For a moment, we could only watch. Staring at the scene wasn’t going to change anything, and now that Kuro’s magic ensured our clothes wouldn’t get dirty, I decided it was time to go to Bertia.
Before I could take a step, Zeno’s voice reached me, hushed and uneasy.
“Prince Cecil… that creature… It’s…”
“I know,” I said. “That’s—”
Before I could finish the sentence, the two-headed serpent, having drained the last drop of nihonshu, coiled around the empty bottle and slithered closer to Bertia.
It rubbed its gleaming scales against her arm almost affectionately, or perhaps begging for more sake, its twin heads weaving around her like curious ribbons. Bertia, utterly delighted, smiled and reached out to stroke it.
That was when one of the serpent’s mouths snapped wide open, fangs glinting in the lantern light, and lunged toward her hand.
“FSSHHAAAAA!”
Every strand of Kuro’s fur stood on end.
In an instant, she vanished, reappearing before Bertia like a bolt of black lightning. Her body twisted in midair, tail sweeping in a powerful arc. The two-headed snake didn’t even have time to cry out before it was launched skyward, spinning helplessly into the dark.
“Kuro seems to be shouting something along the lines of, ‘How dare you try to form a contract with my master without permission, you little worm!’” Zeno observed.
“Well, Kuro does adore Tia. And if some mid-tier spirit tries to bind itself to her without so much as a word of consent, I can’t blame her for being angry.”
So that was it, then.
The two-headed serpent, the so-called guardian deity of this country, wasn’t just a symbolic creature. It was a spirit. A mid-rank one, by the look of it.
Smaller than I’d expected, honestly. It was barely the size of an ordinary snake.
“Water attribute, I assume?” I asked.
“Yes,” Zeno replied. “A mid-tier water spirit. It claims this coastal region as its territory, and its strength is… moderate, I’d say. Decent for its rank, but certainly no match for high spirits like us.”
We continued our conversation as we approached Bertia.
Kuro had her arms wrapped tightly around her mistress, still glaring daggers toward where the serpent had disappeared.
Startled by the outburst, Bertia seemed a little soberer now. She looked down at Kuro with wide, guilty eyes and began stroking her back in an attempt to soothe her.
“Kuro, that’s enough! No animal abuse, all right?” she scolded gently.
“Fsshhh! Fsshhh!” Kuro hissed again.
Even in her confusion, the ever-earnest Bertia bent slightly toward Kuro, speaking to her in a coaxing tone that was meant to be soothing.
No, Bertia… that’s not what this is about.
Honestly, letting a snake drink sake straight from the bottle was already questionable. Though, to be fair, since that two-headed snake was a spirit rather than a normal creature, perhaps it could handle it. The way it eagerly guzzled the alcohol like a professional drinker made that much clear.
“Hey, Zeno,” I murmured. “How exactly should we interpret this situation? Is it… acceptable for a maid to send another nation’s guardian deity flying?”
“Normally, no,” Zeno replied. “But considering it’s merely a mid-tier spirit that happens to be called a god, I’d say we can frame it as a simple misunderstanding. A mid-tier spirit tried to meddle with the contracted partner of a high-tier spirit, got scolded, and learned its lesson. That explanation would satisfy both etiquette and accuracy.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
As Bertia continued to soothe Kuro, who was still bristling with indignation, Zeno and I quietly agreed on the official narrative.
Still, there was something about that snake that stuck with me. Its fondness for sake wasn’t just a quirk; it felt almost symbolic.
“Zeno,” I said after a moment’s thought, “if I recall correctly, the legend of this country’s Snake God says it demanded the blood of pure maidens, didn’t it?”
“That’s right,” he confirmed. “But given what we’ve seen, I suspect that ‘blood’ actually refers to the essence exchanged in a contract. The legend likely evolved from that misunderstanding.”
“I see. But tell me, do spirits usually form that many contracts? One after the other, with multiple humans?”
“Hardly ever. A spirit will typically bond with only one person for life. Two at most. Some spirits treasure the bloodline of their first contractor, so they might form contracts with that family’s descendants over generations. But as for one that indiscriminately contracts with any ‘pure maiden’ it finds? No, that’s unheard of.”
He tilted his head, frowning thoughtfully, now sensing the same wrongness I did.
“Zeno,” I continued quietly, “according to Tia, Miss June is destined to become the Saintess soon.”
“The Saintess? As in, chosen by that serpent? The one that demands blood?”
“Exactly. But here’s the curious part. Her family estate is in one of the kingdom’s most renowned wine-producing regions.”
“Wine?” Zeno blinked, clearly puzzled. “And that’s relevant how?”
I sighed softly.
“Don’t you think wine looks a bit like blood?” I asked quietly.
“Wait. You mean… that’s what it was all about?”
“I didn’t think of it myself until I saw how much that snake loves alcohol. But if it’s that obsessed with drinking, then maybe that was the real ‘offering’ all along. Not blood, but wine. Or any good liquor it could get.”
I lifted a hand and pointed toward the far edge of the beach.
There, rising half out of the waves, was the same two-headed serpent Kuro had so thoroughly launched into the night sky earlier. Its scales glimmered faintly in the moonlight as both heads fixed their eyes on Bertia with unnerving focus.
No, not on her, I realized. On the sake bottle she still held in her hands.
“Persistent thing, isn’t it?” Zeno murmured. “Spirits that take the form of snakes are always stubborn. Their obsession runs deep. Though honestly, Kuro’s never going to let it get close enough to try again.”
Even as he said it, the serpent slithered closer, cutting through the shallows. Kuro’s low growl rolled through the air like distant thunder before she darted forward, her dark aura flaring.
With one swift motion, she conjured a veil of blackness, a shimmering film of shadow that wrapped around the serpent mid-slither. The snake writhed for an instant before Kuro’s tail lashed out once more.
Whack!
“FSSHHHAAAAA!”
“K-Kuro!” Bertia cried, rushing over. “No! That’s bad! You can’t just—!”
She gave Kuro a gentle tap on the head, scolding her like a misbehaving kitten. But Kuro only narrowed her eyes and flicked her tail, utterly unrepentant.
Her expression said plainly, “I merely disposed of the pest that dared approach my mistress.”
“Looks like we could keep this up all night,” I muttered, watching as the serpent returned. “Tia, Kuro, let’s head back up. The party should still be ongoing.”
Bertia looked relieved, her shoulders sagging slightly.
Kuro, clearly just as eager to be gone from this bothersome place, seized Bertia’s hand and began leading her up the path toward the garden.
Zeno and I exchanged a glance, shrugged, and followed at an easy pace.
Behind us came the soft, mournful hiss of the two-headed serpent.
“Hssssss…”
—a sound of longing, of unfinished thirst. But Bertia, already halfway up the path and laughing softly with Kuro, didn’t hear it.
“A Snake God and a Saintess,” I murmured. “Looks like this might turn into trouble after all. But trouble can be managed. We’ll find a way.”
Out of habit, I cast one last glance over my shoulder.
The serpent was still there, hovering just above the water’s surface, trapped within the dark shimmer of Kuro’s barrier. Both of its heads turned toward me, unblinking.
I ignored it and continued after my wife.