Vol 1 Chapter 4 – The Beginning of the Beginning of the End

The season was autumn. A somewhat strong wind was blowing.

Every time the paved ground transitioned to gravel, the cheap carriage, lacking any sort of shock-absorbing mechanisms, transmitted an unpleasant vibration.

While the canopy covering the drivers in the front was made of thick material, the rear of the carriage—clearly segregated from the front—was draped in a cheap, hole-ridden cloth that couldn’t even repel water, as if no thought whatsoever had been given to the people riding inside.

Drafts were a constant companion, and the only other person riding in the back with me was dressed shabbily, sprawling out as if sulking. It seemed that on a journey through this cold wind, many would fall ill even if they were seated in the slightly better-built front section; even now, the sound of coughing echoed non-stop from all directions.

—Just like that chilly time, a cold wind caresses my body.

Ten years have passed since the day I lost everything.

Right now, the carriage we were riding in was passing right in front of the grave I had built myself so long ago.

I say gravestone, but it was a crude thing (I just rolled over a reasonably sized rock. Honestly, I’m a little surprised it’s still there), and since it was carved by a child, the letters must have been worn away by the wind and rain—I could see one particularly large gouge on the edge, perhaps from a heavy gale or something—making it completely unreadable by now.

Ah, that’s right. Dad, Mom, and the people of the village. My name, too, has been completely wiped from this world.

The final words my mother left behind bind me even now.

“You absolutely must never forgive them.”

She’s right. That… the horrific tragedy of that village is something that must never be forgiven.

I can still vividly recall the look on my father’s face when he died.

“How frustrating,” he had seemed to say.

My dad was so cool. Even if it’s a misunderstanding, even if I’m just convincing myself of it, to me, my dad is the coolest hero in the world.

The warmth and kindness of the village people feel like they’ve faded so much. Maybe it’s because the last time I touched them, they were freezing cold. But they were good people. There were a few bad ones sometimes, too.

However, there wasn’t a single person in my village who deserved to die.

—The green border visible in the distance hasn’t changed its appearance since those days. Commonly known as the “Unyielding Forest.”

I’m back. I’ve come back to my nostalgic hometown, Nile Village.

This small village located in the northernmost part of Ista is almost never called by that name anymore. Its specialty was textiles, and it was said to have a particularly close spiritual distance to the spirits, but otherwise, it was not a particularly standout region.

No, it wasn’t.

Agusta, the untouchable land at the northernmost edge of the world. It was the very first place where the invasion of humanity began ten years ago, launched from that land inhabited by Demons, also known as the Demon Realm.

First Lost. Its original name forgotten, leaving only a stone monument of unknown origin, the village came to be known as the first place humanity lost.

—I really wish they wouldn’t call it by such a tasteless name like First Lost. It actually had quite a bit of tradition to it, you know. It was even called the place where spirits and humans were closest, once upon a time.

Spirits. The very elements that make up this world, and the consciousness attached to them; that is what people called them.

In the past, people feared fire, thanked water, knelt to the earth, felt the wind, and prayed. It was said that those with deep faith could borrow power from the spirits—the will of nature—to perform supernatural feats.

People called them those loved by the spirits, or shamans, but that’s all in the past now.

The situation changed completely when mana filling the atmosphere was discovered, and by utilizing it, the technology known as magic was developed.

Magic is academia, it is knowledge, it is wisdom.

Although innate talent plays a role, anyone can use it if they study properly, and the entire world eagerly advanced the research of this highly versatile technology known as magic.

Gratitude toward nature faded, and the spirits—possessing their own will—distanced their hearts from the regions where magic had permeated.

Without humanity realizing it, spirits from all over the world gathered in northern Ista, around that forest.

In other words, that was the Unyielding Forest, and Nile Village was the region in the world most ignorant of magic. To put it another way, it was a backwater with no room for magic to develop.

The name “Unyielding Forest” was given as a warning by the shamans in Nile Village, who sensed the spirits’ displeasure—or, to speak frankly, their disgust with the humans who had cheated on them with magic. But because such a massive influx of spirits occurred, the forest’s ecosystem went haywire. Fruits, nuts, and beasts vanished, at least at any depth humans could reach. Because it was also a sacred site, cutting down the trees was forbidden.

Therefore.

Possessing no industrial value, completely meaningless to humans: the “Unyielding Forest.”

It became a place with no purpose other than serving as a border demarcating Agusta, where the Demons—who had long ago been driven to the edge of the world—resided.

