2. Hear It Out To The End

Demonic Frontier.

This game boasted the highest concurrent player count on the entire planet. Its graphics were overwhelming enough to swallow reality whole, and they did more than rival live-action film: the damp grain of a stone floor on a rainy day, the fine scratches on armor catching the last of the sun, the twitch and ripple of muscle under a monster’s hide. Some users forgot the hunt entirely and burned whole hours just taking in the scenery.

On top of all that, the lore was meticulous and sprawling. Thousands of years of Imperial history, the tangled politics between the noble houses, the secrets of ancient ruins tucked into every corner of the continent. A player could ignore the main scenario entirely, spend a whole life as a lone scholar of this world, and never run its secrets dry. That was how deep it went.

But what most users loved was something else entirely.

— You seriously seduced the Sword Emperor of Liberation into your party?

You could recruit named NPCs into your own party, and that system was, without question, a charming one.

— Our wills differ. I shall walk my own path.

— S-Sword Emperor of Liberation, my lord!

NPCs, however, moved according to their own desires and convictions. Sometimes they loved a user; sometimes they grew jealous; on occasion they even betrayed one outright.

On top of that, every NPC carried a built-in demerit system called the Demon Seed. The moment that seed bloomed in full, demonification set in, a literal transformation from human into demon. Every thought of a demonified NPC then narrowed to one purpose: wiping out the world of humans. Their base stats also climbed far beyond their human days, which turned putting one down into a serious challenge.

Even with that kind of risk on the table, users couldn’t give up on recruiting NPCs. The flex of having a popular NPC all to yourself was just too sweet to walk away from.

But the NPCs in this game, like I said, weren’t simple machines spitting out canned macro lines. They had feelings, they breathed, they made their own choices and lived their own lives. And even knowing all that, users recruited them as nothing more than props for their own egos.

And love doesn’t always end in a happy ending.

“I’ll kill every last one of you!”

Users did not treat NPCs as fellow human beings. Some, it was said, recruited them for the express purpose of turning them into demons.

— You’re curious, right? About what demonification looks like.

To satisfy that curiosity, they tormented NPCs until they turned. A demonified NPC was strong, sure. But strong as in “hard to put down,” not “impossible.”

“…Niki is dead?”

A demonified NPC could never go back to being human. So they killed her. Or so the users would say.

But getting the NPCs who had been close to her in life to swallow that convenient “truth” was another matter entirely.

“You’re the ones who said it! That you’d protect Niki no matter what. So why are you the only ones still standing here, completely fine…?”

Faced with the tragedy of their own making, users reached for a very simple solution.

“Ahh, this is so damn annoying. I’m just gonna go play something else.”

Running from the game. And as far as they were concerned, that was no crime at all. Quitting a game because it’s stopped being fun, because your interest has dried up, is the most natural thing in the world.

But that’s the rule in our world. The ones left behind in this one weren’t willing to accept it.

NPCs stopped cooperating with users, so the users began to oppress them. And in a situation like that, what did I choose?

Couldn’t care less whether they fight or not.

I was no champion of justice, and even less the sentimental type. Sorting out who was in the right and who was in the wrong held zero interest for me. The only road I walked was the one that led to clearing the game.

An NPC hated the users so much it turned into a demon?

Just means one more enemy to kill.

That was the mindset I played with, diligently and faithfully.

And then, one day, two young boys came up to me and bowed.

“Is that really the man?”
“Yeah! That’s him for sure! The one who delivered the famous line — ‘Close your eyes in peace, comrade. Even without you, I will be fine, for I shall take it upon myself to defend the world you left behind. With your death upon my back, I will press forward without a single moment of hesitation.’ — that’s the guy!”

And then the two of them whispered between themselves. The problem, if you could even call it one…

I never said any such thing.

If I had to guess, it traced back to the time some knight, his ribs caved in by an orc, begged me to cut the bastard down in his place.

He was a guy I needed to kill anyway.

Come to think of it, I couldn’t even remember whether that knight had made it out alive afterward. Because honestly, who cared.

“I came across some new information! Care to share a drink while we chat?”

“Hey, threw this together from stuff I scavenged — take it!”

“There are only a handful of these potions in the whole world. Not every elf is ungrateful, you know.”

I was just playing the game faithfully, and the next thing I knew a dwarven master craftsman was pressing a custom-forged weapon into my hands and the elf king’s daughter was handing me a potion brewed from a flower of the World Tree, free of charge.

