Chapter 59: A Wretched Life
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 59: A Wretched Life
“First of all,” Ferda began.
A damp echo, characteristic of a basement, rang out through the room.
“I am truly grateful to you.”
“……”
“If you hadn't attacked that day, I would have been stuck monitoring President Bernard for days on end. It would have been a pointless waste of time.”
“If you’re so grateful… how about undoing these restraints?”
“I’d rather not. I’m grateful, but I’m not an idiot.”
Ferda pulled over a chair and sat directly in front of him.
“That transformation technique is quite fascinating. It’s not a magical imitation or a distortion of perception, nor is it a clumsy mimicry like that of a doppelganger.”
“If you find it so intriguing, I could even become you, Regent,” the man cracked a joke with a snicker.
“Can you become me as well?” Ferda took the bait immediately.
“As long as I have your blood, it’s possible.”
Ferda drew a clean dagger from his robe and sliced his own arm. Bright red blood trickled down his forearm.
“Go ahead, then.”
“……”
The man lapped up the dripping blood. As a significant amount entered his system, President Bernard’s appearance began to shift.
He became Ferda himself.
Gray hair and blue eyes. A frail body that had once yearned to be a knight but never could. Though he was bruised and his teeth were shattered, he undoubtedly bore Ferda’s exact likeness.
“It seems you can’t repair injuries. What happened to that monstrous healing factor of yours?”
“My role is to become that human. A human wouldn't possess that kind of healing factor, would they?”
“Thorough, indeed.”
To deliberately strip away the strengthening elements of the Demon Race just to focus on mimicking a human—Ferda stared at him intently.
The man, meeting his gaze, burst into laughter.
“Ferda Valdrova. I thought you were insane, but you exceed even my imagination….”
“What do you mean?” Ferda tilted his head.
“What you’re looking at is yourself. A broken, shattered version of yourself. And yet, you look as if you’re enjoying the sight.”
“I’m not enjoying it.”
“And yet, your eyes haven't wavered once, have they?”
It was as the man said. Ferda showed no sign of averting his eyes or feeling fear. He was simply observing his own broken form with clinical detachment.
“You… were kicked out of the Rosnova family, weren't you?”
“……”
“I can feel through this body just how hard you worked. You have no muscle, yet you pushed yourself until your bones nearly snapped and your hands were covered in blisters, didn't you?”
“……”
“But your father didn't recognize any of it.”
“Indeed. And because of that, I became a fiancé.”
“No. That was just an excuse to cast you out. You know that, don't you?” The man, wearing Ferda’s face, gave a fishy smirk. “You were abandoned because you had no talent. You’re a human who was tossed away like a worn-out shoe—just like me.”
He was appealing to a sense of kinship—a bond forged through the shared emotion of revenge. The man with Ferda’s face craved vengeance. He was a man seeking revenge against a king who betrayed his trust; a man seeking revenge against a father who discarded his child.
Ferda could deeply understand that sense of rage.
“Yes, I was abandoned.” Ferda’s expression shifted to one of cold disgust. “But you and I are different. Entirely different.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The soul.” Ferda tapped his own chest. “My soul has always belonged to me.”
Ferda looked up at him with eyes full of contempt. Hearing Ferda’s words, the man shouted in a sudden surge of emotion.
“I never sold my soul to anyone! This is the path I chose!”
“No, you sold it. You didn't hesitate for a second to let those pieces of trash judge your worth and turn you into something cheap. Because of that, your revenge has become a bargain-bin sentiment, worth less than a dog’s.”
The man screamed as if the notion were absurd. “Does that even matter? All that matters is getting revenge! Even if I’m destroyed, what’s important is making that bastard suffer more than if he were in Hell!”
“No. Revenge is meaningless without a soul.” Ferda reached into the pouch he had brought. “It is only achieved when you hold onto your soul as your own, even if it becomes filthy and broken.”
He pulled out a medicine bottle. It had no color or label, making its effects impossible to discern. There were seven in total.
“So, stop pretending you understand me just because you wear my face.” He opened the cap of one and approached. “Try enjoying life for a bit.”
* * *
In the upper levels of the castle, at the alchemy workshop, the alchemist was busy cleaning up.
“May I come in?”
At the familiar voice of the old man, the alchemist stopped and bowed his head. “Greetings, Count Consilus. Of course, you are welcome anytime.”
“Thank you for allowing Regent Valdrova to use the workshop.”
“Not at all. How could I refuse a request from you, Count?”
