Disappointment and Dark Desires

Purple-red twilight bled across the sky above Green Village. From a distance, only the half-submerged silhouette of the setting sun, ready to slumber, was visible.

Leaning against the newly repaired doorframe, Roland idly chewed on a slender blade of grass. His left hand unconsciously caressed the amulet around his neck, which had remained silent for far too long, while his gaze fixed upon the road leading into the village.

He had been waiting there for a considerable time, waiting until the sun dipped below the horizon, waiting until boredom began to gnaw at him.

“Why isn’t she back yet?” Roland rubbed his numb thigh. “Hmph, perhaps it’s better if she doesn’t return. One less dangerous individual constantly plotting my demise means I won’t have to live in fear every day.”

After a moment of contemplation, he retrieved the identification scroll his mother had brought back earlier and began to examine it.

Race: Human

Name: Roland

Class: Villager? Hero (Unknown Information)

LV: 2

HP: 12

MP: 12

Mana Level: (2/20)

18 points remaining until next level.

Physical Attack: 5

Physical Defense: 6

Magic Attack: 7

Magic Resistance: 8

Speed: 7

Skills:

Shoulder Knead & Back Pound LV1: Relieves target’s physical fatigue through exquisite massage techniques.

Upon seeing his ludicrous skill, Roland’s lips twitched involuntarily.

‘What is this? I’m a Hero, for crying out loud. Do I not even have a single decent skill?’

The more he pondered, the more irritated he became. Gazing at the deepening gloom, he mumbled, “That weakling Demon Lord, who knows where she’s run off to play? My hard-earned wool is worth a good sum; she couldn’t have lost it, could she?”

Imagining the unreliable little Demon Lord, he immediately pictured her selling his wool and then lavishly spending the money wherever she pleased.

“Tsk, and here I waited for so long.” Roland brushed the dust from his backside and headed for the kitchen. “No more waiting. Time to eat, time to eat.”

At the dinner table, old Jenny distractedly ate the coarse black bread. Since the pot remained unrepaired, she had been unable to cook, leaving them no choice but to consume their emergency rations.

“Roland, that young lady, why isn’t she back yet?” old Jenny asked, her face etched with worry. “Though Green Village isn’t as perilous as the borderlands, it’s late, and dangers on the road are inevitable. I heard that last year, a newlywed woman from the neighboring village was accosted by bandits on her way back…”

Jenny trailed off, finding the words difficult to utter. Seeing Roland’s indifferent expression, she gently urged, “Why don’t you go look for her? Perhaps she simply got lost.”

“Mother, why are you so concerned about her?” Roland took a sip of water. “Didn’t I tell you before that this woman harbors ill intentions? I can’t reveal the specifics, but if she doesn’t return, it might actually be a good thing for us.”

“But she saved you, and she is your wife after all…”

“Heh, I didn’t exactly get the better of her. Besides, you needn’t worry so much; perhaps her prolonged absence means she’s plotting some new scheme,” Roland said, shrugging indifferently. He then wiped his mouth, now covered in breadcrumbs. “I’m full. I’m heading back to my room.”

“Ah…” Old Jenny opened her mouth, intending to say more. However, recalling Roland’s earlier admonition not to trust the girl too much, she ultimately merely sighed.

****

Inside the room, Roland carefully lit an oil lamp and placed it on his table.

On the table sat an open wooden box, brimming with the copper coins he had painstakingly accumulated from selling wool over the past few days.

“18, 19, 20, 21…” Roland meticulously counted. “30! Hey, that’s enough. It doesn’t matter if that little Demon Lord doesn’t bring the money back. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the Elvin Line and buy a weapon from Linus.”

He recalled the words of the Philosopher’s Stone, inferring that its next instruction would likely be to complete the goblin hunting quest at the Elvin Line, absorbing mana by slaying goblins. Humans, by killing magical beasts, absorb their dying mana to increase their own mana level.

Outside the door, a series of faint, irregular footsteps could be heard, lighter and more haphazard than usual.

Roland quickly put away the wooden box, hiding it in the cabinet. Without turning his head, he called out, “Back so late? Did you sell the goods?”

Turning, he saw a disheveled Freya, the little Demon Lord now utterly transformed.

Her once pristine white hair was matted with dust and grime, one side of her delicate face was swollen, and the plain indigo dress, already patched in several places, now bore a fresh tear. Faint traces of tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes.

Freya clutched the left side of her neck with her left hand, while her right hand steadied herself against the doorframe. She exhaled a weary breath. Hearing Roland’s question, she suddenly froze, taking a long moment before she could speak.

“The wool… I, I, I accidentally… lost it…” Freya replied numbly. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll reimburse you later.”

“Uh… what… what happened to you?” Roland rushed over, reaching out to help her. “What’s wrong? The wool doesn’t matter, it wasn’t worth much anyway.”

‘Good heavens, did some kind soul give this little Demon Lord a beating? Roland’s mood brightened considerably; losing the wool suddenly seemed irrelevant.’

However, his hand never reached Freya. In mid-air, it was abruptly swatted away by her.

Roland paused, momentarily stunned. He instinctively reached out again, only to meet Freya’s clear, purple eyes, which gazed silently back at him.

It was a look brimming with disappointment, resentment, and helplessness. Roland’s heart seemed to cease beating, his body stiffening as if it had been dead for days.

