(A/N: I'm starting to run out of ideas how to name the chapter bruh.)
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As they passed the garden, Makima glanced sideways at him. "I'm heading to the archive. Care to tag along?"
Veilhem shook his head with a shrug. "Nah. Paperwork's not my thing. I'll wander a bit, stretch my legs."
Makima tilted her head, feigning offense. "Turning down an invitation from a beautiful woman? That's cold, even for you."
The knight didn't miss a beat. "A real beauty wouldn't need to announce it."
He took a few steps before tossing a look over his shoulder. "Try not to kill anyone while I'm gone."
She hummed in acknowledgment, slipping her hands into her coat pockets. "I'll try, but no promise."
For a brief moment, they stood there in silence. Then, without another word, Veilhem turned and walked away, slowly fading into the distance.
Makima lingered a moment longer to see him off, her gaze fixated on his disappearing figure. She turned and spotted a nearby servant.
"Take me to the clan's archive." She said smoothly, her voice commanding, unlike when she usually talked with the knight.
As the servant hesitated under the weight of her presence, she offered a faint, disarming smile.
"That's an order from the head of the clan." Makima added lightly. "You can file the report after, if it makes you feel better."
The servant hesitated only briefly before bowing their head and gesturing toward a path leading deeper into the estate. Makima gave a slight nod before setting off, her steps unhurried like someone who already knew the way but still chose to be guided.
The sounds of the courtyard soon faded into silence, replaced by the soft echo of her footsteps against polished stone.
In front of her now was a dimly lit hall, lined with faded tapestries and flickering lanterns. Shadows danced along the walls, stretching thin across the floor whilst the air was thickened with the scent of old parchment, melted wax, and the faint musk of time.
Makima reached into her pocket and retrieved a neatly folded handkerchief, pressing it gently to her nose.
The smell wasn't pleasant to say the least, especially with her sharp nose, but it wasn't something that bothered her too much.
At the end of the corridor, the servant stopped before a tall, iron-bound door. Without a word, they pushed it open with both hands, the hinges groaning under their age.
She took a slow breath and stepped inside, lowering the handkerchief as her eyes scanned the vast space.
Moving through the rows of aged scrolls and bound ledgers, her fingers skimmed the spines of these records with practiced ease. The Zenin Clan's archive was meticulously kept, each document neatly categorized.
Though she knew the huge amount of books in plain sight wouldn't hold anything worth. It was typical for the clan, known for its tradition, to do this to keep their secret elsewhere.
She plucked a few records from the shelves, flipping through them with swift precision. Lineage records, financial transactions, and mission reports. There were some shady businesses in it, but nothing worth mentioning.
Makima moved from shelf to shelf with quiet efficiency, the rustle of parchment her only companion.
The hours passed unnoticed, the dull ache of monotony creeping into her limbs.
It was tedious work, sifting through so many layers of curated history in a single morning—but for her, it was far from impossible.
As she slowly absorbed the knowledge of this grand archive, something caught her eye.
A thinned ledger, unmarked, tucked between the ordinary tomes. The corner of its pages was stained with dried blood.
Intrigued by this unexpected find, she pulled it out and scanned the contents.
Fundamentals of Cursed Technique. Training method. Unlocking latent potential.
She wasn't particularly into this so-called private study and skimmed through it quickly.
A detailed breakdown of Projection Sorcery, the Zenin Clan's famous technique and which was also the one that caused her a little bit of trouble yesterday.
As she read further, it contained the training regimen, including limitations and ideals on how to improve.
It was extensive yet meticulously documented, which helped her understand this world's power system.
Then another name appeared in it.
The Ten Shadows Technique.
It was said to be the most powerful technique in the clan, yet the records on it were far less detailed, giving off a feeling that they did it intentionally.
Though this wasn't out of her expectation since no one was stupid enough to write down all of their secrets in just one book and throw it into the clan's archive. Soon, she found a name standing among the scattered notes that caught her attention.
The Divine general Mahoraga.
Her gaze stopped at the name she recognized from Japanese folklore, though the spelling and context had been altered.
A slow smile curved at her lips as she turned the page, her interest fully piqued now.
[No one had ever tamed this shikigami.
It was a creature of divine wrath, summoned only as a final resort.]
According to the notes, it should only be called upon at the brink of death, and only by a user of the Ten Shadows technique.
The last record stated that the Ten Shadows user had unleashed it against a bearer of the Six Eyes, and both ended in mutual destruction.
A weapon that devoured friends and foes that dared to call upon its existence, an existence just like Chainsaw Man.
Snapping the book shut, she slid it into her coat.
'This was worth keeping.' She thought as she stretched her arms over her head, feeling the stiffness ease from her muscles.
She had gotten what she needed now. The only thing left was to find the Ten Shadows Technique's user and do a little experiment.
With a glance at her wristwatch, she realized it had taken more time than expected, but it wasn't much of a concern. She was, for all intents and purposes, self-employed now.
No government agent hovering over her shoulder. No urgent orders funneled down through bureaucratic chains.
It was… unfamiliar. A feeling that had never existed in her dictionary.
Freedom.
