Crossroads of Choice
Foolish people are always standing at a crossroads of choices. And that was me right now.
The hero had stormed out in irritation once more, but even without him, my internal conflict didn't end. The potato wedges I'd rejected earlier—claiming I had no idea what he'd done to them—were rolling around on the floor. They looked perfectly roasted, and the delicious buttery aroma still lingered in the air, as if they'd been given an extra sear.
Normally, I wouldn't touch them. But my stomach was growling so fiercely that my eyes kept drifting toward them. Come to think of it, Min Siyoon's life was much the same, so what's the harm? I despised myself even for that fleeting thought. Back then, it was scraps people had discarded without a second glance, but now, in this contrived situation designed to utterly crush me, it was hard to even consider eating them. If I did, he might hurl insults at me, calling me a filthy beggar who scavenges off the floor. I might earn looks of utter contempt.
But I was so hungry. My gaze kept returning to those potatoes rolling on the floor. Unconsciously, I stared at the fallen ones and swallowed hard. I knew it was shameful, but I felt my hand drawn toward them anyway. I reached out, then pulled back, repeating the motion until I realized the potatoes were cooling. Finally, I squeezed my eyes shut and prodded one with my finger.
He won't notice this much.
Just checking the temperature. I poked it, and realized it wasn't too hard or too mushy—it promised the perfect texture. But now that I'd touched it, regret flooded in.
One won't hurt, right? Even this tiny body could hold out with just one. A fingernail's not enough to satisfy. It'll be fine, won't it?
I hadn't eaten since first meeting the hero. Just one... I want just one. That desperate longing was already overpowering my pride, and my reason had fled with the hunger, leaving my hand to stretch out unhindered. The warmth at my fingertips seemed to whisper that it hadn't cooled yet.
Either way, more agonizing would just let it go cold, and I'd end up eating it anyway—but then it wouldn't taste as good. I rationalized it like that as I swallowed hard. Ignoring whether dust or grit clung to the potato that had rolled under his shoe, I popped it into my mouth.
Overcoming the shame, I took a bite, and the buttery flavor exploded across my tongue. Warmth soothed my mouth, and with each chew, the subtle potato taste filled it completely. An occasional crunch—grit or a sand grain?—slipped in, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that it filled my empty stomach, even a little.
And when I swallowed the last bit, it went down smoothly. No ill effects followed as I waited, so it wasn't poisoned. Delicious. That single word brought tears to my eyes.
But that fleeting happiness was over. There were plenty left, but what if he caught me eating even one? If I grabbed another here, he'd definitely notice. Then, while I was puffing up with pride, he'd see me as a fool who grovels for scraps the moment he steps away. I didn't want that.
I chewed on my already mangled, crooked fingernails and glanced at the potatoes strewn across the floor. They taste so good... I'd already shoved my pride aside to eat one, but more would make me feel too pathetic. So I just gnawed at my nails. No more to chew, so I kept at it.
The hunger eased a bit. This body's small appetite was a blessing. With some nutrients restored, my mind cleared enough to think.
I groaned, pushing my body back slowly until I leaned against the wall and let out a sigh.
"Ah... a."
I cleared my throat and rolled my head to loosen my neck. After a few minutes of that, I stared blankly, piecing together thoughts about the hero. His actions, his words...
Kudbeka was a doll. He'd been stripped of his hero status. He'd lost the Demon King, all his subordinates died, and he failed to protect his noble lady.
Would anyone truly grieve a lady from another house? Humans have all sorts of tangled emotions, so maybe if she was his fiancée. As for the subordinates dying... connecting it to losing the Demon King didn't take long. He'd led them into the Demon Realm to assault the Demon King's Castle, only for magic beasts to slaughter them?
That made three reasons—or two, really—for him losing his hero title. Thinking it over, it seemed justified.
But the last part nagged at me: the truth about Kudbeka. I didn't want to dwell on it. If it was a painful truth, couldn't I learn it later? I preferred believing he'd fled temporarily to save his life and was now preparing to rescue me from the hero.
I missed Kudbeka. If he were here, I'd have a bit more strength. My one sanctuary.
We'd only been apart a few days, but no one had ever made me feel so at ease. I'd been a little suspicious at first—natural for strangers—but if I could go back, I'd open up completely and relax around him.
Kudbeka. My sole subordinate, my loyal servant. Just thinking of him brought a smile.
Lost in those thoughts, the hero returned before I knew it. He opened the door and stared at me. His eyes flicked to the potatoes on the floor, then back to me. Did he notice? Anxiety bubbled up. I wished he'd pretend not to know, but even then, I wouldn't be glad for his mercy. I bit my lower lip.
