Chapter 33

Chapter 33

The intruder hurled a dagger at me the moment she pulled the Behemoth from my bedside.

Swaeeeeng!

Clang!

Even though I had parried it with a strike infused with a heavy dose of mana, a sharp pain shot through my wrist. That meant the opponent was a skilled fighter—and that this damn expert hadn’t come for a friendly drink.

"What are you?"

"……."

Of course, there was no way an assassin would casually reveal her identity.

For a brief moment, I was worried about the lives of the trainee knights downstairs, but my own survival took priority for now.

Swaek!

A dagger came tearing for my neck at incredible speed. The dark blade glimmered with a dangerous aura, but I barely managed to react in time.

Just then, as if she’d been waiting for that very moment, another dagger in her other hand surged toward me.

Slice!

"?"

The assassin stared at her now-empty right hand. Even though she had seen it with her own eyes, she didn’t seem to grasp what had just happened.

Naturally.

It hadn’t been the sword in my hand that cut her—it was a formless blade I had created with Makina in that split second.

Blood trickled from my nose due to the strain of giving it form, but I didn’t care in the slightest. Since I had used it anyway, I intended to finish this cleanly.

"───."

I focused my mind and activated Makina. A searing pain radiated from the cross-shaped mark engraved in my left eye. It felt as though my eyeball was burning.

The Cross Blade.

A cross-shaped blade forged from Aether severed the assassin’s remaining arm and legs. No—more precisely, it erased them.

Creation and nothingness.

That was the fundamental nature of Aether.

The assassin, her limbs severed in an instant, collapsed without balance and stared at me with a dazed expression.

"……."

I would have reacted the same way. Even having seen it with her own eyes, it had to be hard to believe.

How could anyone remain sane when their arms and legs had just vanished without any physical force or warning?

"Haa… haa…"

I sat down on the edge of the bed, gasping for breath as my head throbbed.

After about thirty seconds of deep breathing, the headache started to fade. I quickly expanded my energy perception and scanned my surroundings, sensing a layer of magic wrapped around my entire room.

‘Came prepared, huh.’

It was a spell to block out external sound.

I turned to the assassin collapsed on the floor. Upon closer inspection, she was a woman.

Judging by the way she freely wielded aura, she must have been a professionally trained assassin.

What mattered now was why she had targeted me.

"Who sent you? Depending on your answer, I might let you live."

"……."

Of course.

That was a lie.

"Still not planning to talk?"

She showed no sign of opening her mouth. Assassins, after all, would never speak unless under extremely rare circumstances.

And if they were ever forced into one of those rare situations, they were the type to take their own life instead.

‘Should I just kill her?’

It was then—

Her lips suddenly parted, and soon a familiar name came out.

"077. No… Cecil…"

Why had Cecil’s name come out of that woman’s mouth?

Caught off guard by a name I hadn’t expected in the slightest, I hesitated for a moment—and in that moment, the assassin continued speaking.

"I’m an assassin sent to kill you."

Then, she bit down on the poison capsule in her mouth and took her own life. I stared blankly at her body, now cold and stiff.

"……."

An assassin sent to kill me… by Cecil?

Why would she say something like that before dying?

…Was it to sow discord between me and Cecil?

…To plant seeds of doubt in me?

【What’s the point of pondering that? Instead of wasting time on pointless thoughts, search the assassin’s body. You might find something. And if she’s no longer of use, I’ll eat her.】

At that, I began to thoroughly search the assassin’s body.

"This is…"

What I found tucked inside her clothes was a memory crystal.

It almost felt like an intentional kindness, as if saying, "I left this here, so make sure to take a look."

Too blatant. Too obvious. The intent practically screamed at me.

It made me wonder if killing me had just been a smokescreen, and she had thrown away her life simply to show me this.

And yet, even knowing all of that, I couldn’t resist the temptation.

It was a trap—one I knew I was walking into, but couldn’t avoid.

While Behemoth devoured the assassin, I injected mana into the memory crystal and began to replay the memories.

---

When had it begun?

Was it when the parents I had never even seen dumped me in a sewer crawling with city rats?

When I had to drink filth and stuff trash I found on the streets into my mouth just to survive among beggars?

When I yielded to the violence I had grown so used to, stealing from others at their command?

Or… maybe it had started even earlier than that.

From the moment I became aware of my own self—of "me"—a voice had constantly echoed in my head.

I tried countless ways to drown it out—most of them bordering on self-harm—but none of them worked.

Why was I alive?

What did humans live for?

Why had I even been born?

I had started asking those questions as soon as I was capable of thinking.

But no matter how much I asked, the answers never came. The only thing that grew was the sense of helplessness in this dull, repulsive life.

One day, a blind beggar sitting beside me asked me a question.

– Kid. Do you think your life is miserable right now?

– No.

– Can you tell me why you think that?

– Because I don’t know what misery is.

