Chapter 77 – Do You Think It’s Possible? (3)

Someone once said that for those who curse others, even multiple graves wouldn’t be enough.

She only glanced at him, yet she seemed to understand his intent, smiling quietly.

In the darkness, her yellow-hued eyes glowed faintly, lending her a striking presence.

Her pale top contrasted with her blue skin, exposing the nape of her neck and part of her collarbone, while otherwise covering her form modestly.

Her skirt reached below her knees but was slit on the side, revealing the shapely line of her crossed legs.

Even just the contrast in skin color evoked a strange, subtle reaction.

“……”

Cariel stepped back from the candle and sat again on the wooden chair with a calm expression.

He neither questioned her nor cast blame.

He didn’t reject her or express discomfort either.

“You might be a bit perplexed by what sounds like a denial of someone you met and bonded with first. But please know, this is pure goodwill.”

“……”

See?

Even without prompting, she offered the very answer he expected.

Regardless of the content, the way it flowed so smoothly made it oddly refreshing.

Though returning to the subject made things murky again.

Still, he had to ask.

Looking her directly in the eye, he asked,

“This might be rude, but, may I ask why you’re offering such goodwill?”

“I value connections.”

Her answer was a bit off-mark, but in another sense, entirely appropriate.

“Rather than expecting to receive, I prefer to give first. That’s how you gain trust and results in both farming and business, right? It’s the same here.”

“……”

“It looks like physical intimacy is out of the question with our guest. That’s usually the biggest mutual delight, but… I could tell at a glance.”

She smiled in the dark.

Though her features were sharp, her expression softened with that smile and warm tone.

Yet if one viewed her with even a shred of prejudice, 

Even a gentle smile and soft gaze could be seen as veiled contempt.

Add in the stigma of her skin color and the horns atop her head, 

Even without fear or hatred toward demons, one might instinctively recoil.

And if such bias wasn’t felt, then it was likely thanks to her extraordinary efforts to avoid that impression.

From the moment they met, she guided the atmosphere and his attention with her behavior and alluring appearance.

She then layered genuine compliments and friendliness to cultivate a sense of familiarity, a level of social finesse Cariel lacked entirely.

His idea of diplomacy was a forced, learned method, born from a need not to be hated, scorned, or ignored.

But hers was on another level, more refined, more skilled.

And it wasn’t just because she was a woman.

Even women who’d typically resent someone like her found her likable.

This wasn’t something achieved overnight.

Time could turn resentment into fondness.

She… 

She had likely worked desperately to gain such likability, to ward off others’ hostility or violence.

That was why she’d honed this particular skill.

Which meant, 

She must’ve quickly understood Cariel’s temperament and tendencies from trying something similar herself.

“You’re at the age when desire burns the hottest, yet when you look at me, I can see the lust flicker and die. That’s not something that happens through willpower or conviction. That’s something… primal.”

She spoke.

And if someone could suppress that primal instinct, 

“…then I assumed there must be a deep wound. That’s why I chose not to tempt you physically. So, what do I do if I want to win your heart?”

“……”

It’s not complicated.

Spend time, build trust through familiarity.

Provide benefits gradually to become someone useful.

Make your presence something they grow used to.

…Cariel understood this theory well enough.

He simply lacked the means for any of it.

Back in the capital, he often detected those approaching him under false pretenses using that very logic.

There had been plenty who’d latched onto him for his status and backing.

Though all of them eventually vanished.

Ruslan.

She continued explaining.

“You have to show sincerity and back it up with something meaningful. Something they’ll need right now.”

“…Have you considered the possibility that such actions could bring immense danger?”

In business or politics, 

Even knowing someone could get you killed.

Relationships sometimes carried deadly risk.

“But isn’t everything in this world dangerous?”

And then, 

“Opportunities are always found in dangerous places. Precisely because no one else goes there, that’s where you find value others can’t.”

“……”

Those eyes said it all.

Ambition.

Aspiration.

If you had to choose the most defining trait of demons, 

One thing acknowledged even by those who hated or feared them, 

Desire.

Do the other races lack desire?

No. They have it just the same.

But their stance on it, 

Whether they embrace, revere, and worship it, 

Whether they can crush what they once worshipped without a second thought, 

Loyalty, humanity, justice, charity, 

Whether they can see these as vices, detest them, and cast them aside, 

Whether they can prioritize only desire and greed, above all else, 

“If your usefulness ever fades even slightly… those vampires will exploit and discard you without hesitation.”

Like draining every last drop of blood from livestock or prey, then tossing the hide and meat somewhere else.

“Philbar, the Second Prince, might be an exception. But even if he doesn’t wish to betray you, that doesn’t mean he won’t. They’re used to living with that kind of treatment, having their personal will stripped away.”

“…The vampires are bound to the will of their bloodline’s patriarch, their clan leader and master. Is that what you mean?”

“I’m glad you understand. Yes. I’m not blaming Philbar… I’m simply saying that their clan lord’s will is absolute. No individual among them can defy it. That’s what makes it so malicious. Even if the one approaching you has good intentions, even if they manage to suppress their bloodlust, if their master gives a command from afar? That’s one thing they absolutely cannot refuse, no matter what.”

Even if Philbar himself were willing to risk his life to preserve his friendship and loyalty with Cariel, 

If the patriarch so willed it, he could tear out Cariel’s heart with his own hands, rip into his throat with his fangs.

“And you mustn’t try to understand them with the mindset of a short-lived race. They live far longer than we do… so their thoughts naturally lean toward the distant future rather than the present. They dwell in a dreamlike world, you see, one that holds little attachment to reality.”

They scatter their seeds but don’t cling to them.

Living long lives, they’re not easily swayed by instinct or impulsive emotions the way humans are.

