Ch.191Chapter 191

“You’re disgustingly spraying food all over your face.”

Alfodur grumbled as he wiped milk tea from his eyes. The attendants stared at the milk tea-soaked Alfodur with shocked expressions.

It was understandable—right before their eyes, a god was drenched in milk tea, and not just any milk tea, but milk tea that someone else had spat out.

In the frozen atmosphere, one attendant summoned his courage. He pulled out a cloth from his breast pocket and rushed to Alfodur.

“Lord Alfodur, let me wipe that for you. And I’ll inform the bathhouse to prepare for you to wash—”

“Ah, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. This much is… well, it used to be a common occurrence back in the day.”

Alfodur waved his hand dismissively at the brave attendant and lightly snapped his fingers.

Snap!

With that crisp sound, the milk tea that had soaked Alfodur vanished instantly as if it had evaporated.

Alfodur patted his now perfectly dry robe and said, “It didn’t just evaporate—it completely disappeared, so you don’t need to worry about the smell either. I don’t have a hobby of enjoying male… well, not male, but masculine saliva.”

“I find your specific use of ‘I’ concerning, but I’ll let it slide. I sincerely apologize for my rudeness in my moment of shock.”

Wendigo bowed his head in apology to Alfodur. Even if they had an equal relationship, spitting milk tea in someone’s face was clearly going too far.

As the attendants brought replacement refreshments, Alfodur chuckled and popped a new cookie into his mouth.

“Hohoho, but seeing you react like this makes getting tea all over me worth it.”

Should this be considered broad-mindedness, or a perverted nature?

Or perhaps a broad-minded pervert… that seemed most likely.

“Anyway, was it that hard to believe? I’ve never seen you this flustered before.”

“Of course I’m flustered—the original owner of my head, whom I presumed dead, is apparently walking around alive.”

Who in the world could easily accept that part of their body originally belonged to someone else?

And of all body parts, it had to be the head. It would be a lie to say one wouldn’t worry about what the original owner might do to reclaim their head.

Alfodur burst into laughter at Wendigo’s response.

“Hohoho, you’re still so kind even after ascending to the throne. If someone dared to claim ownership of my head, I would have killed them immediately.”

“I certainly don’t plan to return the head. But… if they’re not hostile, there’s no reason to fight.”

While the original owner would gain a head if they won, Wendigo had nothing to gain from fighting.

Besides, what reason was there to approach someone causing trouble in the Empire, of all places?

He preferred to avoid fights that only brought losses. Above all, he was no longer alone.

Wendigo tapped his head and asked, “…Are you certain this person is the owner of my head?”

How many monsters with deer heads could there be in the world? Still, it was better to be certain when making judgments.

Of course, Alfodur wouldn’t have visited for something uncertain—

“I can’t say it’s absolutely certain, but at least I’m convinced.”

Alfodur shrugged and played innocent. Seeing Alfodur contradict his earlier statement, Wendigo sighed deeply.

“Sigh, changing your words after speaking so confidently—has your twisted nature flared up again?”

“That’s too harsh. Regardless of my preferences, I pride myself on having a fairly healthy disposition.”

“The world calls those who anger others with wordplay twisted in nature.”

As Wendigo rested his chin on the throne and glared fiercely, Alfodur stroked his chin like a sage and offered excuses.

“I can’t be completely certain because I didn’t see it directly.”

Couldn’t a god, of all beings, find even an emperor’s most hidden concubine if they wanted to?

While Wendigo looked at him suspiciously, Alfodur continued, ignoring the gaze.

“I understand what you’re thinking, but even gods can’t observe the entire middle realm. Gods are territorial animals and don’t like invading each other’s domains. Planting eyes in another’s territory would be seriously rude.”

“Territorial animals? That’s quite a direct expression for someone who’s a god himself.”

“Well, it’s precisely because I’m a god that I can say such things. It’s rude for humans to ask beastkin if they mate with beasts, but among beastkin themselves, it’s just a joke.”

“…Don’t say things like that elsewhere. It’s too easy to misunderstand.”

Alfodur merely shrugged at the sincere advice. While grateful for the counsel, he had no intention of changing.

Knowing his words would fall on deaf ears, Wendigo didn’t particularly care. That wasn’t what mattered now.

Why did Alfodur believe the perpetrator of the incident in the Empire was the original owner of his head, despite never having seen them?

That was the important question.

“Why are you so certain when you’ve never seen them?”

“You’re young, so you might not know, but gods have always had certain trends among themselves. Currently, the trend is rolling these dice and watching heroes grow, you see.”

For gods, living in this world was nothing more than entertainment. But entertainment becomes boring if you always enjoy the same thing.

So gods occasionally created trends and enjoyed a kind of betting game.

“A very long time ago, the owner of your head was at the center of such a trend.”

“This… deer head?”

“Yes.”

When Wendigo pointed at his own head, Alfodur raised the corners of his mouth as if amused and asked, “Have you heard of the Beast of Death?”

* * *

Regardless of era, all beings question and seek to explore death. This was true even in the age of gods and heroes.

