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Chapter 64: Scheming Big Sister
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 11:41:36 +0000 UTCThe sky overhead was a bright blue, a cerulean expanse that evoked a sense of peace and wonder. Palm trees swayed in the breeze while the sand crunched with every step of the happy residents strolling with carefree strides. Each would stop occasionally whenever they passed a grand golden temple, bowing in reverence and thankfulness before continuing their journey through the vibrant city.
Sweet Oasis.
It was, as always, beautiful here.
And yet Gula lay sprawled over her comfy couch with a face like thunder.
“That little squirt threw her first party without me,” she muttered, shoving a strawberry truffle into her mouth, not even tasting it. “A proper devil debut. And I missed it because of… reports.”
She glanced at her side with hatred.
Stacks of contract scrolls sat on a wooden desk nearby. Half-open letters detailed trade arrangements, faction movements, and the rise in dream core prices since Hannya’s daring stunt with the nobles. There were even rumors swirling about a full-blown execution. Gula wanted to ignore it all.
“‘Your territory requires oversight, Big Sister.’” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Oversight my ass. I should’ve been there wearing something scandalous and sabotaging her wine!”
She tossed a bonbon at the nearest sweet guard. It bounced off the servant’s helmet with a dull plop. The guard swallowed an exasperated sigh and said nothing.
Gula sighed, dramatically flopping to one side, her black and gold robes trailing down her throne like melted syrup. Despite the endless banquet her realm offered, she hadn’t touched the hearty table today. Well, not really. Her appetite, so vast, so legendary, was missing something.
No. Someone.
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about him.
Then, the scent of tactfulness and ash reached her nose.
Her eyes snapped open.
“Hans?”
He stood at the threshold of her dining lounge, unchanged. Perfectly pressed black suit. White gloves. Those ridiculous fake spectacles perched on his nose. He bowed deeply, a formal gesture that somehow still carried warmth.
“I have returned, my queen.” he said.
She sat up too quickly and nearly fell off the couch. “You-you’re late.”
“My apologies. The training of charm demons required more time than anticipated. But they’re progressing well on their own now. Gaining experience in the outer territories.”
She pouted. “So you’ve been spoiling those little hussies for weeks.”
“...Pardon?”
“Nothing.” She shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “You're back. That’s what matters.”
She hastily waved her hands to the guards in the room, dismissing them. She didn’t need guards with Hans here. But she glared at Hans like that wasn’t the case.
Hans’ eyes studied her, reading past her scowl. He stepped forward and, with a simple wave of his hand, summoned a silver serving cart. Real steam curled from the plates, seared blood duck in plum glaze, ghostwail truffle risotto, and nightshade soufflés still rising. Each dish shimmered with cooked artistry, touching the realm of devilhood, fresh and hot from his personal kitchen.
She didn’t look at it right away.
“Hans,” she said, trying to sound casual. “You’ll feed me today, won’t you?”
There was a flicker in his gaze. Not of surprise, but familiarity. He rolled up his sleeves without hesitation.
“If that is your will, my lady.”
She nodded hastily, cheeks warming as she pretended to eye the meal.
He delicately cut into the duck breast, placing a bite on an ivory spoon with the exact angle of reverence only Hans ever managed to make dignified. He lifted it to her lips without a word.
She leaned forward slowly, lips parting around the spoon.
The flavor hit her all at once, rich, perfectly rare, glazed with just enough sour to pull the sweetness into balance. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Perfection. Like always.
A soft sigh escaped her.
It was warm. Not because of the food, though his cooking was divine, but because of the one who offered it. Hans had always known how to feed her. Not like a servant. Like someone who saw her. Understood her.
“I suppose the brats did well?” she asked, chewing slowly. “The charm demons?”
“They are obedient now… and promising.” Hans replied, carefully slicing another portion. “But still unrefined. They will require constant shaping for the young miss. Lady Hannya has plans for them.”
“Hmph.” She chewed grumpily. “Seems she always has plans.”
She had only had a chance to speak to her through letters, and that too was a rare occurrence.
The butler watched her in silence for a moment before bowing again. “Would you like a report on her recent activities? Or perhaps send her a message?”
“No!” Gula said too quickly. “I’ll ask her myself later. I just-”
She paused.
“…I just missed the party. That’s all.”
Hans didn’t answer, but his faint smile deepened.
Gula turned her face away, hiding her expression as he offered her a sweet roll wrapped in smoked viper meat. Her fingers lingered a second too long over his as she accepted it.
If Hans noticed, he didn’t say.
But in the soft quiet of the dining lounge, Gula felt something stir beneath the layers of her gluttonous devil core.
