The Monster Called a Hero

Twenty-seven days.

If the original story ran its course, that was all the time left before the hero's party came crashing down on Red Dragon Peak.

Short, if one chose to call it short; long, if one chose to call it long. For an ancient dragon preparing to receive a mere four humans, it might even have seemed generous. The trouble was that the other side was no collection of ordinary humans either.

Least of all the hero, Kyle. And right now—

"...So he's already reached this far."

I let out a long breath and brushed the floating system window aside with a fingertip.

Morgana had been taken. That meant Kyle's unique passive was already running in earnest.

Turning the memory over, I murmured at the empty air.

"Kyle."

Ding.

"Even this function is still working just fine."

There was no reason to hesitate. I pressed [YES] at once.

There it was. Of course it was.

The very name I had stared at through a monitor more times than I could count. Because of that single phrase, Kyle was both the savior of an orthodox fantasy and a dangerous monster capable of walking every degenerate route the game had to offer.

"...Details."

"...Still completely out of its mind. Seriously."

On the far side of a monitor, it had been nothing more than a bold, convenient raising system. Crush a powerful enemy, meet the conditions, violate them, break them. Clear the conquest, and a stat bonus dropped neatly into your lap. From a game's point of view, it was an intuitive reward loop and nothing else.

But this place was unmistakably real.

These were not clumps of pixels on a screen. They were living people who breathed and whose pulses beat, and every time Kyle broke them and ravaged them—sexually—he grew stronger in real time.

Worse, the ability did exactly what its name promised. It did not care whether the target had been born male or female. Aberrant monster, human, demon, or dragon: fill in the prescribed conditions, and it forcibly sculpted them into a female body.

And that form was not random.

According to the original setting, feminization through Female Corruption took the "ideal, most beautiful female shape" sleeping in the target's unconscious and built flesh upon it, pared bone to fit it. Thanks to that, those who fell were remade into female bodies so obscene, and so perfect, that the result bordered on the grotesque.

A kindness from the developers, meant to please a player's eye. From the position of someone who might become the subject of it, it felt like nothing but a vicious hobby.

"...And Kyle himself was no exception."

He was the owner of Female Corruption, and yet on certain Demon King routes, in a handful of IF branches, and on the hardcore routes that had been especially infamous, there were scenarios in which Kyle himself was dragged down into a female.

Even in that state, the passive did not vanish. If another mutation flag took hold on top of it—

"...the futanari route opened, too."

My head throbbed. It really had been a game with every fetish crammed into it. Back when I was pounding a monitor in my room, I used to cackle that the dev bastards had absolutely no filter. Now that near-limitless freedom had come back as a blade against my own throat.

The truly troublesome part was what could be called Kyle's orthodox route.

In the story closest to the original canon, he hunted down the Demon King's army and, little by little, subjugated ever-stronger demons. At the beginning, I do think there was a justification that sounded plausible enough. The Demon King's army had slaughtered humans, and Kyle was the hero who had to end that tragedy.

But—

"...just how bad was the damage."

I called the system search back up.

"War casualties."

"...Four million."

Faced with the figure in exact numbers, something in my chest sank. When I had been playing, it was only background setting. Millions slaughtered in the Demon King's invasion—a tool, nothing more, so the player could pin a reason onto the hero's actions.

"...Even so."

I looked down at the death toll hanging in the air and slowly shook my head. That was that. What Kyle was doing was something else entirely.

Better to keep them alive and use them than to kill them. In the middle of a war, there is no pity to spare for invaders. Subjugate them, absorb their power, and more of humanity can be saved.

In the original, Kyle had rationalized his madness with that logic at first. As time passed, the precarious boundary disappeared completely.

At the start, it was limited to the demon officers who had led war crimes. Next came the rank-and-file of the Demon King's army. After that, the other races who had joined hands with the demons.

And in the end—

"he laid hands on civilian demons, and on humans."

