Kays Translations

Chapter 21: The Blood-Eyed Demon Fiend

“I never wanted things to turn out this way…”

Marlon forced a bitter smile, though the expression looked more like a grimace. He could hear the unspoken meaning beneath the words of the Claw Druid Master, could feel the weight of blame pressing in on him from between the lines.

This sudden, violent uprising of slaves—Marlon had every reason to suspect it was somehow connected to him. A few evenings ago, while walking with the young minotaur, Ester, he had casually spoken about how better treatment might increase the slaves’ work efficiency. He had meant it as idle talk, a passing comment to comfort a boy who seemed burdened by his own worries.

But now… it seemed that the boy had taken those words as a spark, a guiding light. And instead of improving efficiency, that spark had fallen into a powder keg.

Marlon had not seen Ester since then. The past few days had been consumed with other matters—like dealing with the stubborn half-werewolves squatting near the orphanage. Meanwhile, Ester had vanished. And now, flames painted the night sky red in half the city.

No—this wasn’t just a small mistake. This was a catastrophe.

The slaves had risen, their rebellion setting the northwest district of White Sand ablaze. The firelight devoured the horizon, and the night howled with chaos.

Marlon clenched his fists. “Old Kang, I beg you for one favor.” His voice cracked slightly, raw with worry. “Help me… help me rescue Ester. If—if he’s still alive.”

If only he had realized sooner, perhaps things could have been contained. But now? The slaves who once endured forced labor had become rioters, their struggle for freedom twisted into unrestrained violence.

Yes, perhaps their uprising had begun with a noble purpose—resisting fate, fighting for dignity. But the longer the flames burned, the further they strayed from that ideal. The weapons in their hands gleamed not with justice, but with bloodlust.

Words, once powerful, were now useless. They could no longer calm these people who had become little more than maddened beasts.

Marlon knew he could not stop the chaos. He could only cling to the one thread that mattered: Ester, the young minotaur who had once trusted him. He lowered his head, swallowing his pride, and asked the Claw Druid Master to save him.

The druid’s answer came swiftly. “Very well. I will help you. But, Marlon, my friend—you must promise me one thing in return. Protect the Book of Aery.”

The demand struck like a sudden bell toll. That ancient tome was not tucked away safely in Marlon’s villa, but right there in his backpack. He glanced instinctively at it, heart tightening.

Before Marlon could respond, the Claw Druid Master’s body began to shift. His half-human, half-bear form stretched and warped until, with a ripple of wild magic, a towering bear stood in his place. The air seemed to shiver as power rolled off the beast’s massive frame.

In the span of just a few breaths, the giant bear leapt forward and vanished into the distance, pounding toward the burning district.

Only his companion remained—a hulking, flower-faced wolverine named Lucas. The beast settled beside Marlon, eyes sharp and unwavering. Clearly, it had been entrusted with the task of guarding him and his group.

With the druid gone, all eyes turned to Marlon. And though his heart was heavy, he knew hesitation now would shatter them. So he straightened his back, his voice firm as he gave the order:

“We’re moving. Back home—to regroup with Uncle Bernard.”

As he said it, an absurd longing struck him—a pang for his old, knock-off iPhone back on Earth. In this world, the only means of instant communication was through enchanted crystals, each costing nearly ten thousand lants. Only the wealthy or high-ranking spellcasters could afford such luxuries. The common folk? They were still stuck in the age of shouting across streets.

At that moment, Marlon realized just how primitive this world truly was. If someone could invent even a simple telephone here, he thought bitterly, he would fund the project with every coin he had.

But reality was cruel. He was no engineer, just a literature student who had long since forgotten his school physics. Spinning tales was easy—rebuilding telecommunications from memory? That was as impossible as building a Gundam that could fly into space.

At least their current location wasn’t too far from White Oak Street. That gave him some hope.

But danger came swiftly.

On their way back, trouble brewed in the slums. White Sand was vast, but even from far away, the inferno in the northwest lit the sky like a second dawn. The floating ships from the Storm Fortress had already taken to the air, rushing toward the chaos. Everyone could guess the truth: something catastrophic had erupted.

The city reacted in three ways. The wise fled toward what they thought were safer places. The dutiful rushed home to protect their families. And the scum? They prowled, eager to seize the chaos as an excuse to loot and spread more violence.

Marlon’s group was hardly equipped for this. Women, children, and the frail clung close together, the only real protector among them being Lucas, the massive wolverine whose snarls alone kept most trouble at bay. Still, in such a storm, how long could they go unnoticed?

More than once, Marlon had to rely on his strength—so far beyond ordinary men—to lead them around groups of gathering thugs. But eventually, as they reached a T-shaped junction just two streets from his late aunt’s house, their luck broke.

From the shadows, more than twenty figures emerged. These were no common scavengers. They moved with grim discipline, their weapons ready, their eyes gleaming with intent. They blocked the road, a wall of hostility.

From their midst stepped a towering beastman of the ape race. His body loomed over two meters tall, his features brutish and cruel. Most unsettling of all were his eyes—blood-red, glowing with a hunger that pierced the darkness.

His voice was a guttural growl, carrying both arrogance and menace:

“Marlon Lister. Hand over the Book of Aery, and I—Stuart the Blood-Eyed Demon—will graciously spare your life!”

Marlon blinked. Blood-Eyed Demon Stuart? The name, coupled with the hulking frame, instantly reminded him of the infamous Akuma from Street Fighter. For a fleeting moment, he almost laughed—if only he could summon the real Akuma here, unleash his raging fists, and show this pretender who the true demon was.

But this was no game. He knew the truth. Even if he tried to imagine Akuma into existence as he once did on the beach with the Bumblebee car, the conjuration would only last seconds before dissolving. This was the real world, where his psychic power was shackled and strained, nothing like the endless torrents he enjoyed in fragmented projections of other planes.

So he didn’t hesitate. Without drama, without defiance, he reached into his backpack and pulled out the Book of Aery. His voice was steady, though his heart pounded:

“Fine. Just clear the way. The book is yours.”

To Marlon, the tome was not worth bloodshed. Its pages were old, yes, but the real value lay in the strange, fantastical accounts attached to it—accounts the Claw Druid cherished. To him, it was just paper and ink.

But his quick compliance backfired.

“Smart boy,” Stuart sneered, lips pulling back into a grotesque grin. His red eyes gleamed brighter. “Now… toss it over. I’ll need to test if it’s genuine first.”

Marlon prepared to obey. His arm tensed, ready to throw the book.

And then—

A thunderous gunshot split the night.

Previous chapter | TOC | Next chapter