I settled in Novgorod quite simply.
I purchased a suitable mansion through the land agent. On the outskirts of the city. It was a two-story house located outside the city walls. Apparently, it had been used as a hunting lodge by some minor noble who had fallen on hard times and put it up for sale.
"Guest. However, this is an item that must be sold for cash, so..."
"Will this do?"
When I produced two hundred gold coins on the spot, the agent's mouth snapped shut.
"Please wait just one day at the inn. We will clean and prepare it thoroughly."
"Please take care of it."
"Of course."
Perhaps it was because this was a merchant city. It didn't matter if the guest was a foreigner or whatever; if you paid, they treated you respectfully. After that, I spent a fortune at the administrative office to obtain citizenship, and then settled into the mansion that was now my pretty home.
A new house.
A new life.
A new me.
Immersed in that freshness, I spent an entire week holed up inside, staring at the ceiling. The body of a doll had no need for food or sleep. Besides, I had nothing to do. Before long, I was tormented by a thing called boredom.
"I'm going to die of boredom at this rate..."
— Why don't you just die, then?
"Shut up."
I retorted irritably to the voice of an unknown hallucination.
There was no longer any need to ignore the phantoms. It didn't matter if I was plagued by hallucinations; there was no one left to interfere anyway. These shadows were the only thing that alleviated the boredom, and except for the fact that they would occasionally try to tear the skin from my flesh and bite into my entrails, they were actually quite decent friends.
"Just don't stick to my eyes."
── Go die.
"Ugh. Fine, just stop poking at my eyes."
I lay flat on my back on the floor, muttering in a bored tone. The phantom that had been prodding my eyeball with its fingernail thankfully gave up on the pupil. Instead, it chewed on my earlobe with a wet, squelching sound. The sensation was remarkably vivid, but it was just an illusion after all.
── Why. Why... you're lying...
── You bastard, you betrayed us...
Once I started answering the phantoms, they drew closer in an instant. In the past, there were barely any that came within a five-meter radius, but now three meters was the baseline. These guys had no friends. The sight of them clinging on, delighted that someone would actually talk to them, was quite a spectacle.
My shut-in strategy crumbled before it even lasted a week.
I had steeled myself to not set foot outside until the end of the world, but I simply couldn't endure the boredom. Even alone, I needed something to focus my mind on. Suddenly, a hobby surfaced in my head that I had never once imagined before.
"What about painting?"
The models were literally lying around everywhere.
Jack Orland stared at me from two meters ahead, his head crusted with clumps of dried blood, while Captain Hawk bled endlessly from his throat, whispering something without pause. Paimon was, as always, enthusiastically clinging to my back.
"I could just paint you guys, I suppose."
The phantoms ignored my words entirely and kept showering me with curses. Conversation, by its very nature, requires two-way communication, but these guys couldn't even manage the basics. As a test, I swung my fist, and sure enough, I felt the sensation of flesh tearing against teeth.
"......"
Terrifying bunch.
I better not push my luck.
I went out into the city for the first time in a while. Being a sizable city, there were quite a few art shops. I ducked into one and bought pencils, paper, paint, and a canvas. The shop was run by a fairly elderly man. The old man seemed to find me quite fascinating and kept staring at me intently the entire time.
"Are you a noble, sir?"
"No, I'm not."
"Sometimes nobles do take up painting as a hobby, but......"
The old man seemed suspicious of my background.
"Oh, those types quickly tire of painting, you know. Without solid fundamentals, it's hard to even find enjoyment in it. I'd recommend starting slowly, from sketching."
"If I tire of it, then so be it. Surely that's not the end of the world, old sir."
"That is precisely the noble way of thinking."
The old man spoke with the grimace of someone chewing on hard rye bread.
"Painting is a craft practiced by artisans. Like it or not, it is a heavenly calling bestowed upon us by the gods. You cannot simply step away from the canvas because you've grown bored. Coming and going at your leisure may be a privilege reserved for noble lords, but—"
"There's no need for worry. In a thousand lifetimes, I would never presume to call myself a painter. I simply have a subject I feel compelled to paint, and I'm gathering my materials accordingly."
"A subject you feel compelled to paint?"
The old man blinked.
I muttered to myself as I selected brushes.
"As you live long enough, there come to be things you realize only you can leave behind."
"......"
The old man's expression turned solemn for some reason.
"Living, or dead?"
"Hard to say."
"You should buy a sketchbook as well. It'll be of great help in your studies."
That day, purchasing basic painting tools alone cost me thirty gold coins. The old man had probably overcharged me, but I had few other places to spend money, so I let it go knowingly. Whether it was a courtesy or something else, the old man's granddaughter hauled the cart and delivered the supplies directly to the mansion herself.
"So the Habsburg family feud has finally ended, has it."
As I passed through the street lined with taverns, snippets of conversation drifted over to me.
Without realizing it, my steps slowed. A group of men were passing beers around and loudly discussing the state of the world.
"I heard Munich has been razed to the ground."
"There are also rumors that they killed everyone without distinction — men, women, young, old..."
"The Imperial Army truly shows no mercy."
I stopped dead in the middle of the street.
