Chapter 58
The King
Sai Mo decided to stay with the beast.
Two full days passed since they began living together, and nothing particularly significant had happened. Sai Mo sat in one corner of the cave, brows furrowed, struggling to train his body and breathing, while the beast sat calmly on his massive stone bed, as if time itself held no meaning for him.
At times, the beast would leave the cave, walking with slow yet graceful steps into the forest, returning hours later with his prey slung across his broad shoulders. He would cook it patiently, with great care, and then set a small portion aside for Sai Mo.
Though Sai Mo hadn't wanted to accept the food at first, he eventually did—gratefully—and couldn't hide the small smile that crept across his face. The food was far more delicious than he expected, as if the fire that cooked it had melted something of the soul into it.
Sai Mo thought to himself as he watched the beast from afar:
"This creature isn't the kind of beast I imagined... He acts more human—no, more civilized than most humans I've met. He cooks before eating, sits quietly, eats with grace, washes his dishes afterward, trains, then sleeps at the same hour every night. All my life I thought beasts were disgusting creatures that devoured raw flesh and threw filth everywhere. But this one... this being before me is more refined and cultured than some people I've known."
The beast sat cross-legged upon his stone bed, palms pressed together before his chest, eyes closed, immersed in deep concentration—as if sinking into some inner sea. Sai Mo didn't know what he was doing, but for a fleeting second, a dense darkness erupted from the beast's body.
A suffocating, blood-stained darkness filled the air, so heavy that Sai Mo's entire body began to tremble without control. The darkness he saw was beyond words—terrifying to the point of paralysis, powerful enough to make his heart scream before his mouth could.
Then, as suddenly as it came, it vanished. The beast exhaled slowly, concealed that darkness again, and opened his eyes with calm precision.
He turned toward the trembling Sai Mo and gave him a faint smile before speaking for the first time in two days, his deep voice echoing softly through the cave:
"Tell me, boy—who are you? Why are you alone? And why were you living in my home?"
Sai Mo's heart eased a little at the sound of that calm tone. He swallowed his dry throat, gathering what courage he could before answering:
"My name is Sai Mo… I'm an orphan… I live alone."
The beast nodded slightly, staring deeply into the boy's eyes before replying:
"Nice to meet you, Sai Mo. I am Haydn."
When Haydn finished his words, he kept his gaze on the boy—as if his mind held countless questions and a silent curiosity since the first moment he saw him. Then suddenly, Haydn smiled and began to laugh—a genuine, strange laugh that echoed through the cave.
"Boy… you really did think beasts were nothing but disgusting creatures, didn't you?"
Sai Mo's eyes widened in shock; his words were so precise it was as if he'd read his mind. He stammered nervously, "C-Can you read thoughts?"
Haydn laughed louder, his deep voice reverberating through the cave's walls before calming himself.
"Well… you have the right to think that way. Because of the Kings, everyone believes beasts are nothing but vile demons unfit for anything. But tell me, boy—what would you have done if you were in our place?"
He paused, then clasped his hands together, his voice growing heavier—like the echo of a mountain collapsing.
"What would you do if you were living a peaceful life with your family? A life full of love and safety… and then one day, another race appeared—threatened you, your children, your family—and began hunting you, killing you and those you love… just to become stronger? Would you sit still, awaiting death? Or would you fight?"
Sai Mo's body trembled at his words, and memories struck him like a storm—his destroyed village, his father's screams, his brother's blood, the injustice he endured. Rage filled him, and his nails dug into his palms until blood dripped from his fists.
Haydn watched him closely, then sighed and said quietly:
"Yes… that's exactly what I did. I got angry. I fought. And I became… a beast. I fought everyone."
He fell silent for a moment, eyes closed, as though the ghosts of the past flooded his mind. Then he opened them again and spoke with a weary breath:
"Boy… I'm not qualified to tell you what to do. But I can tell you this—as someone who's walked the same bloody road you're about to take. It's a path drenched in cruelty. And no matter how many I killed… I never found peace. I never got my family back. I never got my comrades back. I gained nothing… except these scars."
He uncovered his torso, revealing a body covered in wounds from head to toe—each scar a story of war, betrayal, and despair. Then he pressed a hand over his chest and said in a trembling voice:
"And the deepest scar… is here. In my heart."
Haydn had spent his life walking the road of vengeance—and all it brought him was pain and solitude. He often sat in his cave, staring at his scars, thinking:
"What if… we'd accepted the Kings' offer? Maybe they wouldn't have betrayed us… No, I know they would have. But… what if I'd run away with my family that day? What if I'd saved my friends? What if I'd been stronger? What if we'd had more time? What if… what if…"
Those two words—"what if"—were like blades that cut deeper each time he remembered.
His memories surged, dragging him back to his final battle. He stood there, bleeding, broken—facing a single human. But what a human he was… a King, holding a blood-red black spear in his hand.
Haydn, torn and battered, looked around him—his entire tribe lay dead. None remained. Only him. He lifted his tearful eyes to the King and shouted:
"You damned King! Why?! Why are you humans fighting us?! What have we done to you?!"
That man was the ruler of this land. His face in Haydn's memory was blurred, but his expression was unforgettable—pity, disgust, hatred.
The King spoke in a calm, sea-like voice:
"You filthy beasts… Didn't some of you kill humans? You're worthless. Your only purpose is to strengthen us—the pure humans. Rejoice, creature… thanks to your tribe's sacrifice, humanity will grow stronger."
His words were like poison—cold and cruel. His voice calm and composed, as though he were narrating a simple tale, not a genocide.
Haydn screamed in anguish, his voice tearing through the air:
"You miserable human! Not all beasts are evil! Some of us are kind, weak, innocent. Yes, some are cruel—but isn't that the same for all creatures? Don't you humans have monsters among you too?! Why didn't you kill only those who were evil?! Why? What did my tribe ever do to you?! Didn't we help you?! Didn't we fight beside you against the Overlord?! Why?!"
The King smiled faintly, as though pronouncing fate itself:
"Your sacrifice is necessary. Did you really think we—pure humans—would ever befriend filthy beasts like you?
Know your place, foul creature… You stand before the Supreme King."
There was something strange in his tone—his titles, his aura—like he didn't belong to this world at all.
He took a step forward toward the wounded Haydn, bent down slightly, and whispered something into his ear—words too faint to catch. With each passing word, Haydn's face twisted in fury, until he screamed with a roar that shook the earth:
"Air Shatterer!"
The air itself trembled around his arm, compressed violently, and then exploded in a devastating blast that nearly split the heavens, racing straight toward the King.
But the King merely waved his black spear lightly, splitting the destructive force effortlessly. When the dust cleared—Haydn was gone.
The King didn't chase him. Instead, he smiled faintly, as though he already knew this would happen. Then he raised his spear high toward the heavens and shouted, his voice thundering across the mountains:
"Today… we have eradicated all beasts from this world! The world belongs to humanity once more! Rejoice, humans! We have triumphed over those vile creatures! This… is our victory!"
And the armies stretching across the horizon erupted in cheers—voices of humanity's so-called triumph.
Meanwhile, Haydn fled into the shadows, bleeding, broken… carrying his shattered body—
and an even more shattered heart.
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