Even If Everyone Hates You - Chapter 1
Quick TL note: Tudur = Esper; Nirah = monster
Also, 1 KR chapter = 2 ENG chapters.
Happy reading!
Prologue
A blizzard raged. The forest was sharply torn apart by the rough air mixed with white crystals, and Sjoerd barely managed to lift his head in its midst.
The wind seemed oppressive, as if it could knock him down at any moment. The winter gales, his companions for life, felt strangely unfamiliar and piercing today. Everywhere it touched felt frozen, painfully as if the flesh would tear off.
A cough rose from within, filling his mouth with blood. The surging blood flowed backward with every heave of his chest. A sour and metallic smell filled the air. Despite the snowfall, the surroundings were dyed entirely red.
Barely lifting his frozen eyelids, he slowly took in the scene before him.
The faces strewn around, pale and lifeless, were splattered with blood. Corpses piled upon the cold ground, forming small mounds here and there. Countless people lay in silence, in their eternal rest.
Not a single body was intact. Large wounds, as if slashed in a moment by a tremendous force, were engraved on the corpses. The expressions of the deceased were all the same—shocked yet empty, as if unable to comprehend what had happened.
Sjoerd knew the cause of these wounds. He recognized the faces of those lying there.
“There he is! We found him!”
“Everyone, over here!”
From a distance, someone’s shout was heard, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Energies that had quickly closed a considerable distance soon surrounded Sjoerd from behind.
Shadows quickly enveloped him, their strong vibrations pricking his skin. They were the kingdom’s guardians and knights who had been pursuing him.
“We’ll eliminate as many shadows as possible to prevent the demon from using his powers. Everyone, be careful.”
As a man’s voice spoke, a light brighter than the sun spread through the air. However, even the light that whitened everything around could not hide the horrific sight before them.
“Zion, be careful not to get too close to him.”
“Understood, Nova. Be ready to slit his throat at any moment. Stella, tie him up.”
Quiet footsteps buried in the snow drew closer. Sjoerd, kneeling, remained motionless, gazing forward. The people, warily watching his still figure, could be felt.
Eventually, the frozen ground vibrated, rumbling, and then dried roots and vines burst from the hard soil. Thick, sturdy tree roots began to tightly bind Sjoerd’s ankles, thighs, and waist.
Only when his entire body was tightly bound, unable to even twitch a finger, did people slowly approach him. A shadow fell over Sjoerd’s face.
“So you’ve lived up to the name of the Devil of Solias.”
A voice filled with hatred echoed above Sjoerd’s head. He neither lifted his head nor responded, just kept staring endlessly at the corpses he had been looking at.
The man, following his gaze to the scene, clenched his teeth in immense pain. He then drew his sheathed sword.
“Yes, all these innocent knights you killed! Too many to count!”
With a scream almost like a wail, the man swung his sword as if to cut Sjoerd’s throat, but a woman standing beside him stopped him.
“Zion, stop it! The execution of a Tudur is beyond our authority.”
“This terrible demon deserves to die as soon as possible!”
The word ‘demon’ echoed in Sjoerd’s ears. His eardrums must have been severely damaged because every sound he heard was muffled and unclear.
Blood that had been flowing from his forehead since earlier now streamed down his eyebrows and pooled in his eyelashes, heavily weighing them down and tinting his vision red.
Amidst the crimson-dyed scenes, Sjoerd realized that the corpses piled up before him were lives taken by his own hands.
Not just anyone’s hands, but by his own as a Tudur, a protector of this nation.
Slowly, the black-painted memories returned. It was strange. Like watching someone else’s life through a glass, the things he had done began to resurface. It felt like watching someone else’s deeds.
The last month of the harsh winter. In the midst of relentless battles to kill the raging monsters known as the Nirah, every time he used his power, his consciousness would sporadically fade, and when he came to, he found himself killing not what he was supposed to kill, but what he was supposed to protect.
Why did this happen?
In the distant past, there were Tudurs who went on rampage due to their inability to control their power, but such a massacre on this scale was unprecedented in history. There were those who killed the Nirah and humans, unable to distinguish between them, but there was no record of a Tudur who had so horrifically killed their own kind.
It was incomprehensible. Sjoerd had always been particularly meticulous about guarding against rampages. On days he used his power, he would always find his Guide, boasting perfect compatibility with them. It shouldn’t have happened like this, especially with his Guide, who always took care of him…
There was no way to know what had happened. Where it all went wrong, why he lost consciousness at the end of the harsh winter, its origin was unknown.
“Nova, Zion, step back. His Highness has arrived.”
The constant shouting and angry murmurs that had been ringing in his ears suddenly quieted down. In the momentarily silent air, footsteps were heard.
The sound of feet pressing on the snow, rustling, and then a tall man stopped in front of Sjoerd. Amidst the smell of blizzard-drenched wind and blood, a faint scent of ice flowers spread. So faint that only Sjoerd might notice.
“Your Highness, please…! Please lay to rest these innocent souls.”
Sjoerd barely turned his eyes and lifted his head. At the end of his slowly raised gaze was a face, white and gentle. The rising sun of Solias, Prince Reuschers. The small and young boy whom Sjoerd used to look down upon, now stood taller than him.
“Grand Duke Axid.”
The softly uttered voice was unlike the others, not turbulent. It neither trembled with anger nor wavered with hatred. It was just as calm and cool as always. The eyes that once smiled at Sjoerd with the night sky in them had changed long ago.
A gaze so indifferent and cold, as if even showing emotion was a waste.