On several routes, Kyle hunted down even demons who had nothing to do with the front, under the name of potential threats, and dragged them off. Of those he broke, some became cannon fodder on the battlefield. Some were hauled into forced labor.

And the rest—

I bit down hard on my lip.

The horror of an adult erotic game's setting made flesh did not require any exercise of imagination. It was enough to turn the stomach.

Among the subjugated reduced to Kyle's flesh-slaves, there were even those used as broodmothers, repeating pregnancy and birth like livestock in order to produce the military strength of a superior bloodline. On a game screen, it would have ended with a cheerful breeding event tag, three or four lewd CGs, a few lines of narration, and a stat-increase popup.

"What a psychotic world."

The Demon King was mad, and the hero was no saner. And I, caught between those madness-soaked monsters—

"A war-criminal dragon. That's what I am."

A position pitiful beyond words.

If there was any room to breathe, it was that Kyle's current level was only 67.

By the final battle, his level shot well past 90. Around then he had swallowed the passives and essences of every race and become a monster that could no longer be called human. He was not that yet.

With this dragon's body, which I had just tested, I could be even more certain. Pure destructive power, reaction speed, a near-infinite store of mana seated in the heart. By any of those measures, the chance of Kyle surpassing me was effectively zero.

And yet the original Arseria loses, and submits as a female.

"Because, in the end, it isn't a loss of raw strength."

I lifted a hand and flicked the tip of the horn sweeping up from my brow. The horn, scorched-black as if burned, was harder than steel, and within it a vast mana seemed to pulse.

The horns were regulating organs. They refined the enormous mana inside the body at a steady rate and conducted it out past the hide.

If the mana within was a great power plant, these horns were the substation that controlled it. Breaking them would not make the mana evaporate, but precise control, and the incantation of magic, would become impossible.

And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the original, more often than not—

both of Arseria's horns were miserably cut away.

"..."

The fingers stroking the horn went cold and still.

I remembered. First one side broken roughly, and then the remaining one trampled and torn out just as wretchedly. And what was fastened around that helpless nape.

A necklace.

The moment I gave the command, a red window flashed.

"Those damn question marks latch onto everything."

I clicked my tongue and frowned. Even so, the disclosed entries were enough to draw the picture.

Break the horns. Fasten that shackle around the neck.

In that instant, Arseria is stripped of everything. She is left brimming with mana she cannot release a drop of, choking on an internal pressure that feels as if it will burst her from the inside.

"...I just have to keep that goddamned necklace off me."

In the progression of the orthodox route, Kyle's party secured it before moving on to Chapter Four. Where was it again? The great underground cathedral of the Holy Kingdom? The imperial treasury?

No.

"...The Dragon Slayer Ruins."

The memory rose, vivid. Midway through Chapter Three, once a subquest tied to the Saintess Elysia was cleared above a certain rank, the seal on ancient ruins hidden deep in the snow mountains of the northern Holy Kingdom came undone. The Dragon-Chaining Necklace slept at the heart of them.

There was no way to know whether Kyle had touched that subquest yet.

"But if he's already snagged Morgana... the odds he stopped by are high."

That would be proof the orthodox route was proceeding.

"Just how far has he gotten already."

I opened the system map.

The sheer face of Red Dragon Peak, where I stood. The rough northern frontier spread beneath it, and beyond the border fortress, the endless sprawl of humankind.

The point marking Kyle's party was passing through the foremost fortress-city of the northern marches. At an ordinary marching pace, reaching this place would take a full twenty-seven days.

But if it were me?

I recalled the main body's flight, confirmed only a little while ago. If I cut the wind and glided at full power—

"it wouldn't even take half a day."

And one thing more.

"...Morgana."

An officer of the Demon King's army, fallen into Kyle's hands. If that woman was still clinging to consciousness, she would make an unmatched source for the enemy's strength and their internal situation.

