Chapter 1: Colonial Demon World (1)

The white rabbit had forgotten how to have offspring.

This explained someone who had lost their dreams better than anything.

The rabbit’s dream wasn’t complicated.

It was to hop across the fields where it was born, nibbling grass and bearing young.

Among those things, bearing young was the most significant.

The white rabbit wanted to see this green field painted white.

If the fur color of its mate was brown, then a mix of the two would be fine too.

But if an owner appeared in the field and fenced it off, that dream would become impossible.

The owner did not want everything in the field to live as it pleased.

On the green field, flowers of various colors had to bloom together, and the white rabbits had to hop around.

But the owner would never allow anything that upset the balance he liked.

He would spray weed killer to stop weeds from growing and plant flowers brought from elsewhere.

He would even hunt the rabbits to prevent them from nibbling on those flowers and grass freely.

Initially, he may have been passionate about creating a beautiful garden by his own standards, but it was a fight against nature, bound to be endless.

Eventually, he found easier ways to maintain this “order.”

One day, when the owner saw a rabbit hopping across the field, he thought:

“It would be better if that rabbit didn’t have any offspring.”

Perhaps, having such a cruel thought, one that went against instinct, was inevitable.

We called this strange world within the fenced area a “colony.”

Three hundred years had passed since the Demon King’s power was defeated by the hero’s courage and the Demon World became a colony.

What the owner demanded from the rabbits within one fence was 270 tons of iron ore.

The white rabbit had forgotten how to have offspring.

But not all rabbits had forgotten their dreams.

A nameless young rabbit held onto a dream of leaping over the fence.

Young demon Lerazie, during a moment when the overseers weren’t watching, lifted a piece of iron ore onto her hands.

The heavy weight of even a single stone was hard for the girl to bear, yet her basket-like bag was filled with countless pieces of iron ore.

With her frail body, carrying this load would certainly ruin her in no time.

However, the piece of iron ore in Lerazie’s hands was gradually getting lighter.

The reason was that it was imbued with Lerazie’s magic.

Avoiding the overseers’ eyes, Lerazie infused the same magic into every piece of iron ore.

This task included not only the ore assigned to her but also those of her friends in the mine.

Children around Lerazie’s age, looking to be in their early teens, gathered in a corner of the mine and repeated this work daily.

“Take it easy. The bad guys don’t care about us here.”

Some kept watch, while others stood by to help Lerazie by lifting stones.

Performing this on all the iron ore was certainly a task that consumed a significant amount of time and magic, yet Lerazie persistently imbued magic into each of her friends’ baskets.

“The signal for today is to tap the ground once.”

“Got it!”

After finishing each basket, Lerazie would reveal some secretive action. Although it varied for each basket, her friends never forgot and engraved it in their hearts.

“Haah…”

“Good work, Lerazie!”

“Thank you as always!”

After imbuing magic into all the iron ore in the eight baskets, Lerazie let out a sigh of exhaustion, and her friends patted her on the back in encouragement.

One by one, her friends shouldered their baskets. Thanks to Lerazie’s magic, the weight they had to bear was no heavier than the straw-made baskets.

For young, energetic children of that age, it was a weight light enough for them to run with.

Lerazie and the children, each with a basket on their back, quietly surveyed the atmosphere of the mine.

Everyone knew that “the time” was coming soon.

A child with a good sense of timing counted silently.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6… When the count passed 1 and reached 0,

a sharp bell rang throughout the mine.

“Time’s up! Everyone, come forward for inspection!”

It was the voice of the overseers who managed this mine.

The frail children in the mine had simple tasks assigned to them.

Their job was to load iron ore into baskets and carry it out, work that adults had extracted.

Even if it was simple, a heavy workload could easily injure or ruin a person.

But the children, with iron ore as light as feathers, stood in line before the scale.

The overseers, who should have been suspicious, looked at the children’s baskets with uninterested, tired eyes, uninterested in the baskets on their backs.

“Next!”

When it was one of Lerazie’s friends’ turn,

the child carefully lowered the bag he had been carrying, his face tense.

He did not forget to tap the ground once, just as Lerazie had taught him.

As he performed the agreed-upon action, the magic infused in the iron ore vanished all at once.

The ore lost its magic and returned to its true weight, but it had already left the child’s back.

The overseers, with indifferent faces, poured the ore onto the scale.

After verifying that the weight tipped in favor of the iron ore, they marked it down on a sheet with a dry voice.

“Next.”

An invisible sense of relief passed over the children.

Thus, they quietly made it through another day.

Inside the workers’ quarters—often mockingly referred to as the slave dorms—Leraje found herself practically smothered by her friends as though they were blankets.

“I love you so much, Leraje,” murmured one girl, wrapping her arms around her tightly and refusing to let go.

“I swear, I could even lick the sweat off of you,” she added, her tone both playful and bizarre.

“Huh?”

“How is it even your sweat smells this nice?”

“Um…?”

