Enter the Sub-Male Lead
'Du-yu-no… kimchi?!'
Annette's brain kicked into full gear.
Caric's tone had been utterly serious. The problem was that she had no idea what he was actually saying. Was this some kind of test? Or a cryptic hint about an enemy?
'The Eastern Continent. He was clearly asking about the Eastern Continent. And about food, too.'
Annette's brain, accelerated by pure survival instinct, found the answer.
'Kimchi!'
That was it! She had heard of such a thing — definitely. The only problem was the 'du-yu-no' part. Some kind of ancient language? She hadn't the faintest idea.
Deflating, Annette stole a cautious glance at him and spoke up.
"I know kimchi. It's Eastern Continent food, isn't it?"
Astonishingly, it was a perfect answer to du-yu-no kimchi.
Caric's eyes went wide.
'Was this one of those novels that just hand-waves English as an "ancient language"? She actually understood me?'
It was a misunderstanding, but a fortuitous one. Caric's mouth watered. Truthfully, he'd never been that crazy about kimchi itself — but there were times when budae jjigae, kimchi fried rice, or kimchi pancakes hit him like a craving he could not ignore.
'Good. Very good.'
He went on repeating a few more questions after that, and thanks to them, he learned something wonderful: this fusion romance-fantasy empire was the best. It had cola. It had ramen.
"I will definitely take you to the empire."
Caric said, fired up with purpose.
"Definitely."
"Ye-yes…."
Annette replied, sounding a little underwhelmed.
So my benefactor is a bit of an odd one, huh.
"Come to think of it, I never got your name, my benefactor."
"Caric. And you don't need to be formal with me."
"Oh, no, I prefer it this way…."
Annette said, fidgeting with the hem of her leather coat with her fingertips.
"After all, you'll be a high noble yourself soon enough, Lord Caric."
"Hm?"
"You're a Sword Master, aren't you? Under imperial law, a Sword Master is—"
"Nope."
"…Sorry?"
"I can't use aura or anything like that."
"Whaaaaat?"
Annette was so startled she shot up from her seat. Then, as if realizing something, she lowered her brows and grumbled.
"Lord Caric, you're teasing me again, aren't you?"
"No."
"Then how are you that fast and that strong without aura?"
"Dunno. It just kind of works out."
Caric said simply.
"Maybe a good heart makes the body strong?"
He genuinely could not use aura. And Annette seemed to sense that he meant every word.
"Aaaaah… we're doomed…."
She collapsed in despair against the table.
"Doomed how, exactly?"
"Someone without aura can never beat someone who has it."
"Never?"
"Never. Never ever."
"Why not?"
"Because aura cuts down everything that isn't aura."
Annette let out a long sigh. Then, abruptly, she said:
"So you really weren't a cannibal after all, Lord Caric."
"You were still suspicious?"
"Just a tiny bit. But coming to the Demon Realm, now I get it. The mana here is way too violent."
There was no way mana like that could be accumulated through ordinary means.
"Anyway, Lord Caric!"
Annette rallied herself and stood up.
"In that case! I won't just hide behind you either."
"Meaning what?"
"If we spot a knight, we run first! If we get caught, I'll try to negotiate! And if that fails, then you step in."
She added, almost like a plea:
"I mean it! Once we reach the empire, I'll track down an aura-awakening elixir or something like that for you too. You're already strong without aura, so if you took that, you'd be really strong."
"Really? Like, strong enough to slice open a mountain?"
"Maybe if you got as strong as the Sword Saint?"
That's actually a thing?
High-power fantasy was a scary genre.
"Fine, understood. So I step in around Plan C, then?"
"Until you awaken your aura. Please. I couldn't bear it if my benefactor got hurt because of me."
"I'll keep it in mind. But Plan A's off the table."
"Plan A… running away?"
"Yep. That guy smashed my snowman."
Caric jerked his chin toward the door. Annette's gaze darted to the window.
"Eek!"
A pursuer had arrived. Just one — a handsome man with a wolfish, thuggish look about him. Judging by his outfit, he was a knight.
"Don't tell me that guy's the imperial knight commander?"
