An Apprentice Devil was still a Devil, and Claire had six ways—six!—to make Girardi shoulder his responsibilities.
Fortunately, the Attic above the Cape Tavern was well soundproofed. A few screams could be heard outside the door and window, but downstairs, the songs and dancing went on.
Outside the Cape Tavern, two Mercenaries looked up at the Attic and listened to the whip crack, offering their opinions.
"He sounds miserable."
"He must be loving it," his companion replied. When he got a strange look, he said with conviction, "What? You wouldn't want a Succubus to whip you?"
"No... I wouldn't."
Claire had miscalculated.
She had indeed brought out Girardi's fighting spirit. No matter how she threatened him, he refused to shoulder the responsibility.
Girardi rolled on the floor, covered in bloody welts and wailing.
"Why don't any of you do it? You're dumping all the responsibility on me! I won't... give up my life for some bullshit responsibility!"
Claire stopped. The whip, formed from something like congealed blood, quietly dissolved.
She looked at Girardi, who lay on the floor crying, cowardly yet defiant to his core. "Because your name is Montablinlock. This responsibility is yours, whether you like it or not."
"You've enjoyed a life of comfort that Civilians could never have. You should know that the Goddess of Fate had already put a price on those gifts."
"You, of all people, have no right to run away."
Even in his miserable state, Girardi talked back. "Does the sister of a man who killed off every other heir have any right to say that?"
Claire replied, "We can't change the past. We can only look to the future."
"You keep talking about responsibility. Why don't you do it?"
"Do you think people would accept a Devil as their Lord?"
"If a