The Saint and The Devil of Another World! Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Paradox? No! Paraphrase! A Declaration!

Read chapter 4 of The Saint and The Devil of Another World! by ShonFrost99 on NovelPedia.

As we walked across the quiet street, the rain finally decided to stop threatening and actually fall. Not a thunderstorm downpour. Just enough to make every chimney cough darker smoke into the sky. Now this would've ruined my day. The maid uniform looked cute. It did not look cute when soaked. Thankfully... "Though it is not much," Hermann said, reaching beneath his cloak. "I would like you to wear this." "...A black cloak?" "A rather excellent one, if I may add." He handed it over with surprising care. "I did my best smuggling it out of Demonland." "...That sentence somehow raises more questions than answers." I unfolded it. Simple. Black. No embroidery. No dramatic skulls. No spikes. Honestly disappointing for something from Demonland. Out of habit, I activated my Mystic Eye. Immediately, pale blue letters floated across my vision. Waterproof Enchantment — High Quality. Cold Resistance — Minor. Self-Repair — Extremely Limited. ... He wasn't exaggerating. It was genuinely well made. "...Thank you." "You are welcome." I wore it over my maid uniform. The rain immediately became far less annoying. Though now another question entered my mind. Why exactly was the former Demon King in District Six? No. Think. He was still the Demon King. Former or not. Perhaps he still had loyal followers hidden somewhere. Maybe a secret fortress. Maybe old contacts. Maybe— ... Maybe he was connected to FIATS. I glanced toward him. He was quietly staring at a bakery. No... That could be a disguise. A master strategist would naturally— "...Do bakeries usually open this early?" ... Perhaps not. We continued walking. District Six looked strangely alive despite the smoke rising somewhere beyond the rooftops. Tall brick factories lined entire streets, their chimneys endlessly breathing black clouds into the morning sky. Steam hissed from thick pipes running between buildings while iron bridges connected warehouses over narrow roads below. Electrical cables stretched overhead like tangled spiderwebs, occasionally crackling with blue sparks whenever the rain touched exposed joints. If the capital represented the Heroes' shining future... District Six represented the people who actually built it. Nothing here was elegant. Everything was useful. Old cathedrals had become factories. One temple dedicated to the Wind Goddess no longer housed pilgrims. Its towering halls had been refurbished into an air-processing station, enormous turbines turning behind stained-glass windows that somehow remained untouched. Incense burners had long since been replaced by pressure gauges and brass valves, yet the ancient statues still watched over workers carrying toolboxes instead of prayer books. It was strangely fitting. The city never erased the past. It simply bolted machinery onto it. Horse-drawn wagons awkwardly shared the road with noisy automobiles. A factory whistle echoed across the district. Workers emerged carrying metal lunch tins beneath umbrellas while newspaper boys shouted headlines that were already becoming outdated. "Explosion in the northern blocks of district 3!" "Multiple arsenal convoys attacked!" "More ABUD deployments across the affected districts!" People listened. People frowned. Then... They kept walking. Factories did not stop because gunfire happened three streets away. District Six had deadlines. Not even revolutions escaped paperwork. "...They're calm," Hermann observed. "They're used to it." "...That is unfortunate." "It is." Neither of us said anything afterwards. We passed a small apartment building where clothes fluttered quietly beneath covered balconies despite the rain. Shirts. Children's socks. A patched work coat. Several aprons. Hermann slowed down. His eyes remained fixed on them. "...What?" I asked. He looked away. "...Nothing." "...You're staring." "I was merely observing." "...The laundry?" "...Yes." "...Why?" "..." "...Are you a pervert?." He didn't answer. He slowly turned toward me. ... Ah. That may have been the wrong thing t