Change (3)

The message left my head spinning for a moment, but I soon gathered myself and checked it again.

Servant? Did it mean the kind of 'servant' as in an attendant's servant?

To confirm my understanding was correct, I used my Appraisal skill on the word 'servant,' and a new window popped up.

The moment I finished reading every line, a single word flashed through my mind.

Slave.

If everything written here was true, then Jackal might as well have become my slave.

No — wait. He might be even worse off than a slave.

Bark when told to bark. Crawl when told to crawl. Roll belly-up when ordered to roll over — and through it all, no matter how much his blood boiled, the only thing he'd be allowed to do was wag his tail.

Having fully grasped what this 'servant' thing entailed, I crossed my arms and weighed Jackal's usefulness.

For now? Completely useless.

Weak as wet paper, knows next to nothing, his connections are thin, and unlike Joy or Phoebe, he's not some character I cherished back in the game.

I'd probably have fun playing with him for a bit, but that's about it. Hard to see him carrying any more value than that.

But that's only talking about the here and now.

Sure, he came with the pedigree of the Burrow Duchy and the nickname "Inferior Young Master" attached, but considering his stats had actually been decent in the game, if I raised this guy right, he'd definitely amount to something.

And what made him most attractive of all was his situation — the fact that he had no choice but to obey my commands.

Which is to say, I could run this guy like a character on the other side of a monitor.

Heh heh. What kind of hell should I serve up to Jackal first?

Just picturing him crawling through misery day after day while his resentment toward me quietly piled up, brick by brick, had laughter leaking out of me all on its own.

First things first — I should build him around the Burrow family's spearwork into a versatile all-rounder, right?

On top of that, he'd need the kind of skills that let him handle all sorts of annoying errands, like the ones Karia or Alsaetin handle for me.

And later on, he'd need some political savvy too, so he could side with me in high society.

The more I listed things out, the longer the to-do list grew — but so what? It's not like I'd be the one doing any of it.

All I have to do is work this ambiguous toy-slave until he breaks, that's all.

I was still mulling over what to order him to do first when Jackal's body began to twitch.

Awakening from his sleep, Jackal opened his bloodshot eyes wide and confirmed that his toes were moving.

Only after verifying that everything obeyed him freely did he press a hand to his face and let out a long, long sigh.

So I've finally escaped that dream.

Ever since Nakrad had taken him and made him the dungeon's anchor, Jackal had dreamed without end.

Dreams of the days when the manor bustled with life.

Dreams from when his older brother was still alive.

Dreams of that brother dying.

Dreams of the household staff being slaughtered.

Dreams of his father being strangled.

Dreams of his mother and the servants cursing him, weeping tears of blood.

And then a dream of something warm and gentle flowing into his body.

After all those dreams had passed, the one Jackal faced was a dream of facing something unknowable.

A strange presence that stood, unmistakably, right in front of him — yet no matter how he looked, he could not make out its gender, its build, its age, its face, or its voice.

All he could feel from it was that it was divine and sacred, and standing within that dream, it spoke to him.

'Poor, foolish child.''Though My apostle has delivered you from your sin, not every sin you have committed shall vanish.''As it stands, you ought to have lived in anguish both in life and in death.''But in consideration of what My apostle has achieved, I shall grant you a chance at atonement.''Child, you must be grateful to be alive at all.''You are fated to live the rest of your days for the sake of My apostle.''And at the same time, you shall be made to remember, always, exactly what you are.'What in the world was that dream? As Jackal turned the strange, impossibly vivid dream over in his mind, something suddenly occurred to him, and he hurriedly examined his own collarbone. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ He remembered — within that bizarre dream, the unknowable presence had left a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mark on his collarbone.

"...God."

It hadn't just been a dream?

Then that means it was real.

"Why are you flaunting that pathetic little body of yours? If you're trying to be funny, you failed. You're so weak it's honestly pitiable."

Jackal had been staring blankly at the holy brand etched into his collarbone when a voice drifted over from beside him.

That voice was far too familiar to him.

How could he possibly forget that clear, infuriating voice? Jackal lifted his head, fully intending to demand what she was doing here, but the moment he met Lucy's face, he froze solid.

In the past, Jackal had despised Lucy — but he'd conceded one point: her looks were fine.

That face drew the eye no matter where you set it down; it was simply impossible to deny.

It was just that she looked cute and pretty, nothing more. Not once had he ever considered her charming.

To Jackal, Lucy had been nothing but a doll — beautiful from a distance, and the moment you drew close, you discovered she was filled to the brim with poison on the inside.

A bratty little thing who was only ever pretty.

But now was different.

Drinking in the sight of her, Jackal lost every word he'd prepared, able to think nothing but beautiful.

Ahem. Sneaking glances like that. Can't even hide your own perversion, huh? Genuinely disgusting. I hope you bite your tongue and die.

"My apologies, my lady. You are simply too beautiful."

Jackal, who'd been about to snap who would ever like someone like you, was stricken with horror the moment he heard the respectful tone spilling from his own mouth.

What? Why is my mouth moving on its own?

"BWAHAHAHA. Look at that! Your dumb face got even dumber!"

"Do you know anything about this situation?"

Curious? Want to know? Then get down on your knees and beg me to tell you. Maybe then I'll let you know.

Jackal had been about to roar why would I ever do something like that — but his body thought otherwise.

Despite his every protest, he found himself kneeling on the floor without realizing it, forehead pressed to the ground before Lucy.

"Would you grant me the honor of hearing your words?"