The comment, slightly odd and a bit perverse, suited the demon-blooded children well. Day after day, Leraje’s

friends relied on her magic to get through each grueling shift, lightening the burdens that would otherwise have

crushed their frail bodies. Thanks to her, they didn’t suffer broken backs from carrying heavy iron ore or risk the

cruel overseers catching their little tricks with the stones.

It was natural, then, for the children to be fond of Leraje. Ever since she discovered her magic, their lives had become

bearable, if not brighter. Each morning, they awoke to the overseers’ harsh calls, filed into the mines, and filled

baskets with iron ore to bring to Leraje. She would then infuse each piece with her magic, making them feather-light,

allowing everyone to get through the day without injury.

At night, after another hard day’s work, the children would crowd onto Leraje’s small bed, massaging her tired limbs

with their tiny hands, trying their best to help her recover from the strain of using so much magic. What began as an

awkward routine for Leraje had, over time, become second nature. She even started to take pride in her magic,

sensing her friends’ deep affection for her.

But the children’s day didn’t truly end there.

“Well, well, gathered around Leraje again, aren’t you?” a woman’s voice said with a chuckle, filling the room.

It was a figure they all called “Grandma,” though she looked young—a product of demon blood, where age left no

physical marks. Yet, her tone and gestures bore the undeniable traces of a long life. Upon hearing her voice, the

children jumped up and rushed to her side, with Leraje following close behind, her earlier fatigue momentarily

forgotten.

The children thought they knew all there was to know about Grandma. She’d worked as a laborer like them, once

even breaking her back while hauling heavy loads. After recovering, she’d been assigned to a sewing workshop,

where she’d made clothes ever since. She was knowledgeable, often gathering the children at night to tell them

fascinating stories.

However, there was much Grandma hadn’t shared. Parts of her story were missing: years spent as a forced slave,

enduring horrific human experiments, until her broken body was deemed fit only for sewing. She could barely walk

now. Yet she chose not to taint the children’s lives with her painful past. Instead, she retold an old tale, as though it

were her duty, a ritual she clung to through the years. It was a story passed down to her by a shaman she’d once met

in this very colony.

“Now then,” Grandma said, smiling gently, “shall we continue the story from last night?”

The children’s eyes sparkled as they huddled closer. In that moment, even their young hero Leraje seemed like a

mere child, captivated by Grandma’s words. Through her tales, they could briefly escape the walls of their labor

colony and wander through the realms of history and imagination. Without these moments, they might have lost the

light within their hearts entirely.

“Now, look around and take a good look at each other,” Grandma instructed, her gaze sweeping over them.

The children obeyed, exchanging glances.

“You all look different, don’t you?”

“Yes! And this one’s so ugly!” one child jeered.

“Well, you’re not much better next to Leraje!” another retorted.

“What was that?!”

“Yes, you all look different,” Grandma chuckled, pointing at pairs of children among the group of eight. “But notice, there are similarities between each of you, aren’t there?”

Two by two, she indicated the children in pairs.

“In this realm, there are four kinds: demons, beastfolk, undead, and humans. It’s an important detail, you know.”

“Why’s that?” one child asked, curious.

“Because when the Demon King first set out to conquer this land, he didn’t do it alone,” she explained.

“Who did he have with him?”

“A brilliant demon sorcerer and a genius from the beastfolk were his first allies. As he pressed forward in his long conquest, he later encountered an undead and a human, who joined to form a legendary group of four.”

These were the heroes whose deeds had shaped history under the Demon King’s rule.

The child with beast blood perked up its ears, while those descended from the undying felt their heartbeats, and the

child of the demi-human race clasped its hands together. However, the child born of demonic blood showed no

reaction, simply staring at Leraziel, who was also of demonic descent.

“The Demon King will surely return. But… he’s waiting for four geniuses in the Demon Realm who will catch his eye. With their help, he will reclaim his land.”

“Do you think Leraziel might be that genius sorcerer?”

In the limited world known outside the prison, Leraziel was seen as someone capable of anything. Perhaps it wasn’t

unreasonable for some to believe Leraziel was one of the four geniuses the Demon King awaited. However, Leraziel

merely gave an embarrassed smile, unsure of their own abilities. Without a mentor or books to compare against,

Leraziel’s knowledge of magic came only from trial and error. Even the grandmother couldn’t answer that question,

but seeing the peculiar expression on Leraziel’s face, she chuckled.

“That might just be the case.”

Leraziel, imagining the possibility of being chosen, dreamed of a life where they broke free from the prison with the Demon King, liberating the Demon Realm, and living freely alongside friends and the grandmother.

“If the Demon King needs Leraziel, he’ll surely send a sign and show us how to escape these walls.”

The children’s prison was enclosed by a magical barrier—something the human realm called magic but similar in

essence to the magic of the Demon Realm. This barrier not only prevented physical escape but also blocked any

magical attempts to break through. No matter how much Leraziel tried, their power could not breach it.

“…I really hope that happens,” murmured one child, and the others nodded silently in agreement. The grandmother, watching the children, spoke in her usual gentle voice.

“It will happen. Someday.”

Her body and mind had long been worn down, unable to even fulfill the wish of bearing a child. Though still young in

appearance, even walking was a challenge. But the children… their hearts still burned with hope.