The blind beggar fell silent after hearing my answer.

To know what misery is, maybe you have to know what happiness is first.

Back then, I had never been happy. Not even once.

If I didn’t even know what happiness was… how could I speak of misery?

So I wasn’t unhappy.

I just wasn’t happy either.

My life in the sewers didn’t last very long. I followed the blind beggar’s advice and went out onto the streets.

I heard that not long after I left, the blind beggar who had spoken to me starved to death.

When I first heard that story, I didn’t really feel sad.

It was more like, ‘Ah, he died.’

Life on the streets was easier than life in the sewers. All I had to do was sit still and beg, and passersby would toss bread or coins at me with pitiful looks in their eyes.

Just the fact that I no longer had to drink filthy water made it feel not so bad.

What bothered me, though, was that damned voice that kept shouting at regular intervals.

[Find ■ ■■■■.]

Sometimes, I wondered what meaning there was in clinging to such a miserable life, and even thought about ending it all…

But I was curious about what this endlessly echoing voice wanted, and why it was so desperate for me to find this person called ‘■ ■■■■’.

If I met him, would I finally learn the reason I had been born into this world?

Unfortunately, I didn’t meet him until after my life on the streets ended and I was sold off as a slave to a count’s family.

My monotonous daily life changed.

One day, several kids who looked about my age came over. Without warning, they started screaming at me, asking who had given me permission to beg here.

Figuring words wouldn’t work, I kicked the biggest kid squarely in the groin with all my strength. After that, I got surrounded and beaten to a pulp.

It didn’t hurt.

I was already used to violence.

After knocking about four kids to the ground and ending up covered in blood, the kid I had kicked in the groin spoke.

– Join our group.

– Sure, why not.

From then on, I wasn’t alone anymore. It was my first time belonging somewhere.

The big guy who had shouted at me was named Jack. He wasn’t very good at fighting, yet he played the role of boss and led the group.

They lived in an abandoned house in the slums. Some of them begged, while the quick-handed and quick-footed kids made a living by pickpocketing.

I ended up in the pickpocketing group with Jack.

It wasn’t particularly difficult.

Most adults could be divided into two types.

Those who openly showed hostility, and those who hid their hostility behind a friendly face.

Our targets were the latter—the hypocrites who pretended to be kind on the surface.

Because we were children, their guard was low, and perhaps because they were conscious of others’ gazes, they handed over money while hiding their hostility.

All without realizing that their wallets had vanished in the meantime.

On days when we scored big, we’d huddle together and eat meat. Maybe because of his large build, Jack’s greed was just as big.

He took more than double his share every day. There were probably plenty of kids who resented him for it, but none of them dared show it.

One day, I asked Jack about the person whose name echoed endlessly in my head.

– Hey, Jack.

– What.

– Have you ever heard of ‘■ ■■■■’?

– Are you insane? Don’t go around talking about that carelessly.

– Why?

– Are you seriously asking because you don’t know?

– Yeah.

– Ha. I know you grew up on the streets, but how the hell do you not know that?

– What is it?

– Listen carefully. No matter how low we come from, there are things you can say and things you don’t. If you don’t wanna die before you can blink, remember this. ■ ■■■■…

That was the first time I ever heard anything about him.

The worst traitor in human history. A demon worshiper. A fallen hero. Every description I heard of him was negative.

Then why was the voice in my head telling me to find this man?

Was I a demon too?

The unanswered questions only continued to pile up.

Time passed, and just as I was starting to get used to that life—

Jack said a great job had come up, and gathered me and the other kids at a run-down warehouse we had never been to before.

Something felt off. There was no reason to meet in such a secluded place just to share news about a good opportunity.

But he was my first friend. My first family. No matter how tough I acted, how aloof I pretended to be, or how numb I made myself seem, I had been starving for affection.

Even though I had doubts, I didn’t question him. I followed him obediently to the warehouse.

There, I saw four or five men I had never seen before.

Each one was large, and the aura they gave off was anything but ordinary. They weren’t the kind of third-rate thugs you’d find roaming the streets.

– These the kids?

– Yes, sir.

– Hmph. All of them look filthy. Not sure if they’ll even be worth anything.

– Heh, that girl over there’s got a pretty decent face. She might be useful.

– Oh? Not bad. Maybe I’ll have a taste before we hand her over to the Count…

– Don’t be stupid. If that old man finds out there’s a scratch on his goods, he’ll kill us all.

– Tch.

Jack, with a pathetic look on his face, was trying to sell us with his usual slick talk.

When he pointed to me and called me "pretty-faced," I made a vow.

That I would never trust a human being again.

Everything after that is a blur.

In that small warehouse, I resisted with everything I had. Before long, I lost consciousness.

I don’t know what happened to the other kids.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a narrow room, surrounded by iron bars.

Looking around, I saw kids around my age, trembling and naked.

This… was the price of trusting another human.