Two horses waited outside the front gate of Baron Miyatro’s mansion.

Sir Mamon mounted the enormous warhorse and said, "Let us hurry. His Majesty is waiting."

The false Yohan (Berdan) hesitated briefly before the other horse, then spoke.

"Sir Mamon, I’m afraid I must go back inside for a moment."

He had to buy time somehow. Maphel’tan had ordered him to stall for as long as possible.

Mamon scowled. "What is this all of a sudden?"

Yohan replied calmly, "I forgot something. I cannot go empty-handed when I am about to meet His Majesty."

"If that is all, put it out of your mind. This audience was not scheduled. His Majesty will understand."

Yohan shook his head. "This is a matter of propriety. As a noble of the Council, I do not wish to be discourteous to His Majesty."

The Yohan before him was an impostor, making a fool of Mamon with his brazen performance. Mamon knew it perfectly well, which made it all the more irritating.

"... You can observe the proprieties later. Seeing His Majesty is our most pressing concern."

Yohan’s tone was firm. "I am sorry, but I must refuse. Please give me a moment. I will return quickly."

Mamon wanted to shout him down. He nearly yelled that he knew who he was, so he could drop the act.

But he could not bring himself to do it. The timing was wrong. He had to expose the false Yohan before everyone at the palace. Only then could he deal the Watcher of the Abyss a serious blow.

Suppressing his irritation, Mamon said, "Then be quick about it."

"Thank you for your consideration."

Yohan headed back to the mansion. Even the sight of his retreating back struck Mamon as utterly loathsome.

"Whew."

Mamon looked up at the night sky, hoping to soothe his displeasure.

His mood did not improve in the slightest. A considerable time passed, and Yohan still failed to appear. As the night deepened, Mamon grew increasingly on edge.

* * *

"My apologies. Choosing a gift for His Majesty took a little longer than expected."

Only after a long while did Yohan emerge from the mansion again. He held a small treasure box.

Struggling to contain his anger, Mamon said, "... Let us leave at once. We are already very late."

"Of course. I have no intention of keeping His Majesty waiting any longer."

Yohan put a foot in the stirrup and began climbing into the saddle at a leisurely pace.

Mamon frowned. "You just said you had no intention of keeping him waiting..."

"Ah, I’m sorry. Just a moment."

Yohan suddenly stepped back onto the ground. Mamon’s face twisted into a furious scowl.

"What are you doing? Get on the horse!"

He raised his voice. Maintaining his courtesy was becoming impossible.

Yohan spoke with an unruffled expression. "My apologies, Sir Mamon. My stomach has suddenly started hurting terribly."

Mamon’s face contorted like an evil spirit’s. He wanted to draw his sword then and there.

"Do not tell me you intend to go back inside again."

"It will only take a moment. Please bear with me."

Berdan was making a fool of him. A wretched commoner, a mere parasite lurking in the underworld, was insulting a noble knight. Even cutting him down on the spot would hardly satisfy Mamon.

Rage welled up inside him, but he barely managed to hold on to his reason. Dismounting, he approached Yohan and spoke in a low, threatening voice.

"You seem to be deliberately stalling. Let me confirm one thing."

Yohan’s expression did not change in the slightest. "Stalling? Whatever do you—"

Before he could finish, a silver ripple spread from Mamon’s body. It was the aura reserved for the knights of House Leonar.

Wreathed in aura, Mamon spoke. "Do you remember me, Berdan?"

Yohan’s eyes wavered for an instant. He had certainly encountered that silver aura a few days earlier. Its wielder was the very man who had given Berdan the job.

The masked knight who had claimed to belong to House Leonar. That man had been Mamon.

Though deeply rattled, Yohan kept his expression under control as best he could. "... What is the meaning of this sudden insolence?"

Mamon gave a disbelieving laugh. "What an extraordinary power. Or is it the Watcher of the Abyss who is extraordinary?"

The power Mimic copied most of its target’s personality as well. Having imitated Yohan, Berdan could maintain a degree of composure no matter how shocking the situation. He could control his expression just as he was doing now.

But Berdan was still Berdan. However well he played a man of great character, he could not entirely hide the remnants of his own petty nature. He had betrayed a moment of agitation.

Mamon had not missed that instant. He had seen Yohan’s eyes waver.

Yohan spoke with a composed face. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Mamon clamped his hands around Yohan’s shoulders and muttered to himself, "Now there is no doubt. This man is not the Watcher of the Abyss."

With that confirmed, he no longer needed to observe any courtesy. He lifted Yohan and set him on the warhorse.

Yohan’s voice sounded as though he were swallowing a blade. "... Stop this at once. I will lodge a formal complaint over what you have done today."

Without a word in reply, Mamon mounted behind him.

"Hyah!"

They headed straight for the royal palace.

* * *

Arterium, the royal capital, was known as the City That Never Sleeps. Even at night, it was as bright as day. Lights filled every street, and crowds thronged wherever one went.

The capital was a truly difficult city for a Demon to operate in. Things were much the same for a witch.

Concealing her presence in the skies above the capital, Ilea watched the streets below.

"... Finding an opening is harder than I expected."

Her gaze was fixed on a warhorse racing down the street. Two people rode on its back: Yohan and the knight. Berdan and Mamon.

