Chapter 148
Chapter 148
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.37 – The Knight Came to Hate Masquerades (2)
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Mystic Races.
They were once called descendants of heroes granted special powers in the era when ancient gods walked the earth, and there were plenty of theories claiming they were races born from fairy blessings.
Gods, fairies, dragons.
Originating from such sacred and enigmatic beings, the Mystic Races were inherently powerful and extraordinary.
Dwarves, for instance, were artisans born with uncanny craftsmanship, while the ocean's Mystic Race, mermaids, possessed bodies suited to life underwater.
True to their name, the Mystic Races were mysterious and elusive. But beyond their scarcity, speculation arose that they shunned civilized society altogether.
They were all too aware of the danger: stepping into the civilized world could mean capture and sale into slavery.
As a result, Mystic Races rejected human civilization outright, making rare appearances only on the southern continent—where the [mystical] was more familiar—in the guise of exchange students. On other continents, they were dismissed as fairy-tale figments, with most people unaware they even existed.
Even on the southern continent, though, "rare" didn't mean "easy." And even if you encountered one, spotting them as a Mystic Race was unlikely.
Barbarians might boast impressive builds and strength, but they looked identical to ordinary folk—and the same went for many other Mystic Races, who resembled humans closely enough that it was unavoidable.
However...
"...I-it's real! A-a real Mystic Race has appeared...!"
Damian Pollet was aghast.
It swam through the air, bat-like wings sprouting from its back.
Its eyes gleamed red, and its hair writhed like it had a mind of its own.
And then.
'Such a bewitching aura...!'
Just gazing upon it clouded the mind with a heady, intoxicating scent that begged total surrender.
No man could resist that 'demonic allure'—it was only natural for anyone to lose themselves completely...
"Wow, even after a beating like that, you don't die? Wild, huh."
"P-please spare me, n-no, s-stop hitting me...!"
"Does cutting your head off work? Or burning you? Or maybe..."
"Eeeek!"
"...Scared much? Not killing you, idiot. Just examples."
"......"
"Hmm. But fire does the trick, right?"
"P-please spare me...!"
"Got it. Fire kills you. Useful info."
"Waaaaaah!!"
The dream demon wailed piteously, but to no avail.
The knight, still fuming after a solid seven hours of pummeling, wore a peeved expression.
"Cut the crying. Before I fetch real torches and oil."
"......"
His 'earnest' threat landed, and the dream demon's sobs ceased.
Her body still quivered, though.
'...Wants to live, I guess.'
Damian Pollet couldn't help but look away from the bizarre, brutal spectacle.
No sense inserting himself.
'I'd just shorten my own lifespan.'
Where had this dream demon popped from? Why the beating? Burning curiosity—but Damian buried it all deep inside.
Half a year as that monster's assistant.
You picked up situational awareness whether you liked it or not.
The assistant grabbed a pickaxe to weed the instructor's field.
It was a chaotic Sunday morning.
'So this one's true identity was a Mystic Race.'
A dream demon, no less.
The kind that twisted dreams and subsisted on men's vital essence.
Impossible not to think of succubi—and like vampires or witches, they were Mystic Races routinely shunned.
'That why old man Raphael called her a "poor kid"?'
Suddenly it clicked why the elderly priest dubbed fellow clerics "brothers" but Judia Pierre his "child."
Unofficially, the temple still harbored prejudice against Mystic Races.
And a dream demon, of all things?
Harder to accept than most—and the instant her secret slipped...
'No joke, she'd face interrogation.'
She'd be the heresy inquisitor's prime target.
Besides...
"...So, who are you?"
"...Huh?"
"Asking 'cause the redhead I know ain't you."
"......"
"Figured."
...No grounds for complaint, even under interrogation. That was the issue.
Trait: Super Sensitivity.
Per the status window, Lee Han's trait granting near-mystical senses, feeding him real-time intel galore.
Like clocking the duke and foster daughter as father and child yesterday—now, sensing Judia Pierre revealed volumes.
"Not just looks, speech, personality. Tiny habits, twitches, voice inflections, hand gestures. Almost everything's off. Like a total stranger."
