The Demon's Secret
Raven was the type who put efficiency above all else. As a textbook example of an irredeemable, penniless demon, he eventually found himself spending the night in the same room as his contractor, Yuri.
He stood before an old wooden door that looked like it would shatter from a single blow. True to her name, Yuri had claimed the spot directly beneath the window. The human and the demon—who was also human—stared at each other from their respective places. The physical distance between the two contractors was roughly fifteen feet. The psychological distance remained unknown.
“....”
“....”
Another silent contest began alongside the sparse patter of rain. It was a session of delusions, fantasies, and role-playing, each of them observing the other closely in the quiet. There were many things he wanted to know, but he asked none of them. Conversation could help people grow closer, but overuse turned it into poison.
The truth was simpler: he had no idea how to start talking.
What lovely weather, isn't it?
Yuri is such a pretty name.
What's your favorite food?
Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?
Pathetic. The only conversation starters his mind could produce were things like that. His linguistic ability was so miserable that even a demon who spoke zero languages would have mocked him. He had reached the realm where opening his mouth split the flow of any dialogue like a verbal sword. This was who he was.
The contractor watched him steadily as he downgraded himself from water flea to tardigrade through advanced self-deprecation. She shattered his illusion that she might be a fellow communication-disorder comrade and asked her question as naturally as a girl at a college drinking party inquiring about hobbies.
“Sir Raven. There is something I would like to ask.”
“What is it?” His voice came out low and echoing, like multiple people whispering at once.
“What do newly born demons usually eat to survive? Is it true they feed on the emotions of human beings who happen to wander into the demon realm?”
Gurgle.
The sound of a stomach rumbling came at the same time as the question. Had it slipped out unconsciously because she was hungry? Any normal human would have blushed or looked away in an adorable reaction, but it seemed embarrassment had been replaced by sheer audacity in this contractor. She simply waited for his answer with jet-black eyes full of pure curiosity.
Even if she hoped for more, the answer from someone who was a demon in name only was already set in stone.
“I don't know.”
He was human, after all. He had been summoned and had even formed a contract, but that was that.
“I see.”
The contractor's expression grew enigmatic. Lost in thought, she lowered her head and gently stroked her chin with one hand, occasionally brushing her small lips with her thumb. The habit was so similar to his own that it increased his internal sense of closeness.
Once her thoughts seemed settled, she lowered the hand that had been supporting her chin, quietly hugged her knees, and cast a heavy gaze toward him along with another question.
“Then what about you, Sir Raven?”
That's a troublesome question.
Ever since his possession, Raven had never put anything resembling food into his mouth. To be precise, he could not do so even if he wanted to. The crow-headed mask fixed over his head had only the tiniest breathing holes. Even those were layered with dozens of filtration filters under the pretext of gas protection, stinging his lungs with every breath.
Why not just take it off? His idiot past self had set a coordinate lock, making it impossible to remove. Destroying it was naturally out of the question. For a cash-shop item, it possessed infinite durability and an indestructible-object judgment. The hardest substance in the world would probably sprout a hole if this beak pecked at it.
In the end, the fundamental reason he could not eat was himself.
It was the natural product of a gamer's efficiency-obsessed mindset.
In survival, food was the most important thing. But for a veteran who only cared about slaughter, the process of obtaining food was nothing but tedious labor. So his past self had thought: the fields were full of running ham steaks, so why not just eat those?
Looking back now, it was an utterly brain-dead idea, but at the time he had shouted Eureka! and combined hundreds of traits to dig up something useful.
After thousands of trait rerolls, he discovered a rare trait called Predation whose name alone suggested it would let him eat anything. The effect was as simple as the name implied. Consuming living beings or mutants granted a special stat called bio-energy. That was all.
Thanks to it, he could secure the energy needed to move his body without food, but there was one fatal flaw.
“The texture is absolute garbage.”
He had to chew and swallow lumps of meat with a tough, squishy consistency that would make even a hyena turn away in disgust—and he had to eat quite a lot of it. Oral consumption was damnably inefficient. There was too much to eat, yet the character's esophagus was far too small. And above all, it was nauseating.
“...Eating with my mouth is really. No.”
Here came the paradigm shift. If not the mouth, then couldn't he eat through somewhere else?