Was that the one who was originally supposed to find Annette? Pretty sleazy-looking for a main male lead.
"N-no."
Annette was terrified.
"That's Count Crowell."
'Ah. That guy?'
Caric recalled his notes on the original novel. That one was one of the sub-male leads. His concept was romance-thriller — a villain who, through one twist after another, loses the heroine, spares her, gets tangled up with her, that sort of thing.
"He's famous as His Highness's — I mean, the First Prince's — hunting dog."
So the mastermind behind the assassination was the First Prince, same as the original novel.
'Probably here to confirm the kill.'
Originally, he'd probably also have handled the dirty work of cleaning up after the human hunters. Had the knight commander's involvement kept him from appearing in the original? Or had something else skewed off course? Either way, it didn't matter.
"Let's go."
Caric rose to his feet. Annette panicked.
"No, wait!"
She threw herself in front of him.
"That man is Expert Peak! They say he'll reach Master any day now!"
Annette's whole body trembled.
"E-even you should run, Lord Caric. The target is me anyway, so…."
"It's fine. We have a plan, remember?"
"A plan?"
"Plan B: talk him down nicely. Plan C: Barbarian deployed."
"What about Plan A?!"
"That bastard killed Wilson. Absolutely unforgivable."
Caric gripped the door handle.
"Besides — a guy that strong, you think running would even help?"
"Th-that's…."
"I'm counting on you, Annette! Go persuade him!"
When Caric threw her a thumbs-up, Annette's legs seemed to give out beneath her.
"Hhk, ugh…."
Regardless, Caric threw the door open boldly and stepped out of the hideout.
Thud.
At the sound of footsteps, Crowell's eyes — waiting outside — landed on Caric. For an instant, Crowell felt as though his sense of depth perception had broken. It was Caric's abnormal bulk. A body that stood over two meters tall, conditioned to the absolute limit. The height was one thing, but he had never seen shoulders that broad on a man. Even the forearms looked thick as a woman's waist — closer to a magic beast than a human being. Perhaps because of that, an eerie pressure radiated off him. But that was all. Not a trace of aura could be sensed from his body. Just a big bastard, nothing more. One who could be slaughtered whenever the mood struck.
Assessment complete, Crowell let his attention slide off Caric. His gaze shifted to Annette.
"Her Highness the Princess — how good to see you unharmed."
Crowell smiled. It was, somehow, a smile that sent a chill down the spine. Annette faltered for a heartbeat, then quickly stepped forward, positioning herself as if to shield Caric.
"Count Crowell. How did you find this place?"
"I came to rescue you, Your Highness."
"To seek me out in this wilderness — your devotion, Count, could truly be called a blessing upon the empire."
Annette continued,
"However, I must decline the escort. I have already secured someone I can trust."
"You mean that northern savage?"
Mockery played across Crowell's eyes. He drew a pouch of gold coins from his coat and tossed it carelessly at the ground.
"With all respect, Your Highness — take the money and get lost, would you kindly tell him that for me?"
"Consider this a warning: do not speak so carelessly of my benefactor."
"A warning. How amusing."
Crowell let his killing intent bleed out. Annette locked her trembling knees and held her ground.
"Did you not hear me, Count?! This man is my escort! Go back!"
"An escort."
Crowell's face twitched, no longer able to hide his contempt.
"Then let me be perfectly clear."
He split his eyes into a wide, grinning crescent.
"That savage — he dies because of you, Your Highness. Doesn't that just… delight you?"
In that instant, Crowell's cognition accelerated. He spun his aura, driving body and mind to their utmost limits. Within time that now crawled like syrup, he glanced over Annette's desperate expression.
Ah, this is why it's fun.
Royals truly had no grip on reality. You had to make them soak in the blood of the hangers-on right beside them before they came to their senses. Which was, in a way, a kindness. The pleasure of dragging the most exalted bloodline in the world down into something wretched, even for a single moment. The feel of relieving a despairing head from its shoulders. How on earth had he forgotten this thrill after the Purge ended?
