Chapter 103
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: No. 308
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Children stood in a neat line. Boys who looked no older than their early teens at most.
The boys stood with their hands politely clasped, eyes darting nervously. Into the eyeholes of the silver mask. Sharp, gleaming eyes scanned their appearances meticulously.
Not just looking with his eyes, he fiddled with their wrists as if checking their girth. Then he pried open their jaws to inspect their teeth. Just like appraising livestock for quality.
After a short while...
The Dark Cultist muttered.
"...Below expectations. The quality's dropped lately. Is there a problem at the farm or something?"
"Hmph, don't be so picky."
The figure beside him replied. Strangely, its voice sounded less human and more like the growl of a beast.
It had to be that way. The being standing next to the Dark Cultist wasn't human.
A massive pig stood upright on its hind legs, mimicking a person. It wore a tattered, frayed formal suit, topped with a gentleman's top hat and a monocle over one eye.
The pig opened its mouth again.
"Hmph, grrr... The products raised at our farm are top quality. Hmph! We specially selected the big ones with sturdy bones... Why all the complaints?"
Offended, it snorted repeatedly as it questioned him. The Dark Cultist scratched his chin, then suddenly raised his hand high.
A motion like he was about to strike. The boys flinched, shrinking their necks in fright at the gesture.
The Dark Cultist smirked.
"Look at them. Big bodies, but weak spirits. No potential to become fangs."
The pig thought for a moment before replying.
"Hmph, they're a bit lacking, sure... But perfect products are rare. Even if we had them, we couldn't sell. Grrr! The exceptional ones are kept as breeding stallions at the farm."
"So you brought these defective ones?"
"Even with flaws, hmph! You can process them into something usable."
Even well-raised livestock carries its own gamey or fishy odors in the meat. It's the cook's job to remove those and turn it into proper food.
In the same vein...
The farm's role ends at breeding and raising livestock. Training them into fighting dogs falls to the Dark Cultists' abilities.
At the pig's words, the Dark Cultist pondered briefly and nodded.
"...Not wrong. A bit disappointing... but if raised right, they'll earn their keep."
The Dark Cultist gestured. Human slaves waiting behind brought over large wooden crates.
Five crates were placed at the pig's feet. Lids flipped open to reveal beasts, bones, hides, and inner cores among other items.
The pig grinned in satisfaction.
"Grunt! Very pleasing today."
The deal was sealed. Human and pig shook hands to confirm it.
"Bring better goods next time. We'll pay whatever it takes."
"Got it. I'll tell the farm owner."
After farewells. The Dark Cultist prepared to leave with his newly purchased boys.
...But trouble arose right from the start.
The bull beast in charge of transport plopped down on the spot. Seeing this, the Dark Cultist clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"This guy's at it again... Annoying."
What was wrong with it?
A boy watched the bull curiously. It yawned as if pretending nothing was amiss. Then it suddenly turned its head this way.
The bull beast's eyes gleamed coldly. The moment their gazes met, the boy was gripped by overwhelming terror.
He knew instinctively.
'...That thing wants to eat me.'
Just as humans prized veal as a delicacy, to the bull beast, a young boy was a rare treat.
Lick.
The bull licked its upper lip, as if savoring the taste. The Dark Cultist finally caught on.
"Hungry, huh."
The Dark Cultist turned to look this way. The boy's heart sank.
'I have to run.'
But his legs wouldn't move.
Frozen in place, the boy trembled. The Dark Cultist strode over. The terrified boy squeezed his eyes shut.
It was all over. The boy was certain... but the Dark Cultist brushed past him.
"No! Not me!!"
A scream erupted.
The boy cautiously opened his eyes. A slave was being dragged away. The man wailed and thrashed, but the cultist indifferently yanked his wrist.
Soon, the Dark Cultist tossed the slave before the bull. The slave tried to flee, but the bull pinned his back to prevent escape.
"Snort..."
The bull snorted, lips quivering. Its gaze alternated between the slave underfoot and the frightened boy.
As if protesting that this wasn't the prey it wanted.
The Dark Cultist replied.
"No side dishes. Can't feed you the church's prospective faithful."
A firm tone brooking no compromise. The bull beast finally relented. Regretfully, it settled for the meal before it.
Crunch!