Ilea had to ambush them, but finding the right moment was proving difficult. There were too many eyes watching.

As she struggled with the problem, a chilling voice rang through the air.

"Let me help."

Maphel’tan emerged from the darkness. Ilea looked concerned.

"It will be dangerous. Will you be all right?"

"Don’t worry. I’ll only draw a little attention."

An instant later, Maphel’tan vanished. His presence rose from the ground below, and dense darkness blanketed the streets.

People screamed. The sudden release of demonic energy sent everyone into a panic. The attack on the capital was still vivid in their memories. That hell might be about to repeat itself.

The uproar spread. Even amid the chaos, the warhorse continued straight ahead without slowing.

Ilea smiled. "That should do."

The crowds that had packed the street scattered in all directions. There was no one left around the galloping warhorse.

Ilea plunged straight toward the ground. A mass of blue light fell like a shooting star.

Startled, the warhorse reared. Mamon seized the reins and fought to bring it under control.

"Whoa, whoa!"

The sudden jolt sent Yohan tumbling off the horse. Ilea told him, "Go hide yourself for a moment."

Having calmed the horse, Mamon drew his sword from the saddle.

"Who are you? Identify yourself!"

Ilea’s eyes curved in a gentle smile. "I’m Yohan now. All you need to do is take me to the palace."

The space around her suddenly rippled. In an instant, Ilea’s appearance changed. She had become Yohan.

Mamon recoiled in horror. "A m-mage!"

The false Yohan (Ilea) snapped his fingers. A small equation appeared above Mamon’s head.

Short-Term Memory Erasure. It was the same spell formula she had once used on Shaperia, erasing a brief span of memory.

Mamon’s eyes glazed over. Yohan immediately climbed onto his warhorse, then dispelled the magic.

Mamon regained his senses. He looked around, slightly dazed. His head throbbed.

Yohan spoke. "Why did you suddenly stop?"

Mamon had no idea. After freezing for a moment, he took up the reins again.

"Hyah!"

With a rather peculiar feeling, he resumed the journey to the palace.

* * *

In the royal palace’s great hall, King Roderick Artelga reclined in the seat of honor, looking down at his ministers.

Though many people had gathered, the hall was deathly quiet. No one spoke. The king’s presence was deeply intimidating.

Roderick’s bearing had changed considerably. The naive, inept king was nowhere to be found. Like a true monarch, he surveyed everyone with a bored, haughty expression.

This change was not yet publicly known. Only the royalist nobles had experienced the king’s strange behavior. Every minister gathered here belonged to the royalist faction.

Amid the silence, a palace guard’s voice rang out.

"Baron Yohan von Miyatro, Watcher of the Abyss, has arrived!"

The great doors slowly opened. Dressed in formal attire, Yohan entered along the red carpet and knelt on one knee before the king’s seat.

"I, Yohan von Miyatro, pay my respects to Your Great Majesty."

Roderick regarded Yohan with bored eyes, then turned to Sir Mamon. Mamon gave the king a hand signal. Yohan was an impostor—that was what it said.

The king’s lips twisted. Slowly, he addressed Yohan.

"Despite your youth, I recognized your worth, and you became the representative of a noble house and a pillar supporting this kingdom. Why, then, have you forgotten your duty?"

He was reproaching Yohan for failing to seek an audience.

Yohan replied calmly, "Having heard of Your Majesty’s illness, I judged that an audience would be difficult. I was shortsighted and foolish. I beg Your Majesty’s generous forgiveness."

The king’s lips curled in a sly smile.

"Very well. I shall say no more on that matter. Indeed, there is no need for me to exchange words with the likes of you at all."

The moment he finished, murmurs filled the hall. Even a king could not speak that way to the head of a Council house. Roderick had gone beyond discourtesy to outright insult.

One minister spoke.

"... Your Majesty, please calm yourself. The Watcher of the Abyss is still young. He must simply have been ignorant of protocol, with no intention of insulting Your Majesty."

The king shook his head.

"That man is not the Watcher of the Abyss. And even now, the Watcher of the Abyss is somewhere insulting me."

"Your Majesty, what do you—"

The king cut the minister short. "I shall show you proof."

He gestured. Mamon strode up to Yohan and spoke.

"Berdan, reveal your true self."

Mamon grabbed Yohan by the hair, then roughly seized the skin of his face and tried to tear it off.

Nothing happened. Yohan’s skin merely turned bright red.

Every minister present was appalled. Mamon, too, appeared flustered.

"Wh-why isn’t this..."

No matter how hard he pulled at the skin, Mimic would not break.

The ministers shouted.

"What is this appalling conduct in the sacred great hall?!"

"Stop at once!"

"Sir Mamon! Apologize to the Watcher!"

The king stared at Mamon.

"Mamon, what is going on?"

"W-well..."

Yohan spoke with an unruffled expression.

"Your Majesty, can you bear the consequences of this?"

The king frowned. "... What?"

Yohan stared at Roderick as though to pierce right through him.

"I can see your shadow, Your Majesty. What exactly are you harboring within it?"

To Yohan’s eyes—no, to the witch’s—the shadow Roderick concealed was laid utterly bare. He harbored a pitch-black being.

Yohan (Ilea) smiled with his eyes.

'Yohan, it seems things are turning in your favor.'