The Villain's Second Time

Chapter 12

I hated clichéd evil.

I also disliked obvious villains.

I believed that even villains should have dignity.

Just as those who stand on the side of justice pursue pure good, not money, fame, or power, I too wanted to chase only pure evil, without being swayed by money, fame, or power.

Rising flames, the screams of confused people, the maddened roars of villains who caused those flames—I despised all of it. It felt like stale and outdated evil.

So, I began to smile joyfully. Whether things went as planned or not, whether I felt happy or sad, I unified all my emotional expressions into a smile. It was the beginning of the Joker.

But as I kept running and running—

The so-called Demon King, who should have been leading the way, veered off to a side path.

The Duke of the West, who had been running alongside me, was floundering in the river of conscience.

That useless Hero chick ended up breaking herself and becoming a hypocrite, neither this nor that.

Truly, it’s a lamentable state of affairs. Not that it means much to me, with only one day left to live.

"Joker."

"What?"

"Are you in a bad mood?"

"Does it look that way? Even though you can’t see?"

"A lot of emotions are revealed in the breathing, aura, and temperature of living beings."

"How versatile of you, Saint."

The Saint, kneeling on the ground, crawled toward me slowly.

As always, she wore a benevolent smile on her lips. A smile that was worlds apart from mine.

"If I give you a gift, will it brighten your mood?"

Saying so, the Saint reached into her robes and rummaged around.

"Are you going to give me bread again? I’m not particularly keen on eating bread tainted with your scent."

"Haha, that would be nice too, but no."

Something not at all light was placed on my chest. Looking down, my gaze fell on the object, illuminated by the light emanating from the Saint.

"It’s the treasure I’ve kept with me my whole life."

"What kind of treasure?"

"Please accept it. It is my sincerity, my faith, and my love."

"How can something that’s so filthy and grimy from dirt be called a treasure? Is this how treasures are managed these days?"

"If that’s what you think, then someday please clean it thoroughly for me."

What the Saint handed me was a rosary. The Black Rosary she always held while praying.

Giving such a thing to a demon, a vile creation of the Demon God—was she asking me to smash it to pieces right away?

"You’re not just giving this to me because you’re too lazy to clean it yourself, are you?"

"Do I seem like such a person to you? That’s a bit disappointing."

"Yes, you do seem like such a person."

"Pfft."

The Saint covered her mouth with her hand, letting out a light chuckle.

Not to be outdone, I laughed along as well. The fact that I was casually exchanging jokes with Maria, the Saint of the Sun, the strongest and most virtuous person on the Continent, just one day before my execution, was utterly laughable.

"Heheheh—"

"What a clear laugh. It’s pleasant to hear."

"That’s the first time someone’s spoken positively about my laughter."

"That’s because it contains your sincerity."

I don’t dislike this kind of trivial conversation.

With no family, no friends, and only the Demon King as my visitor—

The Saint, who had been imprisoned in Tartarus with me, had already deeply ingrained herself in my life within just seven days.

"Saint, shall I tell you the story of the first time I laughed?"

"Please do."

"It’s not a particularly touching story. It’s a damn comedy, really. A bit risqué, too."

Like a bard narrating a grand heroic tale, I began to speak.

At the mention of the risqué nature, the Saint blushed and covered her face with her palms, her ears twitching slightly.

"It was shortly after my mother and father got married. They were traveling through the Northern Demon Realm. Of course, I hadn’t been born yet at that time."

"That must have been a very long time ago."

"Yes, it was. But apparently, my mother was quite beautiful. She caught the attention of the Demon Realm Police. Naturally, demons are creatures who can’t suppress their desires when they rise. Police officers were no exception."

The Saint didn’t react. She must have sensed that the story I was telling wasn’t a pleasant one.

"They arrested my father, accusing him of being a spy sent by the Empire. Then they threatened my mother, saying they’d execute him immediately unless she spent a passionate night with them."

"...."

"There wasn’t much choice. My mother loved my father deeply. In the end, she gave in. But those guys were even more wicked than expected. They didn’t let my mother go for several days, despite saying it would only be for one night."

"...."

Watching the Saint freeze like a stone, I slyly continued.

"After all that effort, my father was eventually released. It seemed those scum never intended to kill him in the first place. My parents never spoke of that incident, as if they’d agreed to stay silent. They lived like that for months, but then something happened."

"...."

"My mother’s belly started to swell. Of course, what grew inside wasn’t my father’s child."

"...!"

"She must have been utterly devastated. After enduring and enduring, my mother eventually hung herself and jumped to her death one week before giving birth. My father wailed desperately in front of her. But then, my mother’s belly, hanging from the tree, began to tear open little by little."

The Saint’s face turned pale. Perhaps having grown up in the loving embrace of the Church, she didn’t know how to react to such a grim and ghastly tale.

I was too curious about her reaction to stop. Call me wicked if you will, but what can I do? I was born a demon.

"And that’s how I was born. According to my father, I was laughing while covered in my mother’s blood. Heheh, isn’t that a damn comedy?"

I flicked my tongue and posed the question.