As this interpretation spread, the spirits, insulted by the way their home was viewed, grew even more deeply offended. If a human with a high affinity for spirits happened to be born in Nile Village, the spirits would do nothing but complain to them. The unfortunate humans who directly received the continuous brunt of nature’s angry will either went mad or died young.

However, perhaps this venting had some positive effect, because the spirits eventually opened up to the people of Nile Village to some extent, granting them blessings like manipulating the weather slightly for the sake of the harvest.

From the spirits’ perspective, they had become shut-ins, but it felt nice to step outside and do some volunteer work occasionally.

From the villagers’ perspective, it was like having a Yakuza office in the neighborhood, but thanks to that, there were no petty street thugs around.

That was the relationship between Nile Village and the spirits, who were slowly being forgotten by the world.

—Born and raised in a village with such legends, and not even from a shaman bloodline myself, when was it that I first met her?

It started with a warning from my late mother.

“You must absolutely never enter the Unyielding Forest. That is a sacred place, and it’s dangerous.”

A strict rule taught uniformly to all the children in the village.

When I think about the other kids my age who obediently nodded at those words, I feel deeply moved by just how honest and good they were.

As for me,

Is there anyone who gets told that and doesn’t go in? Nah, no way.

People who don’t listen to others can never reflect on their actions, nor can they pray, until they’ve learned their lesson the hard way.

And so, the idiot who didn’t listen to his mother naturally ended up getting lost inside the Unyielding Forest.

“Moooooom! Daaaaaad! Uwaaaahhhhh!”

In the dim forest, not knowing right from left, I was bawling my eyes out just like that.

I tripped over tree roots until my shoes were in tatters, and my feet inside were covered in blisters; it hurt so, so much. My jacket was similarly shredded by thorny branches. It must have been summer, because it was hot and I was itching from mosquito bites everywhere. The forest was thick with a grassy, green scent, and even now, when the smell of grass grows strong in certain seasons, the memory of that time crosses my mind.

Suddenly, I stepped into an open clearing.

The moonlight pierced through exactly into that spot, creating the illusion that the earth itself was glowing blue. It was a perfect, beautiful circle, so sacred you could call it a stage for spirits to dance upon; regardless, it was breathtakingly beautiful.

Butterflies glittering with moonlight fluttered about, and I forgot to cry, stopped breathing, and simply stared, captivated by that fantastical sight.

That was where I met her.

――――――――――

—Suddenly, my consciousness returns from the past to the present.

I can tell that something is shaking the earth, gradually approaching. The air vibrates, and I can feel insects and animals fleeing in sensing the mortal danger. Any normal human would undoubtedly run away, too.

Especially if they were human and understood what was approaching. Even so, the fact that I’m staying right here means there must be some sort of reason for it.

The weight of horses doesn’t produce this kind of roaring sound or vibration. It’s the marching footsteps of low-tier dragons, the preferred mounts of the Demons.

It’s the sound of the beginning. The exact same sound from when they destroyed the village back then.

And, it’s the sound celebrating my upcoming departure.

—I’ve thought about it endlessly since that day.

The Demon Lord, the Demon forces… they’ve only been getting stronger and stronger since then.

There’s absolutely no way I can kill the Demon Lord.

Lately, some ‘Hero’s Party’ or whatever has been throwing their weight around, but those guys are completely useless.

That Demon Lord is definitely going to conquer this world.

So, please forgive me, everyone.

After all, I’m just a weak, weak human.

This was the only thing I could come up with.

I’m going to become a minion for the Demons. I think that’s the best way.

“Hey, hurry up and get down! You senile bastard, don’t waste my time!” “Yesss, sirrr.”

Receiving a scolding from the slave trader—a Kobold, a type of dog-headed beast-kin—I pull my gaze back from the stone monument to the front. The impact of stepping down from the carriage suddenly reminds me of the weight of the iron shackles binding my hands behind my back.

It’s been a while, everyone. Sorry for the late greeting. I’m currently working as a slave. And I’ll probably continue to be one. I am about to be sold to the Demons as livestock.

…A massive shadow comes into view. The shadow of a dragon… the same kind that stepped on my dad’s head.

Look, here they come from over there. The Demons who killed everyone are here.

First, maybe I’ll try licking their feet. Gotta make sure I get on their good side. If I stay literal livestock, I’ll just get eaten. I need them to take a liking to me, at least as a slave.

Right, Tia-sama?

Well then, the craftsmanship is a mess, but please enjoy the show. Just kidding, just kidding.

Ahaha.

