22
Chapter 22
"...Wait a moment."
"What is it?"
"Evans? You said Evans? Did you just say that was Evans' Book?"
"I did. Why so surprised? You're a Regressor, aren't you?"
Surprised? Of course I am! Who exactly is Evans?
A Mage who studied time on the Ancient Continent and the one and only Time Traveler in all of history! An eccentric who traveled between the past of thousands of years ago and a future of extreme civilization, leaving his mark in every era!
Evans is famous for being a man whose true identity is unknown even to the Gods. All that's known is that he crosses the walls of time at will and leaves behind strange books under the name of Author Evans.
Actually, it's no wonder the King talks about it so casually. Evans' eccentricities only start to come to light five hundred years later, when his tracks are linked together like a thread on a needle. Until then, he was treated as nothing more than an Immortal who had lived for a very long time studying time.
Either way, it's still a huge find. A book written by Evans himself. And if the title is [Flower that Eats Time], it must contain something that will be of great help to someone like me who has traveled back in time. Or maybe not.
Thump. Thump.
Frankenstein appeared from the darkness, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps. In his crude, hulking hands, he gently held a fragile book that looked completely out of place.
I zoomed in my vision as if using a magnifying glass in the dark, and the title on the cover became visible. *Flower that Eats Time*, author Evans. That dim-witted Frankenstein actually managed to bring the right one.
"Oh, hand it over."
As the King reached out for Evans' Book, Frankenstein snatched it back with a speed that didn't match his slow speech.
"Meat... barter... grrr..."
Wow, the Frankenstein of the past actually knew difficult words like "barter."
When I met him five hundred years in the future, he was just a complete idiot. How on earth did he end up like that?
"What? Meat? I'll give you that later. Just hand over the book first."
"Been tricked... once or twice... my owner is sly..."
"...Tsk. It looks like you'll have to do us a favor."
The King clicked his tongue and looked at me. What? Why are you looking at me? Just give him the meat he wants already.
"If you want something, you must pay a corresponding price. Now, this old man's body is made of vegetables, so you'll have to handle this yourself."
"Do what?"
"Meat."
With that short answer, the King handed me a sharp silver knife from who-knows-where. It was a pocket knife that sparkled even in the darkness. A dagger that seemed to serve as a crescent moon, replacing the missing moon in this lightless place.
But why give it to me?
"Show me your resolve."
"...Ah."
I understand the King's intention. In other words, since there's no meat to take from his vegetable body, he wants me to take it from mine. He wants me to carve out my own flesh and provide a chunk of meat that would satisfy Frankenstein.
"I'm not into that."
"Hmm?"
"There are different types of pain. It's like... well, how should I put it, an aesthetic of agony? For instance, there's the pleasant kind of pain, like having all your teeth shattered or your eyeballs plucked out, but carving my own flesh is just not a good feeling at all."
"Something about that sounds off... But if that's how you feel, I won't argue. Are you sure you won't regret it? Evans' Book would be quite helpful to you, wouldn't it?"
"Why would I regret it? In the end, I just need to provide some meat."
I spoke with confidence. The King gazed at me with a questioning look. His emotionless eyes scanned me with interest.
"I see. A shift in perspective, then. Your way of thinking is quite fluid."
"It's an essential virtue for surviving in this harsh world."
I picked up the knife the King offered with two fingers and strode toward Frankenstein. Frankenstein, who was merely drooling at the thought of meat, paid me no mind.
When I smoothly extended the knife toward him, the King stared at me in shock. Why? You told me to get some meat.
There's a living, breathing chunk of meat right here; why not use it? He doesn't even die from most wounds. Could we not just consider him emergency rations?
Slice.
With that mindset, I naturally sliced into Frankenstein's thigh. A dirty, grotesque lump of meat tore away from the main body with a squelch. It didn't matter since I wasn't the one eating it.
"Here, eat."
"Guh?"
"Looks tasty, right? This is top-quality stuff."
"Guh... raw meat... think it tastes bad...."
"Damn it, you're a monster, stop being picky about raw meat."
Right, this bastard was a noble Knight in his previous life.
"It's fine. This is called Yukhoe. Yukhoe is meant to be eaten raw."
"Yukhoe...?"
"Just trust me and try it. It's not like you'll die from eating it, right?"
"G-guhhh...."
Reluctantly, Frankenstein devoured the piece of his own thigh that I fed him. At the same time, he handed me Evans' Book.
"Munch... munch...."
"Is it good?"
"Mmm... tastes bad... I've been scammed...."
"It's alright; you'll get scammed a few times in life. Grow into a strong weed amidst the harsh storms, Frankenstein."
"...It's quite absurd hearing those words from a five-year-old."
"Hehe, the world is full of absurdities to begin with."
With a mindless joke, I turned away, ignoring Frankenstein as he chewed and tore at the meat with dissatisfaction. Now that I'd finished my business, it was time to leave.
"Oh, right. I almost forgot."
"What is it?"
"Do you happen to have a shotgun? A pistol or something would work too."
"Shotgun? Pistol?"
