Chapter Text
Orihara Izaya nestled slackly against the throne; the throne didn’t belong to him, but its previous owner was trounced in the lopsided war, thus the winner naturally took his position, sitting on this priceless chair to embrace the defeated generals’ allegiance.
Nobles and aristocratic families walked up and saluted him in turns, offering heartfelt congratulations and compliments to their new lord. Only a minority of the entire population remonstrated against his military occupation; his fame had spread far and wide on this land, and any self-knowledge person dared not to withhold any ideas against him since all efforts would wound up in vain without exceptions. Beside, Orihara Izaya knew his way to run his state, and people would receive better care under his reign.
The populace had already envisaged this conclusion of war when the first blast of the trumpet was blown. Orihara Izaya was one of the most formidable monarchs on this continent, he had gone on countless campaigns after succeeding to the throne, and had since been keeping an unbroken record of victories.
Some denigrated him, but more eulogized him. Minstrels composed verses for him, and poets addressed him as oracle descended down to earth under god’s errand to save people from pain and suffering, to impale the tyranny’s soiled chest with his mighty lance, and to govern his people with his selfless, indiscriminating love.
Orihara Izaya thought the ballad as ludicrous, but everyone peculiarly exalted it, and even his valet hymned it beside him.
“My lord, they are all praising you!” The valet seemed to be completely immersed into the melody, Orihara Izaya knew he was ingratiating him for wealth.
“Take this coin,” he threw out a golden coin impatiently, “and shut your foul mouth.”
He wasn’t any oracle. Whether it was waging wars or governing the country, it was merely a grand game to him, a way to preserve him from tedium. Both his ability and intellect had reached the acme of perfection that any mundane lives and recurrent routines could provide him with no joy or pleasure; only chaos — wrecking havoc with his own hands was the sole fountain of his happiness, controlling the pandemonium in his own hands was the sole trophy to fulfill his wild desire.
Wars breed chaos, governing equated controlling. As to his universal love, Orihara Izaya indeed shared his love with every mankind; after all, they worked collaboratively to present him these splendid performances one after another, humans were the best distraction from his daily ennui, the most entertaining chess piece in his game without rules.
Orihara Izaya loved everyone, except for Heiwajima Shizuo — the other powerful sovereign who matched equally with Orihara Izaya. He once attempted to control him, but to no avail.
Shizu-chan is my only opponent on this land now. Orihara Izaya gently swept his fingers across the gilded armrest as an obscure smile crept up his face.
“My lord,” a voice cut him from the myriad of thoughts, a dark-haired girl stood in front of him with bowed head in deference, she held a jar of petals in both hands, “here is my gift.”
A jar of petals. He looked over the girl, the gift was rather absurdly paltry amid the piles of valuable gold-wares and precious jewelry. There might be a secret hidden within, and the sender was the crux of the mystery.
“Raise your head,” He ordered. The girl raised her head, her face was pallid as a corpse, her scarlet pupils were brimmed with harrowing mania, and her jet-black bang pasted to her forehead in disordered strings; this young face with exquisite features bore no resemblance to the docile maidens at her age but a specter.
He had heard about this girl, she was an infamous witch who mastered abstruse sorceries and held a demonic blade seeking love from humanity; the witch herself also yearned obsessively for love, she loved a man, but the man didn’t love her. The witch was driven insane by the heartbreaking abandonment and slashed a considerable population with her notorious blade, which encroached and manipulated the victims’ souls with its excessive love. The possessed puppets would proceed to slash others under the spirits' influence.
Consequently, the witch went on the wanted poster. Every country wanted to utilize her power for world domination, but she was nowhere to be found.
And she happened to be hidden in this country, Orihara Izaya thought with great curiosity.
“Niekawa Haruna,” He called out her name.
The girl smiled, “Maybe you have already expected — my gift is related to love.”
She handed the jar with pedals to the valet, whom then handed to Orihara Izaya.
“These petals are magical — anyone with a loved one will constantly spill out petals from his mouth by touching it, and only a kiss from his beloved one can fully cure it. The enchanted person will die if he didn’t receive the vital kiss after a period of time.”
“Interesting. I love all humans, so do I have to kiss everyone in the world to break the spell?”
“Everyone has only one person he truly loved and admired.” A trace of grief glided through the witch’s eyes, “like Takashi and I”
“Is that so?” Orihara Izaya twisted open the lid, reached inside in high spirit, and grasped a handful of petals to examine them closely, “they look rather normal….” Without warning, a gentle pressure condensed in his throat accompanied with a sense of rich, creamy fragrantness melting on his tongue.
“Is this….” Orihara Izaya’s eyes widened, he was spitting petals.
“You lied to me.” He crammed the petals back into the jar with unusual force, “I do not admire anyone.”
The witch remained unswayed, a chilling gleam sparked up her scarlet eyes for an instant, “I would not lie to you, my lord.”
“Guards!” He commanded with an edge in his voice, “Capture her!"