Much like all highborns out there, Zachrid Deak Vulnaza was a fake prince, with a fake face, a fake laugh, and faked emotions.

 

Everything he does and does not do is an act, desires are nothing more than replicated and his mannerisms are forced, for his face, body, and very being is nothing more than a mask for the entity that has taken over his life.

 

The Duke of Envy finished reading the letter with a scoff, his feelings of jealousy could barely be contained at the thought of her. He practically shoved the letter into the waiting hands of the postal office carrier who, much like his original mask, has been subsumed by an Envy Demon, though this one is nothing more than the common foot soldier found everywhere.

 

Weak, and absolutely useless foot soldiers.

 

Not that Zachrid could say he’s exempted from that state himself of course.

 

But perhaps, just maybe- all the other Dukes of Envy out there would bow down to it for killing their biggest source of jealousy, their greatest enemy, and the one who’s fated to wipe them all out.

 

Zachrid’s gleeful thought bubbled from the bottom of his throat and seeped out of his lips as a chuckle, one that sounded wrong, as though the being doing it is miserably trying- and failing - to imitate the sound. He walked around, the hem of his purple robes just barely touching the ground, Zachrid found himself staring at a mirror, one that’s long since been infected.

 

A hand reached out and touched its reflective surface, the iron rings adorning the smooth fingers of its mask clanged against the glass and then nothing, as the solid shifted into liquid and the mirror turned into a portal.

 

Zachrid stepped through and made his way to the other side, his smile was wide as he bowed before the greatest of them, the only Demon of Envy who was worthy enough to be admired by the rest of their kin.

 

The Vice of Envy eyed the lesser being in front of it with barely a glance, its perfect eyes too focused on the mirror in front of it. It opened its mouth, not bothering to address something lesser than itself, “speak.”

 

An echoey voice, smooth, deep, sublime slithered across the empty hall of the Demon Lord's Bastion, the sound captivating to all that would hear it.

 

“We found the Hero,”

 

In a rare show of jealousy, the Vice of Envy growled. It then looked away from the mirror and faced the Duke of Envy with everything it represented; a perfect, constantly shifting face, eyes that shone in all colors of the rainbow and yet not at the same time, and a changing body that- despite it's blob-like appearance between shifts, - anyone would die for.

 

“Where is she?” Three words, the Duke of Envy felt elated that the greatest of them had spoken three. Whole. WORDS to it-

 

“In Vulnaza, she has taken in a quest to help out with exterminating lesser beings called Eukaleafs,” the Duke answered without missing a beat.

 

When its words earned no reply other than silence from the greatest of them, it added a few more for context- a few more words to finish its report, for it knew that it was time to leave, “my people are working on it as we speak, and one, a Baron, is planning on sabotaging the mission, the Hero will be forced to have a hard time and her expected tribes of monsters will be larger than originally intended,”

 

“Leave.”

 

It wasn’t a suggestion or even a plea, it was an order, and so, the Duke of Envy followed what the greatest representation of their sin demanded and it left for the Kingdom of Vulnaza once more.

 

Now back to its room, the mirror behind it shifted into something less liquid and has gone back to solid.

 

The Duke of Envy’s eyes moved across its room, it surveyed it once, twice, and then it stopped at the letter that its lesser kin had left behind on its desk.

 

Zachrid walked, moving slowly and carefully until his hands touched the letter, he lifted it up to his face and nodded in satisfaction when the Everlast seal at the front of the envelope had sealed it shut once more, with the letter showing no signs of ever being opened.

 

Its lesser kin may have died to do it, but they could be replaced, perfectly even. From the tiniest detail of a small scar on their fingertips to the basic facial features.

 

Their cloak of anonymity couldn’t.

 

Zachrid got out of his room and smiled at the two guards standing watch outside his door, they followed after him, offering unnecessary protection. Both were Envy Demons of the Baron title and yet, just like the rest of their kin, they were weak, weaker than those of sloths even.

 

But fighting has never been an Envy Demon’s strong suit, and so, they will leave that kind of thing to the barbaric brutes of wrath and every other sin while they play nice with their targets and infiltrate the ranks of their enemies.

 

Zachrid, or at least his face and body, made his way into the throne room and bowed, “father,” its act had turned perfect, whereas before his tone was laced with a disgusting imperfection in the form of a crack in his voice, now it was smooth, perfect.

 

“Zachrid,” the King, up on that pathetic, but still opulent throne of stone and gold of his, addressed it, him, “what brings you to the courtroom?”

 

Straight to the point, as always, Zachrid met the King’s eyes, “a letter, from your niece-in-law, for her sister,”

 

“Neophyte sent me a letter?” The wife of the Crown Prince, Princess Calcite Plate E. Vulnaza sounded excited, if not shocked to hear from her sister after so long, “why?”

 

“I have no clue,” Zachrid lied as easily as he breathed, “but perhaps you can shine a light on the situation?”

