Chapter 426: A Battle of Wits and Hearts (11)

Inside a neatly hewn square stone chamber.

On the wall stood a massive stone-carved chair, and a young man lounged there with an easy slouch.

The young man’s epithet was the Heart-Eating Demon Lord.

By his own claim, and that of his subordinates, he was also called the Heart-Devouring Demon King—an old young man.

“By now, the Blood Devils should be complete, right? Hey, you monster bitch, connect me to that bastard.”

“That bastard...? Mmm, if by ‘that bastard’ the Demon King means that bastard, ah! I’ll contact the Hall Lord. Hey, Sahi, is that bastard there?”

“No-no-no! Not the Hall Lord, you—! Trying to get someone killed?”

“If not the Hall Lord, then the Pagoda-Top Heavenly King? Hey, Dongil, is that bastard there?”

“Not the Pagoda-Top Heavenly King! When have I ever asked you to call that bastard?!”

“You just said ‘that bastard.’ How am I supposed to know? Oh—must be that bastard, the Solitary Master. Hey, Cheonje, is that bastard—”

A rare winter golden apple flew through the air, struck the woman square in the solar plexus, and shattered into pieces.

The leftover force sent her flying—thud!—slamming hard into the stone wall.

A big plume of dust burst upward.

Yet the woman got up as if nothing had happened, cheerfully sat down again with her legs stretched straight out, and stayed there.

“This is why I can’t be motivated. I’m always someone who helps the Demon King, not one of his subordinates, you know?”

“A monster bitch talking about being a person—don’t think I don’t know you’re pretending ignorance on purpose.”

“You call every man ‘that bastard.’ I’m too stupid to tell them apart.”

“Enough. Call Bang.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll call Bang. Hey, Rangrang, is Bang there?”

The woman sat blankly in place.

Then, after staring vacantly, she answered:

“I hear Bang is dead.”

The Heart-Eating Demon Lord jolted in shock.

“What!? Why? Who? And the Blood Devil—what happened?”

“So shocked that his wide ass rose an inch from the throne. ‘What. Why. Who. What about the Blood Devil.’”

“I told you to cut the fucking preamble, didn’t I? You monster bitch, even when you mock someone—”

“Grinding her ugly teeth—‘I told you to cut the fucking preamble, didn’t I? Even when this beautiful and lovely woman mocks someone—’”

“...Forget it.”

“Scholar Bang tried to molest the woman, got beaten for it, and afterward was stabbed to death by Wang U—the former Chief Steward and now Sect Leader of the Killing Moon Sect. As for the Blood Devil, I’ll relay Rangrang’s answer exactly.”

The woman cleared her throat and, somehow, perfectly mimicked Rangrang’s flat, emotionless voice:

“‘This Rangrang knows nothing about the Blood Devil, nor does she wish to know. And on the Demon Lord’s opinion that Suran is beautiful and lovely, this Rangrang expresses agreement.’ Rangrang! You’re the only one for me! I’m touched—deeply touched!”

“You monster bitches have time to screw around? So has the Blood Devil been completed or not!? If you don’t know, then find out!”

“Wrinkling his face back up after smoothing it—‘Dear ladies, has the Blood Devil been completed? What is it? If you don’t know, please investigate and then share your esteemed opinion with me.’”

The woman—Suran—asked herself the question, then answered herself:

“‘The mission this Rangrang was assigned was to serve as guard and liaison for Scholar Bang. This Rangrang is under no obligation to carry out the Heart-Devouring Demon King’s orders or requests.’”

The Heart-Eating Demon Lord’s expression twisted.

“What kind of irresponsible crap is that? Do I have to confront that bitch directly to get an answer?”

“Demon King, even when he asks us for something, that one never works us for free. Ah, how considerate he is. So warm, even to failed half-finished creatures like us.”

“Hah... So you want me to pay?”

“For this job, he held me in his arms for a whole hour. And he stroked my hair, and kissed my cheek—kyaaa, oh my, I’m blushing.”

“You’re not a seven-year-old.”

“Oh, and for Rangrang, she said she’d do it if you knelt and begged her nicely.”

The Demon Lord blinked in disbelief.

That monster was currently carrying out a mission and had said she’d do it if someone knelt and begged.

Did this mean she actually had knelt and begged?

“What is this, can’t even command the jiangshi I made, so you have to coax and coddle them? Pathetic. Though I suppose, if you monsters really wanted to, you could tear some frail woman apart with a flick of a finger.”

At that, Suran gave a meaning-laden smile—so blatant it was suspicious.

“What I’m saying is, what we want is different for each of us. The Demon King can’t pay me because there’s nothing I want from you. As for Rangrang, if you went to her yourself and knelt and begged, she might do it.”

The Heart-Devouring Demon King snorted.

“Forget it. Tell that monster—even a half-finished failed Blood Devil, if discovered, would cause great harm to the sect’s grand undertaking. If she doesn’t want the responsibility to fall on her, she should get rid of those failures immediately.”

“Wow, how cold-blooded. My dear one, even with failures, embraces them with overflowing love. How can the Demon King be like this? Don’t you know what responsibility is?”

“Heh-heh, monster bitch, responsibility is for the weak. The strong don’t have to take responsibility for anything. If your dear one were as strong as the Hall Lord, would he even pretend to care for you monsters?”

“He would still be warm.”

“Fine. Then if you don’t want to see that one you adore suffer, tell that monster to get rid of the failures immediately.”

Suran blinked slowly.

And after a long pause, she spoke:

“‘Understood. This Rangrang will seriously consider it. Is someone getting up? Do you mean this Rangrang? This Rangrang is currently engaged in a mental conversation with a comrade somewhere in the world. No, it is not an imaginary friend. And it is a comrade, not a friend. This Rangrang is not friendless—she simply does not need friends. Hm? Do you mean you and Rangrang?’ She’s so mean—stopping right there and making me wonder. Has Rangrang found a friend?”

