Weise

A few years before the hero Himmel defeated the Demon King.

The carriage lay overturned by the roadside, the horses that had been pulling it already dead and silent.

The guards lay sprawled on the ground, their armor bearing the marks of fatal blows; they were beyond saving.

Macht stood amidst the chaos, his long, purplish-red hair still perfectly styled in the sea breeze, and his dark green formal dress spotless.

The broad, golden blade in his hand had vanished, transformed back into a magnificent coat, casually yet dignifiedly draped over his left shoulder.

This was just another whim on his long journey. Destroying this small convoy was no different from crushing an anthill by the roadside, and it didn't stir any emotion in him.

His gaze fell on the only living target—a middle-aged nobleman sitting on the ground by a broken carriage.

The nobleman was dressed in fine clothes, but now they were covered in dust, and there was a clear wound on his shoulder from which blood was slowly seeping out. However, unlike those who had suffered a devastating disaster, there was no fear or despair on his face, only an almost numb calmness, tinged with a hint of weariness.

The two stared at each other in silence.

"... I never imagined we'd be attacked by Demons in this place, in this way." The nobleman finally spoke, his voice hoarse yet unusually steady, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself. "What a pity for my excellent subordinates."

Macht's gaze swept over his dead subordinates.

"Your men have all received 'killing' training," he stated calmly.

"Is it not allowed?" the nobleman retorted, his tone devoid of provocation, only pure questioning.

"It doesn't matter," Macht replied, "However, this type of human is not suited to fighting Demons."

He took two steps forward.

"The habit of killing affects them. Even if they look similar, Demons and humans are completely different in terms of physical strength and reaction speed. The combat skills they have honed over the years by using humans as their hypothetical enemies will be easily killed by a true Demons before they even realize this."

He seemed to be conducting some kind of objective analysis. "Combat techniques that target humans as the hypothetical enemy are incapable of killing Demons."

The nobles listened quietly.

"... I see. Thank you for your 'guidance'." He paused, raised his eyes, and looked directly into Macht's golden pupils. "So, according to you, how can I kill you?"

Macht took another careful look at the nobleman before him.

You don't seem to understand your current position.

The nobleman did not answer directly, but instead asked, "You... do you like to talk?" As he spoke, his uninjured hand slowly reached into his robes.

This action elicited Macht's most immediate reaction.

The magnificent coat draped over his left shoulder slipped off instantly, deformed, and then coalesced back into a broad, golden blade. The cold tip of the blade was precisely aimed at the nobleman's throat, only inches from his skin.

However, the nobleman did not pull out the expected weapon or magical item.

He simply took out an exquisite metal cigarette case and showed it to Macht, his movements unhurried.

Do I look like someone who's good at fighting?

As he spoke, he tapped a long, thin cigarette out of his cigarette case, put it in his mouth, and then pulled out a box of matches.

"It's not too much to ask to have one last one, is it?"

Macht watched his movements, his golden eyes remaining completely devoid of emotion.

A few seconds of silence followed. He subtly moved his wrist, and the breathtakingly powerful golden broadsword actually lowered slowly, its tip touching the ground. He had acquiesced to the request.

"Whatever you want."

The nobleman lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

Smoke curled upwards, carrying a strange fragrance amidst the blood-soaked air.

Macht stood still, neither urging him nor launching another attack, but simply watching him quietly.

The scene was so bizarre it was almost absurd—a Demons who had just slaughtered an entire convoy was waiting for a human to finish the last cigarette of his life.

"You're a strange fellow," Macht suddenly spoke, his gaze falling on the nobleman's unusually calm eyes. "You clearly have eyes that... kill without blinking, yet you don't have the bloodthirstiness a killer should have."

The nobleman exhaled a smoke ring, the smoke momentarily blurring his expression.

"Because I'm a cunning nobleman," his calm voice came through the smoke, tinged with self-mockery, "I can eliminate many political enemies without dirtying my own hands."

He paused, as if recalling something, his eyes slightly vacant. "... However, most of those guys were even more hopeless villains than me. Perhaps, the 'guilt' that torments me day and night is my deserved retribution."

"Guilt..." Macht repeated the word softly, one of the words he had been pondering frequently lately. He didn't speak again, seemingly savoring the connection between the word and the human before him.

The nobleman continued smoking, speaking slowly, as if talking to himself, or perhaps making a final statement to the only person who could hear him. "But finally... this torment seems to be coming to an end."

"... I have a question," Macht suddenly spoke up.

"Please get this done before I finish this cigarette."

"Otherwise, if I die, I won't be able to answer you."

Macht looked him straight in the eye and asked the question that had been lingering in his mind for so long, "'Guilt'... and 'malice,' what exactly are they?"

The nobleman looked at Macht, a hint of understanding flashing in his eyes, which then turned into a deeper, more complex emotion.