"......"
So that's how it is.
They've won.
In other words, Ivar's acting had succeeded. If Laura had seen through the puppet's true nature, she wouldn't have been able to focus on the war. As long as Laura didn't take up the conductor's baton, defeating Consul Elizabeth would have been impossible.
Laura had been deceived by Ivar's performance. And then she had demonstrated her true abilities, defeating Consul Elizabeth. The fall of Munich told me that much.
'Well done.'
I wanted to rush over and pat Laura on the head right then and there.
'As always, you're the best, Laura.'
Laura would have smiled brightly at that.
She had been tormented by feelings of inadequacy toward Elizabeth. The grudge she couldn't settle in the Second Chrysanthemum War — she had finally resolved it this time. How happy she must be. How much she must want to hear my praise. Even though it was the most glorious day of Laura's life, I couldn't be there by her side.
'All I ever left Laura was regret.'
Regret.
Abandoned by her family.
Reduced to slavery.
To Laura, who had been betrayed by the people of the world, I had once again delivered a betrayal of my own.
I returned to the mansion with faltering steps. I gave the errand girl from the flower shop — the one who had pulled the cart all the way here — her pay. The girl ran off excitedly toward the city. In the center of the room, now returned to silence, I began to draw aimlessly.
From that day on, my life continued like that of a cripple.
I didn't put anything in my mouth except alcohol. My routine split into exactly two categories: either I painted while staring at hallucinations, or I drowned myself in a barrel of liquor. Sometimes both tasks happened simultaneously. To be more honest, they mostly did.
My atelier quickly began filling up with paintings.
On the canvases were Paimon, Barbatos, Laura, Lapis, and Daisy. I didn't particularly want to paint the men, but I made them look like I was snacking on something. And so this mansion became like an exhibition hall summarizing my life.
Occasionally, when I gazed at the portraits from afar, the subjects of the paintings would chat among themselves. This usually happened when my skull was so soaked in booze that it turned to mush.
"Sis, do I really look like I'm trying to get a present out of you right now?"
"No, you don't. Of course. I know you're not. I just feel bad, that's all. Okay?"
Laura and Barbatos.
This was information I'd only recently confirmed, but apparently Laura never really had feelings for Barbatos. When Barbatos was at risk of becoming my official consort, Laura had desperately resorted to a beauty trap as a last resort. I was shocked when Lapis told me the full story of what had happened.
A relationship of using and being used.
At the center of it all stood me, yet I—the person involved—knew nothing.
Did she lose the argument? Barbatos whipped her head around and looked my way.
"Dantalion! You made our Laura do something like that!?"
I didn't make her do anything, you idiot.
You're the one being fooled by Laura right now. What an absolute fool—a Demon Lord who's lived for thousands of years, falling head over heels for a twenty-year-old human woman. From the start, you're far too weak when it comes to affection. For someone who leads an entire faction, you have far too many emotional vulnerabilities.
That's exactly why a guy like me managed to purge you.
"Dantalion!"
Barbatos glared at me with a fearsome look. She seemed to be striding toward me, only to crumble away just like a hallucination vanishing. In her place, nothing remained but cold air.
I quietly lifted the bottle to my lips and took a drink.
"Addiction of any kind is harmful."
This time, it was Lapis who nagged me.
In truth, half of what Lapis said to me was nothing but nagging.
—Please enjoy your tobacco and alcohol in moderation. I fear that Lord Dantalion's mind might crumble.
Yeah.
The only reason I hadn't completely lost my mind was thanks to Lapis always supporting me from the sidelines. She knew how to rebuke me without saying a single word. Lapis's silence had the power to put me at ease while also keeping me on guard.
Now Lapis was gone.
—....
Lapis let out a sigh, as though she couldn't do anything with me.
Her breath seemed to softly brush against my face.
I collapsed onto the floor right where I was and fell asleep. My entire body was smeared with paint, but I didn't care. Nobody would be seeing me anyway.
Tomorrow.
What would I have to do tomorrow?
The day after tomorrow?
And the day after that?
Less than a year had passed, but I already had an intuition that my life would flow like this forever. Empty days. Trapped by the lingering echoes of the past, unable to even die, just grinding through time.
But I was fine with this.
Time piling up like dust suited me.
Every now and then, the painting shop owner's granddaughter would come by and provide me with paint and paper — that was my one and only social interaction. She would fuss and exclaim that my paintings were improving at an incredible rate, that she'd never seen someone this talented before. I, for my part, could only feel indifferent.
It was just another day of waking up with alcohol replacing my brain fluid.
A woman I'd never seen before was standing inside the studio.
"……."
She was carefully examining the paintings I had made. At first, I thought it was another hallucination. But no matter how hard I rummaged through my memories, I had never met a woman like this. I groaned and pushed myself up from the floor.
The woman turned at the sound.
"Oh. You're awake."
"……Breaking into someone's house uninvited leaves you with no room to complain if you end up dead."
I scowled.
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
The woman bowed politely at the waist. Only then did I notice she was wearing a black suit. Not the kind of attire a demon race would wear — it was closer to a business suit.
"I am the one who brought you into this world."