I wondered, I wondered—what kind of reaction would our noble and innocent Saint have?

The wait for her answer felt so excruciatingly long that I nearly lost my patience.

"Joker, didn’t you say last time that your mother was beheaded by dragons?"

An answer that did not align with my expectations reached my ears.

Ah, was that just a passing comment? You still remembered it?

"What is the truth? Your mother…."

As she trailed off, seemingly confused, I felt my mood deflate and spoke playfully.

"Hey, Saint."

"Yes."

"Why so serious?"

"Pardon?"

"Whether this is true, or that is true, or even a third story is true, it’s all just something from the past, isn’t it?"

The Saint looked as if she had been struck by a hammer. Oh, that reaction is amusing in its own way.

"Heheh, laugh off someone else’s past. Whether it’s a tragedy or a comedy, what does it matter to you? After all, the world is nothing more than a third-rate comedy play."

I let out a burst of laughter, as if I were thoroughly enjoying toying with her.

In response, the Saint didn’t scold me but instead stepped closer and pulled my head into her embrace once again.

Ugh, there goes my good mood. I’m so tired of telling her to stop.

"Even if it’s a joke, you shouldn’t say such things."

"That’s your opinion, Saint."

"I believe the reason you can make such remarks so casually is because you’ve not experienced enough love in your life."

"You’re completely wrong. I’ve received tons of love, you know?"

"However, never forget this. Even if the world abandons you, even if it only shows you its cold and ruthless back…."

Squeeze.

"I, at least, will love you."

The warmth I had grown accustomed to enveloped my face. As I inhaled, her scent settled at the tip of my nose.

In that moment, I felt an indescribable sense of humiliation.

Unconsciously, I had thought her scent was pleasant.

As a demon, it was deeply shameful.

*****

Clatter.

"Ow."

"Are you in pain? Could you tell me which part hurts?"

"Everywhere. Because of what I said last time."

"Ah, I’m sorry. If only my love were a little more devoted, I might have been able to heal you…."

"Forget it. It’s all going to end tomorrow anyway."

The Saint stared at me with her bandaged eyes. I wondered if behind those bandages lay scarred pupils, or perhaps just empty voids.

Suddenly, I found myself curious.

"Accepting the pain of others is my role… yet I’m useless."

"Why the self-deprecation all of a sudden?"

"I’m ashamed."

"Just having you by my side helps a lot, so stop blaming yourself."

"What?"

"Do you even know how lonely I was these past 104 days, being stuck with someone as grim as Kelth?"

"Ah…."

Wait, did I just see a glimmer of hope light up in the Saint’s expression, only to fade away?

"Saint."

"Yes."

"Can I speak casually with you?"

"Haven’t you already been doing that?"

"Well, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask for permission before it’s too late."

"I never imagined the great Joker would bother asking for permission."

"Why not? Deep down, I’m actually a polite villain."

The Saint responded with surprise.

"Is that so?"

"Of course. I’m so considerate that I’d shove a shotgun into someone’s mouth, and before killing them, I’d kindly sing them a lullaby. I was so polite with honorifics that my dragons nicknamed me 'the courteous demon.'"

"…."

"Heh."

Ah, teasing the Saint is always entertaining. It’s the only time the smile lingering on her lips vanishes.

Screech.

Clang.

"Saint, it’s mealtime."

Kelth opened the cumbersome iron door and stepped into Tartarus.

"Kelth, why don’t you call my name? Are you discriminating against prisoners now?"

"…."

Normally, Kelth would quip back with something like, "Yeah, I am." After all, I don’t have the right to lodge a complaint.

"Sorry about that. Here’s your bread."

But today, Kelth quietly handed me my meal with a somber expression. No tossing, no dropping—just proper courtesy.

"There’s also milk, soup, and sandwiches. I even asked the chef for a special favor. The butter and jam were bought out of my own pocket."

Thud.

The menu was far more elaborate than usual. It included all the bread I’d mentioned liking in our previous chats, even rye bread.

"You should’ve always given me this much."

"I’m sorry."

"I’m joking. They say the ghost of someone who dies full looks better. I hope tomorrow’s breakfast is just as good."

"They said there won't be breakfast tomorrow. If you're too nervous, you might throw up on the guillotine... Please understand."

"Puhahaha!"

At Kelth's words, a crude laugh burst out, which didn’t quite match the somber atmosphere.

Nervous? Vomit? Who? Me, Joker Oscar Lucifer? Saint Maria of the Sun?

"Ahaha."

Perhaps finding it just as amusing, the Saint let out a clear laugh along with me. The only one not laughing was Kelth.

"Kelth, why aren’t you laughing?"

"How can you both remain so nonchalant in the face of death..."

"Two heinous criminals will disappear from the world tomorrow. Isn’t that something worth raising a toast to?"

"Hah."

"So smile. You should laugh on a joyous day. If I see you laughing after we’re dead, I’ll take it as hypocrisy and curse you with the filthiest specter’s malice."

Yet no matter how much I coaxed him, Kelth didn’t budge. With a heavy expression, he delivered the Saint’s meal to her table, maintaining that same look until he left Tartarus.