Charge of Treason
I was a lonely person.
Having lost my parents early, I had to leave the embrace of family sooner than most, and with no money to my name, I chose part-time jobs over school, making it hard to make friends. Not only did we lack a TV at home, but the smartphone I'd finally scraped together for wasn't for fun—it was just for contacting my bosses at work. Enjoying anything was out of the question, obviously.
At first, not being able to attend school tormented me, but I accepted it soon enough. My starting line was so far behind everyone else's—straining to keep up with kids my age felt like overreaching my station. So I dropped out of high school. I had to feed myself; there was no time for regrets or bitterness.
Still, I didn't show it, but the loneliness was real. I missed my parents terribly, so I coated their photo to keep the ink from fading and framed it carefully. I was terrified the ink would run and I'd forget their faces.
But now, in a place where even that was lost to me, I was alone again, utterly isolated. This wasn't Korea, or even Earth.
The ink on the photo back in my cramped one-room apartment—my modest haven—hadn't faded yet, but were my memories already blurring? Why else would all the faces in my mind feel so smudged and powdered over?
It had been one day since I arrived at the Demon King's Castle.
I'd given up searching for Kudbeka. Still, I clung to the hope that maybe I'd arrived first. If so, I had to show the dignity of a master living well.
That was the plan, but years of groveling at the hero's side had warped me— even the brush of clothes against my skin felt unwelcome. And my habit of preferring the corner over the bed? No fixing that.
Kudbeka still hadn't come, so there was time to work on it.
Two days in the Demon King's Castle.
I was starving. Nothing to eat had left me so hunger-dazed I stared blankly at the sky before dragging myself to the kitchen.
The food storeroom had a chilled space like a fridge. I tried lifting some meat, but the uncut slabs were too massive. In the end, I fetched a knife to slice off what I could manage.
But it was tough; the blade barely bit. Grr, cut already, I grumbled, furrowing my brow—and suddenly it sliced smoothly. Just my imagination?
Anyway, I grilled it up. No spices but salt, so I dipped generously. Not the best, but compared to gnawing my nails through hunger back then, it was a feast.
Three days in the Demon King's Castle.
Nothing to do, so I holed up in my room, staring out the window. The black trees, absorbing the light, blurred time into a crawl.
How many more nights before Kudbeka returned? No way to know, just frustration.
"I miss you. It's lonely."
Living alone in that tiny one-room, I'd whined about the cramped space. Now alone in the vast castle, it felt too empty. A self-mocking smile escaped me.
Was this contentment from a full belly? No, it was just desolate for one person. Another day on the floor.
Four days in the Demon King's Castle.
Nothing changed. When hunger hit, slice meat, grill, clean, sleep on the floor. No TV, smartphone, computer— no entertainment, no one to talk to. I was wasting away in solitude.
So lonely I played rock-paper-scissors with myself. Win and lose at once—no fun. Bored out of my mind.
Today, I'd conquer my trauma. With Kudbeka here, I'd whine, but since I came first, I wanted to seem more dignified.
Back in my room, the massive bed greeted me. I swallowed hard.
It'll be fine. If I'm doing it, go all in.
Steeled, I dove in. The soft thud enveloped me warmly.
But my brain rebelled, dredging up other memories of that sensation, no matter how I begged it not to. Forced to face them, I trembled.
Hic, hiiik.
Squelching sounds echoed. Hot slickness pressed in. The pounding rhythm felt so vivid, it hurt.
"Guhk, guhuhk."
How do you even overcome trauma? It hurts. Someone, make these memories vanish.
But no one would grant that wish. I gave up, fled the bed, panted on the floor till I calmed.
Five days in the Demon King's Castle.
Tired of solo activities, I ventured outside. Scary thoughts flickered—what if even strolling my own garden was forbidden? The hero had trashed some spots, but Kudbeka would fix it on return, right?
So my dazed wandering increased.
Six days, seven—no change. Just loneliness. Bored, silent, vacant.
Lonely. Lonely, lonely.
No hunger, no pain. Yet the absence of Kudbeka gnawed so deep I denied it. I'd believed he'd come soon, striding confidently—but that faith crumbled to doubt: Will he really come?
Alone, idle, desolate—I wept in my sleep.
*
The Bellante magic beast assault. A week had passed since.
Reports reached the nobles. Per the watcher's familiar, the hero released the demon, triggering the horde. A crystal orb recording its eyes served as evidence.
The result? Bellante's collapse, as expected.
A frontline city crumbling sowed national chaos. Built as a dam against the Demon Realm, its fall meant retreating lines, reallocating troops and supplies—massive losses.
The nobles recalled Count Olvis Davidid's words.
"Count Olvis. Will this do?"
Count Ludent Kayad's voice carried a groan.
Count Olvis hummed thoughtfully.
Only the two counts here, tension thick—they hesitated to speak rashly. The marquis had delegated to counts; a decision loomed, deepening their deliberation.
Count Olvis spoke cautiously. "Count Ludent. Do you think this orb shows the truth?"
"It appears so."
"If it's fake—and my watcher lies—what then? Your reaction?"
Olvis's abrupt probe furrowed Ludent's brow. Clearing his throat, "Count Olvis, that'd just be a frame job."
"No."
Olvis's voice chilled. "Truth or lie—doesn't matter. What you want to believe, that's key. Not a frame."
"Do you even grasp what you're saying?"
Ludent eyed Olvis's mad glint warily, frowning in confusion.
But Olvis smirked, clear on his point. "You've used it too, Count Ludent."
"Used what?"
Olvis's icy thrust flustered Ludent, who stared back.
"Lady Lamiris. Think I don't know? You fed the hero what he wanted to believe. I thought you'd back me, but now you seem to be pulling away."
"W-what nonsense is this?!"
Ludent bristled, veins bulging, but Olvis knew—it was fact.
As Ludent pondered damage control, Olvis continued. "Lucky the hero's blade points at demons now. Learn he killed Lady Lamiris? Where would it turn? Any house withstand it?"
Ludent groaned. None came to mind. Sheer numbers might hold briefly, but hemorrhaging was inevitable—even for the royals.
Blasphemous, yes, but the hero would breach any force. And on defense? They'd bleed more.
As Ludent swallowed and calculated, Olvis smirked. "You don't want that truth out. So keep him from the kingdom."
"Count Olvis, even if we issue that warrant and he turns on us—can you handle his blade?"
"Bellante fell; chaos reigns. Not like old 'demon raids' lies—this is real devastation. What will people cry?"
Ludent's brow knit.
"'What does the kingdom do? Where's the hero?' Then, with this evidence, issue the warrant—what do they think?"
Ludent's mind raced, answer clear. "'The kingdom tried, but the hero betrayed us with demons, crippling us?'"
"Dodges blame, tosses the mob a bone."
"So it goes."
Ludent nodded slowly at Olvis's plan—similar to his own, just different ends. He tapped the table, groaning inwardly.
"So, Olvis—what do you want from me? Tough solo."
"Ah, Ludent—finally reasonable. But not solo."
"Just marquis backing?"
"We'll petition the royals—you nod."
Ludent hummed, then nodded. He disliked being dragged in, but left an out if it blew up. Interests aligned: both wanted the hero gone.
Two days after that talk—nine since Bellante—the Lugbelk Kingdom issued a wanted order for the hero.
Charge: high treason, conspiracy against the state.