――――――――――――――

“Excuse me, is Igor-san here?” “Yes, sir, always appreciate your patronage.”

Just as Igor, the head of the slave traders, had stopped the carriages to organize the caravan, approximately two hundred riding dragons used by the Demons approached with deafening footsteps and came to a halt. Sand kicked up into the air, making him instinctively cover his nose.

—Never get used to seeing these things. Who’d want to ride something like this by choice?

The riding dragons favored by the Demons possessed an intimidating aura and an ugliness that naturally repelled anyone unaccustomed to them.

A gust of wind danced as if cutting through the dust, and gracefully descending from the lead riding dragon to address Igor was a single female Demon.

She had glossy blonde hair with a slight wave to it, and a beautiful face smiling delicately. But what drew the eye more than anything were the sheep-like horns growing from above her elegantly shaped ears. Exuding the aura of a sheltered noble lady, this woman was a grand executive of the Demon faction.

Aroma Sugesta.

Faced with a personal visit from the Chancellor of the Demon territory of Agusta, Igor—fully aware that a slave trader boss was ultimately just a big fish in a small pond—plastered on a fawning smile he would never show his merchandise.

He knew. Beneath that smile, this woman was constantly calculating who to let live and who to kill. If she saw a surefire chance at victory, she wouldn’t hesitate to instantly unleash monsters even upon Indira, which was currently under a ceasefire. The only reason he wasn’t being killed right now was because he was still a useful asset to her.

“There is no need to be so frightened. May I have a look at the merchandise?” “Yes, ma’am, right this way. Hey, you bastards, line up over there!”

This is it. The observational skill to read his thoughts with truly devilish sharpness. Combined with deep foresight and the cold, calculating judgment to use whatever means necessary.

With those qualities, she had become the Demon Lord’s hands and feet at such a young age, uniting the Demons under her command.

“…They stink. Well, it seems it was a long journey, so I suppose it can’t be helped.” “I still made ’em bathe once a week, but if it offends you, I sincerely apologize.” “No, we did specifically request ‘sturdy humans,’ after all. Perhaps it’s better if they are accustomed to this level of environment.” “I appreciate you sayin’ so.”

…It was a completely bizarre request.

Human trafficking wasn’t exactly rare these days; or rather, because it was such an era, he found himself in this sleazy line of work. He had thrown away his morals a long time ago. He had sold off countless women to perverts, and auctioned off beautiful boys to idle, wealthy madams.

He didn’t think there was a creature with deeper karma than humans. Running their mouths about being the creatures chosen by God, yet preying on their own kind… even he felt a little put off by it. I only deal in humans.

However, his trading company prided itself on paying meticulous attention to the handling of its merchandise. His selling point was that he rarely used the whip and didn’t let a single slave catch a cold before the handover.

That was probably why Aroma favored his services, using his company even when transporting livestock for consumption, but this time was different.

‘The harder they are to break, the better.’

That was the condition Aroma had given for this batch of merchandise. If the purpose wasn’t consumption, then it wasn’t for manual labor slaves, either. If they broke, you simply restocked them. Aside from Mages and Thaumaturges who wielded powerful magic, humans were incredibly fragile and weak compared to beast-kin and Demons, so demanding sturdiness in the first place was fundamentally flawed.

Furthermore, Mages and Thaumaturges were treated as honored guests by the nations, so they weren’t the sort of merchandise a slave trader like him could ever get his hands on. Knowing all of this, Aroma had issued that condition.

With slaves, even if their minds are sturdy, if their bodies are weak, they generally die before ever making it to market.

Therefore, to filter for both physical and mental sturdiness, Igor handled the slaves this time using methods completely contrary to his usual principles.

If they didn’t listen, the whip. If they listened, the whip. If they dawdled, no food. If they were an eyesore, same thing. And so on and so forth.

Continuing that treatment by ship from a certain country to Rill Marl, and then overland by carriage to this First Lost… his thirty slaves had been whittled down to a mere two.

One was a former gladiator. He possessed a superhuman physique and monstrous strength to match, making him quite a hassle to procure. Even he was showing signs of exhaustion.

The other one was… well, the most unexpected survivor. A young man sold for dirt cheap by a familiar slave trader—a scumbag who dealt in humans despite being human himself.

Apparently, he used to be a chore boy, but he was clumsy, and Igor had fully expected him to be the first to drop dead when they hooked him to the fence… yet he had kept up a nonchalant face from beginning to end. In fact, Igor had given him the whip a few times because his grinning face pissed him off, but the kid just kept smiling. Sometimes he’d look down and mutter to himself. A creepy, batshit crazy bastard.