"Ah, I guess they haven't been invented in this era yet. Right, guns are invented in the Military Nation later. Well, I can't ask for something that doesn't exist, so forget it. But since I've already used this knife, I'll take it with me. It's sharp, and I like it. That's okay, right?"
I lifted the knife and twirled it around my fingers. Swish, swish, swish—the sizable kitchen knife danced recklessly along the pillar of flesh.
"...I've already given you the best parts, so there's no reason I can't give you that, but aren't you taking a bit too much? At this rate, you'll probably steal that child too."
The King spoke, pointing his finger at Frankenstein. Huh, how did he see right through me? Is the King's intuition really that sharp? I'd better keep my mouth shut for now.
"Aw, no way. A Demon should have some conscience."
"Is that so? Very well. Have you finished your business then?"
"Yes, I'll be going now. See you later."
As I gave a bright farewell, the King led Frankenstein and slid away into the darkness. As for my way out... I suppose I can just go back the way I came.
I scanned the surroundings for a moment. It was because I'd spotted something I liked earlier.
Once certain that the King and Frankenstein had left, I crept toward the object I'd eyed. It was among the various bits of junk rolling around the floor.
'The Laughing Mask'.
It was a somewhat eerie mask with the corners of the mouth curling up all the way to the earlobes. I liked it even more because the empty spaces, except for the eyes, nose, and mouth, were painted purely white.
I picked it up with my gloved hand, carefully tucked it inside my clothes, and covered it with my coat. The smiling face was buried against my chest. The knife was smaller than the mask, so I put it in my pocket.
Perhaps the King was a Giving Tree? To think he'd give me so many things that fit my taste. Of course, I stole the mask, but theft is one of the seven virtues of Demons, after all.
In a great mood, my steps naturally became light. I walked out of the King's ducal residence with a cheerful stride.
*****
"Huuu..."
A Demon made of vegetables and fruits sighed while staring up at the classically decorated ceiling.
White smoke billowed up, embroidering the air. It wasn't just a sigh; it was cigar smoke.
The glowing red tip of the cigarette flickered through the darkness. The Southern Grand Duke, who had awakened from his slumber for the first time in a very long while, looked incredibly gaunt. His fruit colors had faded and his vegetables were shriveled, making him a sight that would instantly kill anyone's appetite.
Of course, such a person wasn't present here.
'A Regressor, huh...'
For the first time in a while, the Southern Grand Duke's mind was in a state of turmoil.
Living for nearly millions of years, he had seen countless beings. He witnessed the birth and fall of civilizations dozens of times and the prosperity and extinction of species hundreds of times. The Southern Grand Duke had seen it all with those aged eyes: the chaotic struggle for hegemony in the Demon Realm, the shift of power on the Continent, and the world shattering under the wars of the Gods.
There were many. Reincarnators born with peculiar memories, possessors who brought only their spirits from another world, and otherworldly beings who crossed over from unheard-of dimensions with unfathomable powers.
Yet, amid the slaughterhouses where all these beings clashed, there were those who survived until the end to become the ultimate victors.
'Those who traveled back through time.'
Regressors, like the child who had just visited.
Regardless of their strength or intellect, the knowledge of the future serves as an indescribable advantage. Everyone moves within the palm of a Regressor's hand, and the Regressor moves a step faster than anyone else.
This was why the Southern Grand Duke had given up on living an active life. To live fiercely inevitably meant making enemies, and no one knew if such an enemy would become a Regressor. Unlike all other beings, the absolute law of 'death is the end' did not apply to the Regressor race.
The Southern Grand Duke firmly believed that this was the secret to his longevity.
'Is this world... now in the grasp of that child...?'
Huuu.
Slumping into a plush sofa, the Southern Grand Duke smoked his cigar relentlessly. Each puff drifted into the air, carrying the weight of his complicated emotions.
'Or perhaps...'
The Southern Grand Duke slowly turned his head. His eye sockets, filled with two tomatoes, flashed sharply.
"I am not entirely certain if I responded correctly. Though I did convey the few things you instructed me to."
"...."
"My Lord Demon King."
'Is this the world of this young Demon King, who seems to hold even that Regressor in the palm of his hand?'
Where the Southern Grand Duke's gaze landed, there was nothing but pitch-black darkness. But for a moment, as the ember of his cigar flashed, the curtain of darkness lifted, revealing the child hidden within.
There stood a young Demon, as still as a closet. He looked to be five or six years old, with a red horn protruding from his head that was quite massive compared to his size. Black sunglasses worn over red eyes gave off a stylish sheen.
"Guh... meat... young meat... want to eat..."
"Now, now, Frankenstein. He is not someone you can treat so carelessly."
"Fran... hungry... scammed, so hungry..."
"You brat, no matter how ignorant you are, you must recognize your superiors."
Scolding his loyal but dim-witted subordinate, the Southern Grand Duke stole a glance at the Demon King. The Demon King's expression was terrifyingly rigid, and combined with the red sunglasses hiding his eyes, his intentions remained perfectly concealed.
He was so taciturn that the Demon King didn't even respond to the Southern Grand Duke's words. Despite his appearance as a mere child, the Southern Grand Duke felt an inexplicable, unknown dread.