"Y-you can tell all that?"
"Plain as day."
"...Wait, do you... like me or something?"
"Don't be disgusting. Want round two?"
"N-no! Absolutely not...!"
She denied it like a shriek, then...
"Y-you're just too surprised. N-never dreamed anyone could split 'Pierre' from 'me' so clean."
"...Huh."
"L-let me reintroduce. I'm 'Judia.' ...A second 'personality' sharing Pierre's soul and body."
"...Wordy way to say split personality."
Judia Pierre.
No—the 'personality' named Judia spoke up.
"Dream demons rank among Mystic Races seen as demons. Unfair to me, sure, but we sustain ourselves by inevitably draining others' essence. Ostracism's unavoidable."
"Fair point."
"W-wait—in situations like this, don't you comfort the 'poor thing'?"
"Think the near-victim's gonna pity you?"
"...N-no harm done. Worst case, mild fatigue..."
"Like a thief telling a rich guy, 'You've got plenty—pinching a bit won't hurt,' you reckless harlot."
"A-anyway!"
"...Brazen wench."
Judia pressed on shamelessly.
"D-dream demons, like witches, borrow human wombs by chance. Difference? Witches inherit ancestral lore at birth; dream demons pop out normal... until one day they realize what they are. So I was originally..."
"Blended into human society, screwed up somehow?"
"No. Kidnapped."
"......"
"Group targeting Mystic Races snatched me. Brainwashed, bled dry. Hurt so bad, even I rejected myself—that birthed 'Pierre.'"
- Probably only possible 'cause I'm a dream demon...
"......"
Lee Han's gaze darkened at her quiet afterthought.
Not from sympathy for her tale.
Simply...
'Duke Galahad's story ain't so far-fetched after all.'
That 'Mystic Race kidnapping outfit' hit a nerve hard.
Lee Han's gut screamed they tied straight to the Blood Cult knockoffs.
"So, TL;DR: Hurt too much, needed a pain proxy. Created a personality."
"...Doesn't that make me trash?"
"......Pretty much."
"......"
...A face aching to deny it, but couldn't.
Some fool might melt under her sultry, mystical vibe and console her—but Lee Han was immune.
His focus lay elsewhere.
'Pierre, right. Makes sense.'
He pictured the lunatic who'd clashed with him, then jammed a gun to his own forehead upon defeat.
The one whose life seemed utterly meaningless.
'A fabricated personality...'
Emptiness fit perfectly.
Pitiable, sure—but no cursing Judia's cowardice.
Why?
'...I'd have done the same if I could.'
- Hurts, hurts so much...
- Mommy...
- P-please, save me! Save me!!
Lee Han dredged up his past.
Age three, when his parents sold him into slavery to a mage.
Peers writhed in agony, whimpered, dropped dead left and right.
The kid he'd chatted with yesterday? A cold corpse by morning. His feelings? Pitch black.
Anger boiled: how much longer thrashing in this hell?
- Why me? Why this fate...?
Chanted it a dozen times daily.
- If this is life, never wanted to be born!
Hated the world entire.
And so...
'Fantasized about a body double to suffer in my stead.'
Trash? Understandable. Lee Han hid a wry, private smile.
No sharing that vulnerability.
"...Never thought it'd actually happen. New personality just emerged, hijacked my body... no warning."
"Personality creation a dream demon trick?"
"P-probably?"
"...You don't know?"
"...Never met another."
"......"
"D-don't stare like that!"
Judia Pierre—no, Judia's personality was flighty: arrogant to the weak, obsequious to the strong.
Lee Han knew it now.
'That's her. The [Wicked Woman] he ranted about.'
Judia Pierre—one of the three great wicked women.
A figure from the original tale/game, the very one that infuriated the dark-skinned guy. Lee Han was dead certain.
How?
"Hey, late question, but why'd you jump me?"
"Huh? W-well..."
"No anger. Spill."
"...Needed essence. Figured a virile guy's would be prime?"
"......Slut."
"Y-you're awful..."
See? Conscience long dead.
Lee Han was convinced: this shadowy redhead deserved the heresy trial, no words to defend.