(Ryuta POV)
Like usual, when I got back to Sharia at night, I made sure to sneak past the night guards. I felt a little bad for them—after all, I was doing exactly what their job was meant to prevent. But at this point, it was routine. Step where the shadows are thickest, don't breathe too loudly, and avoid the gravel. Easy.
In less than ten minutes, I reached the mansion.
The masked man had 'purchased' for me—which was a nice way of saying he used my own money to buy it behind my back. The purchase price, plus the renovations, could've covered three full sessions with my favorite girl at the brothel. Maybe four if she gave me the regular discount.
Still, I couldn't really complain. The place was solid. Two floors, plenty of rooms, a reinforced basement, a Magic Tool fireplace, and—most importantly—a shower with the addition of a bathtub that has a jacuzzi setting. I wasn't sure why he'd bothered with the last one, but after today, the idea of soaking in swirling hot water didn't sound half bad.
As I stepped up to the entry, my eyes landed on the metal door knocker shaped like an eastern dragon's head. Regal, sharp-eyed, jaw half-open as if mid-roar.
A lion might've been more traditional, less pretentious. But I guess as the subordinate of the Dragon God, the dragonhead suited me more than I liked to admit.
I pressed the door open. The hinges groaned faintly, like they were complaining about the late hour.
The interior greeted me with silence. No furniture, no warmth, no welcome. Just bare floors and blank walls, the kind of emptiness that echoed footsteps and made memories feel louder.
I didn't bother lighting a lamp. I knew the layout by now—where the wind slipped through the windows, and how the basement door had a secret way of opening.
I peeled off my shredded robe and flung it onto the stair banister.
My shoulders ached, and not just from the journey and the conflict. There was something heavier lodged in my chest. Not quite pain. Not quite exhaustion. Something in between.
I made my way to the bathroom. The tiles were cold under my feet, the air thick with the faint scent of stone. I turned the knob, a ceramic one shaped like a modern faucet, on the bathtub and let the hot water rush in, steam already starting to curl up along the edges.
But before I sank into the tub, I moved over to the showerhead hanging above the tiled platform next to it. Even if the water was clean, I wasn't. My body was caked in dried sweat, dirt, and blood—some mine, some not. It didn't feel right to slip into warmth without first rinsing away the grime.
With a grunt, I stripped the rest of my clothes and tossed them into a corner.
That's when my eyes drifted to my left arm.
There, just above the wrist, was the thing that never should have become a part of me.
The bracelet Orsted had given me. Except it wasn't a bracelet anymore. Not really.
The silver had fused into my skin, veins of it threading just under the surface like molten lines of metal. Like someone had smelted it into my flesh with a forge. The edges where skin met artifact were raw, irritated, slightly red, and the skin around it itched like hell.
I raised my fingers and began scratching at the skin near it, not the metal itself—no point. I'd tried cutting it before. Burned myself once, too. Nothing worked.
The urge to rip it off still throbbed like a second heartbeat in my hand. I had Saint-class Healing Magic, but King-class would be more optimal since it could ensure the functionality of my hand.
But I didn't try. Not yet.
I let out a shaky breath and stepped under the shower, turning on the handle.
Warm water poured over me, tracing the sharp planes of my shoulders, my chest, my back. Steam rose, thickening the air. The first few moments stung—especially where I had fresh cuts or bruises—but then the heat started working into my muscles, and my mind began to loosen.
I scrubbed myself clean. Fingers moving automatically, like they'd done this a hundred times. Maybe they had. But it was different now.
Back in my old life, I hated bathing. My old body had been heavy, cumbersome—every motion a hassle, every reach around my back a reminder of what I'd let myself become. Now? Now my body felt comfortable. Lean, efficient. Strong. Cleaning it wasn't a chore. It was... easing something.
Once I was done, I stepped out, water dripping off me as I padded to the tub. The water had filled up nicely, steam dancing across its surface.
I looked around, curious. Was the jacuzzi setting even real? Or just the masked man screwing with me?
After looking around for a bit, I found something. On the side of the tub, near the base, I noticed a small metal dial set into the tile. No markings. Just a notch and a few clicks as I turned it clockwise. I paused when I heard a *whirr*—then the water churned.
The tub bubbled to life. Streams of warmth rolled up my spine as I slid in.
For a moment, I just... breathed. The jets of water massaged my legs, my back, and the knots in my shoulders. I leaned my head against the ceramic rim, eyes closed.
Nothing chasing me. Nothing watching.
No fighting. No screaming. No blood.
Just heat, and quiet.
I stayed like that longer than I meant to. My fingers pruned, my muscles slackened, and my thoughts finally began to dull.
Eventually, I climbed out and dried myself off. The air outside the bath felt colder now, almost harsh against the glow of my skin. I considered teleporting back to the university, sleeping in my dorm like usual. Maybe pretend tonight was just another mission, another errand for Orsted, another step on Kagami's invisible ladder.
But no. I was spent.
Too much blood spilled. Too many questions I couldn't afford to ask yet. I'd used up all the energy I had pretending I wasn't unraveling.
I pulled out a pair of pajamas from my pocket dimension—plain black shirt, loose pants—and made my way upstairs. The big bedroom waited with its dusty floorboards and unused dresser. The mattress in the middle of the room was bare, but it would do.
I lay down without a pillow.
No lights. No wards. No protection barrier.
Just fatigue. The kind that seeped deeper than skin.
I stared up at the ceiling for a while. The moonlight spilled in through the window, faint and pale. I wondered if Sara was asleep already. Suppose Nanahoshi was still poring over research. Maybe Orsted had already decided on my next mission.
Then I stopped wondering.
