Chapter 22
Three days had passed since that day. Exhausted from depleting all his mana subjugating the Debbera horde, Kal had been unconscious for three straight days. The moment he woke and demanded Mir, a slightly tense Parve pulled a note from his pocket.
"This is the note Mir left behind."
At the words that Mir had vanished, a strange light darkened Kal's eyes before they flashed sharply. He snatched the note from Parve's hand and unfolded it quickly.
[Heading out first. Took care of the magic beasts we ran into on the way out of the forest. Their byproducts should fetch a good price, so no need for a reward. Take a bath when you wake up. The young master said you reeked of rotting corpses. -Mir.]
"Hah."
Kal let out a hollow laugh. Never betraying expectations right up to the end, that stubborn guy.
Kal had been born strangely. He didn't feel alive. Blood surely flowed to his heart, and his lungs surely craved air, but his soul felt dead. As if the creator who shaped his flesh had forgotten to breathe life into it.
It was a boring life. Every day felt empty. Nothing stirred him, and nothing pierced his numbness. Magic had been the most intriguing thing, but even that only thrilled him in the moment of casting—once back to routine, the monotony repeated.
For a once-in-a-generation genius like him, even ultra-high-difficulty spells were too easy.
Kal began seeking stimulation. He even dabbled in gambling and drugs, but even the pinnacle of pleasure bored him.
'P-please, spare me! I beg you! Aaaagh!'
The most amusing thing had been torturing humans. The desire to live. The desperate writhing to survive. Things he lacked. Paradoxically, Kal felt life through those dying under torture.
But it was a sweet swamp that devoured him from within. Right after, he'd feel filthy, like he was turning into a monster—but if he stopped, his hands trembled like an addict's.
Humans become monsters only when desensitized to others' deaths. At seventeen, Kal teetered on that edge.
'Stop torturing people.'
The one who slammed the brakes on him was none other than Kaiser.
'It's a hereditary mental illness in the Crisis family. My father didn't have it, so it's not absolute, but it flares up often in our line. I'm always drowning in the same emptiness as you—just worse for you. I get how your boredom feels. Torture gives fleeting satisfaction, but it's no permanent fix. Stay in the mansion for now.'
After Kaiser's order, Kal was confined to the mansion for a month. Kaiser supplied endless ways to combat the boredom, but against the disaster of emptiness, they were useless.
With his movements restricted to his room and the training grounds—on the verge of destroying everything in the mansion—fate intervened.
"What are you watching?"
Kal crossed paths with him, as if destined.
"H-Huh?! Y-Young master! It's not...!"
"Never mind. Answer me—what were you watching?"
The two knights slacking off outside the training grounds during session turned pale. Ignoring their stammering, Kal pointed to the image magic tool in one knight's hand.
"Th-this?"
"Don't make me say it three times."
"Eek! We were watching Mercenary Mir's battle footage!"
"Mir?"
Kal's brows furrowed. He knew of Mir well enough. The mercenary who'd entered the scene three years ago, presumed a Sword Expert, monopolizing magic beast subjugation requests with the Silver Shield mercenaries.
With so many knights in the empire, footage of their battles commonly traded via image magic tools. But knights still looked down on mercenaries, so he'd never seen mercenary combat recordings.
"Yes! She's incredible! Mir's footage is so rare, but my father—who sells battle image tools—begged and borrowed it for just one viewing before return!"
Kal glanced indifferently at the knight bragging as if he'd forgotten who he was addressing, then snatched the tool. Ignoring the knight's wails about getting dismembered by his father if undamaged, he played it.
Clang! The sword moved ceaselessly. Unstable swordsmanship proving she wasn't yet a Sword Master. Nothing like the refined, dignified strikes of knights—purely for survival. Every motion raw with desperation, vividly proclaiming her aliveness.
No elegance, no grace. But astonishingly alive.
"How much?"
"P-pardon?"
"I asked how much you planned to sell it for."
"Uh, well... I heard up to a hundred gold each."
"Collect ten times that from Taylor before you clock out."
"Pardon?!"
Leaving the stunned knight behind, Kal pocketed the tool and returned to his room. His eyes were dead. But that gaze, those movements, the surging aura, the blade slicing magic beasts—they leaped with life. Kal shuddered at it.
He savored the vividness he'd never seen. That became the turning point.
"Buy every battle footage of Mercenary Mir."
Kal endlessly replayed the living struggles. Watching made him feel alive too.
"I hear you're obsessed with Mercenary Mir lately. And you've stopped the tortures."
Kal nodded to Kaiser, who eyed his tamed son curiously. With a better path, no need to chase life through torture.
"...Alright. Want me to dig into Mir's identity?"
Kal hesitated then. What would real Mir be like? Would she truly live so brilliantly?
He yearned to say yes, but shook his head.
"No. I don't want to expose someone trying to hide."
It was the first time Kal Crisis suppressed his desires for another.
"...Fine. Tell me if you need anything. Go."