He was a genius. The greatest under heaven. An irredeemable idiot, that is.
To turn that moronic delusion into reality, he unearthed three ultra-rare traits—called petroleum impurities if you acquired even one—in the fields of predation, survival, and evolution. He tormented his mind while cutting sleep and got scolded plenty at his company, but the traits' effects were certain.
The insane ultra-rare trait trio. The end of that beautiful trinity harmony was the realization of “Do you eat rice through your asshole?” “Yep!”
Of course he did not actually eat through his anus, but with enough effort it was somehow possible. Of course, he had never actually tried it. Truly.
Wait! Then, since he no longer needed to eat through his mouth, he could equip that in the empty head slot?
A swordsman obsessed with carrying three blades might have equipped a sword there, but the Demon King of Validation Craving that he had been bought the legendary trash equipment—worn by only the top 0.01 percent of players worldwide—for the pure purpose of bragging on the community, as if purchasing a holy relic.
A substantial sum of money vanished in an instant, and a crow-headed gas mask dropped from the air with a plop.
◈ Complete immunity to toxins, water, and physical projectiles
◈ Indestructible and impossible to unequip
◈ Food consumption permanently blocked
It was a gloriously terrifying symbol of veterans who had gone beyond stale to evaporated into clouds—an idiotic effect that prevented the wearer from consuming food. Efficiency for the sake of efficiency, a flashy show of force from the petroleum residue left on barren land flooded with romance. The end result was the birth of a conditionally immortal monster that suited plague-doctor cosplay perfectly.
But he had no desire to explain this tear-jerking story in detail. After all, he was a noble demon.
With that mindset, the concise answer to the question of what exactly he ate to survive was:
“It's a secret.”
“I see. What a shame.”
The contractor closed her eyes, and the conversation ended there.
Sure enough, he really was an idiot. To waste such a golden opportunity to grow closer so miserably. He should have made something up and kept the dialogue going.
The usual loop of regret and self-mockery replayed. It was so identical that it bored him to the point of sighing. He seriously wondered whether his intelligence—lower than a dog who had never learned anything—was the result of mass brain-cell death from over a hundred suicide attempts.
He swallowed an inward sigh while promising himself, Let's do better next time.
The rain grew heavier, its pattering intensifying, and the candle had gone out, leaving the quiet room wrapped in dark silence. The only light came from faint remnants of moonlight spilling through the window.
The contractor seemed to be growing sleepy; she buried her forehead against her knees and nodded off.
He wanted to say good night, but it felt too late today. It would be nice if I can speak tomorrow.
Harboring a small yet greater-than-anything wish, he slowly closed his eyes inside the stifling mask.
It was quiet. No severed screams, no intermittent howls. Only the rhythmic sound of rain and the warm breathing of life blended together, offering comfort and peace.
Though his monstrous body no longer needed sleep, on a miraculous day like this, closing his eyes seemed only proper.
He lowered his vigilance to the absolute minimum. Fatigue and weariness came rushing in. The world spun as if he were drunk. It was the realization of a simple pleasure—coming home, cracking open a beer, and collapsing into sleep.
The modest happiness he had always longed for existed right here. There was no fluffy bed or warm stove, but.
This is nice.
This small space felt so reassuring that his eyes closed on their own.
And so, for the first time in a long while, he fell asleep looking forward to tomorrow, praying earnestly that a single ray of dawn might find its way into his desolate life.
Moonlight flowed down red walls in the narrow, gloomy room. Beneath the window, the small figure curled up like a shrimp slowly opened gentle eyes. At the end of that gaze stood an ominously black crow-headed monster, arms crossed, leaning against the door without the slightest movement, frozen like a statue.
The mysterious demon who had miraculously come to her. People usually believed the contractor was the one who summoned the demon, but the truth was the complete opposite. Demons were pure, free souls. They were not hunting dogs that came obediently when called. They were far closer to willful stray cats.
That was why she had been so surprised. That he would come to a penniless orphan who possessed nothing but a single Book of Contracts. When even high-ranking adventurers who entered the dungeon and received the goddess's blessing rarely succeeded in forming a demon contract, it was an extremely unusual event.
Then why.
Why did you reach out to a worthless failure like me?
Raven. I want to know a little more about you.