Startled, Beril quickly turned around. Decarabia was standing by the door with wide eyes.

Is this person named Pocalor?

Then Pocalor placed a finger on her lips and said,

“Hush. This isn’t something the child should hear.”

Child? Decarabia may look young but couldn’t be an actual child.

Above all, she was a demon who took great pride in the power she had. Even the rowdy Naberus would lower his eyes with just one look from her.

However, the Decarabia in front of Pocalor was different. She looked back at Beril as if she were a docile lamb.

As if she really shouldn’t hear what was being discussed.

…Listening might be embarrassing.

Beril slightly nodded, and Decarabia seemed to understand, bowed her head, closed the door, and retreated.

For the Decarabia who usually wouldn’t leave my side to retreat, this demon must be of confirmed identity.

…But when Decarabia introduced us, there was no name like Pocalor?

—Thump.

The door closed, and now only Pocalor and Beril remained in the basement.

“So why did you get married?”

Pocalor asked. Beril hesitated for a moment.

To clarify that, she’d also have to say that she was a saint.

“…”

After briefly looking into Pocalor’s eyes, Beril slowly closed and opened her eyes.

Yes, the fact that she was a saint was already well-known in this mansion. Pocalor would soon find out too.

It didn’t seem necessary to hide that fact from someone genuinely willing to listen to her story.

Not a follower of the shrine or of Ubar, or of Orobas, but a clear demon standing in front of the gates of hell.

It was strange to trust a demon more than a human, but Beril decided not to think too deeply about it.

The desire to confide was too great.

It seemed alright to tell someone claiming to have saved her life.

Especially if that someone was Belred’s older sister.

Furthermore, unlike other demons, she didn’t seem to fear mentioning Belred’s name. That thought made it feel more okay.

Belred would give an objective conclusion, even though she knew him well.

Moreover,

Suddenly, Belred’s words telling her not to hold back came to mind. She wanted to find answers somewhere, even if she had to use that as an excuse.

“Actually…”

So, she laid it all out. Of course, she couldn’t say what exactly she had in mind when coming to Vain, but she did say she was a saint, how she met him, and what the current situation was.

She shared what she had felt.

“But how did you know that Vain is a demon?”
Pocallor was not simply a listener who chimed in now and then.

She would empathize while listening to the stories and sometimes ask sharp questions.

“So…”

Because it was my third life. Would she believe me if I told her?

I had seen it with the inner abilities of Beleth, so she might believe. Beril looked at Pocallor and said,

“I’ve experienced strange events…, twice.”

Having cycled twice didn’t seem like an ability I could utilize, unlike the demons’ inherent powers.

So, she couldn’t possibly know how I had traveled back in time. That’s why I stuck to telling her what I knew.

But Pocallor didn’t ridicule me; she took my story seriously.

“You seem to have a desire as well.”

And after hearing it all, she wasn’t surprised.

“You must have accomplished something magical.”

Maybe because the essence of a demon is a magician, she didn’t seem particularly averse to it.

“So?”

“Ah…”

Explaining my third life had been a dilemma, but as Pocallor accepted it without prejudice, it became easier to confide in her.

“Were you happy before the regression?”

But at that question, countless words reached the tip of my tongue, only to disappear, leaving me to utter only a short phrase.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Her repeated denial was even underscored by a nod of her head.

“You must have had a tough time.”

Even without inner vision, Pocallor furrowed her brows as if she had seen Beril’s past.

“A demon never forgets its grudges. He will treat you well.”

And then she said this. It was clear that “he” referred to Beleth. Beril felt her insides tighten once more.

“But you spend nights and time with Beleth, so isn’t everything going well?”

She counted off on her fingers as she asked. But Beril shook her head.

“I have to wait for him every day.”

“Well, that’s natural if you love him.”

Pocallor answered nonchalantly. The word “love” seemed to stick in my ears.

“…I find myself waiting every night, and thinking of him, and the nights I spend with him are… good. But I,”

Pocallor had an expression that said she didn’t know what question to ask. Beril cautiously said to her,

If this had been a temple, I would never have been able to ask this.

“I don’t know if I’m waiting for the night or for him. So,”

Beril adjusted her seat and continued.

“Whether the feeling he gives me is good, or if it’s him that’s good.”

“So you’re saying you don’t know if you like the nights or him?”
Pocalor abruptly touched on the main point. Beril’s face flushed red.

“……Yes.”

She spoke, her head hung low.

“And why does he treat me like this, is this consideration something he offers to others as well.”