The Unveiled Curtain (6)
"Please stop drinking now."
"Yooou~ the enemy~?"
"No, I am not."
"Can't drink anymore~?"
"No, you can't. You've had plenty."
"Not even a sip~?"
"No."
Ben firmly swept all the bottles off the table and stood up.
The man, who had been suffering just as much from the repetitive questioning, scratched his head awkwardly and glanced nervously at Ben.
"Uh… I didn't think it'd turn out like this. Sorry…"
"Glad to hear you realize that."
"Heh…"
He couldn't help but watch Ben's reaction.
After all, this whole mess started because he had offered the drink in the first place.
Ben glared at him, fully aware of that fact—but what's done is done. He let out a deep sigh of resignation and began thinking through how to clean up the mess.
Guess I'll have to call Ed.
No matter how he looked at it, that was the best solution. He'd also tell Ed to bring a few legionnaires, just in case something went wrong—they'd need to be ready to stop it fast.
"The comm stone…"
…wasn't with him.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn't brought it.
As the court physician, Ben rarely left his room in the Demon King's castle.
The only times he did were when Demon's condition worsened and required urgent attention—he never had time to grab a comm stone then. To him, the stone might as well not exist at all.
He only noticed its absence when he made a conscious effort to think about it.
Sure, he had technically packed it with his supplies when leaving the castle, but it was probably still buried somewhere in his luggage, untouched.
Part of it was just Ben's own habit of not carrying the thing. But it was also an oversight—his adjutant Ed never imagined Demon would be separated from him, so they hadn't prepared accordingly.
"…Do you have a comm stone?"
"Hmm? Nah."
"..."
"Well, I mean, the owner here probably has one."
"…I see."
Ben glanced back and forth between the man giving him a sheepish smile and Demon, who was still rubbing his cheek against the table.
He couldn't exactly drag the drunken 0th Legion Commander around, but he couldn't leave him unattended either—it was far too risky.
Still, regardless of the dilemma, the solution was obvious.
Grab.
He seized the man by the collar.
The startled man's face filled Ben's view.
"W-What the hell, man? What's with you all of a sudden?!"
"Watch him. If you try anything stupid, I'll kill you."
"Come on, you could've just asked—ow!"
"I respected you only because he showed you kindness. If you can't even repay that, why should I treat you with respect?"
"Wh-Who says I won't?!"
Ben let go and walked off like the matter was settled, leaving the man staring after him in disbelief.
It's not like he was planning to hurt anyone. He'd just been looking for an opening to swipe that coin pouch, that's all.
Does that count as "something stupid"?
Come on—compared to drugging someone's drink, that's practically harmless.
If Mael's plan had worked in the first place, he wouldn't even have to be doing this.
Damn bastard. I always get stuck cleaning up.
He'd learned that if you acted angry before someone else had the chance to, it often diffused the situation.
The more intense the outrage, the more confusion it caused—and in that confusion, he'd saved his friend's neck more than a few times.
He'd "beat" and "toss" the target just enough to not cause serious harm. The startled bystanders wouldn't know the difference. Then he'd walk over pretending to apologize and use that excuse to rob them.
The mark was already a failed target. If he was the one "saving" them from a bad situation, Mael couldn't exactly complain—annoyed or not, it was still a decent trade.
But this guy… something was off.
There was an odd wrongness he couldn't shake.
He hadn't originally planned to get him this drunk, either.
The first opportunity to swipe the coin pouch had been back when they were slinging arms around each other, heading up to the second floor…
But something felt off.
So instead, he kept the drinks coming until the guy was plastered.
Sure, it cost a bit of coin, but if he could get that pouch tied to the man's waist, it'd more than pay off. So he didn't hold back.
And now—
The white-haired, red-eyed man had his face planted on the table.
Anyone would say he was completely defenseless. So then why—
Why does this still feel so wrong?
Still, he couldn't delay any further.
He'd already lied about not having a comm stone just to separate him from his escort. If he didn't act now, his reputation in the underworld would take a hit.