 

Much like her wretched sister responsible for sending the letter, Calcite’s hair was a shade of white, though unlike that loathsome princess’ gleaming silver hair, Calcite’s looked more dusty, dry, but still silky to the touch. The woman turned to her father and mother in law, her gaze asking them for permission, though no words came out of her mouth.

 

When the King nodded, Calcite smiled in thanks and stood up from her seat, leaving her son behind.

Calcite was beautiful, enough that the Envy Demon felt a tinge of jealousy against her for it but she wasn’t a threat, and so, it wouldn’t act. Subsuming her would be more ideal.

 

Pale, soft hands reached out to grab the letter and Zachrid offered it.

 

Fingers, smooth and small and ending in sharp nails, wrapped themselves around the envelope and then it was gone from Zachrid’s grasp.

 

Calcite eyed the crest on the envelope and her eyes widened, “huh,” she said, tone a mix of surprise and elation, “guess she did send me a letter after all,”

 

The Duke of Envy did nothing but watch as her pretty face contorted into one of pure joy and contentment, it made her even more beautiful, and the way she tried to hold back her smile only amplified her already visibly soothing expression tenfold, the dimples that formed on either side of her cheeks made the Duke want to rip her throat but it held itself back.

 

Subsuming her would be ideal.

 

“Look Fran!” Calcite waved the letter around, “Neophyte sent me a letter!”

 

“That she did,” Zachrid’s brother was a muscular man and also larger than those of his age, the beard that grew on his face indicated masculinity and the arms packed with muscle hanging from either side of his chest were more than strong enough to lift the 9 foot-long greatsword laying still on the side of his throne effortlessly.

 

But when faced with his wife, the bear of a man acted soft, kind, and when Calcite made her way back, he leaned in to see the contents of the letter, his stoic image be damned.

 

“What does it say?” The Crown Prince of Vulnaza, Hoccid, asked his wife in a soft voice, which only made his image all the more odder due to him not being able to pull it off, as his voice was simply too deep.

 

“Move your head!” Despite having no clear strength to push her husband away, Calcite still managed to get the man’s head to steer clear from her line of sight and once the letter was no longer blocked by her husband's head, Calcite carefully removed the seal of the letter and started reading.

 

“Oh? My little sister found someone to train? A girl?” That got all the ears within the courtroom to perk up and even the scribes, who had been carefully writing down the interaction, stopped what they were doing to stare.

 

Hoccid pulled on his beard, “guess she would be competent in a fight then, if your sister took a liking to her,”

 

Wrong- that’s what the Duke of Envy internally screamed, the pathetic, muscle-headed Crown Prince was wrong- as the wretched princess wasn’t training the girl because she’s good in a fight (though, given her purpose, she most definitely is,) but because she’s the Hero!

 

Zachrid’s jealousy started to bubble and admittedly useless yet still envious thoughts sprung from the maddened depths of its primal mind- why? Why would she get trained and not it? Why? Why does it have to be her-

 

“Oh! And they’re coming here!” Calcite exclaimed, “Zachrid, how long has this letter been with you?”

 

“It just came, your majesty,” it lied.

 

“Oh. Then uhm-” Calcite, losing all pretense of being a lady of the court, stood up and looked around, panic coloring her beautiful features, “- can someone please send a flying carriage towards the Vulnaza Baronhood?”

 

A large hand clasped Calcite’s own and Prince Hoccid’s deep, gravelly voice echoed out, “I’m sure that they’re already on their way,” he calmly said, “let’s just wait for them.”

 

Calcite slowly nodded and took her seat, she eyed Zachrid, “thank you for delivering it here,”

 

“I was only doing my job as the Wizard of the Court, your majesty,”  Zachrid’s answer was calm, rehearsed. Perfect.

 

To say that Zachrid was anticipating the arrival of the Hero and her team would be a lie, in fact, he was actively loathing each second he spent standing with everyone else in waiting for them. As for why that is? Well, talks about who and what the girl is started between the King and his court after Calcite had calmed down.

 

And all of their guesses for why that bothersome princess was training her were wrong.

 

When news of the girl being nothing more than a peasant came about, everyone had concluded that she must have been special for Neophyte to train her and when more news of her Pledge being nothing more than a simple dagger came, well, it was suddenly decided that the girl must be a Prophecy.

 

Idiots, the lot of them, they do not even know that their visitor is another Hero, one, that they would mourn again in time.

 

The girl’s almost non-existent reputation would help with her assassination as well, this, the Duke of Envy knew well.

 

It wanted her to never come to this court if it could help it but alas, fate wasn’t so kind and come, the Hero did.

 

She arrived half an hour after Zachrid had given Calcite the letter alongside her team, all girls; one had blue hair, another had yellow, and the last was a servant of the Goddess, and this wretched, imbecilic existence bore white hair.

 

The heroine was a meek little thing, with orange hair that reflected the yellow light of the sun, optimistic eyes that held everything in their gaze on a positive outlook, and a lithe, if not muscular frame that was built for speed rather than raw strength.