“If you understand that temperament, you’ll be able to cultivate a much more beneficial friendship with him.”

In other words, don’t expect or rely on him without understanding, and even if you are betrayed, don’t take it personally.

That was likely the true meaning behind her words.

“…Thank you for the advice.”

Cariel expressed his gratitude plainly.

“Yes. Then let’s end it here for today. If we’d had a little more time, maybe we could’ve shared everything, body, heart, even our deepest thoughts.”

“……”

She didn’t press him for anything.

As she’d said earlier, she was offering her goodwill first, voluntarily.

Once she left the room, the Demon King, who had been watching, clicked her tongue smoothly.

– Did you catch it?

“Yes.”

That last comment wasn’t just a parting nicety.

If we’d had a little more time.

Was there any reason to stress that phrase so deliberately?

Could it have been just her way of speaking?

Either way, those words might not have been just a wish or statement of desire.

But rather, 

“……”

Could it have implied that they wouldn’t have more time?

It might be overthinking. A premature assumption.

…but it doesn’t hurt to keep it in mind.

‘Offering goodwill. Or maybe… a test.’

Value and usefulness were things he had to define for himself.

As if everything that had been calm until now was a lie, he suddenly felt a tightening malice closing in from all directions.

His heart shriveled involuntarily, but he forced the feeling away.

In the end, it was fear and anxiety he had conjured up on his own.

…Even if he were to die, cut down by some invisible blade from the shadows, 

That alone could not justify surrendering to fear or anxiety in the present.

* * *

Between light sleep and deep slumber, 

By the time he stirred awake, the sun had yet to rise. The sky outside remained shrouded in darkness.

It was only the distant cries of roosters that made him realize it was time to wake.

As he stepped into the hallway, he saw few humans and non-humans already bustling through the dim corridors.

Those he passed greeted him in their own subdued way, as though it were protocol.

He left the branch building, climbed the hillside and stairways, and arrived at the fourth tier of the village, near the summit.

To his surprise, people were already gathering.

The line wasn’t as long as the day before.

“……”

Most of the street stalls and open-air stands hadn’t opened yet, making the area feel rather empty.

He waited patiently in line, enjoying the cool breeze.

Though the sun was said to be rising soon, the region’s dry climate caused the temperature to fluctuate sharply with the presence, or absence, of sunlight.

In other words, unlike yesterday, the air was quite pleasant now.

Before long, he stood again before the slanted sword.

As he gripped the hilt, just as he had the day before, 

A world not unlike a wasteland spread out before him.

The first landscape the sword had witnessed after being embedded and abandoned.

Many had come and gone, all trying in vain to draw the blade.

It wouldn’t budge.

Back then, before the village was even formed, the area was more of a hilly woodland.

Over time, wind and dust wore it down. Rust dulled its shine, and cracks began to appear in the blade.

Even those who once coveted it had long given up.

And yet, amidst that desolation, 

There was one boy who kept returning, obsessively.

His thick, dark navy hair was almost black, messy like a beast’s unkempt mane.

His attire was wretched, yet for reasons only he knew, he came day after day, wearing a perpetual look of sorrow and resentment as he desperately tried to pull the sword free.

His amber eyes gleamed with intensity, silently vomiting malice and anguish.

But the sword, time and again, dozens of times, maybe more, 

Remained utterly still.

It didn’t move an inch.

Even so, the boy never gave up.

Even as he grew.

Even as his ragged clothes improved to something passable.

Even as his body became muscled and covered in small scars, 

He clung to that sword, doggedly.

As if daring it to see who would break first.

At some point, the crowd began to gather.

The village was formed, peddlers set up stalls with planks and tools.

Those less industrious simply unfurled their bundles and sold goods straight off the ground.

Before long, the place became a bustling hub.

And so, the boy who had come daily, now came only after sundown, when darkness swallowed the land.

Even then, the sword never once responded to him.

With all that sincerity, all that effort, shouldn’t there have been at least a flicker of reaction?

But no.

It was an utterly meaningless hope.

Expecting rain to fall, or snow to descend, simply by appealing to emotion, 

Truly, a meaningless hope.

Then must this too wait for its destined time?

When will that moment come, the time when the sword is finally drawn?

Just then, the gray-haired man spoke to the youth gripping the sword.

“Venus. I’ve said it countless times, that isn’t yours.”

Of course, the youth didn’t even flinch.

His lips, tightly sealed, and his twisted gaze were focused solely on sensing the reaction of the embedded blade.

“It already has a master.”

But perhaps that was the one thing he couldn’t let slide.

The youth clenched his teeth and glared at the man who had provoked him.

“Then I’ll just kill that bastard. Once he’s gone, it’ll be mine, won’t it?”

“……”

“Answer me, Rupert. Am I wrong?”

The man with pale, cloudy eyes, reminiscent of a serpent’s, offered no reply.

He only stared at him with a gaze filled with pity, and somehow, a quiet emptiness.

And then, 

As always, the youth tried to draw the sword.

And as he did, along with the countless others who surrounded the sword with their diverse hopes and efforts, 

There was a girl watching it all.

At some point, she had set up a small stall between two flower shops.

Leaning on her staff. Limping with every step.

Yet she never seemed bored, she remained rooted there, still as stone.

A girl whose hair resembled the sky.

With eyes tinged in sorrow, or perhaps caught in melancholy.

And within that, a buried anxiety that made her chest tighten with each breath. As she watched the many who lined up for meaningless attempts at the sword, her gaze carried the weight of a monk in prayer.

Luines.

Her eyes were always saying the same thing.

Please don’t let it be drawn.

Please, don’t let it be drawn.

All this time, she had prayed only for that. Earnestly and desperately.