By the time Prota returned to the bar, she was completely exhausted. Even through her inhuman pain resistance, her legs were screaming at her to sit down and rest. She’d been walking all night, and the sun was already rising over the horizon as she stumbled into the place she’d called home. With a last pull of energy, she dragged herself up the stairs and fell onto the sofa, not bothering to change or bathe. She wouldn’t have been able to move an inch, even if the Demon King herself showed up. As soon as her head hit the cushions, her eyes closed as she sunk into an uneasy sleep.
Rest, however, eluded her.
Faces, places, and nightmares plagued her as she slept. Her parents’ faces stared at her accusingly, blaming her for their deaths. Anta, crying out as she was taken away, telling Prota that it was all her fault. John, dying as he stared at Prota, blaming her for her ineptitude.
Her brain was punishing her, blaming her for everything that had gone wrong. She wasn’t unlucky. She was just reaping the seeds she’d sown. If she were stronger, she would’ve been able to avoid all of this.
It was that simple.
A voice kept echoing in her head, accusing her over and over, the words bouncing around until they were so deafening that Prota couldn’t hear anything else. There was nothing left for her now. What was the point of anything?
Maybe… maybe she was better off dead.
The nightmares continued to pester her, John appearing in most of them. He’d done so much for her. He took her in. Fed her. Bathed her. Given her a place to stay, gifts, training, education, rehabilitation, and for what? Why? For what purpose? She still didn’t understand, and now, she never would. The only person who could give her answers was gone, all because of her. His face plagued her, silently staring. His mouth opened, and she flinched, expecting something harsh, waiting for the criticism-
“Prota. You shouldn’t blame yourself for the faults of others. The only thing you can focus on…”
“Is you.”
Prota’s eyes shot open as she fell off the sofa. Her body ached a little, but she didn’t even notice. John’s words echoed in her head.
Her sister.
John.
What happened had happened. She couldn’t go back in time and change the past. She could only look toward the future. She couldn’t protect those around her before, but she didn’t want to die anymore. And even if there was no one left to save, wouldn’t there be others? Those who had lost precious ones. Those who couldn’t fight for themselves. There would always be those to protect, those to save.
Protect. Protect and save. Two words, burned into her head.
Gathering her wits, she looked around John’s room. The washroom, the bed, the kitchen, and the sofa she was on… it was all cozy, but it was time for her to say goodbye. She would’ve never had the strength to make such a decision on her own, but with no other option, she was forced into action.
She remembered the plan John had laid out.
“...adventurers… then Scholaris…”
She wasn’t strong enough for that, though. The plan had relied on John. So what now?
“Hey, Prota. Do you see that old lady? In the event that something happens, she’s someone you can trust. Come to her if anything happens, ok?”
Right. That was all she had left. One last hope. She paused, then grabbed the Scholaris admissions letter, making sure to keep it safe. She tucked it into a fold in her cloak, then grabbed her identification papers and put those away as well. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and took John’s papers, even though the one they belonged to no longer needed identification.
John’s identity. So many things didn’t make sense. She’d caught snippets of his conversation during the fight, and nothing made sense to her. Something about memories, powers and gods… even the fight itself had felt empty, despite the power it had exerted. A fight such as that felt like it should’ve been a conclusion to something, a way to resolve things, to answer questions and open new paths. But none of that had happened. All it had given Prota was a handful of new questions.
Well, some of those questions needed looking into.
The demon king, Diaboli. She didn’t know who Anta was. How was that possible? It was possible Prota’s memories were faulty, but… what did any of that mean? She shook her head. Diaboli was someone she’d meet eventually. She would avenge John and ask her questions then.
And Prota herself. Who was she? The demon king had said that Prota was “her’s.” What did that mean? Was she a demon after all?
The fight, for all its dramatics and flashiness, was nothing. No, it’d just been a stepping stone. Like the next torch in a dark tunnel lighting up, leading the path, revealing that the next few steps were safe, only to plunge into the unknown again.
The story was just beginning.
~~~
“Prota! Oh, you’re ok.” the old lady at the stall said. “Not that I had any doubts, but… Did John send you to get anything? Or are you just here to…”
The old lady slowed down as she saw the look on Prota’s face, and her own expression darkened.
“...did something happen?” she frowned. “Is everything-”
Prota shook her head. “Dead.”
