Days
passed, and Stark’s body slowly began to recover. Krul, the devil
who had saved him, provided ample, nutritious food—the first time
Stark had ever experienced such care. His once malnourished body was
regaining strength.
But
rest didn’t
come easy. Night after night, the bone-eaters haunted his dreams.
Their faces and attacks replayed in his mind, leaving him drenched in
cold sweat. Sleep deprivation became a norm.
Stark
tried to adapt, forcing himself to push through, but the toll on his
psyche was undeniable. The silent interactions with Krul only added
to his unease. They barely spoke.
Krul
would simply watch him from afar.
Why
did he save me? I can’t
read him. He
thought.
Stark could feel that the devil was powerful, far beyond anything Stark had ever
witnessed.
Krul
entered the room again, carrying a bowl of steaming stew. It had
become a daily ritual—fresh meals brought to him without fail.
Stark couldn’t
help but wonder how Krul managed it, given he rarely left the cave.
“Um….How
do you get food?” He asked awkwardly.
Krul
paused, his expression briefly puzzled. “I
hunt,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in
the world.
Stark
drained his bowl of stew, savoring it’s
warmth.
“Tasty.”
He muttered.
He
stared at Krul.
“You
need something? Child!”
“Why
did you save me?”
“…….”
A
heavy silence filled the room. Krul didn’t
answer immediately
“On
a whim,” Krul finally said. “I was passing by.”
Time
passed, and Stark recovered faster than he expected. He could now
walk and even exercise, though his nights remained restless. The
nightmares refused to fade—creepy doors, smoky hands, and the
grotesque faces of the bone-eaters haunted his sleep, replaying in an
endless loop.
His
days were monotonous. His mind was thinking about the story of the hero Dalius that saved the continent. Stark had
been fascinated by strength. He recalled the first time he saw
Rakel fight; it was mesmerizing. Power beckoned him, not just for its
allure but for the freedom.
He
absently-mindedly rubbed his chest, where the slave mark still remained. For
the past few days, his only task was to observe Krul. The devil led
an oddly mundane life—reading books, hunting, and cooking.
Despite
their differences, Stark began speaking with Krul, their
conversations growing more frequent. Slowly, a bond started to form
between them.
“I’m
feeling good now,” Stark muttered one day as he stretched. His
bandages slipped off, revealing the new arm. It looked identical to
the other, moving without pain or stiffness.
’s
like my arm was never severed.
Stark
got up to find Krul.
The
cave was a network of interconnected spaces like an ant colony. There
were many spaces but a handful were in use by the devil.
Curious,
he wandered into Krul’s
study. Shelves packed with books close to the muddy wall, and the
table was scattered with papers marked with strange and intricate
patterns. Stark frowned at the incomprehensible symbols and words—he
had never learned to read or write.
Krul
wasn’t
there. Stark searched until he found the devil reclining on his bed,
engrossed in a book. Krul glanced up as Stark entered.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
“I
think I’ve recovered,” Stark said, standing straighter.
“Is
that so?” Krul replied,
“How
can I repay you?” Stark asked hesitantly.
“Repay
me? ” He blinked twice.
“I
mean it. I’ll do anything to repay you for saving my life.”
"Are you serious?" He scoffed.
Krul
clicked his tongue, setting the book aside. “Anything?
You’re weak. What use is a feeble child?”
“What
if I become strong?” Stark pressed. “Would that be enough to repay me?”
Silence
filled the room. Krul studied him, an unreadable expression on his
face.
The
devil had saved his life—a slave’s
life, something most would discard without a second thought.
“Hm...
You, strong?” Krul asked, exhaling deeply.
Stark
hesitated. “I...
I know I’m weak. And just a slave...” He lowered his voice,
glancing at the floor. “But I want to be free. I want to be strong,
like you.”
Krul
raised an eyebrow. “Free?
Do you think strength grants freedom?”
“Doesn’t
it?” Stark asked cautiously.
Krul
leaned back, considering. “Perhaps.
Who can say?”
“So...
can I become strong like you?” Stark pressed.
Krul
didn’t
respond immediately. Instead, he countered with a question of his
own. “What is freedom to you?”
Stark
opened his mouth but faltered. “I...