Silent and formless like an echo with no origin. And yet, instead of exhilaration, all she felt was the faint weight of habit, waiting to be reassigned.
Makima frowned slightly.
She didn't like how aimless it all felt after she was transported to this new world. Looking back, wasn't she, in a way, always under someone else's influence? The orders may have stopped, but the habit remained.
Such irony—The Control Devil, dancing to the will of humans.
Normally, she wouldn't waste a thought on such a trivial question. Self-reflection was unnecessary for someone like her. And yet, ever since she began observing a certain knight and his woeful past, she couldn't help but glance inward.
Veilhem, she mused, slipping her arm through the coat sleeve.
The only soul in this dull and predictable world who stood out, even though he didn't even try to.
Stubborn. Wounded. Utterly directionless.
And yet…
He always had a bizarre way of pulling her attention, peeling back the layers of thoughts she didn't realize she had.
Being around him for only a few days and she already found herself thinking strange things.
What it might feel like to be human.
To love and to hate.
To grieve and laugh.
To feel their emotion, not as a means of control anymore, but something real without deception behind it.
She felt like she had been getting greedy lately, yearning for that faint, elusive warmth called love.
But wasn't it only natural for a Devil to be a little greedy?
Makima let the thought linger, soft and dangerous.
Then she blamed this change on Veilhem for being such a bad influence.
Though, wouldn't it be fair… that he be the one to satiate her greed?
Makima chuckled as she stepped out of the archive, the faint echo of her heels trailed down the corridor.
A servant turned the corner ahead, nearly colliding with her. He stopped short, visibly startled, his breathing labored, shoulders slumped from exhaustion. Sweat clung to his brow despite the estate's chill.
Makima tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning him.
"You look tired." She said, almost absentmindedly. "Do you want a hug?"
The servant blinked, clearly unsure if she was joking. But before he could respond, Makima had already stepped forward, arms loosely wrapping around him.
To any observer, it might've seemed like a gesture of compassion. But to the servant, it sent a chill down his spine.
She felt it. The desperation. The fatigue. The hollow strain of someone who kept moving out of order, not by their will.
It was different from him.
There was no warmth here, only compliance.
It was dull. Why is that?
She pulled back, a faint shadow crossing her face.
"Thank you. That's all I needed." She said softly. Then her voice dropped in a commanding tone as she gazed at him. "You may end your life now."
"Pardon?" The servant blinked, startled at her words, but the confusion lasted only a heartbeat. His features slackened, eyes losing their light as if strings had suddenly pulled taut from above.
And then, without hesitation, he bowed his head and turned away, footsteps steady as he moved to carry out the order given to him.
Slowly, Makima reached into her coat and pulled out a cigarette. The flick of her lighter echoed in the quiet corridor, followed by the soft crackle of burning tobacco.
A thin wisp of smoke curled into the air as she exhaled.
Moments later, a distant scream rang out. Panic erupted with shouts, hurried footsteps, and the clatter of servants rushing in that direction.
Makima adjusted the collar of her coat, completely unfazed by the commotion. She turned away from the noise, her steps unhurried.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips as she walked down the hall was none of her concern.
"Ah." She mused aloud, voice light with mock regret. "He did tell me not to kill anyone…"
She paused, eyes half-lidded with amusement.
"Well, too late for that now."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she murmured to herself. "Now… where did that knight wander off to?"
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Meanwhile….
Veilhem was lost.
He was supposed to be heading back to the Zenin Clan after strolling for a while, but he just couldn't remember the way back.
With a sigh of resignation, he let his gaze drift, and that was when he saw a convenience store. A humble little shop tucked between taller, flashier buildings. The automatic doors slid open as a man in a business suit walked out, carrying a steaming cup of instant ramen.
Veilhem stared.
For a moment, he considered his options. Continue wandering aimlessly, hoping for a miracle that could help him navigate this city? Or accept his fate and find some way to contact Makima?
Of course, the correct answer would be the latter, but as soon as he smelled the alluring aroma from the store, he decided to roll with it.
Who give a shit about getting back home? He had been homeless before... And it's been a while since he had last eaten anything proper. Why not?
He stepped inside, greeted instantly by the artificial chill of the air conditioning. The store was small, shelves packed with colorful snack bags, canned drinks, and ready-made meals. A faint tune played from unseen speakers, some cheerful jingle looping endlessly in the background.
Veilhem wandered through the shelf, inspecting the goods with an almost scholarly curiosity. Modern convenience was a fascinating thing. A meal sealed neatly in plastic. Meat skewers were rotating slowly in a glass case. Tiny triangular rice parcels wrapped in seaweed.
He grabbed a few things, intrigued by the packaging alone.
Soon, he found himself at the counter, facing the bored-looking clerk who barely glanced up from his magazine.
Veilhem placed a handful of white, glimmering souls onto the counter. It was the currency that never lost its value.
The clerk stared at the empty counter, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and mild concern. "Will you pay for the food or keep staring at me? I will tell you first that I don't swing that way."
Veilhem glanced at his currency on the table, then back at the clerk.
'Ah shit, this might be a problem.'
He didn't account for the fact that humans of this world couldn't see the soul...
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(A/N: Truly they are weird right. Even I see them weird.)