“Dead?” The old lady whispered the word as if she didn’t know its meaning. “No, no, he can’t… you’re joking.” She paused and remembered who she was talking to. “Oh. He… no, that can’t be-”
“...?”
“That bastard… he died? There’s no way, he was…” She looked up at Prota, an uncharacteristic fear on her face. “Who was it? Who was powerful enough to take down that monster?”
“Um…” Prota thought for a bit. “Oh. Diaboli.”
“...huh? Who?”
“Demon King.”
That stopped the conversation in its tracks. The old lady looked stunned, and for a moment, Prota feared that she had somehow killed her. Thankfully, she looked back down at the small girl and continued, but the fear the old lady had shown must’ve been contagious because Prota was also beginning to tremble.
“The Demon King? What? He’s here already?”
“...he?” Prota said, cocking her head to the side.
“Yes, the lord- I mean, the Demon King shouldn’t be here for another few years…”
“He?” Prota was confused. Wasn’t the demon king a girl? “It was a she.”
The room went dead silent as the old lady stopped mumbling to herself.
“...say that again?”
“The Demon King is a girl,” Prota explained. “Woman,” she said, trying to make her point clear. “Big chest.”
“Yes, yes, I get it, but- are you sure?”
Prota nodded. She was beginning to get a little frustrated.
“The Demon King should be a man. The name is the same, but…” the old lady shook her head, frowning deeply. “Follow me.”
Prota followed the old lady to a rather old area of the city and into a small, worn down home. Inside, however, was perfectly clean and tidy, unlike the outward appearance. In fact, it had many of the most modern, expensive magic utilities one could get. However, the home was the last thing on Prota’s mind. Who was this old lady? How did she know any of this? She was starting to get worried as she entered the home.
“Did John ever tell you who I am?” the old lady said as they sat down in the kitchen.
Prota shook her head.
“Ah. Well, this might come as a surprise, but I used to be the leader of the demon worshippers.”
Prota flinched, instinctively moving back. Had she just walked into the heart of the enemy? John had said that this was someone she could trust, right? No, hold on. The old lady had asked if John had told her about this. Then had he known about her all this time?
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to attack you or anything,” the old lady assured her. “My cult leading days are over. Honestly, if they weren’t so strong, I would’ve never considered joining them in the first place. I never really liked the cultists, but… you do what you have to do.”
She leaned back into her chair, acting as old as she looked. Her eyes lit up as she recalled dozens of years of travels and memories, but those were a story for another time.
“That’s beside the point. Prota, you need to remember as best you can. Did you hear anything that was said?”
“Um… the old demon king is dead. Something about memories… power… gods?”
The old lady’s eyes opened at the word “gods.”
“Memories? Hm… I don’t know anything about that. But… gods?”
“Mm. Something about… the power of god,” Prota said. “Something about Celeste.”
The old lady froze.
“She was talking to that boy… memories… gods… power… yes, yes, it lines up, the old demon king being dead, the flow of the world being altered-”
Her eyes lit up as some kind of revelation seemed to reach her but then she sank back down as she remembered the situation they were in. With a sigh, she stood up and beckoned for Prota to follow her. The two of them went down into a basement, deep underground, where a very curious sight met Prota’s eyes.
Dozens of weapons were lined up along the walls, varying from swords to axes to maces, shields and suits of armour stacks in rows, wands wrapped in cloth… It was as if someone was preparing for war.
“This was all mine,” the old lady said. “Or, at least, it used to be. I have no use for it anymore. My fighting days are, well, on hold, ever since I fought John. It seems that might have to change.”
Her lips quietly moved as she summoned a fireball, lighting up the room and revealing a door on the other side. It opened slowly, as if it were made of a heavy material, revealing a large, padded room.
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“This used to be our base,” the old lady said. “Quaesitor Veritatis.”
She sighed as she looked around, savoring a lifetime of memories.
“Ah, I wonder where the others are right now... Prota. Have you ever heard of the great prophecy?”
The small girl shook her head.
“Makes sense. Not many care to learn about it these days. Listen. Why do we exist? Why do the demons exist? Why does anything exist? Did you ever think about that?”
Prota just stared. What was she talking about?
The old lady nodded solemnly. “Listen. Celestia, the goddess of this world, managed and made it through mana. It’s what makes everything up. But who made mana? Why was it there? And how did Celeste come to be?”
Prota was terribly confused at this point, but it seemed that the old lady was talking more to herself than her at this point.
