The Unveiled Veil (5)
"You bastard!!"
At first, I thought Ben had caused some kind of trouble.
Considering how obsessive he was when it came to my health—not to mention his berserker tendencies—it seemed entirely plausible. But what I heard next cast doubt on that assumption.
"Mael! I told you never to pull that filthy crap again!"
Huh? Did Ben know that guy's name too?
Now that I think about it, the voice sounds pretty different.
No way his voice changed that much so suddenly….
I glanced over my shoulder.
'…Ben is right here?'
Still seething but standing calmly behind me, that was definitely Ben.
Which meant that the person grabbing the druggie "Mael" by the collar was someone else entirely.
Crash! Bang!
Yikes. They must know each other, but that guy's not holding back at all.
Did he just throw him?!
After shaking Mael's collar like a ragdoll, the man let go as if tossing it away and took a breath, then turned his head sharply in my direction.
His face was twisted like a demon's. Startled, I instinctively flinched while watching the pathetic druggie crumpled in the corner. But it lasted only a moment.
The man quickly relaxed his expression, then spoke gently, face filled with sincere regret.
"My friend seriously crossed a line. I apologize."
"Oh, uh… it's fine."
"No, really. That could've ended badly. Drugs? I thought he'd learned his lesson after what happened last time. I'm truly sorry. I should make it up to you somehow…"
I really didn't mind.
Honestly, I just wanted to go home, count today's gold coins, and relax.
So I planned to turn down whatever offer he made and be on my way.
But then…
"Oh, you said you like to drink, right? There's a tavern on the second floor. Let me buy you a drink."
"!"
"You can drink as much as you want."
Freeze.
Every part of me stopped moving. I couldn't help it. This was instinctual.
"A…as much as I want?"
"Yeah, all you want."
"..."
This… this was irresistible.
"Demon…?"
Sensing the danger, Ben cautiously called out to me.
Hah. That finally snapped me back to my senses.
No. Edgar gave me strict instructions before he left. I have to hold it in.
For Ben's sake—who follows me around so diligently—I must resist. I have to! I can't let myself fall for such a devil's temptation…
"It's just a sincere apology, so don't feel burdened. If it's still uncomfortable, maybe you could at least share some tips on how you managed to score that many coins?"
"I don't have any tips."
"Ah, yeah, I guess it's a bit much to be digging for trade secrets on our first meeting, huh?"
No, not because it's our first meeting. I really don't have any tips.
"Well, in that case, let's start by getting to know each other."
There was a playful mischief in his voice, which somehow made him seem even more friendly.
Looking at the teasing glint in his eyes, I had a sudden thought.
This guy's a pro.
He's really good at pulling people in—it shows.
A regular person would've warmed up to him immediately. But not me. I know too much. I'm immune!
'…Or so I thought.'
Before I knew it, I was on the second floor, arm slung around his shoulders.
I got played! How?!
Even though I knew, I still fell for it. What kind of idiot am I?
I wanted to rip my hair out in self-loathing. Of course, I valued my hair, so instead I clenched and unclenched my fists under the table.
"What're you thinking about?"
"…Nothing."
No, wait. When I think about it, maybe this was reasonable. I hadn't had a drink in ages.
Especially for someone who loves alcohol as much as I do—it made perfect sense that I gave in.
So maybe… maybe I should drink just enough to build resistance to temptations like this in the future…
"Demon…"
"Urk."
In my booze-blinded excitement, I'd forgotten about the voice of reason.
I started sweating at the sight of Ben's pleading expression.
If he'd just shouted and made a scene, I could've ignored my conscience. But looking at me with those gentle, hopeful eyes—it really stung.
It was somehow even more terrifying.
Worried that I'd hurt his feelings, I carefully tried to strike a compromise.
"Just one drink."
"..."
"I won't get drunk."
"That's… not exactly something you can control—"
"Exactly! As long as I don't get drunk, it's fine, right? Hey, you too—why don't you have a drink?"
"…I'll pass."
