IOC - 29

I was the one who had set the stage, yet it was Geoffrey who stepped onto it with such composure, looking as if he had been prepared for this for a long time. Without a moment's hesitation, he traced his finger through the air.

Blue mana shimmered at his fingertips, etching letters of light into the void.

A contract written in magic, not with pen or paper. Only then did it truly sink in, I was living in a real fantasy world.

The writing was finished in an instant. As our names were engraved and the final characters swirled into place beneath our respective conditions, a flash of blue light burst from our pinky fingers before vanishing.

With a satisfied smile, Geoffrey pushed the gold I had placed on the table back toward me.

"This is fine. Consider it a down payment."

"Ah... well, in that case..."

I wasn't about to refuse. I scurried to gather the gold.

Now I really had no reason to stay, but instead of heading for the door, Geoffrey added one more thing.

"Since I promised to tell you about myself as well, let me share one detail."

"Yes?"

"I mentioned my ancestor once, didn't I?"

The ancestor? One of the original five heroes who created the Border? As I gave a cautious nod, Geoffrey let out a low laugh. His smile was strangely deep and secretive.

"According to the records handed down, a Saintess from another world once demanded a contract relationship from our progenitor. Interestingly, the records say that contract eventually culminated in marriage."

"......"

...What?

What kind of romance were they filming back then? Was it some kind of 'Contract Marriage' trope?

But Geoffrey didn't linger to explain. Leaving me in a state of bewilderment, he departed as if he hadn't just been stalling a moment ago.

***

After he left, I collapsed onto the bed, completely drained. Truly, talking to a man who felt like he had a thousand-year-old serpent coiled inside his soul had sucked the life right out of me.

The moment my head hit the pillow, my eyelids grew heavy. With a sensation of sinking slowly into that space between dreams and reality, I fell into a deep sleep.

How much time had passed?

I reflexively scratched my cheek when something thin began to tickle my face.

"Hey, stop it..."

At first, I muttered under my breath, thinking Happy was playing a prank again. Then, a terrifying thought struck me like a bolt of lightning.

Happy can't be here.

I had released the seal with my own hands and sent him back. As that fact resurfaced in my mind, a cold shiver raced down my spine.

...Then who is in front of me right now?

My heart hammered so hard I felt the pulse in my throat. I couldn't ignore it any longer, not when a strange breath was now fanning against my skin. Finally, after a short hesitation, I swallowed hard.

Fine. Better to know and die than to die wondering.

Forcing my eyes open, a figure began to take shape in the darkness.

Dark red hair. 

Eyes burning like blood. 

And a single, distinct horn rising from his forehead.

A stranger... no, a being too alien to be called human, yet too beautiful to be called a monster, was leaning over me, staring down.

In a distance so close his breath brushed my cheek, our eyes met.

"......"

"......"

...So. Who the hell are you?

To say monsters are wicked is merely a human definition, in truth, they are simply creatures of instinct.

That didn't mean they were no different from common beasts. However, if one had to use a metaphor, that description wasn't entirely wrong either.

Just as a beast pursues hunger, a monster pursues instinct. They fight to live, and because they are strong, they kill the weak. The irony lay in the fact that because there was no malice in those acts, they were, in a way, more pure than humans. Humans spoke of virtue while being cruel, but monsters were merely faithful to their nature even as they shed blood.

Among them, hierarchy was determined solely by power.

After all, lies are the weapons of the weak, and it is always the foolish humans who fall for sweet, deceptive words. To a monster, fangs were superior to trickery, and strength trumped cunning. Thus, it was an unwritten rule and an ancient truth of this world. Monsters do not lie.

The succession of their kings was also different from that of humans. It was not inherited through bloodlines but decided entirely by strength. Furthermore, since it was natural for even a king to be deposed upon defeat if they grew weak, the history of Monster Kings was always brief.

So, who was the current King?

His dark red hair flickered like flames, and the crimson eyes beneath looked down upon the world with a mix of cruelty and coldness. The single horn on his forehead shone with the majesty of a crown. Any living thing would feel it instinctively.