Count Consilus made a show of glancing around before speaking. “By the way, do you know what kind of medicine the Regent made?”
“Here is the list of ingredients he requested.” The quick-witted alchemist showed him the list.
Consilus scanned the items. Though he was a knight and a soldier, he had picked up a fair amount of knowledge over the years, including enough alchemy to grasp the basics. Because of this, Consilus took on a look of disbelief.
“This… looks like ingredients for a recovery potion. Am I right?”
At the Count’s question, the alchemist nodded. “Yes. That is correct.”
“He came all the way here just to make a simple recovery potion? Surely he could have just asked you for that?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“That’s what you thought?”
The sigh Consilus was about to let out caught in his throat. The alchemist stammered.
“Well, the thing is….”
“Speak freely. I’ll forgive you even if you’re a bit critical.”
“If I may speak at the risk of my life… Regent Valdrova’s alchemy skills were… well, they were atrocious.” Disgust was evident in his voice.
Count Consilus blinked at the reaction. “Is it really that bad?”
“Yes. He’s a complete novice—no, he did things even a novice wouldn't dare. If one of my apprentices had done that, I would have slapped them across the face immediately.”
“Hmm….”
“Oh, I apologize. I’ve been disrespectful….”
Count Consilus stroked his beard, thinking quietly before speaking. “It likely wasn't due to a lack of skill.”
“But he completely ignored the proper manufacturing and usage methods. Unless he’s a total amateur….”
“Tell me. What happens if you deviate from the recipe like that?”
“Well….” The alchemist began to read from his notes. “First, to point out one of the Regent’s actions, his stirring speed was far too fast.”
“What happens if it’s too fast?”
“The effectiveness of the recovery potion decreases.”
“And what else?”
“He shook the cauldron during the cooling process. Shaking it while the medicinal properties are supposed to settle evenly also reduces the healing effect. And….”
He continued to recite a list of egregious errors. In a short process, Ferda had committed over twenty mistakes.
“Every single one of those steps….” The alchemist couldn't hide his awe. He hadn't noticed while watching, but as he pointed them out one by one, it became clear.
Alchemy is delicate. If something goes wrong during the process, the healing effect could vanish entirely, or it could turn into a liquid worse than juice. However, every single one of Ferda’s "amateur" actions led to a consistent result.
“They all serve to decrease the speed and potency of the recovery….”
It was far too intentional to be called the work of a novice.
* * *
“Gggghhhhk!”
The man’s entire body tensed up. The veins in his neck bulged, and he bit down so hard on his broken teeth that they shattered further.
“Can you feel it?” Ferda asked, lightly shaking the empty bottle. Everything that had been inside was now in the man’s body. “Doesn't it feel like your whole body is a burning field? Like it’s being scorched slowly and very intensely.”
“Gggghhhk… what on earth did you…?!”
He couldn't finish his sentence, but Ferda answered for him.
“It’s called 'A Wretched Life.'”
“Wh-what is that…!”
“A name I came up with. It’s the most painful kind of life for those who, like you, are prepared to die. What you’re feeling now are the growing pains of nerves that had died during harsh torture coming back to life.”
“Gggghhhk…!?”
“That’s right. This isn't killing you. It’s saving you.”
“Bull… shit…!”
There was no way this was healing.
Ferda shook the empty bottle and said, “Isn't it fascinating? The better a recovery potion is, the more robustly and quickly it heals. That’s why high-grade recovery potions are always in high demand. They’re so well-refined that there are no side effects even if you take them during battle.”
The man had once been a knight. Having been on the battlefield, he knew well the effects of high-quality recovery medicine.
“Conversely, cheap recovery medicine is painful. The recovery speed is slow, and the potency is weak. What I made is the cheapest of the cheap. So, if I press here….”
Ferda pressed his index finger firmly against a bruised area.
“Aaaaaggghhh!”
A scream erupted. The man, who had endured the executioner’s torture, let out a sharp cry for the first time.
“Revived nerves are incredibly sensitive. If a finger does this much….” He picked up an object the executioner had left behind. A long, sharp object. A needle. “How do you think this will feel?”
Clang! Clang!
“Stop! Stoooop!!” He began to struggle frantically, losing his mind. “I’ll tell you everything! I’ll tell you!”
“Tell me what?”
“There must be a reason for this torture, goddammit! I’ll tell you everything! I’ll even tell you where our headquarters is! Just stop! Please! Pleaaaase!”
Five minutes.
That was how long it took for the man, who had withstood the executioner’s torture, to surrender. It ended remarkably quickly. Indeed, while he might have learned how to resist while dying, he had never learned how to resist while living.