A hunger she couldn’t name.
But the growing craving was left unsaid.
The second course was blackened sunfruit glazed in golden sugar liqueur, served with silversmoke cheese. Hans plated it with elegant grace, steam curling upward, a fragrant cloud of piping comfort.
He brought another spoonful to her lips.
Gula didn’t speak right away. She accepted it like royalty, chewing slowly, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
“…I assume the nobles stirred trouble?” she finally asked.
Hans gave a measured nod. “Three noble devils of the council factions attempted to seize Lady Hannya’s pavilion during their unwelcome visit.”
“And failed.” She said it flatly. It was not a question.
“They were… decisively dealt with,” he replied. A hint of satisfaction in his voice, such swift action to such foul manners pleased the old butler.
A smirk tugged at her mouth, though she did not open her eyes. “I assume you mean how someone was eaten.”
Hans neither confirmed nor denied. He simply began slicing the sunfruit into delicate wedges, offering the next bite. She leaned forward, lips brushing the edge of the fork, lingering a moment longer than was necessary.
“Hannya’s growing teeth,” Gula said after swallowing. “Good. And the platform will not bar her actions, not with her status.”
“She shows remarkable foresight.”
‘The fate mutation practically warping the world to her desired outcome.’ Hans thought.
“Yes, yes, she’s clever.” Gula muttered, pulling her knees up under her. One of her long sleeves trailed off her shoulder a bit, but she seemed not to mind. But the butler's tactful eyes were focused on serving food proficiently.
Gula continued. “The dream core price manipulation, the faction plays, the baiting of fools like that lackey… She’s playing three steps ahead.”
“Just like her big sister,” Hans added with a bit of amusement.
Gula almost choked in surprise. “I-”
She closed her mouth before she said something embarrassing. Her movements in Greed's territory were her first operation in a while, and things were going smoothly. In fact, none seem the wiser of her actions.
She reached for her wine, but Hans took the glass before she could. He brought it to her lips and tilted it just enough.
Petty satisfaction bloomed behind her sharp eyes.
“…Still,” she said after a sip, “as smart as Hannya is, she’s still new to this. Her rise will ruffle every rotting feather in Hellnia. And with her being crowned ‘Princess of Hazy Mountain’ now, well, you can bet someone’s already preparing to take her head off.”
Hans wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “And you intend to send support for her.”
Gula’s voice dipped into lazy deflection. “Did I say that?”
“No. But I’ve prepared a list of suitable envoys from your lesser courts. Including three options with diplomatic backgrounds, and two with... combat flexibility.”
She blinked, stunned for a moment.
Then laughed.
“Kakaka! You already anticipated I’d send someone?”
“I assumed you wouldn’t be able to help yourself.” Hans said simply, moving on to the final dish, a roasted beast claw drizzled in bittervenom jam, served with roasted duskroot and a side of charred pickled bonefruit. “And I know how much you hate missing important moments.”
“You’re a good butler.” she grinned.
“Thank you.”
She took the next bite from his fingers, letting them rest against her tongue a half-second too long. Hans withdrew his hand with his usual expressionless grace, but she thought, maybe, his ears flushed a bit redder than normal.
Or maybe that was just the heat of the meal.
“You think I should send someone strong, then?” she asked. “Someone who can slap a few faces if negotiations get rude?”
“That would be… prudent,” he said, placing a small napkin on her lap. “Lady Hannya is attracting rivals faster than most devils gain allies. Power invites scrutiny.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She swirled her wine, looking thoughtful now. “If I send someone, it has to look unofficial. I don’t want to spook the council. Maybe an ‘independent courier’ with a very personal interest in the princess’s future.”
“A clever fiction. I’ve already drafted three identities for such a courier, should you wish to review them.”
She turned to face him fully now, head tilted.
“You always know what I want, don’t you?”
He bowed. “I live to serve, my lady.”
A strange flutter stirred in her chest, and for once it wasn’t hunger. She reached for the last morsel of beast claw, only to find Hans already offering it.
Her hand stopped, hovering close to his.
She let him feed her again, silently this time.
The taste was bitter but rich, like ambition wrapped in regret.
‘I’ll send someone.’ she thought, licking jam from her lips. ‘If anyone lays a finger on my little sister, I’ll wither their soul down to the rind.’
And though she said nothing aloud, Hans seemed to understand.
…
…
After the meal, Hans shifted the dinner cart over and waved his hand once more. A platter of fruits appeared on the table in front of Gula. Now that she was fed, her snacks could be served.