“There had to be an answer out there somewhere. Our founder believed that was the case. So we trained. We trained to become powerful enough to find that truth. To find the power that made mana itself.” She smiled sadly. “We never did. And it seems the demons may have gotten to it first. But that’s beside the point.”
She set her memories aside and looked at Prota.
“You want to avenge John, right?”
Prota nodded.
“Then you need to grow stronger. Strong enough to fight the demon king.”
She opened the door, revealing a large white room lined with some kind of cushion, completely empty otherwise.
“This is a training room. It’s not strong enough to withstand too much, but… I highly doubt you’re at the stage to worry about that. Now then.”
The old lady turned to Prota, a glint in her eye. “Shall we begin?”
~~~
“You’re telling me they couldn't kill a child and a bartender?”
The noble of the Wynton family threw his wine glass to the floor in anger, the glass shattering everywhere as the crimson drink inside splashed all over the perfectly polished floors. His face was turning red as he grew into a drunken rage.
“You’re telling me a mere bartender! Not even a knight or some other kind of lesser being. A bartender! A worm! And a child! You’re telling me ten mercenaries couldn’t take care of two bugs?!”
The messenger trembled as he remained bowing.
“S-sir, I can’t confirm the details. All I know is that they failed to return, and no one knows where they are.”
“Then find them, idiot!”
The messenger flinched. He was so nervous that he was nauseous. The Wynton family was known for its underhanded and cruel methods, but no one could do anything. They supplied the kingdom with funds and resources, so cutting them off would be a massive blow to the general public. In return, the royal family had no choice but to support the Wynton family, allowing the nobles to run around and do whatever they pleased. This meant that the unfortunate servants were under some strict management, and getting fired was the least of their concerns.
“...!”
In his moment of panic, the messenger came up with a way to save his own skin.
“S-sir, you said the girl is a demon, correct?”
“Yes, yes, a bane of humans!”
“So… would it not make sense that the mercenaries were wiped out?”
“...”
The messenger peeked up and saw that the noble was deep in thought.
“In fact, if that girl is indeed a demon, it would be surprising if the mercenaries came back alive at all. I believe that my report has confirmed some details that will be much more useful.”
“The girl is a demon… Yes, yes, of course, it all makes sense! Ah. I never should’ve gone for those mercenary scum in the first place. I should be contacting the royal guard! The church!”
The messenger waited to be dismissed, shaking in his boots as the noble cackled away.
~~~
“Good, good!”
It had been a week since Prota had begun training with the old lady. She had an incredible talent for it. That didn’t mean she’d made a lot of progress. But it was a lot more than any girl her age would’ve made.
More than magic, though, there were a few interesting things she’d picked up.
The old lady was named Jinae. She couldn’t believe it’d taken a year to learn her name, but there was no point in worrying about it now. In their downtime, Prota heard stories of Jinae’s old group. Stories of adventures, wanderings, and mighty warriors who conquered whatever they set their minds to, all searching for a truth they all so strongly believed in. Beings so strong that they were respected no matter where they went. These stories served no purpose but entertainment, though.
The real lessons were about magic.
“Magic. Did John ever teach you anything about it?” Jinae asked Prota.
The girl shook her head.
“Figures. Even when fighting me, he never resorted to using magic. Well, not magic I could decipher. Granted, there was no need for me to go all out after learning that the members had been dispatched, but… regardless, I will have to teach you from scratch.”
The old lady lit a fireball in her hand, letting it hover while she spoke.
“Magic is a vital part of this world. It does so much for us. We can use it in our everyday lives, in combat, for transportation, to survive… but many never stop to question what it is. Do you know the answer?”
Prota shook her head.
“Magic is a living being’s manifestation of mana. Mana is the energy that provides life to the world. It’s an energy that shapes reality.” Jinae paused. “Do you know anything about souls?”
To Jinae’s surprise, Prota nodded her head.
“Oh, really? Then this will be simpler. Souls are powered by mana. As living beings with souls, we have the capability of influencing the mana around us.”
Jinae flexed her fingers one by one, and the fireball slowly changed form, growing wider and thinner, until it was a sphere that surrounded the two of them.
“Magic is not some sort of mystical thing people are born with. Many believe that. That is not true. No one is born with one kind of magic or anything of that sort. People are simply born with affinities. Their natures reflect the kind of magic they use because their natures reflect how they see the world.”
The sphere around them grew spikes, growing jagged and rough.