"Gah, aaaagh!!"
Bones and flesh crushed with a sickening sound, followed by agonized screams. The bull chewed and swallowed the man's arm like fodder.
A cow devouring a human. The slave, not yet dead, wailed wildly.
"Help!! Pleeease—!"
The man screamed at the top of his lungs, reaching out. But no one took his hand. Everyone averted their eyes downward.
Soon, the screams faded.
With each tear of flesh, the corpse twitched limply, spilling blood.
"Uh, ugh..."
The surviving boy shuddered. The slave's breath had stopped, but his screams still echoed in the boy's mind.
Everything was horrific. He wanted to escape this nightmare somehow.
...But the nightmare was only beginning.
There was no place for the weak. To survive in the Demonic Realm, one had to cultivate strength.
The Dark Cultists' society was one of the survival of the fittest.
The great outer gods despised the frail. Thus, to become a priest serving them, one needed to prove their worth. Forge strength through training, cultivate the mind through scripture.
'...This hurts.'
The boy gritted his teeth.
The training was essentially torture. Scaling sheer cliffs or hurling daggers at each other's bodies was routine.
He wanted to give up and collapse.
But he couldn't stop here. Falling behind meant losing the chance to become a faithful and being demoted to slave.
'I can't become a slave.'
Whenever he felt like quitting, the boy recalled that scene.
The man devoured by the bull beast. That was how slaves always ended. Confined to mines their whole lives swinging pickaxes, then fed to beasts when their bodies broke.
'I won't go out like that.'
Fear dulled the real pain.
The boy endured desperately. Even with cracked bones and torn muscles, he hid the pain and completed every drill. Each time he persevered, his strength and skills grew noticeably.
Time flew by...
...Three years later.
The boy turned fourteen.
Still pre-pubescent, but his height and physique had grown unnaturally. Over 180cm tall, with sharply defined, lean muscles.
This was the forced growth from beast inner cores and the Dark Cultists' drugs.
"You've proven your worth."
The high priest smiled in satisfaction. The faithful assembled here were the elites who survived the long, brutal training.
"Step forward one by one."
Responding to the call, they advanced singly and knelt on one knee before the high priest.
The high priest personally fitted an iron mask over each face. Cold metal like ice covered the boy's features.
"Congratulations on becoming the church's fangs."
A new status obtained. No more worries about becoming a slave.
...But the competition wasn't over.
To claim higher status, he had to relentlessly hone his strength and climb the ranks.
'No. 308.'
The name and rank given to the boy. Neither strong nor weak.
His fellow initiates seemed inwardly dissatisfied with the middling rank. It came with tiresome duties but few perks.
Perks amounted to commanding slaves and a small private room.
Thus, the others strove for higher ranks... but the boy had no such plans. He was content.
"P-please! Spare me!!"
The slave begged. But the boy didn't even pretend to listen. He flung the clinging slave before the bull beast.
The starving bull tore into the slave.
"Urgh, aaaagh!! Aaa—"
Unceasing screams. Watching the dying slave, the boy curled his lip slightly.
'Shouldn't have fallen behind.'
Superiority.
The boy was captivated by the pleasure. When had this malice taken root in his heart?
Reflecting...
'...I've always wanted to do this.'
The old boy feared becoming a slave, but envied the Dark Cultist's authority. Treating kin like livestock. Deep down, he admired it.
That's why he endured the training to the end, even with broken bones and ruptured muscles.
'This is the reward.'
Feeding sickly slaves to the beasts never got old. The boy was thoroughly satisfied with his life.
But to maintain it, he had to handle the drudgery. Tedious, but necessary.
'Night patrol.'
Assigned again today.
Sleepless nights were unwelcome, but for future pleasures, the boy undertook the patrol gladly.
Then...
Clang, crash!
A trash bin toppling shattered the silence. An unknown noise. Passing by, the boy whipped his head around.
"Who's there?"
He called cautiously.
No answer, as expected. To check the source, the boy entered the alley himself.
He scanned carefully. Nothing in sight. Just trash spilled across the ground.
'...A rat knocked it over?'
So thinking, he turned.
And faced a monster in a lion's mask. Woojin seized the Dark Cultist's head and twisted.
Crack—!
The sound of neck bones shattering.
Thus ended No. 308's life.