She now lay reclined on a mountain of moaning couch cushions, her golden eyes half-lidded as she bit into a glistening green grape Hans fed her. The flesh burst with a divine crunch. Juice spilled along her lower lip.
"Good grape," she murmured dreamily, licking the corner of her mouth. “Where did you find them?”
Hans, as always, didn’t answer immediately. His gloved hand plucked another fruit from a silver bowl, wiped it lightly on a cloth, and gently placed it between her waiting lips.
“Private vine, bred from what was salvaged after the fall of the Orchard of Belligerent Wrath,” he said plainly.
Her ears twitched. One of their conquests of the past. “You spoil me.”
“A queen requires spoiling.” he said, flatly but not unkindly.
A soft sigh left her lips, and her hand curled gently against his sleeve for just a moment longer than needed. Hans did not react.
Of course he didn’t.
And that only made her clutch her silk pillow harder when she turned her head away, cheeks pink with frustrated softness. She would never admit to what she was feeling. Not to him. Certainly not to the charm demons training under him. She didn’t even want to name it.
She just wanted more grapes.
But duty, like always, crept in with the aftertaste.
“How is Manzana faring?” she asked, her voice sharpened only slightly.
Hans placed the grape bowl down with perfect care and stepped back to retrieve a scrying scroll, unfurling it in midair. Scenes shimmered to life across its folds, visions captured from spies, traders, and cursed objects now hiding in the shadow-market towns nestled in the alleys of Avaritia’s ‘divine’ territory.
“Better than expected,” Hans said, fingers gently adjusting the display. “The hunger curse is stable. He hasn’t tried to flee, and he’s begun carving a route from Copperwell to the port of Hookbait. Sales are consistent.”
“And the fruit?”
“Consumed,” Hans confirmed. “Some by commoners, others by debt-sellers, slave-makers, and contract leeches. Early signs are as predicted. Sleeplessness. Compulsive behavior. Paranoia. A few breakdowns.”
“Any deaths?”
“Two. One slaver in particular slit his own throat after biting into a bruised apple. Said since it was ruined, everything was.”
Gula tilted her head. “Mmm. There's always eccentrics, I guess.”
The apples were special. She’d twisted a portion of her curse into their seeds. And a hunger-cursed devil like Manzana had no choice but to obey and perpetuate her spell; every fruit he sold carried her name, her power, and her poison.
And Manzana was paid generously to offer them. An apple a day for him, of course.
And inside the flesh of those sweet apples?
A craving. A vision. A scream in the dark that only the greedy could hear.
Those who tasted one never wanted anything else again.
"Do they suspect the source yet?"
Hans shook his head. “They think it’s a curse from a random orchard ruin or a bad batch ‘blessed’ by an invidia upstart; everyone knows the devil of irony still chuckles in their blood. So no ties to us.”
“That devil curse is really weird… but good,” Gula whispered. “Let the god of gold’s hoard rot while he’s not around.”
Avaritia, now known as Greed after abandoning their name, was not just a faction, but a faith. His faithful built cities of tax and temple, stacked higher than mountains on the backs of the poor. But Gula remembered when his altars were dirt holes holding coppers and his sermons were only whispers of the power of money.
He stole from her once.
When they were both young devils growing in power.
The theft had almost killed her. And he knew it might.
Still, she’d let it go.
But attempting it twice, and on her sister no less?
She licked grape juice off her finger.
Now she would steal from him.
“I want Manzana to expand,” she said softly. “Let him beg. Plead. Make him the most desperate merchant the market has ever seen when the gates open again. The apples should feel like stolen kisses.”
“And the outcome?”
“Cravings… And fear.” She answered casually.
Hans gave a nod. “Understood.”
She closed her eyes and sighed, holding out her hand again. A grape was placed delicately into her palm.
She didn’t eat it.
Instead, she whispered, “Hans?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Stay a while longer today.”
“…As you wish.”
She smiled.
And he stayed.
In Greed’s Territory, somewhere deep in the merchant city and capital of Goldleech, a trader bit into a crisp, beautiful apple and wept for reasons he couldn’t understand.
~~~
In the inner sanctum of Hellnia’s grand capital, deep within a fortress carved of obsidian flame and white-bone pillars, the Noble Council gathered.
Thirteen thrones, spaced evenly in a ring around the massive flame pit, stood occupied by the shadows of Hellnia’s elite. But only three burned with interest today.
“Disgraceful,” murmured Lady Everva of the Dream Faction, resting her chin in her palm. Her eyes, six pupils arranged in a triangular pattern, reflected flickers of the flame pit below. “Dozeuff may be a fool, but his loss bruises our faction’s name.”