The guy was out cold. The stiff-ass guard was off borrowing a comm stone. This was the perfect moment.
He'd never get another shot like this.
So the man focused harder than ever, slipped his hand toward the pouch hanging at the drunk's waist—and moved swiftly, silently.
And then—
Thunk.
"!"
His wrist was caught.
He stared down in disbelief, trying to process what had just happened.
His wrist—firmly gripped.
Following the pale hand that had caught him, his gaze rose to see a face now lifted from the table, grinning like an idiot.
"…Are yooou the enemy~?"
"…No."
He barely managed to part his lips.
His mind had long since descended into chaos.
How?
Even like this, he prided himself on his sleight of hand. He was confident.
The guy looked scrawny too—so how did he know and catch him?
Should he just try to take it by force?
As those thoughts circled his head, a sudden commotion erupted outside.
DENG— DENG— DENG—
The alarm bell rang out, signaling an attack.
"Monsters?"
"It's about that time."
No one panicked.
After all, others were responsible for defending the castle.
The real problem was over there—his escort, now rushing back, apparently done with communications.
Seeing the man rapidly approaching, the thief's brow creased slightly.
Damn it. There goes the coin pouch.
"Demon-nim, wake up! Monsters are attacking!"
"Hmm? Are they enemies?"
"Yes, monsters are enemies."
Ben responded, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.
It was probably inappropriate to think this way, but… the timing couldn't have been better.
When the 0th Legion Commander got drunk but hadn't yet seen enough blood to be satisfied, he tended to skip straight to the next stage of drunken chaos without needing to drink any more.
And now, just in time—an actual monster attack.
"Ed and the others should be waiting outside. Let's go."
Ben, referring to the rest of the 0th Legion as just "the others," hurriedly helped Demon to his feet.
They needed to get downstairs as quickly as possible—but something felt off.
People in the tavern were starting to rise from their seats, one by one.
And those same people were now subtly positioning themselves to block the stairs.
Anyone could see they didn't have good intentions.
Ben's expression gradually hardened.
Meanwhile, the 0th Legion's Demon was still grinning away.
"Are you all enemies~?"
"Looks like the drug didn't work, and the pickpocketing failed too. So I guess this guy's officially our prey now, right?"
"..."
The thief frowned but kept his mouth shut—he had nothing to say.
No one answered Demon's question.
So he tilted his head slowly and asked again.
"Enemies?"
"Keh. Fine. I'll take that as a yes—don't go whining later."
"..."
"Enemy?"
Still no response.
His smile grew wider. His voice, too, gained a strange intensity.
It didn't matter. He was just some drunk. His only ally was that stiff-looking escort.
The others smirked at the sight.
"Well now… If you hand over that pouch on your waist, we might let you stay here as a customer."
Everyone had seen how much he'd won at the gambling house.
Unfortunately for him, most of the people who worked there all knew each other.
Sometimes they competed to scam the same mark. Other times, they joined forces to squeeze someone dry.
There was no way they'd let someone who raked in that much gold just walk out—especially when it was only two of them, and they looked like easy pickings.
But then, as if the fear had short-circuited his brain—
"Pff… Puhuhuh…"
"…?"
"Bwahahaha! AHAHAHAHA! Kuh—KUHUHUHU—!"
The white-haired man began laughing like a lunatic.
He leaned his head back and let the laughter spill out—wild and manic.
Then, without warning, he cut it off.
His expression turned cold.
A dagger spun smoothly in his hand—who knew when he'd drawn it?
"…Yup. You're enemies."
Thud. Thud.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the worn wooden stairs, each step pressing down with force.
The white-haired man—no, now red-haired—descended to the first floor at a calm, deliberate pace, coin pouch swinging boldly from his waist.
It was in plain sight.
Yet not a soul on either floor dared to stop him. No one even got close.
Those who had seen his brutality firsthand were frozen in terror.
Those who hadn't… were paralyzed by the sight of Demon, drenched in blood and smiling like a madman.
And as for the man who had witnessed it all up close—shared drinks with him, even—he stood rooted to the spot, trembling uncontrollably.