I don’t know.”
Krul
pressed on. “Then
how do you expect to find it? Strength without an aim is useless.”
“But
why….I just want to escape this life...” Stark said. “Isn’t
that enough?”
“Escape
and then what?”
“I...I want to see the world.”
Krul
stood and placed a hand on Stark’s
head, ruffling the hair that had started to grow back.
“A
traveler, perhaps a wanderer?” Krul raised his brow. “Is that
your wish, Child?”
The
thought of traveling definitely filled him with excitement. Although he needed strength to accomplish that desire as well.
“Maybe... but I do wish to travel and see beautiful places.”
“The
answer to your question is no." Krul’s answer cut through Stark’s hope like a
blade.
Stark
blinked, his chest tightening. “Why
not?”
Krul
sighed, folding his arms. “I
examined your body while healing you. You don’t have a mana core,
which means you cannot use magic spells.”
The
words struck Stark like a physical blow, and his expression darkened.
“Never?”
“Never,
at least like me.” Krul confirmed, though his tone softened
slightly. “But... there may be other paths. You might have the
potential of a knight. Aura or martial arts could be within your
reach, though I can’t test that.” He shrugged. “Worth a try,
eh?”
’s
odd that this child hasn’t gotten a core itself. Krul thought.
Krul found it odd as the creatures on the continent mutated and began to form cores to store mana to avoid mana poisoning. Even common people had cores but only people with talent and aptitude for mana manipulation could use it to cast spells and become magus.
“Say,
Child. Where are you originally from?”
Krul asked. “A war zone? Perhaps from across the ocean?”
Stark
looked puzzled for a moment. “Why?”
“Just
curious.”
“Honestly,
I only remember Kastar, nothing else.”
“I
see,”
Stark
glanced at his slave mark and clutched it. He vividly remembered
getting branded with a hot metal stamp. The pain was awful, the skin
burned, and the mark materialized afterwards.
He
tried to scrub it away but couldn’t.
As he was about to open his mouth—
Krul
frowned, his gaze falling to Stark’s
hand. “That’s beyond me.”
“Why?”
“It’s
Zaras’th divine magic. Priest magic.” Krul’s said with a scowl.
“I can’t interfere with it.”
To
demonstrate, Krul stretched a hand toward the mark. A flash of golden
lightning lashed out, burning his hand.
“See?”
he said, holding up his scorched palm.
Stark’s
shoulders slumped. “So... how do I remove it?”
“I
don’t know... there must be a way to remove it.” Krul explained.
Stark
didn’t
lose hope. He had endured hell for too long to falter now. Freedom—no
matter how painful—was worth the cost.
“Krul…
Please teach me to become strong,” Stark pleaded, his voice firm
despite his trembling hands.
Krul
let out a long sigh, a mix of reluctance and resignation. By the look
in his eyes, refusing wouldn’t
help.
“Fine,
child. I will train you from tomorrow.”
“Really?”
Stark’s eyes lit up.
Krul
nodded, waving him off. “Go.
Rest while you can.”
As
Stark left, his excitement visible, Krul leaned against the rough
stone of the cave wall, watching the boy disappear.
He
will give up soon.
The
words replayed in his mind, echoes of countless similar conversations
over the centuries. Shaking his head, Krul stepped outside the cave,
where the vast desert stretched endlessly beneath the star-laden sky.
“It’s
been a long time since I’ve stood here,” he murmured, his gaze
distant.
The
boy’s
words lingered in his mind: Strong
people can be free.
Krul
chuckled bitterly. “If
only that were true, child.”
With
a faint hum, two golden shackles materialized on his wrists,
crackling with energy. Like Stark, Krul was bound—trapped by the
curse of Zaras’th.
An
ancient devil, Krul, had roamed Kastar since the Mythical Era; his
name brought fear. But no power had ever freed him from the
great sands grasp. The desert was an endless labyrinth.
As
the memories flooded back, the air around him twisted, a violet aura
seeping from his body in a silent storm.
’th.
You vermin…
Once,
during the Mythical Era, Krul had been known by another name—a name
that had shaken the heavens and cast fear into the hearts of gods. He
was the last surviving descendant of the Forsaken.
Krul
the God Slayer.