“No.” Instead of questioning him, Ferda gagged him. “Your surrender is inevitable, but not just yet.”
He set down the empty bottle and picked up the one next to it. The liquid sloshed inside. To the man’s sensitive ears, it sounded like the roar of waves in a storm.
“Sing a little more. Feel a bit more of that wretched life you threw away.”
The spiral staircase led down to the basement. From below, the screams of a sinner trapped in Hell did not cease.
* * *
Three hours later, Ferda met with Consilus again in the reception room.
“I’ve learned a few interesting facts.”
“What are they?”
“They call themselves 'Dopplers.'”
“Doppler? It sounds like it’s derived from doppelganger.”
“Correct. They call themselves Dopplers to signify that they are superior to doppelgangers.”
“How narcissistic. Quite typical of the Demon Race.” Count Consilus chuckled. “I never imagined we would obtain information on the Demon Race.”
“The fact that they are closer to humans than demons was key. If they weren't so human-like, the torture methods I know wouldn't have worked.”
“Truly remarkable. To create something we couldn't even imagine….”
It was an idea that even the alchemist, who had worked at the castle for thirty years, had marveled at. Ferda had "ruined" the potion with far more difficulty and precision than it would have taken to brew a normal one. It was a level of skill that could be called art.
“President Bernard surely wasn't the first of these Dopplers… do you know when they started?”
“They say it began ten years ago. He doesn't seem to know the exact details, as he only recently rose from Servant-class to Knight-class.”
There is a hierarchy within the Demon Race. Servant-class are ordinary human followers used as pawns. From Knight-class onward, they begin to truly enjoy the power and authority of the Demon Race.
“If they started ten years ago, many must already be in hiding.”
“They’re likely hidden not only in Escoleia but also within the Grand Council.”
“That’s… impossible. It makes no sense for a swarm of chaos to exist within the domain of Lord Blancaros, the Great Aspect of Order.”
“I already know what President Bernard said at the Grand Council. Whether they are human or Doppler, it’s an established fact that Demon Worshippers are inside.”
Count Consilus understood the logic, but it was difficult to fully accept. “The Grand Council, where the entire continent harmonizes, will now lose its trust.”
The Grand Council was a place created for the harmony of the Serdes Continent. The news that a subordinate of the Evil Dragon Godwin was planted within Blancaros’s absolute sanctuary would shake the continent. The repercussions were too great to be used merely for political gain.
“What will you do?” Consilus asked Ferda. He felt that Ferda might make a wise judgment in this situation.
“The best course of action is, of course, a preemptive strike.”
“Surprising the enemy is indeed an excellent tactic. But wouldn't we need to know their headquarters to launch a surprise attack?”
“Of course.”
Belatedly realizing the intent behind those words, Count Consilus’s face brightened. “Have you… discovered the enemy’s headquarters as well?”
“Not the headquarters, but a key facility. He said he served as the security captain at the research facility where those things are created. Because of that, he knows their vulnerabilities better than anyone.”
“Then we can go and strike them immediately.”
Since they knew the location, the conditions were perfect.
“There is one problem.”
“What is it?”
“That research facility is located within Silverwind territory.”
“Ah….” Consilus knew the current state of their relationship with Silverwind. “That makes things difficult. It seems like something that could be easily resolved if we requested cooperation from Silverwind….”
“They wouldn't give it. And wouldn't it take too long to even ask?”
“True. Then it might be better to provide them with the information… but even that is an unpleasant prospect.”
“If we were simply going to exterminate them, we could just collapse the mountain and be done with it.”
The target of the preemptive strike was a research facility, not a gathering point for demon armies. In other words, it was a place where information, not military force, was the core. There would likely be plenty of information on the Dopplers, as well as the plans the demons have laid out.
Ferda made his decision. “We must strike secretly, destroy it, and get out.”
A precarious special operation that could turn into a war if things went wrong. Just as Ferda was about to outline the plan, Count Consilus suddenly spoke up.
“This is an impertinent request, but could you give this old man a chance?”
“A chance?”
“Yes.” Count Consilus knelt and placed a hand over his heart. “As a shield of the Empire and a knight loyal to the Great Aspect of Power, I wish to be of great strength to you, Regent.”
He was an old man with gray hair. However, in his prime, he had been a knight recognized by the Empire. He was a knight who had lost everything and had chosen to exile himself.
Ferda welcomed the request.
“We depart tomorrow. Prepare immediately.”