I thought users and NPCs were supposed to be on bad terms.

The countless horror stories I’d seen on the community boards started to feel like lies. When every NPC who passed by was pressing a gift into my hands, how was I supposed to think badly of them?

Granted, the gifts weren’t exactly a heavy burden on me… not really.

Got to take what you’re given.

Wasn’t that the Korean way? When your elders give you something, you take it.

Then one day, while I was getting a free meal off an NPC at a tavern, a little girl, maybe seven years old, came pattering up to me.

“Why are you helping us?”

When I glanced up above the girl’s head, I caught the brackets hovering there that marked her as an NPC. After a moment’s thought, I ran a hand over her hair and answered.

“Because no one wants their own world destroyed.”

In manga and anime, I clearly remembered, the protagonist always gets a cheat skill before he’s whisked off to another world.

“…Pff.”

Between bouts of dry coughing, a sticky glob of blood-laced phlegm welled up. If I had gotten a cheat skill, was this it? The “never-stop-coughing” cheat. I hacked the stickiness up into a tissue, but the disgusting wad lodged in my throat refused to clear.

As I tossed the tissue into the bin, the words of my two “brothers,” the ones I’d let go in one ear and out the other a little earlier, came drifting back to me.

— Why don’t you give up that beast-like existence of yours?

— Little brother, if you wish it, I’ll find you a drug that lets you die in peace.

The two of them, who hardly seemed to share a drop of blood with Valerian, kept spitting out cursed lines like those right up until they left. And yet there was something more astonishing still than the way they hurled abuse for a solid hour without pause. The coughing fits that had been gushing out of me like a waterfall simply stopped, sinking and settling like water gone calm, the very moment I came to stand before those two.

This wasn’t thanks to the Possession Stabilization she’d cast on me, either. Even with that buff active, the coughing never let up.

This kid’s got some character.

This was purely the lingering will of Arden, the body’s original owner.

Whenever I stood before those two brothers, a fierce craving rose up from somewhere deep inside me.

I refuse to show weakness in front of them.

It wasn’t my own will at all. Arden, it seemed, had always loathed his two older brothers; deep down, I could feel something close to murderous intent toward them.

Inwardly, my respect for Arden only grew. Could the average person really endure pain like claws raking the inside of his throat, and swallow his hatred whole while those two came around to torment him?

I’d never met Arden, but I liked him.

There’s no way I wouldn’t know an NPC like this.

Farming the Demon Knights, who respawned every day at noon, had been my routine for so long that my total kill count probably sat somewhere around 1,825. And in all 1,825 of those clears, not once had I run into an enemy named Arden.

This is intel that only I know.

The sheer thrill of discovering an NPC I’d never once laid eyes on.

Fascinating.

I was thrilled by the whole thing, as purely as a kid.

This is something no other user has ever done. Hell, maybe even the developers don’t know.

A House Arne where demonification had never set in. The timeline of this world was plainly different from the one I’d played through.

Couldn’t I run into more NPCs I don’t know?

My head was already brimming with excitement and anticipation, like a banquet table laid out with every last one of my favorite dishes.

There was, however, one problem…

Hack!

Blood-laced coughs that burst out whenever they pleased, and lungs that ached even though I’d never once touched a cigarette. Healing this body, first and foremost, was non-negotiable.

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and said,

“I’m fine.”

If it weren’t for her and that Possession Stabilization buff, I’d already be dead, no question. Your average gamer probably wouldn’t have spared a second glance for an NPC like Arden.

But I’m not an average gamer.

When you’ve got a favorite you’ve taken a shine to, you spoil them rotten and pour everything into raising them, garbage stats and all.

I’ll raise you up nice and proper.

Hack!

“…”

I flung the blood-soaked blanket onto the floor and said,

“Agreed.”

At first I’d taken her for some kind of ghost, since no one else could see her or hear her voice. A few experiments taught me otherwise.

For one thing, she couldn’t pass through walls. A real pity, since she’d have made an excellent scout.

For another, she couldn’t get more than three meters away from me. The experiments settled it beyond any doubt: as a tactical option, she was essentially useless.

After failing again and again, she even pulled a teary face.

“Actually, that’s a good thing.”

If those tactics had actually worked, things would have been too easy. A grizzled veteran needs some kind of handicap.

