The Demon King's Past

Jenn did not fall unconscious. Not this time. Every waking second as the medics tended to her was spent in great, pensive thinking. She watched closely, seeing what they were doing at last.

It was as she expected. Great flexible tubes, coming from greater glass cauldrons, were filled with swirling blue liquid. It poured into her, into her veins, and as it did, it gave her strength.

One gash became a scar. One scar became plain flesh. The wounds became bygones, leaving only vague memories of how they came to be.

“Why,” she mumbled. “Why the hell is everything so blue?”

The medics looked at her and laughed. “King’s colour.”

“But why?”

“Beats me,” one replied.

The other nudged him. “When he came, the King wore blue. And when the revolution came, he flew the blue banner. Sometimes, it’s a simple matter of preference.”

Jenn didn’t seem satisfied. With her gaze set on the tubes, still pumping their blue ichor, a sense of curiosity was plain to see. Even the lanterns on the wall were filled with the liquid, little globes of swirling, luminous blue.

They all flicked to the same, steady rhythm. As if breathing from the same, tired lungs.

After a few hours of bed rest, the tubes were unplugged. Jenn nodded a thanks to her attending medic and stood.

She was in a vaulted chamber below the castle, close enough to the courtyard that she could see it from the windows above. It wasn’t a wholly unpleasant stay. The smell of crushed herbs and incense washed away the blood and offal for the most part.

Jenn exited the infirmary and climbed the stone steps to the castle above. It was mid-afternoon, and the ascent was enough to draw sweat from her body.

Arriving above, Jenn found herself in a long hall. The walls were adorned with tall stained windows, each one depicting a man or woman.

Interested, her gaze fell on the fourth one. It was the only silhouette with modern clothing. Depicting a figure in a sailor’s uniform, with a katana at their hip, and a rifle in their hand.

“That would be Date Mafuhime,” answered a woman, walking to Jenn’s side.

It was one of the two accompanying the Lord Regent. Her hair pulled into a brown, spiralling bun. Her clothes the red and patterned kimono. Her name was Anera Lockfort. Twin to Caplyn Lockfort. She loved eating a variety of Northern cheese every fifth day, and preferred men with a bit of chest hair (despite loving her boy-ish King who had none).

Jenn did not know this. All she knew was that Anera was helpful and thus deigned to ask her a few things.

“Date?” She asked, looking at the glass silhouette. “Was their ancestor Masamune or something?”

Confusion. “Is it?”

“Never mind.”

Jenn met the woman’s eyes. They were pools of black, with cherry-like pupils. Something beyond human.

“Is the one in the image… your King?”

Anera chuckled. “His companion,” she corrected. “They came in four, you see. And all played important roles in the revolution that was.”

“Four?”

“Date Mafuhime. Gijyou Sōun. Wakisaka Aka’ichi. Yurino Haramitsu.” She spoke with the reverence of a monk. “Of the four, two lived, one passed, and one returned to whence they came...”

“The Lord Regent is one of the ones who stayed, right?”

She smiled at Jenn. “How did you figure?”

“He looked pretty Japanese.”

Anera held an unreadable expression. Her eyes flicked to the glass, back to the discussion at hand. “The one before you died in mutiny. Her own soldiers turned swords and guns against their commander. Her head was taken from her body. And it was offered to the enemy in hopes of receiving a royal pardon.”

Jenn stepped into a ray of sun. “Did they get away?”

“Not for long. Not for long.” The black-eyed woman smiled. “At the Battle of Five Peaks, King Gijyou set upon them with a force of ten, slaughtering all he held responsible. Commander. Soldiers. All thirty thousand. Put to sword and gun.”

“Impressive.”

I’m sure Jenn didn’t want to admit it, but she was growing more impressed by the second. This was different to the sensibilities of an average isekai protagonist. Even if, on some superficial level.

“Impressive indeed,” followed the woman. Then her voice sank into something deeper. “But tragic too. For all the King’s skill in swordplay, he could not save those he loved most.”

Jenn pressed the question. “And what? Guy got a Kingdom, didn’t he? I’m sure there’s plenty of babes and wars to be fought.”