The Heart-Devouring Demon King shook his head.

“I don’t need to hear crap I’m not curious about. Anyway, that monster did say she’d take care of it, right?”

“She says she’ll try. Ah, but, Demon King—”

“Not interested.”

Suran pouted.

“I haven’t even said it yet.”

“You’re about to ask me to be your friend, aren’t you? You think I’d be friends with a monster bitch like you? Not a chance.”

“Hmph. I don’t need it either. I won’t be friends with trash that doesn’t even have a sense of responsibility. Hmph, hmph.”

The veins on the Demon King’s forehead bulged.

****

Qing had heard Jo-hyung’s heartfelt explanation, but... how to put it—something about Rangrang felt off.

Thinking it over, it was probably her expression.

Even the defective bamboo-wife Gunyeong didn’t lack facial expressions entirely—just had faint ones.

When she ate something tasty, her lips would curve upward; when soup was missing from the table, her eyebrows would droop just a bit in sadness; when it was hot, sweat aside, she’d look at Qing with a yearning expression like a dog eyeing a treat.

Hmm, thinking about it made Qing miss Gunyeong.

But Rangrang?

As she herself said, her emotional state couldn’t move her facial muscles at all.

Her face was utterly motionless, not a twitch—unnervingly inhuman.

She’d heard—maybe—back home, that people could end up like that after trauma... or maybe it was just a story?

Or was it actually possible for emotional wounds to manifest that way?

Not that there was any way to verify the facts of her homeland now.

Still—

Early one morning, Qing woke to the sound of a quiet, mineral-flat voice conversing in its usual measured way.

When she went out to look, it turned out Rangrang was talking to someone.

Who could she be talking to at this hour?

Going outside, she found Rangrang perched on the veranda, muttering to herself.

“Rangrang? Who are you talking to?”

And lo and behold—

She was having a mental conversation with a comrade somewhere in the world.

“Uh... like, an imaginary friend or something?”

“It is not an imaginary friend. And it is not a friend, but a comrade. This Rangrang is not friendless—she simply does not need friends.”

It was the kind of excuse that could almost make you cry.

After all, if her whole family had been slaughtered and she alone survived, how much must her heart have suffered?

Qing was naturally soft on kind people, and softer still if they were elderly or weak.

Especially a kind person wounded in heart—Qing could be as warm as a coal briquette to them.

“I’ll be generous. I’ll be your friend, then. We’re friends now, okay? I’m dropping honorifics.”

“Do you mean you and Rangrang? Truly, the popularity of Rangrang... Rangrang is a woman of fatal charm. If you truly wish to be friends, then kneel and beg with all your heart, and I shall grant you the rare promotion from mere acquaintance to the exalted rank of friend. An opportunity never to be repeated, Heavenly Flower Sword.”

“That’s up to you. In my heart, you’re already promoted to friend status, so you can upgrade or downgrade me as you please.”

At that, Rangrang’s eyebrows went up, down, up, down.

“What, they moved?”

“Rangrang’s problem lies only in the mechanism linking emotions to expressions. There is no paralysis of the facial muscles. Rangrang can move them at will.”

“So you can make expressions? Then why not make some?”

“How does the Heavenly Flower Sword breathe? When do you swallow? Where do you place your tongue? How do you position your jaw, how do your teeth meet? How often and when do you blink?”

“Uh. Shit.”

Ah, damn. She’d been had.

Qing realized she’d fallen for a sly, low trick.

Breathing, tongue and jaw position, swallowing—these were things that happened comfortably and naturally if you didn’t think about them.

But once you started paying attention, you tried to control them consciously, and they became awkward and uncomfortable.

“For Rangrang, expressions are the same. Considering every reaction and choosing the appropriate one is impossible, even for Rangrang’s objectively exceptional brain.”

“Uh... did I just say something tactless?”

“If Rangrang were prone to feeling bitter over her inability to make expressions, that might have caused a deep emotional wound—so your remark would have been judged insufficiently sensitive. Fortunately, Rangrang does not dwell on such matters, so I merely gave you an objective explanation.”

“...You’re fine then, right?”

“In response to the Heavenly Flower Sword’s fervent request, Rangrang will register you as a candidate friend. Promotion to full friend status will require a very high level of devotion. Devote yourself to Rangrang. Rangrang currently very much desires a tangerine.”

“So you’re a friend who likes tangerines.”

Qing got up and turned around.

“Heavenly Flower Sword, the kitchen is not in that direction.”

“Hm? I’m going to bed. You stop chatting with your imaginary comrade and go to sleep too. Sleep’s the best thing for you.”

“On that opinion, Rangrang is in strong agreement. But if the Heavenly Flower Sword goes to sleep, who will bring Rangrang her tangerine? And who will deal with any fruit that lacks sweetness? And as for the hypothesis that, given the Heavenly Flower Sword’s gluttony, she might also eat the peel—how shall we test that?”

“If you ask in the kitchen, they might have some.”

“Your attitude is most improper. Friend status revoked. Show proper respect and politeness to Rangrang, Heavenly Flower Sword.”

“No thanks. You can revoke me as your friend, but to me you’re still a friend. If you really don’t like it, you can kneel and beg me not to think of you as a friend, and I might listen.”

Rangrang clapped her hands once.

“Is this the principle of Taiji? A move worthy of the Divine Dragon—Rangrang’s eyes have been opened wide. One point to your friend score.”

“How many points is it out of?”

“Ten thousand.”

Qing let out a quiet snort.

Maybe she was just a particularly weird, sharp-tongued girl after all.