2. Hear It Out To The End

Demonic Frontier.

No game on the planet had more players online at once. Its graphics didn’t just match live-action film, they were overwhelming enough to swallow reality whole: the damp stone floor on a rainy day, the tiny scratches on armor catching the setting sun, every twitch and ripple of a monster’s muscles. Some users forgot the hunt altogether and burned through hours just admiring the scenery.

The lore was just as meticulous, and it sprawled. There were thousands of years of Imperial history, tangled intrigue between the noble houses, and secrets in ancient ruins hidden across every corner of the continent. You could ignore the main scenario completely, become one more scholar of the world, and devote your whole life to digging up its secrets. That’s how deep it ran.

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 party.

Without question, it was a charming system.

— Our wills differ. I shall walk my own path.
— S-Sword Emperor of Liberation, my lord!

But NPCs moved by their own desires and convictions. Sometimes they loved a user, sometimes they got jealous, and now and then they betrayed one outright.

On top of that, NPCs came with a demerit system called the Demon Seed. The moment the Demon Seed bloomed in full, demonification began, a literal transformation from human into demon. A demonified NPC’s thinking converged on a single goal, annihilating the world of humans, and its base stats were far stronger than they’d been in its human days, so putting one down was a serious challenge.

Yet even with that risk on the table, users couldn’t give up on recruiting NPCs, because the flex of having a popular one all to yourself was too sweet to walk away from.

But as I already said, the NPCs in this game weren’t simple machines spitting out canned macro responses. They had feelings, they breathed, and they made their own choices as they lived their lives. Users knew this, and they still recruited NPCs as nothing more than props for their egos.

And love doesn’t always end happily.

“I’ll kill every last one of you!”

Users didn’t treat NPCs as fellow human beings. They were even recruited on purpose, it’s said, just to be turned into demons.

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

So, to satisfy their curiosity, they tormented NPCs until they turned.

A demonified NPC was strong. But strong as in “hard to take down,” not “impossible.”

“…Niki is dead?”

A demonified NPC could never go back to being human. So they killed her. That’s what the users would say.

Getting the NPCs who’d been close to her in life to accept that obvious “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 a tragedy of their own making, users picked a very simple solution.

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

They ran from the game.

Of course, as far as they were concerned, that was no crime. Quitting a game because it’s stopped being fun, or 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 world weren’t willing to accept it.

NPCs stopped cooperating with users, so the users started oppressing the NPCs.

And in that situation, what I chose was —

Couldn’t care less whether they fight or not.

I wasn’t a man of justice, and I was even less of a sentimental one. I had zero interest in sorting out who was right and who was wrong. The only path I walked was the one toward clearing the game.

An NPC hates 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.

Then one day, two young boys suddenly came up to me and bowed.

“Is that really him?”
“Yeah! That’s him for sure! The one who said that 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 they whispered amongst themselves.

The problem, if you could call it that…

I never said any such thing.

If I had to guess, it was probably the time some knight whose ribs had been completely shattered by an orc asked me to take the bastard down in his place.

He was a guy I needed to kill anyway.

Come to think of it, I didn’t even remember whether that knight had survived. Because honestly, who cared.

“I came across some new information! How about a drink to go with it?”
“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 handing me a custom-forged weapon, and the elf king’s daughter was passing 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 stories on the community boards started to feel like lies. I mean, when every NPC who walked by handed me a gift, how was I supposed to see them in a bad light? Granted, those gifts weren’t a particularly heavy burden on me… not really.

Got to take what you’re given.

Wasn’t that the Korean way? When an elder gives you something, you take it.

One day, while I was getting a free meal from an NPC at a tavern, a little girl of about seven came pattering up and spoke to me.

“Why are you helping us?”

Above her head I could see the brackets that marked her as an NPC. After some deliberation, I stroked her hair and answered.

“Because no one wants their own world to be destroyed.”

In manga and anime, I distinctly remembered, the protagonist gets a cheat skill before being transferred to another world.

“…Ptoo.”

Between bouts of dry coughing, a sticky glob of blood-laced phlegm welled up. If I had been given a cheat skill, was it the “never-stop-coughing” cheat?

I hacked the stuff out into a tissue, but the disgusting wad in my throat refused to clear. And as I tossed the tissue into the trash can, the words of my two “brothers,” the ones I’d let go in one ear and out the other 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.

Those two, who made you genuinely doubt they shared blood with Valerian, had kept spitting out cursed lines like that right up until they left.

But there was something more astonishing than the fact that they’d kept up the abuse for a full hour without a pause. The coughing fits, which had been pouring out of me like a waterfall, stopped the moment I was in front of those two. They sank beneath the surface, like water calming.

That wasn’t thanks to the Possession Stabilization she had cast on me, because even with Possession Stabilization, the coughing didn’t stop.

This kid’s got some character.

