One Silver Coin For a Pound of Demon

Chapter 17

Draft
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You brought back a new cup, it's made of stainless steel so it won't break if it's hit hard. You also bought a wool cup cover, just the right size to keep the stainless steel cup from getting hot. It's a leftover item from a Christmas sale, a reindeer with an oversized red nose was woven to it.

Lemuel held the cup and rubbed his hands, his claws dragged on the cup and sometimes caught the wool. You think it's cute and always stare, at first he looks back in confusion, then he ignores you¹. Lemuel has given up trying to understand you, he seems convinced that you're ill, even after you showed him your medical report.

In one spring evening, you were awakened again by movement in the living room.

You walk into the living room, Lemuel isn't lying on the sofa, he's leaning on the window and looking out. You just realize that the movement you just heard wasn't because of a nightmare, but the sound of him getting up and opening the window. You walk into the living room in a conditioned reflex, but you can't execute the rest of the steps [push him to wake him up - sit for ten minutes], which left you standing there for a while. You wonder if you should go back.

Lemuel seems a little surprised seeing you, but he didn't stop. He continues drawing a cigarette from the pack, put it in his mouth, and light it with a lighter. With a click, the flames rise and fall, leaving behind little sparks that remain in the dark night, drawing an arc in Lemuel's hand, like a firefly flying around his fingers.

He doesn't say anything, so you walk over.

You sit in that chair, which is a few meters from the sofa and less than a meter from the window. You can clearly see the fire reflected in Lemuel's eyes, the smoke goes on and off with his movements, but it's not enough to illumate his face. It's early in the morning, and still far from dawn. The dim light from outside only deepens Lemuel's outline. You sit in the dark and somehow feel safe.

You know the dark isn't safe, the vision of demons at night were much better than that of a human's, and every cleric knows that they should always ensure its bright enough at night. But knowing is one thing, feeling is another. Perhaps it was the lights that reminded you of the flames in the fireplace. That year, all means of transportation were paralyzed due to the snowstorm, you couldn't be transferred to another battlefield immediately.

You could only borrow a residential house, and you were stuck to the warm fire for half the winter. You never saw any demons in those ten days. The old lady who lived in the house knitted a scarf for you. She sits in the rocking chair, the fire reflected in her dim eyes, when the adults weren't around she would hang the scarf around your neck to determine how long she needed to knit it. The scarf was very warm.

But you didn't get that scarf, anything you have to handle needs to be scrutinized for any malicious intent, or even just careless manufacturing that could cause you damage. In any case, the Holy See prepares only the most suitable for you.

"We were still at Northumberland this time last year," Lemuel said. "It has the best wind when beating the demons in cold weather. Those things don't adapt well to the temperature on Earth fortunately, we were able to push them all the way back to their hometown." Once he took the initiative to talk about his past, you suddenly snapped back from your distraction and listened with a bated breath.

"In theory, it shouldn't have been our job, the Crusaders are responsible for 'going to hell', but no one can predict what'll happen on the battlefield. Those who stick to the rules die." Lemuel say calmly, "Anyway, we were accidentally bombarded with a newly opened gate of hell, there were as many demons as there were cockroaches in a basement. We could either dance up and down with them or wait to be torn up, so I told the chaplain to shut it and took my men down there with me. It was so fucking hot, seven people died."