He suddenly recalled his mother’s words at the dinner table…

‘I heard that last year, a newlywed woman from the neighboring village was accosted by bandits on her way back…’

‘No way? She’s the Demon Lord, how could she possibly be… by bandits?’

‘But she doesn’t seem as strong as before now. Perhaps she accidentally fell into a trap set by ill-intentioned people, and then…’

Roland dared not continue the thought. Ignoring Freya’s resistance, he grabbed her shoulders and asked cautiously, “You, you were… by bandits?”

Roland trembled, an inexplicable fire slowly igniting within him. “Did the bandits… did they… that?”

“Bandits?” Freya frowned. “That? What are you talking about, ‘that’?”

Suddenly, as if she had guessed his meaning, she looked at Roland with a mix of anger and bitter amusement. “Heh… whatever… just assume it’s something like that…”

“What…?”

“I’m tired. I’m going to take a bath first.” Freya coldly shook off Roland’s hands, her pretense completely gone.

“Hey!” Roland darted to the doorway, blocking her path, his face etched with urgency. “Tell me what happened!”

Freya didn’t even glance at him. A [Void Skill] pushed him to the ground, and then, with a look of immense pain, she hurried away.

‘Idiot Hero!’

‘Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot…’

‘The first thing you care about after seeing me return is your stupid wool!’

‘Is your woman not even worth as much as a pile of worthless wool?!’

‘Might as well assume I was defiled by bandits!’

‘What’s the point of telling you what happened? You can’t do anything now, you can’t do anything at all…’

Freya stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Her body sagged weakly against it, her hands slowly falling to her sides.

She suddenly regretted approaching the Hero. For the sake of the Holy Sword, hidden somewhere unknown, she had worked tirelessly for him, making immense efforts. Yet, this idiotic Hero still hadn’t recalled any memories related to the Holy Sword.

And setting that aside, after encountering such danger today, that scoundrel’s first reaction was to worry about whether her worthless wool had sold.

“Heh heh… indeed, the Hero is the most heartless and ungrateful person…” Freya recalled the scene from her previous life where the Hero had slain his own companions for immortality. “That bastard… one day, I will… kill you!”

Her eyes were filled with hatred.

“Ah…”

From clenching too hard, the bite mark on Freya’s neck reopened. She quickly covered the wound, yet couldn’t help but recall her experience at Paimon Castle.

“Heh heh… filthy nobles, pretending to be allied with the Church while secretly dealing with vampires,” Freya muttered, simultaneously conjuring a stream of warm water with magic to fill the wooden basin. “Blood Lord Dracula, was it? Just a petty individual who defected from the Demon Realm… The pain of today, I will repay a hundredfold in the future!”

Watching the steaming bath, Freya leaned against its edge, sighed, and then slowly submerged her alluring body.

Feeling the soothing warmth of the water, she curled her body, slowly closing her eyes.

****

Roland lay sprawled on the ground like a corpse, staring fixedly at the starless sky, which offered not a single glimmer of light.

Tonight, the darkness felt absolute.

So dark it was suffocating.

‘Was I too harsh on that little Demon Lord? Even though she wants to kill me, she hasn’t actually done anything truly bad so far.’

‘But why did I get so worked up just now? I should wish her dead, she’s only pretending to be my wife.’

‘I should be happy, shouldn’t I? Seeing the little Demon Lord in such a wretched state, should I be glad?’

‘I should be happy… even if she were killed, or defiled…’

‘Defiled…’

‘No, it couldn’t be. Her appearance and tone didn’t suggest that kind of situation.’

‘But…’

‘Why couldn’t I feel happy?’

Roland felt an increasing sense of oppression in his chest, as if a searing fire was burning within his ribcage.

Gradually, Roland’s vision began to blur…

“Slaughter… slaughter… obey your inner desires…”

‘What was that sound!’

“It is I… the Philosopher’s Stone.” The amulet on his chest trembled slightly. “Heh heh heh… that little Demon Lord carries the scent of a vampire… It seems she’s encountered some danger…”

‘Vampires? Those blood-sucking monsters? Was that little Demon Lord attacked by a vampire?’

“Indeed. Vampires were originally a branch of the Demon Race. However, when the Hero led humanity to conquer the Demon Realm for the second time, he utterly destroyed the vampires’ lair. One of their leaders, Dracula, betrayed the Demon Realm’s secrets to save the lives of a few remaining clan members from the Hero, then led them in defection from the Demon Realm.”

The Philosopher’s Stone paused. “Normally, common vampires pose no threat to her, but… ah, it seems to be a rather high-ranking vampire. This aura… it feels somewhat familiar…”

‘Don’t say so much, just help me first…’

‘I’m… in so much pain…’

‘So much pain, so much pain, so much pain…’

‘I long to swing my sword, to cut something…’

‘I crave the sensation of a keen blade slicing through flesh…’

‘I yearn for the feeling of blood gushing onto my face…’

“Yes… yes… that’s it… find that feeling…” the Philosopher’s Stone exclaimed excitedly. “These are your past memories. Hold onto them; you can remember!”

‘Hold on…’

‘Hold on tight…’

Suddenly, Freya’s recent gaze flashed in Roland’s mind, her pure purple eyes brimming with disappointment.

‘You think I’m too weak, don’t you!’

Roland’s eyes suddenly turned blood-red, and his consciousness began to fade.

“Heh heh heh… excellent. Now, I shall take you somewhere… indulge your desires… just like we used to…”

Roland’s eyes lost their luster, and his body, as if devoid of life, slowly began to move in a single direction.