Crowell rested his hand on his hilt and planted his foot. Setting his personality entirely aside — the swordsmanship of Crowell, butcher of men, had ascended to the realm of mastery. The placement of his foot. The rotation of his hips. The precise angle of his snapping wrist. Every element meshed together perfectly. In this moment, he existed solely for the single fastest, most devastating cut. The savage wouldn't even manage to react, he was certain. The head would simply part from the neck.
And yet.
Shiing.
The blade cleaved empty air.
'What?'
Crowell sailed several steps past Caric before stopping. Then he turned around. Caric hadn't so much as shifted his feet from where he'd started. He had simply leaned his body out of the path of the cut.
"Annette, looks like Plan B's a bust?"
Caric said, in a tone of mild indifference. Only then did Annette register what had happened.
"Wait — just now, did he—"
"He swung his sword at you."
Caric guided Annette well off to the side.
"A fine specimen of the Hello-There Strike, that was."
That aside—
"I listened to your whole little speech just now, and I got one thing out of it."
Caric pointed a finger at Crowell.
"You've got mommy issues."
"What did you say?"
"I'd know — I grew up without a mom myself. You home-schooled yourself in manners, didn't you?"
Caric looked at Crowell with something like pity.
"A lot of gaps showing. A warped reward system for achievement, for one."
Rather than dignify the nonsense with a reply, Crowell accelerated his thoughts once more. Within the slowed river of time, Crowell charged again. But this time he could see it clearly. The Caric he'd assumed was standing still was, in fact, wearing the expression of a man watching a puppy perform tricks — tracking every movement with his eyes and shifting only the bare minimum required to slip each attack.
Shiing! Shiing! Shiing!
It made no difference how many times he swung. Caric stayed rooted to the same spot, dodging every cut with nothing but knees and hips. All while spouting an endless stream of nonsense.
"I know exactly what you are. You're a dime a dozen among romance-fantasy leads."
Shiing!
"A wretched childhood! Trauma! Distrust of humanity! Or of the world, or of love!"
Shiing! Shiing!
"You wrapped yourself in a shell of cruelty! But that's exactly how hollow the inside is! Deep down you're nothing but a precious little golden child who grew too big for his britches!"
Finally, Crowell broke off his assault and retreated.
"Hah… hah…."
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"But don't give up."
Caric said, in a deep, solemn voice.
"There's no Dr. Yoo Eun-young in this world. But there is love and attention! If you build a genuine bond of trust! You can change too."
"You goddamn savage."
Crowell threw away every trace of the contempt he'd held for his opponent. Perhaps his first impression had been right all along — this savage was less human than a humanoid magic beast.
"I will kill you. Sincerely."
"Don't say it so intensely. Makes you look weak."
Crowell felt as if his uniform might burst at the seams. But he had no intention of taking the bait a second time. He activated the ring he wore, and a magical barrier shimmered up around him. A wisp of blue haze, like smoke, began bleeding out of Crowell's body.
'Hm. So that's as far as it goes, huh.'
Caric was a little disappointed. He'd hoped to provoke him into coughing up as much data as possible, but it seemed the man had figured out fairly quickly that plain attacks wouldn't cut it. He'd gone straight into do-or-die mode. Still, Caric had a rough picture now. Aura or no aura, he could probably dodge the attacks of any knight below Master.
'Might as well wrap this up.'
Caric thought, and looked at Crowell. The moment the barrier dissolved, Crowell's figure vanished. He had forced out his family's Master-grade accelerator beyond its limits. Even Caric lost sight of him for an instant — the span of a single blink. In that blink, Crowell's sword was already carving toward Caric's neck.
Gripping his dagger's hilt, Caric finally lifted his foot and shifted sideways. A hair's breadth of timing. The blade sheared across Caric's left shoulder — the first clean hit of the entire engagement. But as he flashed past, Crowell was certain of his victory. The man could no longer keep pace with his speed. Failing to take the neck in one stroke meant nothing; it would only stretch the one-sided slaughter out a little longer. And in the instant he pivoted his body for the next strike—
something filled Crowell's entire field of vision.
A throwing tomahawk, spinning merrily end over end.
Thwack!
The axe blade buried itself squarely in Crowell's beautiful forehead.