Kaiser's indifferent voice carried subtle warmth. Neither could be great men who loved others. Yet Kaiser tried not to be the worst father—granting wishes, minding the emptiness.
Their dry, crumbly father-son bond endured thanks to him alone.
"Yes."
Kal couldn't love such a Kaiser, but understood and respected him. They were each other's quiet confidants.
After that, Kal's life normalized. No more wandering for pleasure, clean break from tortures. Many said he'd changed 90 degrees, if not 180.
But not much had. Still bored, ignorant of love, craving life. Only one change: He knew of Mir.
Kal savored Mir's radiant life through another dead day.
The real, breathing Mir tumbling into his life came two years later, one winter day.
"Young master. Word from the ducal residence."
"Tell them I'm busy."
"It's from the duke himself."
Kal's hand paused mid-magic circle. Kaiser rarely contacted him directly at the magic tower—respecting his hobby time.
"Something urgent in the family?"
"More like an opportunity for you, young master."
The servant smiled meaningfully. Reading the floating text on the magic tool, Kal grabbed his coat.
"Activate the teleport machine now."
"Already ready."
His long-serving servant knew him well.
[Mercenary Mir is joining the Luju Village magic beast subjugation. Hurry and you might tag along.]
Kaiser Crisis knew his son well too.
"Not going?"
The servant tilted his head at Kal standing like a statue before the machine. Kal blinked slowly.
Beyond lay Mir, probably. The protagonist powering his life for two years.
Yet he hesitated inexplicably.
He wanted to see her, of course. For two years savoring her life, he'd craved her reality more than anyone.
But he feared.
Fear. How ill-suited to Kal Crisis.
Yet there he stood, desired moment before him, frozen by fear.
What if the Mir I savored isn't special—just ordinary?
One sudden thought tormented him. Laughable, but for nearly two years, Mir had been his boyhood hero fantasy.
A star shining brighter for being unreachable. An idol worshippable in ignorance. An ideal crushable only unknown.
Confirming her identity might shatter it all. He'd given too much heart to an anonymous mercenary.
"...Young master."
His aged servant, serving longer than most, knew him—perhaps better.
He spoke slowly. "Fear lingers unless faced. Better confront it once and cast it off than carry it forever."
Kal turned. A kindly smile aged by years lit the servant's face.
"Your heart isn't cheap. This old man wishes you wouldn't give it to the unworthy."
Meaning: Confirm if Mir deserves it yourself.
"...You're right."
A smile bloomed on Kal's fearful frown—his usual arrogant one.
"Open the device. I'll confirm personally."
The servant activated the spatial transfer.
"Safe travels."
With that farewell, Kal stepped into the rippling space without hesitation.
"She's not an enemy! Sheathe your sword!"
Space twisted, the knight commander's voice tickling his ear. Red smoke obscured vision.
"Who's there?"
Followed by a familiar, altered voice.
Smirking arrogantly as always, Kal advanced.
"Me?"
And there—small stature. But the aura pouring from that tiny frame was anything but light.
Kal stared, entranced, at his hero.
Familiar appearance. But reality dwarfed the footage.
Those eyes. The ones that led him to life.
Dead eyes flashing eerie fluorescent pink. Already dead, yet brilliantly alive—a paradoxical soul-heart. Seeing them real, they shone far brighter than in videos.
Then Kal realized.
"This is Mir?"
Ah. I can never let her go.
* * *
"...Young master?"
Parve's cautious call snapped Kal from reverie. A bewitching smile curled his lips, as if pondering something.
"Parve Roman."
"Yes, young master."
The ducal knight bowed before his small lord.
Kal despised fools. Clinging vermin ignorant of their place, or bees drawn to sugary facades hiding shit.
Utterly pathetic and annoying.
But he didn't mind Mir's foolishness.
Objectively, Mir wasn't foolish. Among countless people Kal observed, she ranked top in wisdom and sharpness.
Deep insight on magic beasts from experience. Subtle distance from fawning knights. Instincts so keen they awed, with lightning judgment.
Yet this brilliant Mir acted stupid only before him.
Sensing his mask, she'd furrow her brow—then inexplicable trust softened her eyes, banishing doubt.
Seeing his fragile act, she'd worry and comfort; forgetting her station, pity the young master.
Kal recalled Mir's gaze on him. Always impassive, but lighting strangely upon him.
Like finding an understanding soul in ignorance's world—or him being hers.
Deceptive eyes holding eerie joy.
Mir knew him already. No clue when. Didn't matter how or why.
He just didn't hate those eyes.
No—he loved them, chillingly so.
Had he never known, he'd have let go. But knowing? Impossible.
With a mad smile, Kal commanded coldly.
"Find Mir. Cost or means don't matter. Fail, and prepare to die by your own hand. Uncover her identity."
Kal never released what he caught once.
Meanwhile, Parve—who'd heard the exact same from the duke before leaving—could only curse inwardly at the father-son duo's bullshit.