The red text—[Subjugation Procedure in Progress]—did weigh on me. Even so, if I dredged up the original, Morgana had been a proud woman who held out with considerable stubbornness. Unique passive or not, she would not have handed over her entire self in a mere few days.

...Provided things were still flowing along the orthodox route.

"Huh?"

An interface I had never seen. I straightened on reflex.

Three or four points blinked in the air, calculating over and over, and then spat out a chilling line.

"...What?"

Orthodox sat above seventy percent. That much was still within what I had expected.

A corruption route nearing eighteen percent could also be explained, if one assumed his alignment had been dirtied somewhat in the course of capturing Morgana.

But—

"...a Human Supremacy route?"

A chill ran down my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spine.

That was no pleasant route. It did not stop at slaying the Demon King and restoring peace. Demons, of course, but beastkin, elves, even dragons—every sapient being who fell outside the category of human was defined as a potential harm to be exterminated, the bloodline wiped out or branded into slavery. The worst branch.

It was not a route that opened on Kyle's madness alone. The corrupt Holy Kingdom, the military nobles blinded by war, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the humans who had lost their reason to a long conflict—only when that collective madness locked perfectly into place did the route open.

"If it's still only a little over six percent... it hasn't gone completely off the rails."

And then the unidentified entry at the very bottom.

??? 3.7%.

"Wraps up everything that matters and refuses to tell me. Damn game."

I was about to grumble under my breath and shut the window when a sharp system alarm cut across my vision.

Ding.

"...Ha."

The numbers were so wretched that a hollow laugh escaped me.

Holy Kingdom favorability, -100. Even the hero's party, -91.

"Looking like this, they'll ram the holy sword in the second they see my face."

I felt it in my bones, how naive the fantasy of diplomacy and negotiation had been. Even if I cut my ties with the Demon King unilaterally, returned the captured human prisoners, and showed them sincerity—

Ding.

I closed the window without a second thought.

"Right. What was I expecting from a sloppy system."

Follow the original's track, and I end up collared, violated as a female. Thrash my way off that track, and an unknown ruin gapes its mouth.

Yes. It had been a game in which no safe correct answer was prepared to begin with.

Around the time dusk settled thick and the world took on a dark blue.

At the summit of Red Dragon Peak, I sat on a rock that jutted precariously from the lip of a thousand-fathom cliff and looked at the northern night sky. Beneath my feet, a sea of cloud turned in an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠endless swirl.

Somewhere beyond that white barrier of cloud, a fierce front was burning, and at its center was Kyle.

As of today, I had a rough grasp of this body's condition and its mana. When dawn broke, I would scout the lay of the range and what remained of the Demon King's forces.

And immediately after that—

I would fly into human territory myself.

The aim was not slaughter. It was to grasp what was actually happening, and to remove, one by one, the things that could close around my throat.

The Dragon-Chaining Necklace. Nightmare's Nectar. And every Arseria-specific conquest item that might still be buried in the back of my memory. Reduce them all to ash before they could be used, and that would be enough.

"Perfect."

The word, once it left my mouth, had a hollow lack of weight.

And in that same moment—

Ding.

"..."

Stage 1.

Kyle's ability was raping a demon officer and remodeling her into a female. On a game screen, it would have ended with a single line of text updating. In this moment, beyond that window, a woman was tasting a hell in which she corrupted against her own will.

A moment later, another notice followed.

"...Lunatic. Not even a full day."

A cold sensation slid the length of my spine and passed through my whole body.

In this game, there was only one condition under which Kyle grew explosively stronger. Kneel a greater, more powerful opponent, and subjugate them.

And the prey in this world who held the most powerful, most vast mana—

would be me.

I dismissed the status window.

Wait quietly for twenty-seven days?

Don't make me laugh. That was something livestock did, waiting for the hunter to arrive with a collar in hand.

On the night that marked the third day since the possession, the Crimson Dragon Arseria resolved to turn her back on Red Dragon Peak.