“It’s not a loss if the boy still lives,” Lord Caldrim of the Pride Faction said, running a gold-gloved finger across the rim of his goblet. “But being tricked and then spared… that’s worse than death. Showeuff’s name is being dragged through gutters.”
“I’m more concerned about Suziana,” drawled Lady Vinthera of the Pleasure Faction. Her voice carried the weight of someone used to getting her way, sugarcoated yet rotten underneath. “My daughter’s gone. Devoured like a sow in a butcher’s den. Nobody. No core. Not even ashes left to mourn.”
Everva’s fingers twitched. “This isn’t just about loss, is it?”
“No.” Vinthera’s wine-black lips curled slightly. “It’s about image. And precedent.”
They were silent a moment as the flames cracked and twisted. Lower nobles and aides stood at the fringes of the chamber, silent, heads bowed.
“Gula,” Caldrim muttered.
All three turned slightly toward him.
“Excuse me?” Lady Everva asked.
“This reeks of her influence. Don’t you see it? The girl, Hannya, what did they call her? The Princess of Hazy Mountain? She’s mimicking Gula’s rise. Start with territory, raise a strange title, eat a noble... then pretend it's diplomacy.”
Lady Vinthera let her glass tilt dangerously in her hand. “Eating another devil,” she said quietly, “is a curse. An affliction that no devil truly escapes. Even prodigies. Even miracles.”
“They always get hungry again,” Everva agreed. “And once they do, they eat more. And more. Until they snap and turn feral.”
“She’s no feral beast,” Caldrim snorted. “This wasn’t mindless gluttony. She let two walk away.”
Vinthera’s brow lifted, amused. “That’s what makes it worse. She chose to eat Suziana. Cold-blooded. Intentional. Meaningful.”
“And possibly… political,” Everva added.
That made them all pause again.
“She’s sending a message,” Caldrim said, tapping his goblet. “And we’re standing here acting as if she’s a mad dog off her leash.”
Vinthera sniffed. “Please. She’s a pup gnawing on a bone she doesn’t understand. I’m more irritated than frightened. Let her think herself clever.”
“She is clever,” Everva said, almost fondly. “I read the reports. She’s operating out of Baku’s territory. That’s the only reason we’re even talking about restraint.”
“Baku…” Caldrim’s expression soured. “I thought he was near death.”
“He was,” Vinthera said. “Apparently not anymore.”
“Then that complicates things.”
None of them mentioned the possibility of Hannya being a six-star. Because that couldn’t be the case.
A six-star devil wouldn’t be hidden away in a remote mountain palace. She wouldn’t let herself be called princess. She wouldn’t be unknown to the Council.
They dismissed it outright.
“She’s probably a four-star at most,” Caldrim muttered. “High potential. Likely given protections by Gula. But nothing… unmanageable.”
“Our factions, Dream, Pride, and Pleasure, were the ones directly slighted,” Vinthera said. “The other factions won’t interfere. This is ours to handle.”
“So,” Everva asked, “do we retaliate?”
“Open war would make us look petty,” Caldrim said. “And weak. If word got out that we lost to some mist-witch and an old cripple, we’d be laughed off the Council.”
“We could isolate her,” Vinthera offered, swirling her drink. “Turn her territory into a poisoned chalice. Let her choke on her own independence.”
“Or send a knife under the table,” Caldrim said. “A lesser devil. One ambitious enough to bite, but too stupid to know they’re bait.”
“A test,” Everva said. “If she’s weak, she’ll fall. If she’s strong, we’ll see her hand.”
“And if she starts eating again…” Vinthera smiled coldly, “We’ll have our excuse.”
The Council moved like slow fire: deliberate, smoldering, patient.
They did not fear Hannya.
Not yet.
Comments
Butch Perterson
I’ll give you a hint for this one. The chaos platform gives out that particular affliction as punishment. 🤭
Crystal Llily
I wonder if Hannya will be afflicted by that "hunger to eat more devils" they mentioned. I wonder if she'll find a way to overcome it or if it will be a constant issue she has to contend with
Butch Perterson
That’s a good thought 😂 and you’re not far off 🤭 the abyss is his ability after all.
Aune
I can imagine greed feels the cracking of the seals by an empowered Vainglory. And all this time, all this build up, from now, and alternative universe of his image.. he is in fact.. a paranoid mess, he has a literal bakgarden fire, and he can't put it out, or influence it on the other sides of the realms. not to mention he sees something of him, from the deeds done in the shadows by the deeds of the contracted of Hannayh, skyrocketing his paranoia
