The Price of Justice and the Cost of Survival

Under the eager gaze of the onlookers, Sir Gernon’s mithril prosthetic hand delved into his silk money pouch, retrieving the first gold coin. The coin gleamed faintly in the candlelight, its edges worn smooth by time, yet its luster remained. He set it upon the counter with a crisp, resonant clink. The second. The third. With each coin that landed, Sir Gernon’s brow furrowed deeper, as though a tooth was being painfully extracted. His mithril fingers hovered at the pouch’s mouth, hesitating, before plunging back inside. The fourth. In a distant corner, several adventurers began to murmur amongst themselves. A burly, bearded man’s eyes widened, his wine cup frozen mid-air, forgotten before it could reach his lips. The fifth. Sir Gernon’s mouth twitched involuntarily. The sixth. Finally, he snatched his hand from the money pouch, fingers splayed as if he had just retrieved something scalding from a roaring furnace. “Enough,” he declared, his voice strained. “Six gold coins—that is every last one I possess at this moment.” A hum of speculation filled the hall, everyone debating the sheer generosity of Sir Gernon’s contribution to the cause of justice. Sovenia remained rooted to her spot, her gaze fixed upon the six gold coins on the counter. For a moment, she found herself utterly speechless. ‘Six? Only six? That seems… rather meager, doesn’t it?’ It had been an eternity since Sovenia had dealt with gold coins. In the Demon Realm, her pursuits revolved around ‘priceless yet unobtainable’ artifacts. To her, mere gold and silver were akin to utilitarian tools, especially since martial prowess served as the primary currency there. The Blood Skull Legion she commanded found little use for conventional currency; sometimes, a collection of skulls held more value. Sir Gernon’s face was a mask of agony, as though he were literally shedding flesh and blood. The surrounding adventurers, however, stared with glittering eyes, whispering amongst themselves as if they had just witnessed a priceless rarity. “Six gold coins,” a hushed voice remarked, “that’s enough to feast every day for half a year.” “The Silver Master truly is wealthy,” another voice chimed in. Sovenia’s pointed ears flattened slightly against her head. ‘Enough for half a year of food?’ she mused. ‘Those six gold coins must indeed hold significant value in the Human Realm.’ “Many thanks, Sir Gernon, for your exceptional generosity.” Wawalde’s voice broke through her contemplation as he casually swept the six gold coins together. “For the cause of justice,” Sir Gernon uttered, his tone remarkably dry. Wawalde lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially toward Sir Gernon’s ear. “For my father’s sake,” he murmured, “I truly didn’t wish for things to escalate like this.” Sir Gernon’s body stiffened perceptibly. “Therefore,” Wawalde continued, “I earnestly hope that after I depart, you will refrain from using your Silver Raven to cancel that bounty.” “But wasn’t that the agreement?” Sir Gernon’s voice dropped to a frantic whisper. “To use the bounty as a means to announce your victory—should you return alive, that is.” “Do not feign ignorance,” Wawalde said, his tone utterly calm. “You neglected to mention then that there were only two copies of this bounty.” Sir Gernon’s pupils contracted sharply. “How did you know?” “Now I do.” Sir Gernon’s old face flushed crimson. “My agreement with you was predicated on the understanding that the Demon Queen’s bounty would be displayed in every location, as previously arranged,” Wawalde stated. “Now, whatever your motives, I must apologize, but you were the first to breach our contract. And with that, I shall take this bounty.” Wawalde then turned to the counter, retrieving the yellowed parchment from the hand of the visibly stunned female clerk. Her fingers remained suspended in their previous gesture, rigid in the air, like a frozen sculpture. “You could have trusted me,” Sir Gernon said, a trace of indignation in his voice. “You know I am incapable of falsely claiming or usurping your hard-won achievements—” “I only trust good people,” Wawalde interjected, folding the parchment neatly before tucking it into his breast. “Such as Miss Sovenia.” Sovenia’s ears twitched subtly. “I care not who stands behind you, nor why they are so desperate for an outcome,” Wawalde declared. “But regardless, I will not allow you or those you serve to have your way. Do you understand, esteemed Sir Gernon?” Sir Gernon fell silent for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head slowly. “You have fought demons for far too long, Wawalde,” he snapped, his voice growing irritable—a stark contrast to his legendary composure. He hooked his cane over his arm, pivoted, and strode purposefully towards the exit. The rhythmic tap of his cane echoed through the hall—one, two, three beats—as no one dared to impede his departure. Sir Gernon’s figure vanished into the bright sunlight beyond the doorway. **** Wawalde turned to the female clerk, offering her a gentle smile. “My apologies, madam, if I startled