Among monsters, there are many lineages. Those that carry on their generations through reproduction have, since the beginning of time, entered the world protected within shells of hardened demonic energy.
While some species carry their young in the womb, most emerge in the form of eggs.
Occasionally, young are born who cannot break through their shells on their own. In most cases, parents simply watch and wait for them to hatch, but if the demonic energy twists severely or the currents of mana entangle, causing the egg to wither, only then do they reach out with extreme caution.
They apply just enough pressure to crack the shell, helping the life inside push its way out.
Thus, for monsters that perpetuate their line through birth, the moment they find a mate, they begin to practice one thing. "How much can I suppress my strength?"
The minimum force required to keep something alive.
For creatures who have known only how to destroy and usurp since birth, this is the first time in their lives they learn a touch meant not to kill. It is perhaps the only moment when monsters are at their most merciful and devoted toward a weak existence.
...But is the human before me even weaker than that?
To be so fragile that he cannot withstand even the softest touch a monster can offer, a being who bruises if a fingertip merely brushes against him. To Seraphion, this was a level of frailty that defied all common sense.
‘Could it be... that this human didn't actually kill my mate?’
If he had simply targeted this human for resentment because he happened to run a nearby inn... then who was he supposed to be angry at? Where was he supposed to pour this boiling, blood-thirsty hatred?
Seraphion knew, deep down, that death was the way of the world and that the strong devouring the weak was an inescapable cycle.
Take Basha, for example. Before he reigned as the Poison Master of the West, he had poisoned countless kinsmen and built his throne upon their corpses. In the Monster Forest, that wasn't savagery, it was the law of survival.
Seraphion had always considered this a natural providence. If you are weak, you die, if you are strong, you take.
...But when that cold logic turned back like an arrow toward his own mate, he found himself utterly unable to accept that "naturalness."
His hatred found no exit, and the arrowhead of his resentment, having lost its target, wandered aimlessly in the void.
What eventually pulled Seraphion out of that dark abyss of emotion was a strange, savory scent tickling the tip of his nose.
When he slowly raised his head, he saw the human. In that short interval, the man had clearly been moving busily, his cheeks were flushed red, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
He held a tray in both arms, upon which sat a bowl of fluffy white rice and a steaming bowl of gukbap (hot soup with rice). The savory, salty aroma drifted through the air, piercing his senses.
Meanwhile, the King was hovering around the small human. His massive body betrayed a sense of restlessness, his fingertips twitching in the air.
To Seraphion, it looked as if the King was desperately trying to restrain himself from snatching a spoonful of that hot meal.
Shion sighed as he gently nudged Damian aside. He set the tray down on the table with a firm clack.
“Here, try some.”
A warm, comforting scent wafted up. Strangely, that simple smell of food was beginning to rattle the shell of long-held hatred, if only just a little.
“It’s the gukbap we sell at our inn. I want to talk, but I thought the atmosphere might soften a bit if your stomach was full.”
“…….”
Seraphion stared down at the bowl in silence. The pale steam rose, brushed against his face, and vanished.
After watching it for a long time, he cautiously picked up the spoon. As the broth filled the wooden spoon, a thin wisp of steam rose once more.
As he brought it to his lips, the thick scent of pork bones simmered for hours, the richness of perilla oil, and the sharp fragrance of green onions tickled his nose in turn. After a moment's hesitation, he swallowed the broth.
“…….”
It was hot.
But the heat wasn't unpleasant.
Warmth spread through his empty stomach, and the void near his heart eased for a fleeting moment. A salty, savory umami coated his palate as it traveled down his throat.
As if possessed, he moved the spoon again. This time, he took a large scoop of the fluffy rice soaked in the broth. He could feel Damian’s disapproving glare from the side, but right now, he couldn't even bring himself to care.
He had only taken a few bites, but before he knew it, the stone bowl was showing its bottom.
Clink.
Seraphion slowly scraped the bottom of the bowl with his spoon before finally stopping.
