The Taste of Humanity and a Hidden Past

Wawalde’s vigorous tearing at the pork hock echoed through the bedchamber.

Grease glistened and dripped from the corners of his mouth, the sound of bone separating from flesh distinctly audible.

He was utterly absorbed in his meal, completely oblivious to the fleeting change that flickered in the silver-haired elven girl’s eyes across from him.

‘This oaf, his table manners are truly dreadful.’

Sovenia mused this inwardly, yet, strangely enough, the sound did not repulse her.

Instead, it made the food in her own bowl seem all the more enticing.

She used her chopsticks to lift a generous portion of wheat noodles, stirring them in her bowl until every strand was infused with the rich “braised” flavor.

The glistening red chunks of meat bobbed up and down as she stirred the noodles.

She brought a large mouthful to her lips, following it with a piece of braised pork to complement the noodles.

The noodles, springy; the meat, tender to the point of melting; the sauce, savory and aromatic—all mingled together, flooding her palate with exquisite flavors.

Amidst the boisterous chewing of the oaf, she swiftly devoured every last bit of the wheat noodles and braised pork in her bowl.

Whereas this food had once been merely a diversion, now, as it filled her stomach, she felt the weakness and exhaustion within her frail body rapidly dissipate.

A warm current surged from her abdomen, spreading through her limbs.

What followed was a profound craving, not the demon’s innate hunger for slaughter and power, but something far more ancient.

This newfound desire sharpened her taste buds.

She lifted her bowl and drained the simple, salt-seasoned noodle broth, finding even its plainness remarkably mellow and sweet at this moment.

‘This sensation…’

Setting down the bowl, her golden eyes momentarily lost their focus.

As Jimi the Cruel, she had often cooked in this very kitchen, yet it had merely been a means to alleviate boredom.

She had even forgotten why she possessed such a hobby.

To her, food had only ever offered taste, never sustenance; slaughter and battle were her true nourishment.

Now, however, things were different.

The raw desire for food within this frail elven body had awakened her faded memories from the past.

It stemmed from a time long, long ago, back when she was merely a human s*ave laborer struggling for survival in a mine.

She remembered.

She now understood why, upon becoming the First Heavenly King, she had stubbornly insisted on keeping a kitchen for preparing human food within her bedchamber.

This act had, at the time, sparked numerous rumors, with many demons deeming it an inexplicable eccentricity of the First Heavenly King.

So that was it.

Back then, she had just received the blessings of the Four Gods, transforming from a mortal into a formidable demon.

Her body had ascended, her soul purified, rendering food unnecessary; only slaughter and battle were required for her sustenance.

Yet, this nascent power had also brought with it a profound fear.

That kitchen had been an anchor she clung to, a desperate attempt to retain the last vestiges of her “humanity.”

It was merely a small memorial erected for her past self—the weak, hungry, and weary person she had once been.

‘Hmph, how utterly ludicrous.

My former self must have been a weakling, undoubtedly one who would secretly weep somewhere, just like any feeble human.’

As this thought crossed her mind, Sovenia glanced at the hero Wawalde, who was still chewing heartily, his eyes slightly red, as if he had been crying.

‘Who would have thought such a weak habit would prove useful today, securing me the right to poison him.’

Having finished her meal, Sovenia set down her bowl.

Still not entirely satisfied, she looked up, craving more of that “weakling’s fare” or perhaps some “dog food,” as she mentally dubbed it.

Her gaze swept across the dining table, only to find it utterly bare.

Wawalde, the great human hero, was currently using his chopsticks to meticulously wipe the inside of the large earthenware pot that had held the stewed hock, collecting the very last clump of wheat noodles.

He cleaned the pot so thoroughly it appeared as if it had already been washed.

Every drop of broth clinging to the pot’s interior had been absorbed by the noodles.

He popped this final mouthful into his mouth, a look of profound satisfaction gracing his face.

On the other side of the table lay a colossal, gnawed-clean bone, still bearing distinct teeth marks, every last bit of cartilage devoured.

Sovenia was dumbfounded.

That hock must have weighed at least four or five catties, yet the oaf had finished it so quickly?

He hadn’t even spared the bone.

Having consumed the last bite, Wawalde seemed to sense her gaze.

He looked up, his lips slick with grease, and scratched his damp golden hair, admitting with a touch of embarrassment:

“Uh… that was truly delicious.

I wasn’t paying attention and just… I’m sorry, I should have saved some for you.”

‘Who would want to eat “weakling’s fare”?

Only an oaf would love dog food!’