A heavy sigh landed on the table like a thud.
He didn't say anything, but I flinched inwardly.
I guess… that was a no. From Ben's reaction, he really was disappointed.
Nothing gained, and his opinion of me just dropped. Fantastic.
I sighed. Maybe that was what triggered him, because Ben flinched and stared straight at me.
"..."
"..."
His eyes were practically screaming, Why are you sighing when I should be the one sighing?
I felt like I couldn't breathe. Instinctively, I sucked in a deep breath, and Ben, with a slightly shaky voice, finally spoke up.
"Just… one drink."
"…What?"
"It may be disappointing, but I suggest you look forward to next time. My apologies."
It took me a moment to fully process those words.
The guy who seemed like he'd never, ever agree to this was now giving me the green light? Did I really hear that right? Or was it just wishful thinking on my part?
After running the sentence through a few mental checks and confirming it was real, I cheered internally and forced myself to respond without sounding too excited.
"Yes."
Finally!
Humming with joy inside, I took a seat at the table.
As I reached for the menu, the guy—still watching Ben and me with amused curiosity—raised a hand to call someone over.
"One of everything on the menu."
Holy shit, I love this man.
I asked if that wasn't a bit excessive, and he said whatever's left over, he'd give to his friends.
Where in the world do you find angels like this?
The drinks came out quickly.
Ignoring Ben's worried glances, I gleefully scanned the array of bottles laid out before me—and promptly felt a wave of despair.
Out of all this, I can only taste one?
Not even a full bottle—just one glass.
I could try something extreme like mixing different drinks together, but then I wouldn't get to appreciate the unique flavor of any one of them.
I couldn't waste my precious single drink on something so half-hearted, so I agonized over the decision—picking one up, setting it down, then reaching for another, over and over.
Apparently, my struggle was obvious.
"Hm… if it's too hard to choose, want me to recommend one?"
"Pardon?"
"If you like a bitter edge, this one. Clean aftertaste? This one. Prefer something sweet? Go with this. Smooth finish? This guy. And then there's…"
The explanations just kept going.
Wow… this guy…
Impressive.
He clearly loved alcohol, too.
Somehow, that made me happy. Smiling to myself, I quietly let him talk on, enjoying every word.
Ben looked like he was losing the will to live beside me, but who cares?
This was a once-in-a-lifetime decision. I couldn't just pick something half-heartedly because of someone else's mood.
After much internal debate, I finally made my choice, and a glass was placed in my hand. The liquid shimmered inside, almost too beautiful to drink.
Who knew when I'd get another chance like this? With tears in my eyes, I took a careful sip—just as the guy across from me, who was also raising his glass, suddenly spoke up.
"Kinda noisy, huh?"
"Hmm?"
"There are a lot of rough types around here. The moment they drink, they start fighting."
"…Ah."
A glance to the side revealed people already punching each other.
But isn't that pretty normal for taverns? Tilting my head in mild confusion, I looked back at him. He winked playfully and pointed somewhere.
There, two men were going at it in a way that was clearly not just drunken roughhousing. Their expressions were deadly serious.
"Wanna bet on who wins? Oh, and of course, you too," he added, glancing at Ben.
"I'll pass," Ben said.
"Aw, don't be like that."
With a sly grin, he casually threw an arm around Ben's shoulders.
Only then did I realize what he was up to.
He poured me another glass.
By closing off my view with that friendly arm over Ben's shoulder, he'd made sure I stayed focused on the table—and my glass. Another drink, filled and waiting.
It might be considered an insult to a demon, but I couldn't help thinking it:
Is it possible for a demon to be this angelic?
I downed the drink quickly—and it was instantly refilled.
Drink. Refill. Drink. Refill.
How many times did that cycle repeat?
──And then my memory cut out.
His laughter was careless, but those crimson eyes were sharp.
His expression was loose, but his movements were tighter than ever.
This… was dangerous.
Instinct screamed in alarm.
For a moment, the fear that washed over my entire body froze me in place—I couldn't even move a finger.
