Chapter 125

Posted by Kuze, ? Views, Released on February 8, 2025

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“I wanna be like you.”

That Child, standing with back against the rough wooden chair, head tilted upward, locked eyes fiercely onto Carriel as they declared their ambition.

“That’s a rash decision.”

Carriel…

Was unfazed by the kid’s rudeness, recklessness, or audacity.

“If I don’t even know myself well, what does it mean to want to be like me?”

“Why wouldn’t you know yourself?”

The language was crude, the expressions raw.

Edges were sharp.

It was probably because their daily vocabulary had been limited to such things.

Born into refinement, accustomed to delicate words, precious phrases, sophisticated speech—

Politeness and etiquette. Diverse experiences and countless knowledge and information encountered over time.

Compared to the child who had spent their whole life in back alleys, sharpening themselves amidst filth, junk, rats, cats, stray dogs, battling every day just to survive—

Though born in the same world, the realms they lived in were vastly different.

The high ones climb higher.

The low ones sink lower.

“What part of me made you think you want to be like me?”

Carriel didn’t choose unnecessarily complex or archaic words.

Though the local dialect felt a bit strange, that would resolve itself in a few days since comprehension came unnaturally quick for them.

“I don’t wanna hurt. I don’t wanna lose anything. I want the strength not to run away. The strength to crush nobles.”

Thanks to being cleaned up beforehand and given some simple clothes, the stench and dirt were gone now, but the essence remained.

Restless spirit shaking the body, gaze darting around, hands fidgeting, legs trembling.

Instinctual anxiety still lingered, scanning surroundings for potential threats, shoulders tense as if ready for any emergency.

Messy, untamed hair.

Between faded brown strands, fiery crimson eyes burned intensely—not like the fading sunset, but brimming with raw emotion and color.

Chapped lips bore traces of peeling skin and dried blood scabs that hadn’t fully washed off.

“Do you want power? Then what do you plan to do with it once you have it?”

“Beat up troublemakers till they’re dead.”

Concise.

“Beat ‘em up, but not really kill ‘em.”

“You mean beat ‘em up?”

“Yeah, that.”

The kid nodded in agreement with an intimidating expression while gesturing aggressively.

“Why do you wanna beat ‘em up?”

“They hit me first.”

Simple reason.

“Is that all? What next?”

“Next? Next?”

The child pondered deeply.

“I wanna eat a lot and sleep well.”

It seemed trivial, but the depth of struggle behind those words might’ve gone unnoticed by someone unaware.

But…

“…Yeah. That’s important.”

For those who constantly starve, this is a crucial survival issue.

And wanting to sleep well means…

…To rest peacefully without needing to watch your back, without constant vigilance or forced naps, stretching out arms and legs freely, finding true rest.

…If only the floor wasn’t so cold, if only there was fire to keep warm, it’d surely be better.

“If you could eat your fill every day and find a peaceful place to sleep, then what?”

“…Isn’t that enough?”

As if asking why anyone would want more, the child’s face crinkled up.

That attitude wasn’t rejection or denial.

Probably because they never had time to think beyond that.

Or maybe they truly believed that was sufficient.

Once all that was provided, perhaps then they could move on to dreams, hopes, aspirations.

“…That makes sense.”

In the suffocating life he himself endured, what did Carriel yearn for?

Just to exist without thought.

Without needing to read others’ cues.

Quietly.

…Just to breathe.

Peacefully.

His appetite dwindled due to lack of hunger and fear of vomiting from overeating, so meals were kept minimal. Though disciplined through asceticism, his body still needed movement, so he ate sparingly.

Even eating too much would slow him down, making him sluggish and sleepy, bringing inconvenience in a life requiring quick reflexes.

Still…

It was undoubtedly better than the child’s reality.

My hell and the kid’s hell aren’t equal.

Forcing empathy or sympathy upon them, pretending to understand when we don’t…

…Would be arrogance.

Pity disguised as compassion, false deception.

Self-deception.

And if one becomes intoxicated by such role-playing, their life will surely become tainted with hypocrisy and deceit.

Then… Is this wrong?

“…”

Minette, standing a few steps away observing Carriel and the child, shared some of Carriel’s thoughts.

Selfish as she was, her “limitations” compelled her to consider these matters.

In the past…

Even now.

“There’s no such thing as free stuff.”

Those who give, those who donate, ultimately expect something in return.

Some follow religious teachings.

Others seek self-satisfaction.

Some aim for reputation and fame.

There are many reasons.