And let sleep take me.
***
My body ached. I could hear screaming. Rocks crumbling. The thick scent of blood filling my nostrils.
Getting to the castle hadn't been the problem.
What waited inside—that was the surprise.
All I wanted was the herb. A simple fetch mission. In, out, back to Nanahoshi.
But I wasn't careful enough.
She caught me.
Atoferatofe Rybak.
The Immortal Demon King.
The strongest Demon King alive. A master of the North God Style, taught to her by her husband—the original North God—and passed down to their son.
I declined her offer to join her. Thought it was just another eccentric warlord with an ego.
That rejection set her off.
The fight that followed was... chaotic.
She was fast—too fast. I couldn't get a large spell charged without her on me. Her regeneration, combined with her swordsmanship, made her nearly impossible to pin down once she got serious.
And she fought naked. Naked.
Worse still? She was absurdly attractive. Perfectly toned. Distractingly so.
I got caught off-guard. Took a slash across the cheek. My chantless Healing Magic is slower than my other spells, and she didn't give me a second to breathe.
Annoying. Frustrating. Infuriating.
And somewhere along the way... I lost it.
I don't know when exactly. But the next thing I remember clearly was after it was all over.
"Please... *Sniff* *Sniff*... I beg of you..."
"Shut the hell up. This is what you deserve, you busty flesh sack of an idiot."
My voice. My mouth. But not me.
She lay on her back, trembling. Her limbs pinned by my mana hands. Her jet-black armor gone. My boot pressed against her abdomen.
Her wings hung from opposite walls like trophies through broken pieces of her greatsword.
She looked up at me—eyes wide with fear. Black tears ran from crimson irises with the black sclera, and in those glistening pools, I saw my reflection.
Not my face. Not really. Just a twisted thing with bared teeth and dead eyes, grinning like a wolf who'd caught a wounded rabbit. And I smiled back.
No rage. No resentment. Just… amusement.
"Not so funny now, huh? When 'no' isn't acceptable. There better be enough brain cells, otherwise this will take even longer."
I crouched, hands reaching out to cradle her face—gentle, almost tender.
"You know what's funny?" I whispered. "I was in your position once. Stripped. Bound. Broken. Reduced to pity. It shattered me."
My voice was cold. Detached.
Even her elite knights—those dark-clad shadows—stood frozen in fear.
This wasn't justice. It wasn't vengeance. It was a projection—a reenacting of how I was humiliated on the campus of my school. Only difference was— the roles were reversed.
I promised myself I wouldn't let the past twist me. That this second life would be different. But maybe I'd never escaped it at all.
And now, someone who had nothing to do with it is suffering from my inability to get over my trauma.
And it hasn't even stopped yet.
I cupped her cheeks, feeling the warmth of her tears, the tremble beneath my fingers.
"Thank you," I murmured. "This is the most relief I've felt in years. But..."
Tracing the tips of my right hand's fingers along her face, my palm soon wrapped her curved horn, tightly holding it near the base.
"Let's make sure you learn your lesson for all eternity."
Trembling in her body, she knew exactly what was about to happen.
And as soon as the base of her horn began to shift slightly, the cracking of bone and the tearing of flesh resounding, she let out an ear-piercing screech.
What I felt in that moment made me feel disgusted on the inside. However, in contrast to my inner voice telling me to stop, all I felt was... solace.
The sound of it breaking—wet, brittle, final—snapped something else inside me too.Relief. Disgust. And then silence.
I stood up, heart hammering, breath ragged. My hands were shaking, but not from exhaustion. From... satisfaction.
That was the worst part.
***
I shot up with a gasp.
Sunlight poured through the window, pale and sharp. Not the gentle warmth of a peaceful morning—no, it felt like a spotlight, like the world decided to interrogate me the moment I opened my eyes.
My chest heaved. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, pounding like I'd sprinted the whole way back from the Red Dragon's Mountain. Sweat clung to me, cold and slick. My shirt stuck to my back like it was trying to strangle me.
For a second, I forgot where I was.
Not a battlefield. Not the Demon King's castle. No blood, no blades, no screams.
Just the old renovated mansion. The spare bedroom. Dusty floorboards. Bare mattress.
And me.
Still breathing. Still here.
My hands trembled slightly as I pressed them against my face. The dream—no, the memory—still clawed at the back of my mind. I could hear her begging, smell the blood, feel the snap of her horn between my fingers.
I remembered the fight—the speed, the unpredictability, her ridiculous strength. But what haunted me wasn't her sword.
It was my smile.
That part of me... that version of me… it hadn't hesitated. It hadn't held back. It had enjoyed it.
I hated that.
And I hated how natural it felt.
I stared down at my hands. They looked normal. Strong, sure—but human. Nothing monstrous about them. Not until I remembered what they'd done.
What I had done.
I don't even remember how it ended. The nightmare was all I could recall before waking up in the wasteland with a bag full of Sokas Grass.
'Is that who I really am? Some repressed sadist just waiting to come loose?'
I let out a shaky breath. My skin felt damp, sticky. I dragged my forearm across my forehead, trying to wipe off some of the sweat—
*Clang*
"—Ah, shit—!"
Pain flared in my temple. I winced and jerked back.
I'd hit myself with the damned bracelet again.
Or rather, the thing that used to be a bracelet.
The veins of silver embedded in my forearm caught the sunlight, glinting like molten threads under my skin. The place where flesh met metal still itched like hell, slightly red and irritated from where it had fused with me. It wasn't going away. Not with time. Not with magic.
Not with anything.
"Great," I muttered, rubbing my forehead with my free hand. "Really starting the day strong."
///