Well, two difficult-to-handle pieces of merchandise. She would just have to be satisfied with this for today’s acquisition. Even factoring in the ones who died along the way, Igor was making a substantial profit, so he didn’t care either way.

Thinking such things, Igor handed over the two slaves, received his payment, and turned his carriage around.

――――――――――――――

“Well, well, hmm…?”

Comparing the two slaves handed over to her, Aroma placed a delicate finger to her lips, deep in thought.

The heavily muscled giant of a man. He was glaring at her with a mix of caution and lust, but since Aroma was well aware of her own beauty, it was a familiar look and didn’t particularly bother her.

The man of average height and build. He was directing a gaze of pure, unadulterated sycophancy at her. Just how thoroughly had he been trained? It wasn’t as if he was unaware of the treatment he was about to receive, having been sold not to humans, but to Demons.

“Now then, Mr. Slaves. Could you two come over here?”

“Shut up, don’t treat me like livestock, you female sow! Just you wait, I’ll immediately—” “Yes, with pleasure! My name is Nineeee, please keep me in mind, oh beautiful Demon-sama! Thank you so, so much for purchasing us todayyy!” “Shut the hell up! You are so damn annoying! What is your problem?! You’ve been chattering non-stop since we were in the carriage! And after all that, this is your attitude?! Have you no pride?!”

“My, my, how noisy. Garon-san, please put the collars on them.” “You got it.”

Amidst that exchange, the werewolf Garon easily pinned down the violently resisting giant man. He fastened a collar attached to a chain leash onto the former gladiator, treating him exactly like livestock, and stomped on his head.

“See, this is what happens when you act up. Hurry up and get on your hands and knees too…” “Oh my! Your beautiful fur is all ruffled! I must clean it, lick, lick.” “Gah! The hell are you doing?! Don’t lick a guy’s foot!” “Yip!“

…Seeing him drop to all fours before even being told, licking the tips of Garon’s boots, she had only one thought.

“…I wonder if he’s right in the head, that one.” “Hey, Aroma. This guy is completely insane.”

Returning to her side, Garon jerked his thumb behind him, where the man was rolling around, rubbing his head against the ground. Since his handcuffs prevented him from holding his head, it seemed he was trying to distract himself from the pain of the fist Garon had just slammed into him.

…It was exceedingly rare for her to agree with the simple-minded Garon, but there was no other way to describe it. It almost made her misunderstand the emotions humans held toward Demons.

…Mmm, well, one of them seems obedient to a bewildering degree. It wasn’t as if she had purchased a pet, though. He would probably die soon anyway.

Aroma possessed great confidence in her own intelligence and observational skills, but feeling nothing in particular toward slaves who would soon be used up and die, she simply averted her gaze, had her subordinates pull their collars, and loaded them onto the riding dragons.

Not knowing that this would be the greatest mistake of her entire life.

At the head of the departing herd of riding dragons, still feeling a sway she didn’t particularly like… she thought, Ah, what a pain.

To begin with, this slave purchase stemmed entirely from the selfishness of the Demon Lord-sama’s younger sister.

Her beloved childhood friend and her Demon Lord, possessing talent that placed her a head above the multitude of self-proclaimed Demon Lords, the pinnacle of Agusta’s largest faction, Diabolo.

Christela Vala Detra.

Thanks to the bad taste of her younger sister, Electra, Aroma was forced into making this ridiculous purchase today.

Electra Vila Detra. She… El, to put it bluntly, is a serial killer.

A murder enthusiast to such a degree that one could only assume her demonic instincts had undergone an atavistic regression. Once she got excited, she couldn’t calm down until she saw blood. Countless Demons assigned to her had been injured trying to stop her clumsily.

Even so, she was one of the Demons’ greatest military assets, so they couldn’t just treat her carelessly. As one small way to relieve her boredom, Aroma had personally taken charge of purchasing slaves, but it was only two.

Just two, huh.

They wouldn’t last a single day as Electra’s toys, but well, she would refrain from blaming Igor. He had probably done everything he could.

The inspection of Rill Marl was over, and all that was left was to go home.

—The noisy but fun Demon Lord’s Castle. It’s only been a few months, but I miss it.

It’s a shame since I went out of my way to buy these two and they’ll die right away anyway, but oh well. Even if she kills them, cleaning up is a hassle, so I really hope she doesn’t make too much of a mess.

Exactly two days later, the Demon territory Chancellor who was casually thinking such carefree thoughts would turn pale with shock.