Role Reversal
Role Reversal
A week passed quickly. In just a few days, the weather had grown sharply colder. Fallen leaves had been swept away by the bitter wind and were nowhere to be seen.
Winter was at the doorstep.
Even with a coat pulled tight, the cold seeped through—yet Johan was completely stripped down. Despite the chill air, sweat poured down his body.
“…Damn mercenary bastard. I asked him to teach me spear techniques, and what do I get.”
His elbows bent. His upper body lowered to the ground. His whole frame trembled.
Push-ups.
For the entire week, he had done nothing but bodyweight exercises on the training ground.
— You need to build strength and stamina first. I’ll give you assignments. Complete the daily quota without missing a single day.
That’s what Gaf had said before leaving the lord’s castle, not showing even the tip of his nose since. He was out tracking Myra and Campbell.
Johan, left alone, was the only one suffering for it.
He collapsed face-first onto the training ground floor, ragged breath spilling from his lips.
Twenty laps running the training ground, four hundred push-ups, three hundred sit-ups, three hundred squats, and hanging from the pull-up bar for as long as possible.
After finishing the day’s quota, Johan’s state was nothing short of wrecked.
He hadn’t skipped a single day of training, so the fatigue had piled up mercilessly.
He really thought he might die—but quitting never once crossed his mind.
Hadn’t he felt his powerlessness so clearly in the Southwestern Quarantine Zone? He had to build up his human body too, turn it into one that could at least defend itself.
In this damn world, there was no other choice if he wanted to survive.
Grinding his teeth, Johan pushed himself upright again.
‘One more set.’
He whipped his exhausted body back into motion.
Every muscle ached, but somehow, his mood wasn’t all that bad.
***
Gaf leaned against a tall pine tree, watching the training ground.
His blunt, expressionless eyes followed the small boy tirelessly.
‘…He’s serious.’
Anyone could see Johan was desperate. Even after finishing his quota, he didn’t stop to rest. He was driving his frail body to the limit, almost like an animal thrashing when cornered.
Gaf knew exactly what that kind of determination meant.
The instinct to survive. The struggle to not die—the kind you only saw in mercenary society.
Johan was fighting to stay alive.
‘But from what, exactly?’
This half-demon had even bent Apostle Beris to his will. In any situation, he never lost his composure.
Even back when they first met—back when Johan had been nothing more than a powerless Imp—he hadn’t shown a hint of fear. He’d simply overwhelmed the room with calm confidence.
Now it was different. The ease and composure were gone. Only a fierce intensity showed.
Watching that, Gaf found himself consumed by questions and strange feelings.
What was he guarding against, to push himself so brutally? Was this human-like effort really proof that red blood flowed through his veins?
There was no answer, but the reason for these questions was clear.
It was the faint change in his feelings toward Johan.
During the week he had tailed the knights, Gaf had met countless commoners.
Their faces were noticeably brighter. There were still shadows, yes, but hope had mixed into the darkness.
The whole atmosphere of the territory had changed.
The daughters that had been conscripted were back. The fear of war was gone. With no conscription, the harvest work had finished normally. This year, taxes had even been reduced.
The crushing weight on the peasants had lightened.
Gaf hated to admit it, but it was all because of Johan’s rule.
Because of a demon.
When that thought hit, Gaf let out a dry laugh.
‘Guess I’ve really lost it.’
The way a demon tempted humans was simple.
They dangled immediate benefits and fleeting happiness, and snatched away your cool judgment.
The moment you felt affection for a demon, it was over.
‘Stay sharp.’
Gaf narrowed his eyes and stared at Johan.
At that very moment, their eyes met.
Johan was dragging his weary body over to him.
“Couldn’t see you around, but you’ve been hiding over there every day, spying on me?”
As always, Johan’s words were needling, almost picking a fight.
Gaf shot back with his usual gruffness.
“My body isn’t like yours—doesn’t come in pairs. You think I can? I’ve been plenty busy cleaning up after you.”
Gaf had been so occupied tailing the Count’s knights that he hadn’t had time to come to the castle.
“Busy enough to skip even reporting for a whole week?”
“What can I do? They’re diligent bastards. They never stopped moving from one village to the next. Every night they gathered villagers and bought drinks.”
“Find someone to serve as a messenger. You know as well as I do, interim reports are essential.”
“Already looking.”
“Fine, we’ll let that go for now. So, did you figure out what they’re after?”
“They’re digging up every last detail about the territory. Gossip about you, scraps of rumor about the castle—everything.”
About what Johan had expected.
“You probably found a few worrying things, didn’t you.”
Gaf nodded.
“Betra’s sudden disappearance, Grian’s change in attitude, and the rumor about the knight Rail—those seem like they could hit you hard.”
Betra had been the prostitute used as the sacrifice for the Heretic Array. Rail was the knight Johan had set up as a puppet.
If the truth behind those incidents came out, Johan would be ruined.
Both were proof he was a demon.
Of course, the knights wouldn’t get to the full truth—but just the fact that someone was suspicious was a serious risk for Johan.
Using those suspicions as pretext, an investigation into Miyatro lands could begin at any time.
The Church had already sent an Inquisitor once. It was only because the Cursed Scripture incident had distracted them that the Inquisitor’s focus shifted—but that could happen again, anytime.