you.” It was a remarkably gentle smile, utterly unlike the fierce expression he had worn moments earlier when confronting Sir Gernon. The clerk froze for a beat, a faint blush rising to her cheeks, before she modestly lowered her gaze. Sovenia immediately stepped forward, instinctively positioning herself between the female clerk and Wawalde. She murmured: “Seizing spoils in the Human Realm is truly a hassle.” “No, this isn’t robbery,” Wawalde gently corrected her. “This is merely Sir Gernon contributing to the cause of justice.” Sovenia nodded slowly. “Right, exactly. Much like how energy recycling is… energy recycling.” Wawalde’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “In truth, I merely wished for Sir Gernon to donate funds earlier as well.” Sovenia continued, her voice devoid of inflection. “It’s just that his standard for a donation involves a stopped heart, so I had intended to facilitate his contribution with a sword.” “This is entirely different,” Wawalde explained, his tone patient, as though instructing a naive child. “Firstly, this is a private conflict between us. If we were to act out of unprovoked greed, it would breed widespread insecurity and shatter all semblance of order. We are bound to respect and uphold this hard-won societal structure.” Sovenia listened, offering no reply. She simply observed that the Human Realm and the Demon Realm remained fundamentally distinct. In the Demon Realm, everything was straightforward. One desired something, severed the owner’s head, and offered it to the Four Gods. The item would then be theirs. Even if it wasn’t immediately available, the Four Gods would bestow it upon them—armor, weapons, even mounts. As long as one fought with sufficient ferocity, anything was attainable. She found herself somewhat nostalgic for that simpler existence. Wawalde retrieved the six gold coins from his pocket, counted out three, and extended them to her. “An even split,” he stated. “And in the future, when you accept quests at the Ash Adventurer’s Guild and encounter these disgruntled minor silver-master intermediaries, please refrain from employing your previous—” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the nearby adventurers, whose ears were noticeably perked, openly eavesdropping. “—sword-based donation method,” he concluded in a hushed tone. Sovenia accepted the three gold coins, weighing them thoughtfully in her palm. ‘They felt somewhat heavy, yet utterly insignificant compared to the unspoken implications of that foolish dog’s words.’ “So, are you going to abandon me?” she asked. Wawalde faltered for a moment before the true meaning of Sovenia’s question dawned on him. “I cannot remain by your side indefinitely,” he explained. “I have my own life to lead, and you, too, will forge your own path in the future.” Sovenia nodded. “True enough.” She carefully put away the gold coins, her mind, however, already drifting to other matters. ‘A good dog of Demon King caliber like Wawalde—leaving him unleashed felt dangerously insecure.’ He possessed boundless strength, an incredibly resilient body, and his ascended demonic form. Though he was reluctant to unleash it, it represented a genuine, undeniable Demon King-tier combat prowess. ‘Such a masochist, such a meat shield, such… him.’ Her thoughts paused briefly. ‘A good dog.’ ‘Yes, precisely—a good dog.’ Loyal, obedient, and always ready to protect her. This kind of dog, just like this… ‘To have his own life… if he were to leave and never return, what a profound waste that would be.’ “Please.” Wawalde’s voice snapped her from her reverie. He gestured politely, stepping aside and indicating the counter with an open palm. “Ladies first,” he stated. Sovenia followed his gaze, spotting the clumsy female clerk still behind the counter, staring at them with a bewildered expression. She understood. It was time to learn the intricacies of survival within the Human Realm. Once more, she found herself yearning for the uncomplicated life of the Demon Realm as she slowly approached the counter. “Three waves of adventurers have perished already,” she began, her voice flat. “There should be intelligence, shouldn’t there? Logically, as the Ash Adventurer’s Guild, you ought to provide information to those undertaking quests.” The female clerk blinked, as if she hadn’t quite grasped Sovenia’s words. “Because… because there is no information,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.” “Surely, the deaths of three waves of adventurers couldn’t have yielded absolutely nothing.” “There was absolutely nothing,” the clerk’s voice dwindled to a whisper. “Not even bodies.” “No information,” Sovenia stated, “is also a form of information.” She turned her head, looking towards Wawalde. Wawalde stood two paces behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you believe our next course of action should be?” he inquired. Sovenia’s brow furrowed slightly. She began to think intently. “Three waves of adventurers, all vanished without a trace, no bodies whatsoever. What could this possibly signify?” ‘Who knows? The Demon Realm has no adventurer guilds. Yet, as a demon general, perhaps I can apply my wartime experience to this problem.’ She mentally reverted to her identity as Jimi the Cruel, the First Heavenly King who commanded the Blood Skull Legion and conquered all. ‘If I consider this frail elven body an army, what does it require now?’ Weapons, armor, and sustenance for this delicate form. “We should use Sir Gernon’s donation to purchase armor and food,” she declared. Wawalde nodded. “Good. I’ll take you to find them; I also need to buy weapons and armor.” Approximately twenty minutes later, the air inside the weapons shop hung heavy with the scent of rust and charcoal. A bare-chested, burly man stood before an anvil, his hammer striking the glowing red metal with rhythmic blows, sending sparks showering everywhere. He lifted his head, his brow furrowing as he noticed their entrance. “You two again.” Wawalde offered a small smile. “We’re here to buy some weapons.” “Take your pick,” the burly man grunted, setting down his hammer and wiping his hands on his apron. “All good quality, except for the rubbish you brought in. This place has been chaotic with weapons lately.” Sovenia surveyed her surroundings. Various weapons hung on the walls: swords, axes, hammers, spears, and a few shields. Daggers and small knives lay arranged on shelves, their blades glinting coldly in the dim light. She held some expectation for the purchasing power of her three gold coins. After all, the white dress she had admired earlier, made of some ‘Zhendan silk’ material, had only cost two gold coins. Surely, three gold coins would procure quite a substantial amount? Wawalde stopped by the wall and unhooked a broadsword. Its blade was thick and wide, its hilt wrapped in leather, giving it a remarkably conventional appearance. He tested its weight, then swung it twice, nodding in approval. “How much for this one?” “One hundred and fifty copper coins,” the burly man replied. Wawalde paid without haggling. One hundred and fifty copper coins. Sovenia calculated inwardly. One gold coin equated to one hundred copper coins, so one hundred and fifty copper coins meant one and a half gold coins. Half of her three gold coins were already spent. Wawalde then moved to the shield rack, taking down a curved shield. The shield’s surface bore a noticeable dent, and its edges were marred by several scratches. “What about this one?” “Seventy-two copper coins.” “Sixty,” Wawalde countered. The burly man’s brow furrowed. “Sixty-five.” “Sixty,” Wawalde reiterated. “It’s secondhand, and it’s dented.” The burly man remained silent for a moment, then nodded. “Deal.” Wawalde paid, slinging the shield onto his back and attaching the broadsword to his waist. Sovenia stepped forward, reaching out to touch the curved shield. It was made of wood. Her fingers traced its rough texture; there was no trace of magic. She then looked at the broadsword at Wawalde’s waist. It didn’t even have a scabbard. Common iron. Ordinary common iron, un-enchanted, un-reinforced. She recalled her time as Jimi the Cruel, witnessing countless such weapons on the battlefield. These common soldiers would brandish such swords and wield such shields, charging towards her. Their primary purpose had been to divert her attention. If three or four low-level soldiers could buy her one attack, then their lives were considered a grand bargain. Now, the great hero and Demon King, who had severed her head and was only half a step away from her own rank, was preparing to use such rudimentary equipment. “What weapon are you looking at?” Wawalde’s voice reached her. Sovenia withdrew her hand. “Nothing,” she replied. “I just feel that none of these items are as good as my Blade of Moonlight.” The burly man’s brow twitched. He was about to speak, but his gaze fell upon Sovenia’s face—half-hidden by a veil, revealing only one golden eye and a pair of long, pointed ears. He swallowed the words he was about to utter. Sovenia leaned closer to Wawalde, lowering her voice. “My dear, mighty Lord Wawalde, the hero who severed the First Heavenly King’s head and serves under the Demon Queen,” she rattled off the long string of titles in a single breath, “I merely believe this equipment is far too shabby for you.” Wawalde’s mouth twitched. “I can’t help it,” he said. “I don’t want to get hurt.” Sovenia understood his meaning. Wawalde, currently a Demon King cloaked in human skin, lacked mastery over his ‘transformation’ ability. If he were to be injured, magma-like blood would flow from his wounds, exposing his demonic nature. The deserter from before had confirmed his demonic identity simply by witnessing his blood. Thus, he required a shield, something capable of deflecting attacks, and also something that could conceal his unusual wounds. “Next, we’ll find a metal artisan,” Wawalde said. “I believe I also need a helmet.” Sovenia looked at the one hundred and fifty copper coin broadsword at his waist, then at the sixty copper coin shield on his back. Three gold coins, and two were already spent. Ninety copper coins remained. “I hope it’s cheaper,” she said.