It wasn't because of a massacre.
Demon had only killed one person.
But still—
"It was just too cruel."
It had all happened in an instant.
As the white-haired man—who had been laughing like a fool—moved, almost in the same instant, the dagger buried itself deep into the shoulder of the man who had been snickering at the front of the group.
Fast.
That thought hadn't even finished forming before the man dragged the dagger downward in one smooth motion.
A chilling slash echoed—shrrrk—and blood splattered across his face.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he severed the muscles in both arms to make sure the man couldn't resist, then began hacking at him like a madman—face, gut, limbs—without hesitation, with a crazed grin that seemed to thirst for more blood.
It didn't matter where he struck. He just laughed and drove the blade downward over and over again, like he was chopping at the ground.
It was so brutal, so horrifying, that by the time he stopped, his once-white hair had been dyed red.
And the man watching finally understood why he'd stopped.
Because there was nothing left to shred.
The corpse had been torn apart—so completely destroyed that there was no telling what it had once been.
No one could say when the victim had actually died.
But the moment the man laid eyes on what remained, he instinctively understood.
If I make a move, I'll end up just like that.
Even those who had been blocking the stairs began slowly backing away, one by one.
Seeing the path clear, the man gave a slow nod.
Of course they would.
That person had died after feeling every last drop of pain the body could experience.
All living beings instinctively prefer a death free of suffering.
And no one—absolutely no one—wants to die like that.
In the suffocating silence that followed, the man with the blood-dripping dagger continued down the stairs.
His escort followed close behind, but no one paid him any mind anymore.
He was just a ceremonial guard at this point.
Or perhaps… he was there to keep the beast from waking too soon.
Drawn by something unseen, the man found himself following.
Not too closely, of course—just far enough to keep the red-haired man within view while staying safely out of reach.
What he saw next was even more chilling: people on the first floor—who probably hadn't even seen what happened upstairs—were scrambling to get out of the way.
Some might've peeked, sure. But most? They were just reacting to the atmosphere.
He's completely taken over the room.
The suffocating silence gripped the entire building like a vice.
Chills ran down his spine.
With a single kill, that man had overturned the numbers and seized the momentum for himself.
Was it instinct? Or deliberate?
Either way, it didn't matter. The danger was the same.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
The silence was deeper than ever—yet it felt like the calm before a storm.
The man couldn't take another step. Instead, he clenched his eyes shut.
"…I'm sober now."
"Ah… are you," Ben answered stiffly.
Anyone who witnessed—or caused—something like that would sober up real fast.
In fact, staying drunk after all that bloodshed might've been the truly impressive part.
Ben didn't mind the sudden shift to informal speech.
This wasn't the first time the 0th Legion Commander dropped honorifics after a fight or a drink.
Daeon slowly wiped the blood from his dagger with his fingers and made his way to the door.
But then—he stopped.
Something had caught his eye.
"Eek!"
A squeal came from the corner.
Myle, hiding in the shadows, instinctively shrank back.
Their eyes met.
God, he hoped it was just his imagination—but no.
That blood-soaked man with the glowing red eyes was definitely looking right at him.
A wave of regret crashed over him, so strong it made him sick.
I must've been insane. Of all people to mess with, why him!?
There was no way Ben hadn't noticed where Demon was looking.
That lunatic who had dared serve spiked liquor to Demon-nim.
If it had been anyone else, maybe there was room for forgiveness—but now that he'd been spotted?
Forget it.
But even so…
Ben furrowed his brow and offered carefully, "You don't need to waste your time on someone like him. If you'd like, I can—"
"No."
"..."
Daeon cut him off without hesitation.
He turned slowly, walking toward Myle.
His steps were deliberate—slow—but somehow, in the blink of an eye, he was standing right in front of him.
Then, with a gentle smile, he crouched down to eye level.
"Hey, junkie."
"Y-Yes?!"
"If you don't wanna die…"
"..."
"Hand over all the drugs you've got left."
"…Pardon?"