Truly giving out of pure concern for others’ hardships and pain…

…Is it really easy?

Does such kindness genuinely help them?

When aid creates expectations, and later fails to meet them, leading to betrayal—

The weak and needy may resent.

While some may not feel this way…

Are there really none who do?

Gratitude felt during moments of kindness fades when coldness and hardship return.

They remember.

The warmth.

The favor. The gratitude.

But when vague hope turns into unmet expectations, the sorrow that follows…

Is another kind of pain.

“…”

Carriel experienced similar feelings before.

Someone who couldn’t bear to see him bullied and humiliated intervened once.

But when they turned a blind eye or even condoned it later, Carriel grew to hate their past kindness.

…Because he expected.

This time they’d side with me.

They should’ve helped.

Why not this time too…?

Why did I hate my parents?

My father.

My mother.

…Why were they so devoted to others instead of me?

Why me…?

“…”

Reasons why he couldn’t bring himself to touch a dying stray cat.

Continuously hesitating, regretting while avoiding, yet never turning back.

Even if I helped the kitten miraculously survive, what then?

Still…

He reached out belatedly, only to find it already gone.

Cold and lifeless.

No faint rise and fall of its belly or chest anymore.

“If you were given food and shelter, what could you offer in return?”

“Ugh…”

The child thought hard.

“I can do chores.”

“What if I tell you to go out and kill daemons?”

“…Teach me how to kill. Give me weapons to kill with. Then I can do it.”

…Not completely clueless after all.

Smart and quick-witted.

Within their limited ability to express, they proposed the most reasonable compromise.

Without forcing unrealistic enthusiasm for impossible tasks.

A rational request.

But whose choice is it to accept that?

“What if I don’t teach you how to kill or give you weapons and just tell you to do it anyway?”

“Can’t.”

Decisive.

“If I could, I wouldn’t live here. Why endure this hell hiding like this?”

Hell indeed, yet they chose to survive here.

Interesting phrasing.

“Alright.”

Carriel spoke toward Minette.

“Ask Venus to take care of this kid for a while.”

“To Venus?”

“…He’s probably doing nothing but training anyway. Might as well ask.”

Carriel looked back at the child.

“Keep thinking. What you can do. What you must do. How you can change your current life. Think and rethink.”

Otherwise…

“You’ll end up living according to your thoughts rather than thinking about how you live.”

Accepting life as it comes, swayed and biased by fleeting thoughts.

“…What difference is there between a bird in a cage?”

A bird aware of its confinement and breaking free versus one trapped within its shell, believing it’s everything.

Their situations…

Will differ drastically in both present and future.

“??”

Confused, the child furrowed their brows, but Carriel quietly signaled Minette.

“Let’s go, Del.”

With Minette’s gentle coaxing, Del followed her out of the room obediently.

“…”

Del, whoever they were, had a future far from ordinary.

Once integrated into the relief knight order, they’d grow strong enough to succeed Venus.

Even outside the order, wherever they went, they’d manage admirably and claim their share.

However, predicting their exact future isn’t wise.

Avoiding bias or entanglement.

After all, foreseeing is a double-edged sword.

Carriel had no intention of following in the footsteps of Grandeous, Rupert, or countless other seers in the world.

Thus, judgments based solely on visible evidence remain within everyone’s capability.

“…”

Despite decreasing odds…

The one destined to burn this City Kingdom was still this child.

And now, beyond burning…

Toppling the royal palace, publicly executing noble bloodlines—conditions indicating they’d grown from mere rioter to rebellion leader, perhaps even revolutionary commander.

-If the upper echelons rule corruptly and recklessly, the lower classes must prepare to face daggers and swords.

The Demon King chuckled, dismissing Carriel’s concerns as unnecessary and meaningless.

-When the strong oppress and exploit the weak, the weak rise up to survive. It’s the fault of those who fail to suppress and manage. Why worry about it?

Or else…

-Take out all the top dogs yourself, chop off their heads, and sit atop the throne to remake everything.

“There’s no reason for me to do that.”

I have no intention of seizing someone else’s power.

Nor of normalizing a corrupted nation under the guise of reform, as there’s no compelling reason.

“One shouldn’t interfere merely because something irritates the eye, right?”

-Yet someone rationalized interference precisely because it caught their attention, didn’t they?

Tittering spitefully, mocking as always, something inside still flared up.

Even as emotions dulled, this remained unchanged.

“I’m leaving anyway.”

At most a week.

Perhaps sooner.