What in the world is going on? Why is my body—...Don't tell me.Wow. Seems like you don't have a single shred of pride, huh? Well, I guess that's why you went and contracted with some gloomy, weak little scrub of an evil god like a total moron. Disgusting piece of trash, worse than an actual human being.

The apostle that the unknowable, sacred presence had spoken of.

Congrats. You've been granted the honor of serving me.It was Lucy Alrn!?

Jackal did not want to accept that this Lucy — who was about as faithful, kind, and holy as a swamp mosquito — was a god's apostle. But no amount of refusing changed reality.

His body, which could not so much as lift its head, had surrendered to Lucy long ago.

Well, I suppose that's a far-too-generous honor for trash ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that contracted with a slimy evil god.

"...How do you—"

How does she know that?

How could she possibly know that I contracted with Tariki?

When I left the manor, she couldn't have known anything!

I know you're a colossal, world-class dumb-dumb, but how about thinking before you talk? I'm pretty sure what's inside that head isn't just decoration.

Hearing Lucy's words, Jackal carefully combed through his memories.

The day the evil god's apostle had completely devoured the manor.

Amid the chaos some intruder had stirred up, learning that their true goal was to offer up the lives of the entire territory.

Shouting that it wasn't what he'd agreed to when he made the contract.

Grabbing the man by the collar, screaming that this wasn't what he had wanted.

And then—

"My lady."

Jackal raised his head cautiously, and the voice that left his lips trembled.

"There is something I wish to ask."

"Ask away."

"What became of the Burrow Territory?"

Within Jackal's trembling eyes, the corners of Lucy's mouth curled slowly upward.

Curious?

"Yes."

He wanted to know.Curious, curious, so very curious?

"Yes. I am."

What result his own foolish wish — to return to those happy days of the old manor — had brought about.

"Even trash-princes like you would be suuuper shocked to see it. Still curious?"

"Yes. All the same."

Whether everything had truly been smoothed over, just as the unknowable presence had said.

Or whether the disaster had come anyway and hardened into a sin that could never be washed away.

"I want to know."

He wanted to know.

At the sound of Jackal's voice, Lucy let out a laugh, then hooked her toe beneath his chin and tilted his face up toward her.

"Mmm. You do seem pretty desperate."

"Yes. I am. So please—"

"So I've decided not to tell you."

This brat, jerking me around to the very end!

The instant Jackal's fury roared up inside him at the sight of Lucy snickering, she pulled her smirk even higher and went on.

"Seeing it with your own eyes will be way more fun, anyway. Am I right, Ajumma?"

"You mean bring him along? Figured you'd say that, so I already prepped everything."

A voice came from behind, and the moment a hand settled on Jackal's shoulder, the scenery around him shifted.

From inside a dark room—

To the shape of a plaza.

"Ha. How much time did that shitstain of an evil god cost us?"

"This year's business is a total write-off for me. I can't see a way out."

"Oh, come off it, you lot. The Art Order saved your lives — that's not nothing."

"Hey, you brat! You're the only one who profited, and you're acting all relaxed about it?!"

The merchants who always sat in the middle of the plaza, trading talk back and forth. When the evil god's apostle had lingered here, they'd moved nothing but their hands behind hollow, empty eyes — and now lively voices spilled freely from their mouths.

"Goodness, unnie! Haven't you gotten way too thin?!"

"So have you! Who would've thought getting your body hijacked by an evil god came with a free diet!"

"Thanks to that, my husband's been anxious every time I head out lately."

"Oh my, really?!"

A pair of women, the very soul of the city's social scene. Their boisterous chatter — from two women who hadn't opened their mouths even once while the evil god's miasma smothered the city — drew other women flocking to their side.

"Anyone feeling unwell, please come visit the church!"

"Um, Father? I think this one's face still hasn't healed."

"Hey! You little—!"

"Ah, my apologies. Conditions fixed at birth fall under the jurisdiction of Armadi, the Chief God."

"Father?!"

The two men who, back when Jackal was trapped in his foolish dreams, had existed as nothing more than tavern wallpaper were now chatting and laughing with a priest of the Art Order.

Watching all of this in silence, Jackal slowly lifted his head and gazed up at the sky.

A blue sky. Clouds drifting lazily past.

And at its very center, the sun, holding its dominion.

There was no darkness to be found anywhere.

"Ha."

The unknowable presence had spoken true.

The sin that his foolish actions had nearly given birth to had scattered like ash on the wind.

Countless people who should have lost their lives could now live out their days with smiles on their faces.

His sin remained a sin in name — but it had never taken root in reality.

"Jackal."

At the hard, heavy voice that bored into his ear, Jackal turned.

His father.

The head of House Burrow stood there.

"Jackal Burrow."

Jackal could give the Duke of Burrow no answer at all.

Because meeting those eyes felt like a sin.

Because the foolish act he had nearly committed felt like a sin.

And because he was certain every one of those sins was about to be condemned from his father's mouth.

Certain that those desolate, wintry eyes would cast him out — push him past the brink and drop him straight into hell.

Jackal took a step backward, mouth sealed shut.

But that step carried him nowhere near far enough.

Before his retreat could continue, the Duke of Burrow had crossed the distance in a single stride and pulled him in by the nape of his neck.

"Welcome home."

"...Fa... Father? I—"

"Welcome home."

Jackal, who had been about to say something — anything — simply closed his mouth instead, swallowed whole by his father's warmth, the first he had felt since the day his brother died.

The wish ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once held by a foolish little boy had traveled a long, long road at last, and come true beneath the sun's gentle warmth.