“One might be aggressive, seeking to attack and destroy.”
The sphere changed shape again, growing calm and warm, like a protective blanket.
“Others might seek to protect and care.”
The fire disappeared and was replaced by a soft wind which carried droplets of water, slowly spinning faster and faster until a ball of water had formed above Prota’s head. It fell, about to drench Prota, until a ceiling of earth covered her, keeping her completely dry.
“But if one opens their mind up enough, anything is possible. That’s what magic is, Prota. It is harnessing the world’s energy to shape it to our will.” Jinae smiled. “Do you understand?”
Prota cocked her head to the side. She didn’t understand at all.
“Ha! Perhaps it was too much for a child to grasp. No worries. I will walk you through it.”
Jinae left the room, then returned with a clear orb. Prota’s eyes opened.
“A-appraisal…” she muttered, shrinking back a little. She had a bad history with these things.
“Oh, so you know what this is. Yes, this is an appraisal orb. It will determine what your affinity with magic is, as well as what level your core is.”
“...core?”
“Dear me, did I forget to explain that? Maybe I’m getting slow in my old age,” Jinae sighed.
“Your core is what lets you process mana. Think of it like your lungs. When you breathe in, your lungs take in a bunch of air. Then, when you exhale, you blow the air back out. Similarly, with mana, you absorb mana from your surroundings and store it in your core, and then when you need to use it, you spit it back out as magic.”
Prota didn’t know what “lungs” were, but she understood the concept more or less.
“Your lungs, so to speak, are probably very small.”
Prota frowned just a little bit.
“You are a child, Prota!” Jinae laughed. It was a strange sound to Prota, who was accustomed to hearing John’s somewhat forced laugh. Jinae’s laugh was hearty and full, making her feel warm. This lady was the head of a demon worshipping cult? “You will grow soon enough. However, let me continue.”
“As you age, you will be able to process more and more magic, as long as you train your core. You will be able to cast bigger or more complex spells, even cast multiple spells simultaneously. Perhaps you will even create your own, unique magic.” Jinae looked at Prota with a twinkle in her eyes. “But that’s for later. Let’s start with the basics.”
She held the orb out for Prota to touch, but to Jinae’s surprise, Prota backed off.
“...is something the matter?”
“Mn.” Prota squeezed her eyes shut, the approached the ball. She remembered her village and how everyone reacted when she’d been appraised. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to-
“Ah, all done. See? Nothing bad happened,” Jinae said. “Although… a D rank core, huh? Well, you are still young… no matter,” the old lady shrugged. “That doesn’t stop us from learning.”
So the week went by, and slowly but surely, Prota was on her way to becoming a mage.
~~~
“Prepare the special division. We need to nip this in the bud while we still can.”
The noble of the Wynton family was at the church, where the priests were hurrying around with the royal knights, preparing to leave for battle. The noble had reported that Prota was a demon and provided proof of the mercenaries' death. The church and the knights looked into it and came to the same conclusion as the noble.
Prota was a demon who needed to be dealt with.
The noble grinned secretly while rubbing his hands. In all honesty, he didn’t care whether or not Prota was a demon. All he knew was that he’d been humiliated and couldn’t let that slide. A noble of his stature would not tolerate such insolence. The fools would pay with their lives. It was, after all, what they deserved for daring to stand up to someone as important as him.
“A small task force. Twenty men, all specializing in all forms of combat. All S rank mages or higher. Ten knights, ten priests, all solid combatants… a good team,” the captain nodded.
“Men! Our mission is to find and eliminate the demon girl and, if possible, capture the bartender who was with her. The bartender’s information has been provided to you and is in your reports for you to review. The girl has no information other than what we can speculate. This has also been included in your reports. Do not be distracted by them. For Devroth and Celeste!”
“For Devroth and Celeste!” the men chanted, then left the church.
“Oh, and you,” the captain said coldly, stopping just before he left. He put his armoured gauntlet on the shoulder of the noble, clenching hard.
“I’m going to let this slide once because it really does appear to be a demon. But we have our eyes on you. Perhaps the kingdom may overlook your sin, but the church is not affiliated with the kingdom. You set a bounty on two individuals when neither was confirmed to be a demon. I’m fully aware that you could not care less about a public threat. It is only because of the reports that we are believing you at all. This will not work again.”
The captain left to join his team, leaving the noble behind. He watched them head out, a stain blooming in his pants.