Preparation was needed. And Johan had something in mind.
‘The kingdom’s eyes are already on the South. Holding back will only slow growth—I won’t escape their attention anyway.’
Instead, he meant to push forward.
He was already under the spotlight—so why not use it more aggressively?
Johan said,
“They’re just suspicions right now. Before they take root, I’ll cover them up with something bigger.”
“Sure, you’ll manage it somehow.”
“Obviously. I’m not worried, but one thing—I need to confirm how much they know about me.”
“Of course—they’ve learned nothing.”
From everyone’s perspective, Johan was wrapped in mystery.
A bastard child appearing out of nowhere.
His birth, his upbringing, his human relationships—almost nothing about him was known.
“So that makes them even more suspicious.”
Just as Johan said—because there was too little information, suspicion only grew.
Dig into anyone’s past, and you’d find a thread or two. But with Johan, there wasn’t a single speck to pick at.
Gaf spoke.
“It’s worse than that. They’re hooked on you. They’ll dig to the end.”
“…They’re still in the territory?”
Gaf shook his head.
“They left the demesne. But they mean to comb through the other villages.”
The “demesne” meant Forn Village, attached to the castle. The rest were called sokryeong—subordinate villages. The place where Johan first woke up, Taharan Village, was one of those.
The Miyatro family had many such villages.
By scale alone, the Miyatro Barony wasn’t some minor house.
Two hundred years ago, the Miyatro Barony had been called a duchy, and the Watcher of the Abyss had been acknowledged as a duke.
Now, they were just another noble house under the kingdom.
Johan muttered,
“…They mean to visit every Affiliated Spirit (sokryeong). Persistent bastards.”
In Taharan Village lay proof that Johan was half-demon.
Witnesses who had seen him. He had silenced them, but variables could arise anytime.
Gaf said,
“Are you going to just leave them alone? Those two knights?”
“I’ll deal with them.”
“How?”
“For now, just track their movements. I already have an idea.”
“Fine.”
“Is that all for your report?”
Gaf suddenly seemed to remember something and tossed out,
“Oh, right. Some guy was loitering at the castle gate. Raising a fuss, saying he had to see you. Smelled strongly of blood. The whole vibe was off. I threw him in the dungeon for now—go take a look.”
There wasn’t anyone who should be coming to Johan right now.
And the “smell of blood” and “off vibe”?
Not much to go on to guess who the visitor might be.
Johan frowned and thought for a moment.
Then, suddenly, something struck him.
The corner of Johan’s mouth tilted up.
“This might move faster than I thought.”
Gaf only looked confused.
“What are you talking about?”
“Drag him into the basement. Handle him however you want. He’ll be a nasty bastard.”
It seemed the Imp had completed his mission.
Johan headed straight for the basement.
***
“Murder of a slash-and-burn farmer and his daughter, desecration and disposal of their bodies, blasphemy against the Scripture, habitual banditry, and the rape of four boys! O Great End! I have brought a devil in human skin! As you said—he is someone even the Great Saint would forsake!”
At the center of the underground library, a young man knelt, bound.
Around him stood Johan, Illea, Gaf, Raguel, and the Imp.
Johan spoke.
“There must be no mistake. Is this all confirmed?”
He couldn’t use an innocent person as the sacrifice for the Heretic Array.
The Imp answered with brimming confidence.
“Would you like to hear it straight from his own mouth?”
At Johan’s gesture, Gaf pulled the gag from the man’s mouth.
He’d already been filled in on the rough details—he knew the situation.
The moment his mouth was free, the man shouted.
“Servants of the Thirteenth End! It is an honor to meet you! Please, call me Gote! Like you, I came to serve the End!”
No one answered him.
Everyone just stared.
The man looked around, confused.
“But… where is the End? I came to greet him properly!”
Johan smirked.
“Prove you’re worthy first. Tell me, what have you done for the End of the world?”
A sick grin spread across the man’s face.
“Excellent question. I’ve taken more than a dozen living souls. Most of them begged and screamed before they died, adding their voices to the End’s requiem. Just recently I raped a boy, and then on his backside I…”
Johan clicked his tongue.
“That’s enough.”
He didn’t need to hear any more.
Gaf ground his teeth.
“Bastard deserves to be torn apart.”
“Gaf, implant this in him.”
A lump of milky flesh—the intestines of the Great Saint.
Johan handed it to Gaf.
Gaf gripped the entrails and strode toward the man.
The man still had no idea what was about to happen.
“What’s that in your hand?”
Johan answered.
“Something to implant in you. The same way you raped that boy—this big friend here will ‘love’ you now. I’m looking forward to the requiem you’ll sing.”
The man’s face darkened.
“Wh-what do you—”
Before he could finish, Gaf grabbed a fistful of his hair and shouted:
“Show me your back!”
The man thrashed, but there was no escaping Gaf’s grip.
Illea gently covered her eyes. Raguel clamped his hands over his ears.
The Imp danced gleefully.
For a demon, human screams and cries were a feast.
A horrific requiem filled the basement.
‘The Eyes of the Great Saint were an easy relic to transplant.’
For Johan, that was a small relief.