A pure white room stretched out before me.
This place, filled with a cold stillness, was so surreal that I immediately realized it was a dream.
Yet, the familiar sensations told me that this was not just an ordinary dream.
It was a vision of the White Clan.
But unlike usual, where I’d see the burning Demon King’s castle or Flora being stabbed to death by the hero, an endless white space stretched out in front of me.
Everything here was covered in pure white, so serene and spotless that it felt otherworldly.
A soft voice came from behind me.
“You failed.”
It was a familiar voice.
When I turned around, there she was—the woman I had often met in my dreams.
A woman who resembled me.
With snow-white hair and the horns of a dragon sprouting from her head, she was a hatchling of the White Clan.
She was sitting alone at a pure white table, holding a teacup leisurely, savoring the aroma, and smiling.
Her smile was beautiful and calm, but I sensed a peculiar sadness behind it.
“Why don’t you sit down and have some tea?”
She poured warm tea into a cup and, with a faint smile, gestured toward the chair across from her.
I sat down as she had indicated.
Memories of just before I came here surfaced in my mind.
Approaching Flora, who was being controlled by the Demon King, and whispering “I love you” to her at the very last moment.
Then, the moment when I was pulled into a deep darkness and lost consciousness…
With a trembling voice, I asked,
“Am I… dead?”
The woman shook her head.
Her voice remained soft.
“No.”
I wrapped both hands around the teacup she had handed me.
The subtle, fragrant aroma of the tea enveloped me.
I slowly brought the cup to my lips and took a sip.
It was sweet.
So gentle, so familiar.
The taste I had only ever imagined.
It was exactly the same as the tea Flora used to brew for me.
For a moment, I was consumed by a fragment of memory, but I soon lifted my head and looked at the woman, asking,
“Then, what does it mean that I failed?”
The woman quietly placed her teacup down and looked at me.
Her eyes were deep and calm.
“The vision still points to Flora’s death.”
Her low, composed voice echoed through the space.
A growing sense of unease began to swell in my chest.
So, I still hadn’t been able to prevent Flora’s death?
I asked again with a trembling voice,
“…Is it certain?”
The woman shook her head.
“No. At this point, it’s about fifty-fifty.”
Her words, suggesting there was still a chance, brought me a brief moment of relief,
but even that didn’t last long.
The woman slowly rose from her seat and approached me.
Even up close, she still exuded a cold aura, yet I could sense a faint warmth of compassion.
Her hand slowly reached out and touched my chest, right over my heart.
The cold touch felt as though it was pressing down on my heart.
She whispered softly,
“This will be the last time you come here.”
Before I could understand what she meant, she pushed my shoulder with her hand.
In that instant, a sensation of my body floating and then endlessly falling overwhelmed me.
The dream ended.
A faint light tickled my eyelids.
I slowly opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was an unfamiliar ceiling.
The wooden ceiling was stained in places, with cobwebs messily tangled here and there.
I tried to sit up, but my entire body was wracked with intense pain.
A groan escaped from my lips.
Reflexively clutching my side, I felt a sticky substance on my palm.
The sticky texture and the thick metallic scent—it was blood.
My final memory slowly surfaced.
When I had recklessly used a dragon’s magic to approach Flora, I thought I had cut through all the vines, but it seemed I had taken a direct hit.
The injury was severe enough that even moving my body was a struggle.
At that moment, the cold touch of metal pressed against my cheek.
The sharp, icy blade of a dagger was right against my skin.
“Don’t move.”
A low, cutting voice brushed against my ear.
When I slowly turned my gaze, I saw a demon with black horns staring down at me.
Their crimson eyes glinted fiercely, and their tightly shut lips radiated an air of unwavering vigilance.
I shifted my eyes behind the demon, where a small shadow hid in a dark corner.
Upon closer look, it was a demon child.
The child’s large, glistening eyes gazed up at me with a curious expression.
