie.
"You're all about old stories. Does aging do that? The past's meaningless."
Humans love nostalgia, worse with age. Heiter, Eisen too. Why obsess over what's gone? Focus on now, the future. Yet—
"We forget easily, unlike you. So we recall often," Himmel says, a hint of loneliness in his calm.
Same old exchange. Human obsession—Serie called it "forgetting." He fights it with memories. A nuisance for me.
"So people remember you?"
"Exactly. You're getting it. I'm proud," he teases.
"What are you?"
"The hero."
"Idiot."
I hint I'm tired of this, but he's unfazed, doubling down. Linie should break his smugness.
I sip unheady wine, stuck with his drivel till dawn.
"Hurry up!" Linie calls, sprinting ahead.
Youngest, but her energy's too much. Understandable—our destination's near.
I know where. Guessed yesterday—Himmel's dodge was predictable.
"Some adventure. Just a homecoming," I mutter.
A familiar village lies ahead. Linie waves, Lily beside her. Himmel must've sent word. Always prepared, except for himself.
Yet he freezes, stunned.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Maybe not an adventure. A homecoming," he realizes.
Exhausted from a short walk? Linie might carry him.
"Come on, let's go home," I urge.
"Yeah, let's," he agrees.
I match his three-legged pace, heading to Lily's welcome—home.
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