What?
I instinctively took a step back. Looking closer, I realized that beyond its vaguely human-shaped body, its face also bore disturbingly human features.
A pair of eyes. A nose. Lips. Yet where there should have been skin and hair, there was only shadow and rippling, exposed muscle.
It stretched its mouth unnaturally wide, flashing rows of sharp, predatory fangs.
I slammed the door shut.
What the hell was that? Some kind of twisted feature of Drakenshire? A hidden entrance exam to test mental resilience?
"Isn't that a little rude?" A tap brushed my shoulder—and I whirled around in alarm.
The creature was already behind me, floating soundlessly, its form now more distinct. Its body was surreal, alien, but one detail immediately stood out: a pair of horns. As black as the rest of it, they split into forked branches at the ends, curving slightly like darkened bone.
I dropped into a guarded stance. I had no weapon, but if I raised enough of a commotion, whoever was monitoring the CCTV would notice and send help.
Yes. Noise. I'd draw it in, let it strike, then counterattack and press the advantage until—
"Hey, hey, hold on. You've got the wrong idea. I'm not here to fight you—definitely not to kill you."
I kept my silence, staring it down.
"I don't even have the ability to fight you."
"You expect me to believe it?" I asked before I could stop myself—and immediately regretted giving it that satisfaction.
The thing perked up, almost delighted by the response. "Well, first things first, you're the only one who can see me, after all."
"You… manipulate senses? Illusions?"
"I wish. But no—someone at my level couldn't dream of that." Seeing my frown deepen, it went on, "Seriously. I can't affect anything physically. Watch."
It leaned against the wall, then passed straight through as if it had never been solid at all.
"You're… a ghost?"
"Well, that's one way to put it. A ghost who can only haunt you."
It chuckled lightly, but I was still reeling. A ghost visible only to me? Did that mean I'd awakened some hidden ability—or…
"Did that monster send you?"
It froze—if the sudden halt in its rippling form could be called surprise. "Monster? You mean the one that attacked you seven days ago? The one you floored in a single strike?"
I said nothing, but it chuckled knowingly, eyes closing. "Hah. Am I really that pitiful to you?"
It opened its eyes again with a wry grin. "You're right—I was sent here. But not by that cockroach. No. I was sent by someone whose name is too exalted to be spoken lightly. Someone magnanimous enough to let those monkeys worship him… though they were too arrogant and blasphemous to do so.
"…The Last Demon King. The Blessed One.
"Your father, Lord Bael."
***
"Wow. Honestly, for private quarters, these monkeys have decent taste."
I stared as the creature admired my television. Had I heard him correctly? My father sent him? Did I even… have a father?
"…I mean, sure, I prefer arcane projectors with more lifelike graphics, but hey, this thing isn't bad—"
"Do you have a name?"
The creature turned, stroking what should have been his chin. "A name? Is that really necessary? Life itself is blessing enough for me. A name is far too luxurious."
"You can choose one now."
"…Really?" Its eyes widened, a spark of imagination flickering inside them. It scanned the room, pausing at the bookshelf.
Fixing on a historical biography, it pointed. "How about that one?" The book chronicled the life of one of humanity's earliest legendary Hunters—Salazar Haiss.
I gave a single nod.
The creature beamed. Its grotesque form shimmered, then began to change—rippling flesh solidified into proper skin, instantly clothed in garments conjured from nowhere.
In moments, the surreal apparition had become a middle-aged man in a butler's tuxedo, a sword at his waist.
A stylized imitation—not identical to the real Salazar, but convincing enough at a glance.
"Better?" 'Salazar' asked, flashing me a grin as though seeking approval.
"You said you were sent here by my… father."
"Yes. Lord Bael ensured I'd arrive at precisely the right time."
"And his message?"
Salazar blinked, scratching his cheek sheepishly. "He only told me to make sure you stay healthy, safe, and happy."
What? "That's it? Not revenge, or carrying out his will, or some grand ambition?"
"I mean, if that's what you desire—"
"What?"
"Lord Bael always gave precise commands. I honor them as though they were my very life. And what I told you is exactly what he commanded."
That only deepened my suspicion. "You're not mistaking me for someone else?"
"Name, face, physique—he described them vividly. But more than that—your scent."
"…Scent?" I rarely used perfume, but was it that obvious?
"Your body carries the same stench of depravity as Lord Bael."
A thousand questions burned in my head. Was this thing also a demon? What had my father truly looked like? If he was so powerful, why had he fallen and left me here?
But what came out instead was, "Is the Mark really that effective at suppressing my power?"
"The Mark?" Salazar frowned, then nodded slowly. "Ah. The pathetic little trick those monkeys devised to tame us. Don't tell me… you actually went through with it?"
My silence was answer enough.
"You did." His tone was flat, almost resigned.
"I just want peace."
"B-but that's your very essence! That's like cutting off your own genital—"
"Watch your words."
"…Pardon me. But, seriously, if you throw away that potential, you're discarding your identity as a demon."
"And I don't want to be one of you."
Salazar stared, dumbstruck.
"I don't care what Bael thought, or why he tried to conquer this world. I don't intend to find out. That era is finished. So to hell with identity—I don't want to be a demon. I will remain human."
If his expression was genuine, it was one of crushed expectation. Whatever image he'd built of me had just been shattered. And in his eyes, I was now worth no more than an insect.
And that was fine. Better that way. I didn't want any more interference. I didn't want to feel that cold distance again—from Mama Val, from Mama Enna, or from Fiona.
Salazar seemed to realize as much, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Earlier, you mentioned the Mark—something went wrong in the process?"
I sighed and recounted the incident. But when I reached the part about the dark figure that mirrored me, Salazar's eyes lit up.
A spark of hope returned to his face. "Then the Mark didn't fail—it just needs a stronger dosage."
I scowled.
"You said one of your caretakers was an S-class Hunter—"
"I never said she was S-class."
"My dear liege, you are the direct descendant of Lord Bael, the Last Demon King. Do you really think those monkeys rank above you—"
"The next time you call Fiona a monkey, I'll tear you apart." Transparent or not, there had to be a way to kill him. And I'd find it if I had to.
Salazar flinched, realizing I wasn't bluffing. Swallowing hard, he pressed on. "What I meant was… you must find someone stronger. Defeat them. Drink their blood."
"You sound far too eager about that."
"I—I'm not."
Someone stronger. There were dozens of S-class Hunters in the world, but Fiona was among the strongest. Even finding someone to rival her was difficult—defeating one, nearly impossible.
And drinking their blood… That was something intimate I shared only with Fiona. Would anyone else ever give it freely?
"What if I just… increase the frequency—with the same person?"
"That might suffice for now. But eventually, your body will crave more. And when that time comes, you may be tempted to take it by force."
"And if I keep resisting?"
"Then, when the time arrives, you'll have no choice but to embrace what you are. To become a true demon."