For a while, he stared into the empty pot. For the first time since losing his mate, something warm had taken up residence in the hollow space he felt inside.
Seraphion turned his head to look at Shion.
Slender arms that looked like they would struggle just to lift a heavy earthen pot. A forehead soaked in sweat. Corners of a mouth trembling with tension.
Only then did he realize.
The reason the King had been fidgeting beside him wasn't because he wanted the food.
The King had stayed by the human's side, unable to leave, simply because he was terrified the human might drop the tray and hurt himself.
He was that fragile. A being who seemed like he might break if his breathing grew too labored or if the temperature of his fingertips shifted slightly.
Looking at such a human, Seraphion finally conceded.
“…What is it you want to say?”
The sharp, murderous intent from before was no longer felt in Seraphion's voice.
In truth, the reason he had tried so hard to push away his doubts wasn't because of his boiling rage. Rather, it was fear.
The fear that the moment he lost a "justified" target for his resentment, the arrow of his hatred would turn back toward himself and consume him.
Because he could not forgive himself for failing to protect his mate, he had been barely holding on by hating someone else.
But now, with his insides warmed, the warmth filling that fearful space gave him the courage to listen to this small human's words.
***
Seeing the man’s expression soften slightly as he ate, I breathed a sigh of relief inwardly.
Operation. "Melt the Heart with Food" was a success.
I mean, to a Korean, a meal isn't just a meal. Sometimes it’s a medicine that works better than any drug, sometimes it’s a tender greeting, and sometimes it’s an expression of deep concern.
The fact that the question "Have you eaten?" can carry a deeper sincerity than a confession of love is a truth engraved into the very bones of Koreans.
There’s a reason for the old saying that even a ghost who died well-fed has a better complexion!
Whether the species is a monster or something else, once warm carbohydrates hit the stomach and fill it up, even the sharpest heart is bound to round out.
Honestly, it felt like I was halfway there.
I quietly watched him until the bottom of the stone bowl appeared. I waited for the moment he set his spoon down, and when he finally stopped, I spoke up cautiously.
“Did it suit your taste?”
“…….”
The man gave no answer to my question. I scratched my cheek awkwardly, glanced at the ceiling for a second, and then continued.
“My name is Shion, and I run the inn on the border. Though I call myself an innkeeper, I’ve only really been working for a few months.”
One could dismiss it as a meaningless introduction, but the basis of any conversation starts with identifying yourself. It might be the monster way to kidnap people without a second thought, but by human standards, greetings come first.
“I have some... circumstances. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a state where I knew nothing.”
I didn't bother with the cliché lie about losing my memory. If the most absolute rule here is that "monsters do not lie," I felt the minimum courtesy for talking to them was not to mix in any falsehoods myself.
“I woke up to find my house looking like a ruin, and I felt like I had to meet someone, so I just headed out. That’s how I ended up in the forest. I thought the Monster Forest was a village where people lived.”
My lips were so dry from nerves they felt like they were sticking together. Nevertheless, I didn't run away, I continued calmly. I didn't add excuses about meeting a monster there or how Gilbert appeared to save me and kill the centipede.
Because, in the end, the result wouldn't change.
I was the one who crawled into the forest out of ignorance, and if I hadn't been threatened there, Gilbert would never have had a reason to kill the centipede monster. And this man would not have lost his precious mate.
Even if you only looked at cause and effect, I was the fuse for that death.
A long silence followed.
The man’s face was set like stone, and there was no warmth in his eyes. It seemed as if he were weighing the truth of my words, or perhaps searching for something within them.
After a silence so deep that even the sound of a caught breath felt loud, the man finally spoke.
“I don't have time to listen to such useless talk.”
As expected, then?
Even though it was the reaction I had anticipated, the tip of my tongue felt bitter.
Well, it makes sense.
Humans and monsters are fundamentally designed to be unable to understand each other. They are species that have lived with an instinctive hatred and borders between them.
Furthermore, I was the one who provided the reason for his mate’s death. What on earth did I think I could expect?
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