The approaching hero tsked at the scattered potatoes, furrowing his brow. Had he sensed something off? As I tensed, he suddenly grabbed my right arm.
"Ah, it hurts..."
The bruises on my slender arm throbbed. Pain twisted my face. I gritted my teeth, glaring as if to say let go.
But he ignored me, leaning in to sniff my hand like a dog.
Damn it.
"Did you eat it?"
His blunt question made my face burn red. I wanted to die of shame. I'd hoped he wouldn't notice, but without washing my hands, there was no hiding it. Maybe the moment I'd poked it, the smell had doomed me. As I consoled myself weakly, he chuckled.
He was mocking me for scavenging off the floor. I said nothing, just ducked my head in humiliation—the best I could do.
But soon, he spoke first.
"It would've been nicer if you'd eaten it properly. Well, pretend you got your fill. I'll clean it up."
He gathered the potatoes from the floor, took them outside, and tossed them. When he returned, his hands were wet, as if freshly washed.
If I'd known it'd blow over this easily, I would've eaten one more. The thought made me laugh bitterly at myself. Guess I'm just born a beggar.
Deflated, I crouched on the floor again, hugging my knees. A stiff pose for a man's body, but this woman's form made it comfortable and flexible. Flexibility's a perk.
As I curled up, burying my head, the hero approached and unhooked the chain from the wall. The clank startled me; I looked up. He spoke indifferently, as if it were obvious.
"You've rested enough. Time to hunt the Demon King."
His words clicked. That explained why my neck hadn't chafed yet. Me, the Demon King, tagging along to find the Demon King—it was absurd. But he wouldn't believe I was her anyway, so following along was best.
I rose as he tugged the chain. My neck ached. The collar and chain screamed I had no freedom.
Outside, even on the capital's outskirts, people bustled about. The sky suggested mid-afternoon, three or four o'clock. Lost in idle thoughts, a man's voice rang from behind.
"What the— a demon? That's a demon!"
That shout ignited like a signal fire, spreading like flames on oil. Eyes locked on us at the word "demon."
"Yeah! Black hair, red eyes, horns!"
"But only one horn?"
"Her owner's probably smashed the other. Well trained."
Among humans, abusing demons seemed normal. And they harbored seething rage.
"Hey, mister."
A tanned, muscular man approached, grinding his teeth in front of the hero. The hero blinked, asking what the matter was.
"What's the problem?"
His tone was like a noble addressing a lowly commoner. But his fine clothes and aura made it tolerable.
The man pointed at me.
"That bitch your slave? On the way to execution?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Plenty lost family to magic beast raids. Thought you were dragging her off to die."
Magic beast invasion? I'd given no such order. Confused, I glanced up at the hero. He didn't look at me, just hummed thoughtfully before speaking.
"Lost family?"
"Magic beasts swarming since before the hero's campaign. They tore through livestock on the capital outskirts, then the families herding them— all dead."
"Hmph."
The hero shot me a sharp glance. I knew nothing—at least, Min Siyoon didn't. But I couldn't innocently claim innocence. I didn't know how Lobelia lived, what she thought, or what she'd done. I could hope she hadn't, but there was no guarantee. Unjustly treated like a criminal, I bowed my head, watching the hero's reaction. He yanked the chain, pulling me close. My wobbly legs stumbled toward him.
As anxiety gnawed at me, the muscled man grinned and made an offer.
"How much for the slave? If you're selling, I'd buy her. Right, folks?"
He grinned wider, shouting to the clamoring crowd. They yelled they'd chip in too—pure rage and grudge against demons.
"Yeah! I'll pay to beat that bitch!"
"Rip out her nails!"
"Gouge her eyes first!"
I'd thought too naively. A good master? In this world, as a demon slave, I'd never see mercy. Reality crashed down. I didn't know other demons or beasts, only Kudbeka and my mount. If they expected me to bear the brunt of their fury, I couldn't endure it. Hearing "skin her alive," terror shook me. Trembling, I clutched the hero's sleeve, pleading with my eyes: please, save me.
He shook off my hand, brushing his sleeve as if it were filthy. Then he hummed, pondering the man's words.
"She's so disobedient, I've considered selling her..."
No. Please... How could I escape? With his finger on the trigger, I trembled, awaiting my fate. The man nodded eagerly at the hero's hesitation.
The hero hummed again, yanked my chain sharply, and tossed the words at me like scraps.
"Slave, what's your take? If you won't obey me, I don't mind handing you over to them."