On a dark, windy night, perfect for a takeover, in the depths of an endless forest, Sieg, still in disguise, crouched down, extending the greedy hand of capital toward the fallen “Strongest,” skillfully looting items.
After all, isn’t it perfectly normal to claim rewards after defeating a boss?
Facing the tardy teammates of the Strongest, he laughed uncontrollably, hand on his forehead, donning his disguise like a mask, becoming even more brazen.
Sticking out his tongue, he licked his lips.
“Your man is quite… juicy. No, I mean, quite loaded.”
He spoke to the female knight before him, noticing the ring on her finger, identical to the one on the Strongest’s hand.
With that, he took off running, with no intention of lingering—because there was no need.
Headgear, armor, staff, chest pendant, backpack—everything was his.
As thoughts soar through the night sky, lingering at my fingertips, beautiful like a dream…
Accompanied by powerful music, as if carrying a boombox, he leaned forward, stretched out a leg, and performed a slide tackle, zooming ten thousand miles away, casually using a tank-like charge to take out a passing tiger.
After all, not everyone’s physique is the same.
Once, in a fit of extreme rage, he huffed and puffed for an entire day.
Seeing they couldn’t catch up to this bizarrely styled, infuriating guy, the others roared in helpless fury, shouting threats.
“Name yourself, warrior! Next time we meet, I’ll cut you down!”
“Grandpa Bull, the number one striker of Tumble Garden!”
Sieg’s response was so suave, so carefree.
Without another word, he kept sliding, sparks flying with lightning, crossing mountains and seas, drifting further and further away, his destination unknown.
After all, his drill—no, his slide tackle—could pierce the heavens.
“I’ll remember you, Grandpa Bull!”
Faced with this situation, the squad’s captain sighed, swallowing the bitter loss, and prepared to return to rescue the so-called Strongest, now just a random nobody.
But when they saved him, he was probably drooling already.
Sure enough, when they pulled him up, the Strongest was ashen, muttering, “It’s gone, all gone. So much wealth, such great gear. Now I’ll have to go back to squeezing those farmers again.”
Out of kindness, the captain tore off his expensive cloak and handed it to the Strongest.
Otherwise, the sight of him stripped bare was, frankly, a bit too much to handle.
Just as everyone relaxed and let their guard down, the Strongest, wobbling and despondent, wandered into the nearby bushes—perhaps to relieve himself or to see if he could salvage anything valuable to offset his losses.
But then he ran into Sieg again, who had circled back, sneaking around for more intel.
He definitely wasn’t there because he thought the loot was too little or out of greed or anything like that.
Their eyes met again.
No words were exchanged, only fists and kicks, accompanied by the Strongest’s helpless wails and Sieg’s disdainful glare, deeming him utterly worthless.
“Give me back my stuff! Give it back! I was wrong, I won’t strike first next time, I swear!”
“Hmph, if apologies worked, what’s the point of police? Go cry at the next auction. Words are useless.”
In the end, Sieg left with flair, taking the Strongest’s last shred of cover—his cloak—and once again, powerful music blared as he vanished without a trace.
All that remained was the noble squad, trembling in fear, terrified that this Grandpa Bull would return to pull off another heist.
Meanwhile, Sieg, still carrying his boombox, slid to a tent by the lake.
He set down his rusty sickle, stuffing it into his already overstuffed pants, reverting to his handsome, dashing self.
Running a gelled hand through his messy blonde hair, he combed it neatly, gazing at his reflection in the lake, utterly captivated.
He muttered to himself, “I’m drop-dead gorgeous, truly.”
“I think so too. Very handsome, Sieg.”
Emilia, the girl who had been waiting for him, approached slowly with a smile, wearing slippers that revealed her jade-like feet.
A thin black nightgown was draped with a heavy men’s coat, covering most of her fair skin.
She gave a slight, habitual bow, a remnant of her years as a saintess ingrained in her very bones.
Fireflies danced around her, her waist-length silver hair glowing under the moonlight and their light, breathtakingly beautiful.
She raised a delicate hand, brushing the dirt off him, closing the distance between them.
An intimate air enveloped them, so intense it left Sieg breathless, buddy.
“Stop, bro, you’re giving me goosebumps.”
Realizing something was off, he reached out, gently grabbing her slender wrist—not with force, just enough to halt her movement.
He stumbled back a few steps, creating distance.
But he quietly accepted her compliment.
After all, she was just stating the truth.
“You’re right about that, Emilia. Gotta give you props for that.”
“Mmm…”
She nodded with a smile at his brotherly praise but soon lowered her eyes, hesitating to continue.
Her delicate hands clutched the hem of her skirt, gripping so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She had been worried about him since she returned.
Though she knew he’d be fine, still…
“Are you okay? Were you hurt? Did anything happen? If you’re going on these risky adventures next time, let me come with you. I was so worried. I know you’re strong enough to handle them, but I want to be by your side. At the very least, I could help if something goes wrong.”
“Because I can’t lose you.”
That last sentence carried layers of meaning—her sincere desire for atonement, and the system’s mission to return home.
Faced with this overwhelming pressure, Sieg chose to dodge.
He didn’t answer directly, instead switching to a dramatic monologue as if he were a character in Identity V.
“Over it, fam! Who gets me? I’m speechless. As a Haxxemi, I just had a great jungle run, feeling on top of the world, only to come back to this clingy chick hitting me with emotional gravity. It’s crushing me, stressing my fragile little heart. Anyone who sees me might think I got hit by a truck and am barely hanging on!”
…
“I’m sorry, my fault.”
Emilia apologized softly, biting her lip, her small hands gripping her skirt even tighter, trying to ease the awkwardness.
Unfortunately, Sieg, now in full Haxxemi mode, wasn’t having it.
He just kept huffing, maybe hoping a good nap would fix things.
Unless absolutely necessary, he wasn’t talking to anyone right now.
This wasn’t cold shoulder—it was self-preservation, protecting his heart from unnecessary damage.
He silently returned to his tent, ready for a good sleep.
Lifting the flap, he expected two beds, but nope—just one, now somehow bigger and wider.
Maybe it ate too much?
He could… deal with that, he supposed.
He glanced back at the shy, embarrassed girl, their eyes locking in a moment that felt like an eternity.
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Alt. Jap. Title: The Ruined Demon King Doesn’t Want To Fall In Love With The Former Saintess.