Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 001
Chapter Title: The Elephant Pulled Out the Stake
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"Your parents were wretches who deserved the Goddess's curse. They dumped you in the village right after you were weaned and vanished. You should be grateful. If we hadn't taken pity on you, you'd have been wolf food long ago. What decent person in the world would raise a rootless Altoin brat like you...?"
The village chief would always grumble like that whenever he got thoroughly drunk.
Shan had heard the story so many times that he could recite it word for word with his eyes closed.
It wasn't just the village chief, either.
From Old Man Kollo at the mill to Jeksun the woodcutter and Auntie Masa the pharmacist—everyone frowned when they saw him and told him to be thankful just for letting a devil spawn like him live in the village. Beatings with hands, feet, or sometimes sticks came as a bonus.
Why did everyone hate him so much?
The answer came from the most respected adult in the village, Priest Ador, who had studied in the capital in his youth.
"It's because you're an Altoin."
"An Altoin?"
"A people who abandoned the Goddess's love, wielded wicked powers, and suffered a terrible curse. Those eyes are the proof."
Just as he said, Shan's eyes were different from others'.
They didn't stand out much in bright light, but in the dark, they glowed faintly like a beast's.
More than once or twice had villagers freaked out at night, thinking a beast had wandered into the village center when they bumped into him. Each time, Shan got beaten for scaring people.
Priest Ador watched Shan numbly touch his eyelids, his face bitter.
"Long ago, the Altoin people wielded dark magical powers and built stairs to climb into the gods' world. The Goddess grew furious and sent down punishment—the Altoin Empire fell, and a curse befell its people."
To let everyone know what the Altoin were, the Goddess changed their forms.
Shan just had unusual eyes, but some had huge horns sprouting from their heads or bodies covered in grotesque scales, or so he heard.
Just imagining such ugliness made Shan shudder, but he cautiously voiced his thought.
"So... was I cursed just for being born?"
"It's unavoidable. Not everyone can be born a king's or noble's child. If some are blessed from birth, others must be cursed from birth."
Priest Ador stroked Shan's head as he spoke.
"Study the Goddess's words diligently and obey her. Someday, she'll forgive you and welcome you into her cathedral."
"Really?"
"Of course."
Staring into the priest's deep, faith-filled eyes, Shan swallowed the words on his tongue.
He wished people would just be kinder, rather than going to the Goddess's cathedral after death. Like everyone else—or at least, not treat him with hatred when he did nothing wrong.
Knowing the reason for the persecution didn't make Shan feel any better.
Descendant of a sinful race.
The villagers' abuse toward one who deserved whatever punishment came his way only deepened his gloom.
"Hey, Altoin scum. Who told you to strut down the main path?"
"I'm sorry."
"You stink. Get lost."
Shan bowed deeply to the boy who kicked his shin and stepped aside.
He should have died at birth but lived by mercy, so whatever the villagers did to him was justified.
He owned nothing and provided unpaid labor for the village—that was part of it, too.
"Hey, Altoin. You done cleaning the stables?"
"Go to the stream and do the laundry. Wash it clean—no smell."
"Where's the firewood I told you to bring?!"
Fortunately, Shan was a pretty talented worker.
His underfed, scrawny body was small even for a twelve- or thirteen-year-old, but he had decent strength and skill for his size, matching most adults.
Actually, there was a secret to that.
"Heave-ho."
Thud. Shan drove the axe into the tree and watched a fairly large trunk topple toward him.
If someone saw, they'd panic and rush over.
But Shan didn't blink as the tree grazed past him and fell. He already knew it would.
"If I split this into firewood, it'll do just fine..."
Shan had a peculiar talent.
The ability to move his body more correctly and efficiently than others, yielding superior results.
To him, others' movements looked like puppets jerked by a traveling puppeteer who once visited the village—strings on every joint, clumsy and sluggish.
But when he asked why they moved that way and couldn't use their bodies more efficiently, the answers weren't pleasant.
It was clearly the Altoins' wicked magic, so he shouldn't use it carelessly. Being different was bad. If everyone was clumsy, Shan had to match them.
Luckily, villagers didn't nag if he didn't flaunt it. Probably because his skill made their lives easier.
So he could move freely when chopping wood alone like this.
Shan quickly chopped the fallen tree, loaded it on the cart, and returned to the village for more tasks.
Willow Village, home to over a hundred souls, had endless chores for him: fetching water, clearing field stones, cleaning privies...
Finally, rest came when night fully fell.
Huddled in the corner of the barn used as shelter, his overworked body screamed.
"Tired..."
Even with efficient movement, doing twice the work of others on an undergrown body was exhausting. Meals were just leftovers from the chief's house or scraps, leaving his empty stomach twisted in pain.
"When Selina was here, at least I didn't go as hungry."
Selina, the village chief's daughter who recently married into the neighboring landlord's village, loved picking up tales from merchants and strangers and bragging.
Shan was her best audience.
"You know, Shan?"
"What?"
"In the southern heathen lands, there's a beast called an elephant, huge like a mountain."
"That sounds like a monster."