It was purely the residual will of Arden, the original owner of this body. In front of those two brothers, a fierce desire welled up from somewhere inside me, I refuse to show weakness in front of them, and it wasn’t my own will at all. Arden, it seemed, had always loathed his two older brothers. Deep down, I could even feel something like murderous intent toward them.

Inside, that only left me more impressed with him. He’d endured pain like sharp claws raking the inside of his throat and swallowed his hatred while those two came around to torment him. Could an average person really do that?

I’d never met Arden, but I liked him.

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

Clearing the Demon Knights, who respawned every day at noon, had been my routine, to the point that my total kill count probably sat around 1,825. Yet in all those 1,825 clears, there was no enemy by the name of Arden anywhere.

This is intel that only I know.

The thrill of discovering an NPC I had never laid eyes on in my entire life.

Fascinating.

I was as purely thrilled by all this 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 clearly different from the one I had played.

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

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

There was, however, one problem…

Hack!

The blood-mixed coughs erupted whenever they pleased, and my lungs ached even though I’d never touched a cigarette. First and foremost, then, healing this body was non-negotiable.

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and said,

“I’m fine.”

If it weren’t for her and the Possession Stabilization buff she’d put on me, I’d already be dead, no question.

Any average gamer probably wouldn’t have spared a second glance for this NPC named Arden.

But I’m not an average gamer.

When you’ve got a favorite character you’ve taken a liking to, you spoil them rotten and pour everything into raising them, bad 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 thought she was some kind of ghost, since people couldn’t see her or hear her voice. But a few experiments taught me otherwise.

For one, she couldn’t pass through walls. That was a real shame, because she would’ve made an excellent scout.

Two, she couldn’t move more than three meters from me.

These experiments confirmed beyond doubt that she was essentially unusable as a tactical option.

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

“Even better, actually.”

If those tactics had been viable, it would’ve been too easy. A grizzled veteran needs some restrictions.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but her expression seemed to brighten a little.

Either way, I cracked the door open a sliver and stuck my head out.

“Could someone come over here?”

Peek.

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

But most of the servants made eye contact with me and just walked right past. Earlier, the servant who’d brought me fresh bedding had had an extremely rotten attitude.

What I had realized after a few days in this otherworld was —

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

Arden’s standing within the household went beyond “barely existent,” and the servants’ attitude toward him was way out of line.

I poked my finger at a single passing servant.

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

The singled-out servant marched over with an expression dripping with discontent, and the closer he got, the more this thought crept in —

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

He tilted his head up stiffly and looked at me.

“What.”

Having to keep poking just my head through the gap had made my neck sore, so I opened the door wide and adjusted my posture.

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

Then I handed him a letter I had folded ahead of time.

“Listen up — this is a very important task. Go to the herb storeroom like the letter says, and bring back the herbs…”

He cut me off before I could finish.

“I’m rather busy carrying out Young Master Valerian’s orders.”

He didn’t so much as glance at the letter I was offering, so I deliberately snorted.

“I said, this is an important task.”

As if he’d been waiting for the chance to fire back, the servant let his mouth run.

“You wouldn’t know this, Young Master, but I’m a very busy man. I’ve got far too much work piled up to be taking orders from 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?”

He finished his piece, whirled around, and started walking off. I folded my arms and just stared after him. Whether he sensed my gaze or not, he suddenly spun back around and approached again.

“Come to think of it, anything from a place as important as the herb storeroom would be wasted on someone like you, Young Master, wouldn’t it? It’s not as if it’ll have any effect anyway.”

He clicked his tongue and tacked on, 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.

The moment the servant, having said his piece, was about to turn smugly back on his way, I clapped.

Out of nowhere, for no reason, I just kept clapping.

Clap, clap.

“What are you doing?”

A flicker of confusion came over his face, but I paid him no mind and kept clapping.

Clap, clap, clap.

“I asked you what you’re doing!”

I rubbed my ear and answered.

“What’s with the yelling? Hurts my ears, you know. I was clapping because you’ve moved up in the world.”

Before words could leave his mouth, I cut in first.

“Let me pass along the order again. Go to the herb storeroom like the letter says, and bring back the herbs listed in it. 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.

He started tearing the letter into absolute shreds.

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

He flew into an even greater fury and stomped on the torn letter for good measure.

“Oh, wonderful.”

Actions have consequences. Why don’t kids these days understand a truth this obvious?

“So what are you going to do now?”

The servant answered with a scoff.

“And what exactly do you think you can do about it?”

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

“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 stood back up, the patiently gathered fragments pinched in my hand.

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

The fragments were too filthy to make out what letters they had once contained.

“Didn’t I tell you right at the start? That I had an order to pass along. But I never said it was my order, now did I.”

I shook my head left and right.

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

I twisted my palm sideways, and the letter fragments tumbled back to the floor in a rain of paper.

“No putting torn-up scraps back together, right?”