This being did not belong in the category of prey. He was a calamity incarnate.

Among the monsters, they whispered that the era of monsters would return one day, and he would surely be at its center.

The one born wearing a blood-colored crown. The sovereign at the pinnacle of monsters.

His name was Damian.

***

His father had been a weakling. After Damian’s sickly mother passed away shortly after his birth, his father fell into despair and eventually faded away, as if his life force were a dying ember.

Before he died, he left behind only a few rules for survival.

Because he had died of illness, the throne became vacant, and soon another powerhouse claimed the seat. The young Damian had to survive amidst endless threats targeting him. Sharp fangs were constantly aimed at his throat, a single moment of carelessness meant death. It was only after reaching adulthood, following countless bloody battles, that he finally reclaimed the throne.

In terms of lineage alone, it could be called a legitimate succession.

However, the reality was different. His bloodline was horribly entangled with the very blood he loathed.

"Still as foul as ever."

Damian frowned the moment he stepped into the dilapidated shack. The air was thick with the stench of rotting meat, mold, sweat, and blood. Because his senses were sharper than anyone else's, the smell pierced his nose like a blade.

"Grrr..."

Inside the shack was a man. His lower jaw protruded excessively, swallowing his words, and the hollows beneath his cheekbones made him look like a skull. His body was twisted and hunched like a cripple.

It was a malformed appearance, but he was unmistakably human. Or rather, since they were in the middle of the Monster Forest, he wasn't just a simple human.

Damian looked down at the man coldly and muttered, "Tiresome."

His father's final request before dying had been. "Protect them."

He hadn't said to kill them, nor to abandon them. To Damian, it was an absurd and humiliating command. Yet, he could not bring himself to defy it, simply because his weak father had loved him so dearly.

Of course, the stronger a monster is, the more alien the concept of 'love' becomes. In a position where one must hold the throne through force, emotion is nothing but a weakness.

Yet, his father was different. He was weak, but in his own way, he was resilient. Even in the face of death, he had gently stroked the head of the son he was leaving behind as he drew his final breath.

Was he not far too human for a Monster King? Especially when it was his child who carried the actual human blood.

"Gack, huff... Woof! Woof!"

As he looked down at the man drooling and barking like a dog, Damian’s gaze hardened further.

How many years had passed since his father's request? Perhaps it had been decades. The few humans who lived together in the shack had relied on one another, continuing their line through the generations. In the end, only this one man remained.

A distorted, broken body. Yet, that very bloodline was the last remnant connecting Damian to his past.

"This farce ends now."

Damian knew the man's end was near. Even when he left food, the man could no longer swallow properly. Liquid spilled from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin. In that sight, Damian saw the shadow of death.

Then, a thought flickered across his mind. Were humans originally a species that couldn't speak? But the thought vanished quickly. Humans were inherently weak creatures, if separated from society, they were bound to degenerate.

Creeeeak, 

As Damian sat, the rotted chair groaned as if screaming. At the sound, the man lifted his head to look at Damian. Those clouded eyes, meeting the crimson ones, were gradually losing their light.

Damian glanced at the clock. Once death claimed the man, he intended to bury him alongside the graves of his kin. It was the minimum amount of loyalty required to fulfill his father's dying wish.

It was then.

Water droplets rolled from the man's blurry eyes. And then, he began to bark at Damian once more.

"Woof, woof, woof... Whine, woof!"

It was clearly a bark directed at Damian, but it wasn't an outburst of anger or resistance. It was a cry, as if calling out for something.

Damian’s brow furrowed, and he slowly stood up to approach the man. The rotted wooden floor creaked ominously, a sound Damian ignored as usual.

The man was hunched over, his eye level low, but his gaze held Damian firmly.

"Why are you calling me?"

"......"

There was no answer. Only the man's gaze remained, lingering like a dying flame.

Finally, it happened the moment Damian took one step closer.

"......!"

Thud, Accompanied by the sound of flesh being pierced, a searing pain spread across his side. The man had driven a knife into him with trembling hands.