The Duke of Envy loathed to ever lay its eyes on such an existence but it had to force its feelings of discomfort and jealousy down lest everyone would catch onto his act, and when suspicions of Envy Demons within the court started to spread- worse than they already have, that is, - then it'll only be a matter of time before his current corruption dies out.

 

Humans work fast when their lives are at stake, the Duke at least had to admit as such.

 

The heroine standing before the King bowed, “n-nice to meet you!” She stuttered out the wrong words of greetings to say to a King but, the Duke supposed this would simply make things easier.

 

“You may rise,” the King's words boomed across the silent throne room.

 

“Thank you for helping us out your majesty,” these were the next words that came out of the heroine's mouth and it got the King to chuckle.

 

"Rather blunt and polite are we?” King Fazzan's beard lifted upwards, an indication that he was smiling.

 

“Uh-” the heroine froze in place and looked between the King and her friends, “I didn't mean to-”

 

“Please, you don't need to be so respectful,” Fazzan's chuckle somehow managed to reach everyone's ears, “if anything, it is our honor to house a Prophecy during this time,”

 

“... Prophecy?” The girl tilted her head, confusion lacing her tone, “but I'm just a regular Slayer?”

 

Everything came to a halt when a high pitched squeal suddenly erupted from the front of the room and interrupted the conversation of the King, though instead of punishment, the person responsible only got a tired, exasperated look from the ruler.

 

All eyes turned to Calcite, who had her hands on her mouth, her eyes formed crescents and her breathing was ragged. She sucked in a lungful of air, and slowly, put down her hands, “I'm sorry, that was rather unbecoming of me,”

 

And then her mask of calmness broke and she giggled like a young girl, “-BUT-” right next to her, Crown Prince Hoccid placed a hand to his face, muttering something with a smile, “- I've heard stories from my siblings that Neophyte acts exactly like this!”

 

“So have I,” Zachrid chorused, “which I suppose is more proof that you're a Prophecy, that is, if being trained by the strongest recorded Everlast isn't valid enough,”

 

"Right- that too,” Calcite nodded, agreeing, and just like that, the princess took over the meeting, “and I want to talk to you three a bit more but the court is still proceeding and we still have a few more things to discuss, so uhm, Zachrid, if you will?”

 

Zachrid bowed, “by your words, your majesty,” he faced the heroine and her team, “if you'll come with me?”

 

The girl's orange hair bobbed up and down and she beamed, “okay!”

 

She skipped as she made her way towards Zachrid, whose expression turned bitter and sour the moment that no more eyes were perceiving its mask. They walked in silence, or so the Duke of Envy hoped but the heroine was adamant on spouting random nonsense out of her mouth every step of the way.

 

“Uhm, hi!”

 

Zachrid's feeling of jealousy went high and he felt his very being start to chip away the more its single emotion stirred.

 

This was the effect of being near the Hero; a poison that slowly kills a Demon by drowning out their main sin.

 

“Hello,” he replied as calmly as he could.

 

Zachrid wanted to get this entire thing over with.

 

“I'm Lucille, and this is Yhaine, and that's Zyra, and the girl following behind us in silence is Karsten!”

 

“So that is,” Zachrid caught a glimpse of them on the window they had passed.

 

The Duke of Envy noted that assassination now would be impossible as they were wearing rather expensive looking pieces of armor on their person.

 

The leather chest piece everyone had- and he assumes even the church servant wore as such underneath her white robes, - on their person looked thick, and the glossy shine it had told him that the material was well made.

 

There was something underneath the leather as well, and it was barely able to catch it but from their armpits, something glistened, which the Duke of Envy assumes is a set of chainmail for further protection and if there's chainmail at the top, then there's chainmail on their legs as well.

 

The Duke of Envy's gaze idly moved to their rings, and the sick, pervasive feelings he had started to worsen at the sight of such expensive accessories, he wasn't a Greed Demon but the fact that these pathetic humans wore something that should belong to someone of its stature made him feel jealous.

 

"You have such nice rings,” he decided to compliment the rings instead of insulting them for making him feel envious.

 

“Thanks! The princess bought it for us,” Lucille replied in excitement, “they're enchanted too-”

 

Zachrid's jealousy turned to outright envy and he felt his mask slipping, he gathered his slowly liquidizing body and put on a strained smile as the heroine continued, “- Zyra's can shield herself with a barrier, Yhaine's ring can make her stronger and tougher, and I can make the edge of my blades get warped with sharper edges!”

 

“How nice,” Zachrid's voice was still smooth and he commended himself for keeping up his act, “the princess must truly care about you,”

 

“No, she's just kind,” Lucille huffed, and she glared at Zachrid, “why does everyone always assume these kinds of things?”

 

“Maybe it's because they're true,” Zachrid heard the blue haired girl- Zyra, as the heroine introduced her, - mutter with a barely audible voice.

 

Lucille sighed and a burst of light followed her release of emotion, the Duke of Envy started to feel fear- he focused his loss of compaction on the body parts hidden by his robes and walked faster.

 

He desperately wished that this entire thing is over sooner rather than later.