Please Spare Me

Inside the small theater, there were fairly luxurious chairs that didn’t suit its size.

The problem was that bloodstains were left all over the chairs like they’d been dabbed on with paint, though if you took that as part of the place’s character, it wasn’t impossible to overlook.

Neither Ian nor Alisa was the type to shudder just because a little blood was on something. So the two of them sat with one empty seat between them and talked.

“You came here tracking Irene’s trail? Why?”

“We’re not close enough for me to tell you that much. Let’s just call it a personal grudge.”

Sizzle.

Ian lit his cigarette.

Naturally, Ian had no intention of telling anyone why he was trying to catch Irene.

If he explained it properly, he’d have to bring up the grimoire no matter what, and there was no need to go spouting off about foreign gods or the like to someone he barely knew. Better to gloss over it.

Historically, every single being who possessed a foreign god’s grimoire had been an utterly monstrous criminal...