Selina snorted at his retort.
"Stupid, it's a beast, not a monster! Anyway, if you tie a baby elephant to an iron stake, even grown it can't pull it out. It tried once as a calf and failed, so it thinks it still can't."
"That's dumb."
"You really think so?"
When he asked what she meant, Selina just gave him a pitying or disappointed look and shook her head, saying he wouldn't get it. Then she married away, and he'd never see her again.
"What did she mean?"
He still couldn't figure it out. Lost in thought, Shan drifted into deep, dreamless sleep.
How long he wandered there, he didn't know.
A deafening boom yanked his consciousness awake.
"What?"
Shan came to, sensing unusual clamor outside.
Too tired, had he slept through to morning? No—sunlight would filter through the ceiling then.
And the noise outside was nothing like usual: doors kicked in, shouts and roars, sharp screams, eerie unfamiliar shrieks.
As if entranced, Shan opened the barn door.
"Hey, grab that one! It's escaping!"
"Why chase? Just shoot it."
"Please, spare me!"
"Why are you doing this? Take our money, goods—anything! Please!"
Where had the peaceful village of hours ago gone?
Burning houses, flickering torchlight revealing dozens of familiar faces among the corpses.
Encircling the outskirts weren't mere bandits but a well-armed killer squad. Thick cloth over leather armor, real blades not crude clubs.
Like trained soldiers, they methodically cooperated, massacring numbers far greater than theirs.
Some tried fleeing over walls or roofs, only to be pierced by arrows from waiting archers outside.
"Gaaah—!"
A low, guttural scream.
Blacksmith Barak, to whom Shan had delivered firewood that day, swung his massive hammer—then his arm was severed, and he wailed.
The giant-like man, two heads taller than Shan with a hulking build, cried like a child. Unreal.
Beside him, woodcutter Jeksun lay chest-pierced by a spear, his axe buried in his wife Mrs. Mary's head.
Renowned village heroes who handled brigands or small monsters easily.
Then, the village's sole priest, Ador, rushed out from the inner village.
Deep sleeper, church farthest in—slow to notice. Or too scared until he couldn't hide anymore.
Holy light burst, illuminating around him; the bandits flinched.
"What is this outrage?!"
"A priest?"
"What now? Even we can't just... a priest..."
Did these killers retain some faith? Or fear the holy power? They hesitated, unlike before.
"The Goddess will rage. Drop your weapons now—"
"Bullshit."
His bravery was short-lived—a spear from the bandits pierced his eye, shattering his brain.
The thrower, a middle-aged man with an eyepatch, spat and adjusted it.
"Idiots. I said no survivors! Repeat: Loyalty over faith!"
"Loyalty over faith!"
"Good. Kill them all!"
His command made him obviously the leader. Massacre resumed.
Outskirts cleared, they searched houses, dragging out and killing hidden elders and children.
Shan's chief's barn, near the church in the center, was safe for now—but not for long.
But flee where, how? He was fast, but dodging arrows? Never tried.
Dazed, watching bodies hauled out, he noticed someone crawling toward him.
"Sh-Shan."
A boy— the one who kicked him earlier—dragging a broken dagger in his gut, vomiting blood from ruined innards.
"S-Save my family..."
Shan wanted to say what could he do, but terror choked him.
The boy clung to his ankle, pleading—then went limp, head dropping.
Half-panicked, gasping, a thick voice sounded nearby.
"Hm? Thought you'd fled, but you went to your friend. Disloyal brat."
The sneering man saw Shan's eyes, flinched back—then scowled unpleasantly.
"What?! Why's a devil spawn here?"
Even to man-slayers, Altoin were loathsome.
Maybe they'd deem him worthless trash and spare him? Stupid hope, but Shan begged anyway.
"...Please, spare me."
The bandit tsked dismissively and swung.
His arm-thick woodcutter's blade, one-sided and bloodied, arced.
"That'll kill me..."
Like everyone he'd seen, the bandit's swing was sloppy.
Dodge?
His innate Altoin "wicked magic" could do it easily. Maybe more.
But Priest Ador said heed the Goddess, or dark magic sends you to hell postmortem.
His mind flashed to the priest's pierced skull. Severed, stabbed, bludgeoned corpses everywhere.
If hell existed, wasn't this it?
Facing death's sharp terror, Shan's body moved on its own.
"Huh?"
The man gaped as his blade missed the wretched Altoin boy, slicing air.
Aim was true—ghost?
Torch closer in the dark, opponent vanished. Then stinging throat pain.
He dropped the blade, clutched his neck—but hot blood gushed over shoulder and chest.
"What... the..."
Words unfinished, he crumpled.
Shan, holding the broken dagger from the boy's gut, looked down and sighed softly.
"Ah."
To the last, he doubted. Was the clumsiness a feint? Would he whip around at counterattack, sneering, "Fool, think I'm that weak?"
Nothing like that.
Until Shan bent, yanked the dagger free, circled behind, and slit the throat—the bandit never reacted.
The elephant chained since calf finally realized one stomp could uproot the iron stake.