More precisely, those who sought to explore death were most numerous during the age of gods and heroes.

These great and mighty gods and heroes cared nothing for the deaths of others.

Heroes would not hesitate to sacrifice thousands, even their own children, in pursuit of even the smallest blessing.

The fear that if they missed an opportunity, another hero would step on their head to rise above them.

Afraid that their own deeds might return to haunt them, heroes would do anything to attract the gods’ attention.

The gods happily watched and bestowed blessings as if giving alms.

And in the wake of gods and heroes, only screams and sorrow remained. No amount of praise or begging for mercy helped.

In a world where living to old age was considered a great wish.

It was perhaps natural that people began to explore death. However, death was not a subject that would yield answers through mere exploration.

At some point, people began not to explore death, but to worship it.

These worshippers of death would unfailingly visit places where gods and heroes had passed, striving to comfort the souls of the dead and alleviate the sorrow and despair of the living.

The more atrocious the heroes’ acts became, the more worshippers increased, and they wandered the world with death as their companion.

In the ten-year war that began with a hero’s adultery.

The worshippers encountered beings closest to death.

The most mysterious beasts in this world, those that devoured the souls of the dead.

“…They eat souls?”

“Not exactly eating souls. The most appropriate expression would be returning souls with lingering attachments to life.”

“To where?”

“We don’t know exactly. Death isn’t related to gods. The Creator God didn’t intentionally create the concept of death either.”

While various gods existed in the world, there was no god of death. Alfodur speculated this was due to the weight of the concept of death.

He judged that even a god could not bear the weight of death.

“The Beast of Death is a guide for souls that haven’t reached their final destination. The worshippers of death considered this sight a revelation of death.”

Witnessing the souls swallowed by the Beast of Death abandon their grudges and regrets before disappearing, the worshippers rejoiced greatly, revering these beasts as apostles of death and worshipping them.

The belief arose that death could be not a painful end, but a rest.

And… this angered the heroes and gods.

“It was amusing. They had never cared for these people, yet they became furious when they weren’t worshipped.”

Like children throwing tantrums when their toys are taken away, the gods ordered heroes to hunt the Beast of Death.

Expecting great blessings, heroes massacred villages to wait for the Beast of Death.

And the Beasts of Death took their souls as well.

“They must have been strong.”

“They were. Stronger than any monster heroes had ever faced. Though merely fragments of death, the beasts were incredibly powerful.”

The wolf-like one, the eagle-like one, the snake-like one—all were strong.

Heroes lost their will to fight and abandoned the hunt, while gods could only glare at the vanishing Beasts of Death in frustration.

But the gods did not give up. There was nothing gods couldn’t do in this world.

“Above all, for the gods, ‘hunting the Beast of Death’ was a kind of stimulus to break their boredom. It was a new challenge that couldn’t be easily resolved with the heroes they had gathered so far.”

“Challenging with others’ lives… it’s awful to say to your face, but that was truly terrible.”

“That’s why I was banished. People often don’t realize what’s precious until it’s gone.”

For gods, time was abundant, and waiting was but a moment. The gods demanded that heroes who had sufficiently entertained them hunt the Beast of Death as their final task.

Success would be good, and failure would be an acceptable way to dispose of toys they had grown tired of.

After decades of hunting, one hero finally succeeded in capturing one beast.

Deceived by whispers that beheading the Beast of Death would save a dead woman, the hero succeeded in cutting off the beast’s head after a fierce battle, and…

“Unfortunately, the hero’s efforts weren’t rewarded. What sprang from the severed neck wasn’t his lover but the hands of specters. He died, torn limb from limb without a chance to resist.”

“So… what’s wandering around the Empire now is the Beast of Death. And my head is its head.”

“Yes. Once the glory of being first disappeared, the gods lost interest, and there were no more hunts for the Beast of Death afterward.”

The blade wielded by the love-blinded hero became a boomerang aimed at his descendants.

The energy flowing from the corpse was so terrible it could kill even humans, and the dripping blood summoned the dead from all directions.

Eventually, the hero’s descendants sealed the corpse. During this process, death worshippers attacked the cargo, stole the head, and fled.

But the descendants didn’t care whether the worshippers took the head or not, as long as they could dispose of the cursed body from their land.

Thus, the headless body was placed in a tomb more magnificent than any king’s, in the largest and widest cemetery.

“As for the head… well, seeing it before my eyes, it seems the fugitives brought it to this forest.”

“Are you certain that the beast that died then is the owner of my head?”

“I still remember those majestic antlers and face. Honestly, I wasn’t pleased with its death. It was a noble beast that shouldn’t have died just for being born with talent.”

As if recalling memories from that time, Alfodur muttered bitterly.

Realizing this wasn’t such a far-fetched speculation, Wendigo leaned back on his throne and inwardly lamented.

And he cursed the hero’s descendants for sealing the body rather than disposing of it.

‘Those ancient people should have handled problems cleanly. Why did they resort to sealing…’

But what could he demand from those who were already dead and returned to dust?

Solving problems was always the responsibility of those who remained.