“Come here, everyone. Let me hug you.”

The grandmother held the children close every day, making a silent vow. “Demon King, I will protect these children. If you have any wishes, please use me to fulfill them.”

In the warmth of her embrace, the children spent another peaceful night.

“Who are they?”

Starting yet another new day, the children sensed something unusual in the prison. There were far more guards than

usual, many of whom wore white cloaks. Just counting them vaguely, there seemed to be well over a hundred.

Though the children didn’t know who they were, the grandmother, in another part of the prison, recognized them

due to her long years.

“The Peacekeepers are here.”

They were the overseers of the overseers, sent from the human realm to ensure that the colony functioned properly

and that no one was pocketing extra resources. For demons like the grandmother, it was none of their concern; the

Peacekeepers were only here to trouble the overseers, not the demons.

The prison warden was bowing incessantly to the Peacekeepers, while the grandmother quietly entered her workplace.

“Chief Peacekeeper Mitae! Our prison operates a mine and has never once failed to meet the daily quota requested by the human realm!”

“Oh, really, Warden?”

“Yes! For years, we’ve always met or exceeded expectations…”

Mitae raised a hand, interrupting the warden, with a smile on her face. Her blonde hair and feminine features gave

her a gentle impression, making the warden relax, but her voice suddenly turned cold.

“Meeting quotas is expected, Warden.”

“…What?”

“Those who serve the Empire and can’t even manage their quotas hardly deserve to be called descendants of the Hero, don’t you think?”

“I-I mean…”

“I didn’t come here to hear you brag about quotas,” Mitae said, pressing a finger against the warden’s forehead.

“Instead of talking nonsense, bring me all the prison management records. I want to know just how clean your record is.”

“Yes… of course! Right away!”

As the warden dashed off to his office, Mitae, seemingly satisfied, crossed her legs and sat down with a sigh. Observing both the fleeing warden and the demon prisoners moving around the facility, she spoke again.

“Our Hero truly is great, isn’t he?”

A Peacekeeper next to her nodded in agreement. “Indeed, the Hero is remarkable.”

“How many demons here could do a better job than the warden, I wonder?”

“…I’m not sure.”

“For even a simpleton like him to rule over so many… isn’t it all thanks to the Hero’s achievements?”

“Absolutely,” responded the Peacekeeper beside her, as Mitae observed the demons with satisfaction. While waiting for the warden to bring the documents, she amused herself by watching the demons.

“Funds are in order.”

“All delivery records are meticulously kept.”

“The mines are well-maintained. I checked them myself.”

In one of the offices, Peacekeepers reviewed the prison’s condition, while Mitae, among them, was examining the medical records—a personal technique of hers.

Most of the medical records were written in the blood of demons, not the supervisors.

The contents of these records could reveal the personality of the warden managing the facility.

No prison existed without thick medical records, but what mattered was what was written in them.

“Wow, this person sure kills a lot.”

But that wasn’t enough of a reason for Mitae, the security chief, to reprimand the warden.

The death of demons wasn’t something the Human Realm was concerned with.

By the standards of the Human Realm, this could be concluded as a foolish but ultimately innocent prison.

“Hmm? Oh?”

However, Mitae discovered something strange in the records.

Eight children had no recent medical records at all.

“…Are these the warden’s toys? I didn’t know he was a pedophile. Doesn’t care about gender, huh?”

That, too, wasn’t something that warranted punishment.

As long as the prison was meeting the required 270 tons of iron ore, how the warden treated a few demons didn’t matter.

Mitae ordered his subordinates to investigate what tasks these eight children were performing.

If they were toys, their positions would likely be recorded under strange titles, like “office secretary.”

“…They’re manual laborers in the mine, Chief.”

“Eh?”

The report was so unexpected that Mitae flicked the medical record book with his finger, chuckling.

Children working in the mine? And their medical records are spotless?

What nonsense was that?

“Looks like I’ve found something interesting.”

That day, the children were doing the usual task of carrying iron ore. For them, “usual” meant using Leraje’s help to reduce the weight of the ore and dispelling magic in the prescribed manner at the scales.

But that day was different.

Instead of the usual disinterested, businesslike supervisors,

Mitae was at the scales, overseeing the entire process.

“Th-Those kids, sir.”

A trembling supervisor nervously pointed at the eight children.

The children were standing in line in front of the scales, waiting their turn as usual.

Mitae silently stood up and walked toward the children with a smile on his face.
In this prison, no ‘capable demon’ was allowed to join.

Whether it was magic or martial arts, if there was any potential to disrupt the system, there was no exception.

One of the warden’s duties was to report any genius who might emerge in such a prison and eliminate them before they could blossom.

Either kill them or send them to a place called the “Academy.”

Mitae stopped next to the children.

Why would this white-robed supervisor suddenly come up to them?

The children, already puzzled, could only stare in shock as Mitae lightly lifted the basket they had been carrying.

“Look at this?”

Mitae grinned, his face twisted with madness.

Then, in the happiest voice he had used since arriving at this prison, he said,

“Looks like we have some little pranksters.”