Wanderers of the Land
In my past life, I was just your average Joe. Squeezed by the daily grind of office life, the kind of guy slaving away at some dead-end job you could find anywhere. Getting chewed out by the boss was par for the course. Paycheck? Bare minimum wage. Overtime was endless. At least there was that guaranteed minimum and some paid leave, right? Not that I could actually take it without hassle.
I scraped by in a tiny studio apartment as a lifelong bachelor, enjoying the basics for forty years. On days off, I'd game, watch movies, read novels, or take naps. But even that life ended young—overwork piled on high blood pressure and a slew of illnesses, leading to sudden death. My last memory from that life? A sledgehammer to the nape of my neck.
After dying, I woke up here as a beggar. More miserable than before, scraping for every meal, starving more days than not. My old life wasn't luxurious, but I had shelter from the rain, money for food I craved, days off, and basic human rights. The world is so goddamn unfair. Reborn into something worse, no dreams, no hope—just waiting to die any day now. Beggar. Slave. Sacrifice. And a deal with a demon. Who could've imagined my life would crash this hard? Even cosmic injustice has limits. I just wanted a normal life. Freedom from this dogshit existence. In a world where no one gives a damn.
My desperate thrashing to survive the clutches of those greedy bastards sparked a world war? "Goddamn life... So we should've just died quietly that day for the sake of the world?! Don't make me laugh—don't fucking make me laugh!!"
...
"...Yeah. Back then, I'd toss 500 won to a beggar on the street, couldn't ignore the sick without feeling like a chump... That sentiment's fading now. Side effect of the demon contract? Not just my face—you took my conscience too?"
...
"...I know. I'm truly grateful for that... except for that insane quota of ten thousand face skins!"
"Others? Besides Magus Civitas and the temples?!"
"No way... other demons? Why the hell?!"
"What the fuck?! That wasn't my intention—!"
"Demon of War... Halphas!"
"Damn it! According to the knowledge you gave me, she's a war maniac herself—why would a great demon like that want me?! I didn't mean for this!!"
"Ahh~ Now that's good news. I might actually survive!"
"Oh, really? Nothing's free, huh? Fine by me! Take 'em!"
Shrrrr—
Dozens of arms from the flesh pillar twisted into a massive hand. I handed over the face skins from the one I'd just used, Libert's, and some low-level mages. Now I had just one mage face and the Tower Lord's left.
The demon absorbed them through its arm. I watched the victims' face skins crawl up its flesh to adorn new pillars on its body. Grotesque as hell. Tucker's tasty stew from last night nearly came back up.
"...My heart's that of a soft civilian!"
Whooooom!—
"Whoaaaaa!!~~"
Dantalian's dismissal hurled me from the dark void. I opened my eyes to morning sun rising. If you're sending me off, couldn't you do it gently?!
Waking up, my head throbbed. Spilled water can't be gathered. Die like dogs for their peace? Bullshit! The top dogs always treat underlings like disposables, exploiting them for their own gains. I knew humanity's ugliness. But become its sacrificial lamb? If we'd died then, no war, no innocents dead? Fine—I'll ask them: Did you give street beggars a chance? Food, honest work, proper aid for kids? If this is the world... I won't care what happens to them.
Earth had endless wars too—distant TV stories. No reason to grieve strangers' sacrifices or feel guilty, especially if built on ours!
After warming Tucker's leftover stew for breakfast, I explained our location to the group. The North Continent, once home to a grand empire of shining civilization, now distant exile lands. They gasped at how far we'd come, but I shared the demon's dream-told tale—Central Continent war included.
...
"...That's the gist. I didn't expect full war."
"Gods... Massive bloodbath incoming on the Central Continent."
"Whew~ So we settle here?"
"But legends say a great demon's contractor massacred humans here. What if it's still alive..."
"Idiot! Contractors are human—if not the demon itself. No human lives centuries!"
'Huh—makes sense. Even demon contractors die eventually. Legends fade over time.'
The Romaani realized no way that justice-obsessed great demon's contractor survived on the North Continent. Even with transcendent power, contractors are human. Sure, the Blood Demon, Glashalabolras grants near-immortality via sacrifices, but Justice's demon gave [power to realize one's justice]. Abstract, but stronger belief means stronger power.
'Power to wipe a continent? Must be a madman with twisted convictions...'
"Actor, why not scout a village?"
"Eh? Villages here?"
"We Romaani roam the continents. We trade news with others we meet. North Continent has villages, cities—even if mostly exile dumps, no real nations."
"Ah~ Centuries passed; populations could form villages if not countries. Sounds good. Which way?"
"Last night, I read the stars. By Grandpa's maps... east from here."
'Stars for navigation? Nomads are no joke—stars at night, sun by day, even wind for weather. Impressive.'
Romaani means something else here: roughly...
[Wanderers of the Land]