The Lord Regent’s attendant shook her head. “Babes and wars are cold comforts compared to the warmth of a true comrade.” She approached the stained glass, hand held in tenderness. “In the end, the King could fight no more. His heart slumbered. His body grew weary, and he resigned himself to a fate most damnable—a bottomless pit from which none could escape. He had done everything, and yet he had achieved nothing at all. What is such if not a tragedy?”

Jenn could not help herself. Listening to the woman speak, with all the gravitas of someone who was there, sent a tingle of emotion.

“Yeah, I guess it’s kinda tragic.” Against her better instincts, Jenn even agreed and turned flushed as she did.

The Lord Regent’s attendant stepped forward, wooden sandal clicking as she did. “Might I ask a question?”

Jenn was caught off guard. “Oh yeah, sure. Go ahead. Be my guest.”

“How does one make three with two ones?”

“Uh…” Jenn held out her fingers. “Is this one of those unanswerable questions?”

“It is. No matter if you multiply, add, divide, or subtract, two ones cannot make a three. Therefore, the answer is simple. It is an impossible question with an impossible answer. Within the boundaries set by its creator, such thing as a solution does not exist.”

“Stupid question, then.” Jenn shrugged. “At that point, I’d ask the teacher to um… f off, and give me something else.”

The woman came closer. “It would be remiss not to. For what else can one do, when faced with the impossible but tell it to ‘f’ off? What else, but to break the boundaries thus imposed, and salvage new horizons?”

Something in her tone struck Jenn as off. A halfway instinct. Manifested in a slightly stranger turn of her body.

“Jennka Cockehead,” said the woman, hushed and quiet. “There is one last thing I have to ask.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know who Katou Hayasugi is?”

The air hung silent. Jenn was speechless. Anera’s face has twisted into a mockery of itself, suddenly filled with unbridled emotion. But the woman did not relent, and instead, retrieved a phone from her kimono.

Jenn was quick. Maybe even a little too much. “I can’t say I know him, no.”

“Apparently, his assault was ‘recorded’ on a ‘camera’, inside his brothel.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why is it?”

“It just is. There weren’t any cameras. I know this.”

“Do you? I thought you didn’t know him.”

“My mistake. I must’ve… seen it on TV. I don’t know.”

“But you do know, Jenn. Just as you knew instinctually, he was not of this world, and did not question his status. Just as you knew he had no cameras. Because you know Katou Hayasugi. And because you attacked him.”

“I did not kill Katou.”

The woman came closer. “When did I say anything about killing?”

Jenn could not reply. Not anymore. Accepting her defeat, she drew into an uncomfortable silence, keeping an apathetic expression all the while.

“All I heard was that a woman with a red arm happened upon poor Katou Hayasugi… And seeing a woman with a red arm in this here tournament, I simply wished to ask her a few things.” The woman in the kimono ran her finger along Jenn’s shoulder. Going from the collarbone to the upper limb. “That arm of yours… I really find it quite captivating. Would you care to use it? Would you care to call upon its power?” She came close. Too close. Pressing her head against Jenn’s chest, with trembling lips between laughter and sobbing, between hope and delirium, and wide, wide eyes that shone with a blackness beyond the edge of night itself. “Ha… hahahaha.”

This was one of those moments where you really needed someone to give you an excuse to leave. Like an awkward dinner with an in-law when your loved one went to use the bathroom. Or an out of blue confession from someone you know was totally not your type.

Thankfully for Jenn, this one in a thousand respite came.

A man with a pen tip for a hair walked by, looking rather shy as he did. “Oh, I do hope I’m not intruding on something rather spectacular.”

The Lord Regent’s attendant broke away and bowed. “Likewise, Prince Horhe. I had hoped our unexpected presence did not break whatever peace you held.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t depart and leave you two to it?”

“That won’t be necessary.” The kimono-woman nodded. “I will be taking my leave.” She returned to her usual voice, stately and just. “There are important things I have to tend to. Farewell.”

The intruder laughed. “Goodness, me.” His necklaces clanked against each other. Tng Tng Tng. “That was rather strange, wasn’t it?”

Jenn smiled. Nervous. “Yeah, it sure was.”