Ben, too, had been paralyzed. He only barely came to his senses after the man had emptied three full bottles and was already halfway through another.
It was like time, frozen solid, had finally cracked and started to move again. Ben lowered his gaze, slowly regaining his composure.
He was trembling.
His hands beneath the table still shook now and then.
I didn't stop him.
When it first looked like he was getting drunk, he could've stepped in. But instead, he'd watched in silence as the man downed three and a half bottles.
That was when his instincts had been screaming at their loudest.
It looked like the most harmless moment—but why?
Ben, who had fought alongside the Demon King through countless battles, knew well: trusting your gut over your eyes is what keeps you alive longer.
So even as he watched his charge uncork yet another bottle, he couldn't bring himself to speak.
"Hah… ahahaha…"
The red eyes that had been so sharp at first had grown slightly unfocused from drinking nonstop, with no food to accompany it.
He rubbed his face against the table, giggling to himself. One of the bottles toppled over beside him.
…Wait. Weren't there fewer bottles before?
Sure enough, four empty bottles were now lined up beside him.
Including the one that just rolled across the table, that made five in total.
He'd drained another bottle while they weren't paying attention. At this pace, it was far too fast.
The tension in Ben's gut eased—just a little. It meant the most dangerous moment had likely passed.
Even so, he didn't let his guard down. The danger had lessened, but it hadn't disappeared.
The presence before him still demanded caution—though now, in a different way.
And sure enough—
"Are you the enemy~?"
"No, I'm not."
"Then you're the enemy~?"
"Him neither."
"Who's the enemy thennn~?"
"There's no enemy here."
"Yooou're the enemy~?"
"I'm not."
The drunken rambling had begun.
Didn't you say you don't get drunk…?
Ben silently covered his face with a hand. The demon's slurred questioning went on and on, making it all the more devastating.
He never should have allowed this. A wave of bitter regret crashed over him. He'd only allowed one drink—just one—because it looked like he might throw a fit if denied.
I should never have said yes.
Demon Arut, the Demon King's personal wildcard. The commander of the elite 0th Legion. The one who killed the last remaining Hero with his own hands.
Was now twenty minutes into the same endless loop of questions and answers.
Anyone watching might wonder why Ben was still so tense around someone so clearly plastered and goofy.
But they didn't know.
Sure, he might look harmless. Might even seem like a harmless fool. But go ahead—try giving the wrong answer to that question.
That question: "Are you the enemy?"
If you failed to deny it—or even just hesitated—he'd instantly switch from cheerful to savage and come at you with a dagger, laughing all the while.
At best, you'd be hospitalized with severe injuries. At worst, you'd be a shredded corpse, unrecognizable to anyone.
So how could Ben possibly relax?
Especially in a place like this, where even damage control would be difficult if something went wrong.
Luckily, it's still at Phase One…
Demon Arut's drunken episodes had three stages.
Phase 1: The Question.
Phase 2: Suspicion.
Phase 3: Interrogation.
In Phase 1, if you simply deny the question—"Are you the enemy?"—you're fine.
In Phase 2, the follow-up is: "Why?" If you can't give a proper answer, the attacks begin.
Phase 3 is… a massacre. Pure and simple.
Let's say someone answers Phase 2 with:
"Lord Demon, you serve the Demon King. So do I. That means we're not enemies."
That'll pass for Phase 2. But in Phase 3?
"So what? You could still betray us. You might be a spy."
He presses harder. Mercilessly.
And at that point, what can you say? If you stumble, or just keep denying it, he concludes, "Knew it. You're the enemy," and strikes.
As the target, it's enough to drive you insane.
I cannot let him reach Phase 3.
With that desperate resolve, Ben reached out and stopped Arut's hand as he reached for a new bottle.
The demon's murky red eyes rolled slowly toward him.
There was no killing intent. No fury. Just pure, visible displeasure.
But even so, Ben froze like a mouse before a cat. He swallowed dryly, forcing himself to speak.