“Who said I wanted any?” she retorted, lifting her chin.

“As an elf, I hardly care for such greasy cuts of meat.

Vegetables are my true preference.”

To underscore her words, she extended her chopsticks, picked up a serving of the stir-fried vegetables from a plate, and slowly chewed them.

The vegetables were crisp and refreshing, carrying a faint salty and garlicky flavor, yet her mind involuntarily conjured the image of that oaf heartily devouring the hock just moments before.

While her mouth tasted the delicate vegetables, her thoughts lingered on the tender skin and meltingly soft meat of the pork hock.

With the meal concluded, a temporary silence descended upon the bedchamber.

The warmth from the food had dispelled some of their fatigue, but it also brought another, long-ignored issue to the forefront.

Wawalde’s gaze drifted across the table, settling on the huddled figure in the corner of the bedchamber.

Haelana VII’s corpse lay there, her posture contorted, resembling a discarded, worn-out doll in the dim light.

He rose to his feet and walked to the corpse, remarking:

“We’re eating and resting here… it just doesn’t feel right to leave her lying like this.

At the very least, she deserves to rest in peace.”

He looked around, then pulled a relatively clean piece of black velvet cloth from a cabinet and gently draped it over Haelana VII’s face.

As his hand made contact with the corpse, his movements faltered momentarily.

“Hmm? Wait… she… she’s actually human?” He turned, his cerulean eyes wide with astonishment.

“Here, in the Demon King’s palace?

Miss Sovenia, do you know this person?”

Sovenia, still seated, ceased the gentle swaying of her legs.

Her gaze rested upon the corpse as she replied calmly.

“Yes, I know her.

Her name is Haelana VII.”

“Haelana VII… for a human maid to live in the First Heavenly King’s bedchamber, that’s truly extraordinary.”

Sovenia spoke as if discussing a matter utterly unrelated to herself: “She was Jimi the Cruel’s servant, a personal one at that.

With that fellow’s protection, of course she survived.”

“Then why did she die?

Wasn’t Jimi her protector?”

“Who else could it be?” she blurted out.

“Of course, Jimi the Cruel did it herself.”

“How do you know that?”

Sovenia’s heart skipped a beat.

‘Damn it, I’ve blurted it out again, and again, and again.’

A familiar wave of panic surged within her, yet having faced several similar crises today, she was growing somewhat numb.

Her mind raced, desperately trying to conjure a plausible lie.

But much like many of the day’s crises, her mind was utterly blank at this moment.

‘Perhaps I should try touching his hand, but if I suddenly reached for Wawalde’s hand, he would surely know.’

Thus, Sovenia remained trapped in her dilemma, her mind utterly frozen.

She simply sat there, her expression impassive as she watched Wawalde, her delicate face revealing no emotion, her golden eyes like two still pools.

Wawalde observed her, perceiving only Sovenia’s scorn, and paused to consider.

A thought surfaced in his mind, bringing with it a sudden, profound clarity.

He let out a sigh of sudden realization, shaking his head as if mocking his own foolishness.

“Ah… I understand now.

What a fool I am.” he murmured, gathering some ropes and fabric, and carefully began to wrap Haelana VII’s body.

“The bedchamber door was locked; who else could have entered besides Jimi herself, to so cruelly snap an old woman’s neck?

It’s a question that needn’t even be asked.”

Sovenia exhaled a long, silent breath of relief.

‘This oaf… truly, he is incredibly dim-witted.’

Wawalde finished wrapping the corpse and temporarily moved it to a less conspicuous corner.

Having completed this task, he brushed the dust from his hands and turned, his face etched with unconcealed disgust and contempt.

“That fellow named Jimi is a complete and utter scoundrel.

To not even spare an old servant who had served her for years…” He paused, his brow furrowed in thought.

“But… seriously, why would she keep a human by her side?

Don’t demons despise humans the most?”

Sovenia found herself intensely curious: How did Wawalde perceive her?

This was an opportune moment.

She gathered her thoughts, deciding to recount a story—a tale of how Jimi the Cruel had risen from a humble mine s*ave laborer to the second-highest pinnacle of power within the Demon King’s palace.

“Do you truly wish to know?” Her voice was soft.

“It just so happens that I know everything; when I… when I was imprisoned, I overheard some of the demon guards speaking about her.”

Wawalde found a chair and sat, leaning forward, his cerulean eyes fixed on her, signaling for her to continue.

Sovenia cleared her throat, then began to narrate the past that belonged to her, to Jimi the Cruel.

“They said that Jimi… was not born a demon.”