"Is that so... You can't understand 'guilt' and 'malice'." The nobleman's voice was indifferent. "I think it's because you Demons don't have the concept of 'evil' at all. That's... actually quite good, you'll be happier."

He paused, then countered, "So... you don't have a sense of 'justice' either?"

Macht looked at him silently without answering.

The nobleman nodded, as if confirming something.

"I see... This is a kind of happiness too." He sighed softly and began to speak, "I am the lord of the Fortress City Weise. Although I hold the title of lord, I am at best a figurehead with little real power."

His gaze was fixed on the distance, as if it could pierce through the trees and reach the city he nominally ruled.

Those who lose in the power struggles among the nobility are ultimately exiled to Weise. That city... is filled with the unfathomable malice of humanity.

He seemed to see a scene from many years ago, when he, his wife, and his young son arrived in that gloomy city.

"The decisions of the nobles influence the fate of the city, but they see it merely as a new chessboard. The families who truly hold power are indifferent to the city's development. To satisfy their own desires, they implement tyranny. Every winter, many citizens silently starve to death in the streets. The law? It's a mere formality. Corruption has permeated every corner of the bureaucracy."

His tone remained calm.

"As the lord, I am filled with anxiety about all of this. But... humans are strange creatures; they will never truly act until the fire is burning their own backside. I am filled with anxiety, yet I have been slow to take any effective measures."

But my son is different.

Mentioning his son, a faint glimmer of light flashed briefly in the nobleman's lifeless eyes. "He's a man with a strong sense of justice, and he can't stand these dirty deeds. He directly reported his opinions to a powerful nobleman who actually controls Weise. Even though I'm just a figurehead, my son is, after all, the lord's son. His opinions must have been quite offensive to that important figure."

He paused for a long time, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower and hoarse. "Then... I saw my son's body on the street."

"They told me he jumped off the balcony himself..."

Would someone who had just prepared a birthday gift for their younger sister suddenly choose to commit suicide?

That happened seven years ago.

There wasn't much sadness in the nobleman's voice, only a dull ache worn smooth by the years.

"To be honest, at the time I didn't understand at all how someone could do such a cruel thing with such a calm expression. But... when I did the same thing myself, I understood."

He let out a very soft, cold laugh, full of self-mockery. "It's all very simple. All you need to do is tell your men 'Kill him,' and that's enough. How ridiculous... It's something any foolish noble could do."

Macht listened with a blank expression, as if he were listening to a story that had nothing to do with him.

"So," Macht said, "You're working for revenge? For that being called 'Son'?"

"It seems you have a concept of revenge," the nobleman said calmly. "It's not that I haven't thought about revenge. But what I want even more is to carry out my son's will. I'm willing to dirty my hands, to fight like a beast in this filthy world, just so that this world can move a little closer to the ideal my son once dreamed of."

He took one last drag of his cigarette. "At least, that's what I tell myself. And I hope... that's really what I think."

That's all.

He glanced at the crushed cigarette butt on the ground. "Finished smoking?"

Macht looked at him and asked one last question, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"This is negotiation."

"No one understands 'malice' better than me. I think I can help you understand those feelings you don't know. I'm not begging you, but proposing a negotiation. So, you need to agree to my conditions."

He looked calmly at Macht, prepared to face death. "Kill me if you want. Seven years ago, when I killed someone else's child, I was already prepared to face retribution someday."

"Interesting," he said slowly. "Tell me your terms."

"Work for me," the nobleman said clearly. "I want your help to get rid of that family that now holds absolute power in Weise. I'm having a headache figuring out how to deal with them. Unlike other arrogant nobles, they are extremely cautious and cunning, and they employ truly excellent guards—a group of excellent guards trained to 'kill,' just like the ones you just killed."

"It's very simple for you, isn't it?"

"Gluck, what exactly do you mean? Five of my family members have died in the last six months."

Inside the office, the nobleman in black questioned Gluck.

Gluck had his back to him and was looking out the window.

"I heard it was attacked by robbers; after all, these kinds of things have happened frequently in this city before."

"Yes, I think they must have offended someone. Let me check it out for you."

"Are you going to keep playing dumb?" The nobleman in black wasn't buying it.

"When my son died, do you remember what you said?" Gluck took a drag of his cigarette. "'Are you paranoid?'"

"So that's how you are now," Gluck, still looking out the window. "I advise you to go home and rest early, and remember to lock the doors and windows."

"This city has become richer!"

"Haha... yes! It's all thanks to Lord Drück!"

Long live Lord Drück!

On the high platform, Macht stood to the side and slightly behind Gluck.

"In this way, Weise will be wealthier, and the citizens will be happier."

"Macht, next, I want you to move from behind the scenes to the forefront."

"Kindness."

"Macht, I am the lord of this place."

Macht smiled.

He bowed slightly, placed his right hand on his chest, and offered a salute.

As you wish.

The Demons, who knew nothing of malice, changed this city filled with malice.