Maybe I imagined it, but her face seemed to brighten a little. Either way, I cracked the door open a sliver and poked my head out.

“Could someone come over here?”

Peek.

She poked her own head out beside mine, mimicking me.

But most of the servants only met my eyes and walked right on past. Earlier, the one who’d brought me fresh bedding had carried a downright rotten attitude.

After a few days in this other world, one thing had become clear to me.

Even so, are they really pulling this kind of crap?

Arden’s standing in this household went past “barely there.” The servants treated him in a way that was completely out of line.

I leveled a finger at one passing servant.

“You. Come over here, would you? I’ve got an order to pass along.”

At that, the singled-out servant stalked over, his face dripping with discontent. The closer he came, the more one thought crept up on me.

Looks like a pufferfish that’s puffed itself all the way up.

The servant tipped his head back stiffly and looked at me.

“What.”

Craning just my head through the gap had left my neck sore, so I swung the door wide and straightened my posture.

“First off, bring me a glass of water.”

Then I handed him a letter I’d folded ahead of time.

“Listen carefully — this is a very important task. Go to the herb storeroom as the letter instructs, and bring back the herbs…”

The servant cut me off before I could finish.

“I’m in the middle of carrying out Young Master Valerian’s orders, and I’m rather busy.”

He didn’t so much as glance at the letter I held out, so I let out a deliberate snort.

“I said, this is an important task.”

At that, as though he’d been waiting for his chance to fire back, the servant let his mouth run.

“You wouldn’t know it, Young Master, but I’m a very busy man. I’ve got far too much work piled up to be running errands for the runt young master. If you really need it done, why not ask one of the other servants?”

Before I could even respond, he tacked on more.

“Ah, but the other servants are probably busy too. Nobody’s got time to spare around here. Seeing as the runt young master doesn’t actually do anything, why don’t you go fetch it yourself?”

The servant finished his piece, spun on his heel, and started off. I folded my arms and just watched him go.

Whether or not he felt my eyes on him, he abruptly turned and came back.

“Come to think of it, isn’t it a waste to hand over herbs from somewhere as important as the herb storeroom to someone like you, Young Master? It’s not as if they’ll have any effect anyway.”

He clicked his tongue and added, under his breath, “such a waste of expensive coin.”

Well, look at this.

The servants of this house were, every last one of them, out of their minds. Powerless or not, Arden was by every measure the fifth son of the household.

Clap.

Just as the servant, his piece said, was about to swagger smugly off, I clapped. For no reason at all, out of nowhere, I just kept clapping.

Clap, clap.

“What are you doing?”

Confusion flickered across the servant’s face. I paid it no mind and kept right on clapping.

Clap, clap, clap.

“I’m asking you what you’re doing right now!”

I rubbed my ear and answered.

“Why are you yelling. Hurts my ears, you know. I was clapping because you’ve moved up in the world.”

Before a word could leave the servant’s mouth, I cut in first.

“Let me deliver the order again. Go to the herb storeroom as the letter says, and bring back the herbs listed there. Easy, right?”
“…”
“Hello?”

His hand suddenly shot out and snatched the letter from my grip.

“Say it again.”
“Memory’s not so great, huh. That happens. So, go to the herb storeroom…”

Rrrrip.

The servant tore the letter to absolute shreds.

“You sure you can handle this?”
“Handle this?”

The servant flew into an even greater fury and stomped on the torn scraps for good measure.

“Oh, wonderful.”

Actions have consequences. Why is it that kids these days can’t grasp a truth that obvious?

“What are you planning to do about it?”

The servant answered with a scoff.

“What exactly do you think you can do because of this?”

In answer, I crouched down and gathered up, piece by piece, the filthy shredded scraps of the letter.

“Sure tore it up nice and good. Made it impossible to tell which herbs the head of the house wanted, too.”
“…What?”

With an upsy-daisy, I rose back to my feet, the patiently gathered fragments pinched in my hand.

“Either your memory really is that bad, or you’re pretending you didn’t hear me.”

The fragments were far too filthy now to make out what they had once spelled.

“Didn’t I say so at the very start? That I had an order to pass along. But I never said it was an order I was issuing, now did I.”

I shook my head from side to side.

“You should hear a person out to the end.”

I twisted my palm sideways. The scraps of the letter tumbled back to the floor in a little rain of paper.

“Putting torn-up scraps back together — that’s impossible, isn’t it?”