I couldn’t make sense of the situation at all.
Why was I here?
Why was I with demons?
I tried to ask, but my parched throat only let out a raspy breath.
The demon let out a deep sigh at my weak movements and sounds, a heavy and irritated sigh.
“You wouldn’t be able to move with that wound anyway,”
the demon said as they slowly withdrew the dagger.
“But don’t make a fuss.
If anyone finds out you’re here, you’re as good as dead.”
The demon tossed the words like a sharp blade, then handed me a bowl of water.
Even as they did so, their crimson eyes remained fixed on me, their sharp vigilance unwavering for even a moment.
After drinking the water, my cracked voice finally returned, and I managed to ask,
“Why am I here? Where are the others?”
At my question, the demon’s expression hardened as they looked down at me in silence for a moment.
The crimson eyes still carried deep wariness, but somewhere within them, I could see a flicker of complex emotions passing by.
He scratched his chin with rough fingers and replied bluntly,
“This is just a storage room.”
The demon paused for a moment, his gaze shifting subtly to the child.
“That brat brought you here on their own. And apparently, you’re the only human left alive.”
The child crouched in the corner was fidgeting nervously with their fingers.
Their small shoulders trembled slightly, but their large eyes remained fixed on my face.
The demon looked back at me and continued.
“I couldn’t just let you die, though it was gnawing at my conscience, so I saved you…”
He trailed off, hesitating.
A faint glimmer of fear appeared in his crimson eyes, and I noticed his gaze flicker toward the blindfold over my eyes and the staff lying beside me.
The demon opened his mouth again, this time speaking in a much lower voice, almost like a mumble.
“Could it be… the Crippled Duke?”
His expression wavered between conflict and fear.
“Once your wounds heal, leave this village.”
With those final words, the demon turned and left the storage room.
I looked around.
The storage room was dark and damp.
Aside from the faint rays of light streaming through the cracks, there was hardly any illumination.
The air was filled with the stale smell of dust and mold, and old wooden crates and burlap sacks were piled haphazardly around.
It was more like an abandoned ruin than a storage room, carrying an ominous atmosphere.
A dull thud broke the silence, drawing my attention.
I turned to see the child staring at me.
Their large eyes sparkled with curiosity, not fear.
“…Sister, are you a monster?”
the child asked.
Their tone wasn’t fearful but rather filled with the innocent curiosity of a child seeing something fascinating.
“Who knows? Maybe I am,”
I replied softly, lowering my gaze to my hands absentmindedly.
These hands bore the marks of countless battles I’d fought.
The smooth, gentle hands of the past were long gone, replaced by rough scars from blades and weapons.
These were the hands that had taken the lives of so many demons, so many that keeping count had become meaningless.
I had no grand cause like standing against the Demon King or defending the kingdom.
I had moved solely for one personal goal, and in the process, I had trampled countless lives.
To save her—the woman who had caused so much harm—I had taken so many more lives.
I knew full well that there was no justification for this contradictory act, yet I felt not an ounce of guilt.
Even if time were turned back and I faced the same situation again, I was certain I would make the same choice without hesitation.
So when the child called me a “monster,” perhaps it was an entirely accurate assessment.
“You just look like a weak human to me…”
the child added, and I couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.
To a child’s eyes, I must look like nothing more than a frail human.
It amused me how adults and children alike were quick to judge based on appearances alone.
The child couldn’t possibly understand how much destruction these small, fragile hands had wrought.
Suddenly, I was reminded of Flora’s warm fingers brushing against the back of my neck.
A faint smile formed on my lips.
For her, I could do anything.
If she asked me to kill that child, I was sure I’d cut their throat without a second thought.
“It’s a misunderstanding,”
I whispered softly to the child.
I didn’t feel the need to say anything more.
Turning my gaze away, I closed my eyes.
My body still aches all over, but exhaustion weighed on me more heavily, and sleep soon overtook me.