Hated by the world, creatures writhe in my presence. Flies fly away, insects crawl out of my sight. Some, unable to comprehend the twisted mana that surrounds me, allow themselves to be captured by carnivorous plants so they don't have to endure my presence.

  I have never changed my opinion: having a natural repellent for vermin is still a blessing.

  Bushes writhe, the flora at the foot of the mountain is completely different from the forest on the left. The humidity has disappeared, as if the storm Hoffstein caused never existed. Its dense canopy is no longer used to cool the wind, but to block it. The soil is sandy, the vegetation resistant to heat.

  If I didn't know I was in the same place, I would believe I was in a completely different biome. The fairy world is as natural as the opposite.

  I create a blade with aura and cut through the green walls that surround me, intensifying it so as not to exhaust myself as I cross the tall, dense forest. Finally, following the cold aura of antipathy, I finally discover Wander's resting place.

  The teenager leans against a rock, biting a pair of scissors while tying his thigh with leaves. His clothes are stained with brown dirt and soaked in red blood. Bones sprout from his body, multi-layered protuberances that serve as armor plates.

  Wander's eyes wander around the room, but always return to the same fixed point. In front of him, the elf's dead body lies twisted on the floor. His blood is leaking, but it is stopped by the same white thorns that killed him.

  Wander notices the behavior of the mosquitoes and ants, animals flee as my footsteps echo across the ground. He stares at me with half-open eyes, as if checking to see if I was really there.

  “Don't worry, you're not delirious yet.”

  “...I see. Did we win? Is Nia in danger?”

  “We won, and everyone is fine. Morgana is escorting them to Vanusia, and Hoffstein should be here shortly as well.”

  Wander takes a breath, then nods to himself. “Okay.”

  He stands up. The bones retract into his skin, the flesh rearranging itself to not cause any harm. The return to normality leaves no exit holes, the structure of his skeleton remains the same.

  “How can you manipulate so many things at once like that?”

  He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he stops over the elf's body, scratching his chin. “Can't you do it too? With your eyes?”

  “Even with my eyes, I'm an exception. And I can't.”

  “… It's complicated.”

  “Explain it to me.”

  He bends down close to the body. “I intensify the development speed of osteoblasts and osteoclasts, then concentrate the manipulation on the surrounding tissue, while only bothering to coordinate where, how, and when the bones will grow.”

  “It seems difficult to organize everything.”

  He shrugs. “You get used to it.”

  The elf checks the corpse's pockets and rips off part of its armor, softened by the bones. Perhaps this is why he hasn't disposed of them yet.

  “… I suppose so. And where did you learn to do that?”

  “At the academy.”

  “I thought you didn't have much money. How did you go to medical school?”

  He spits out a laugh. “My knowledge comes from the academy. I never said I attended it.”

  “… So?”

  Wander stops, collecting something from the body. Something small, tied to the end of a string from the corpse, but stuck behind the chest plate of the strange armor. He pulls the string and looks at it for a few seconds.

  “Tell me, Sieghart, have you ever killed a person?”

  “I killed the two witches a short time ago.”

  “Was that the first time you killed a human?”

  “Yes.”

  “How does it feel?”

  “Normal.”

  “Shaken?”

  “Not as much as I should be.”

  “I see.”

  “… Was that your first?”

  “… No.”

  Silence.

  “We should bury him,” Wander says.

  “Huh?” I point my finger at the elf and heat concentrates a few inches in front of me.

  “No!” Wander grabs my wrist.

  “What? He's already dead.”

  “Yes, but… We don't need to burn him. Let's bury him.”

  “Why?”

  The boy hesitates, then extends his arm. I go to the elf and take the necklace. What Wander had stopped to look at was not wealth. At least, not material wealth.

  At the end of the necklace, framed, was a drawing made on a piece of worn paper. In it, a green person made of sticks. Next to him, a pink person. Between the two, a child.

  “…”

  That doesn't change anything. He attacked us and was killed. That's all, isn't it?

  “…”

  I lack the words to describe the feeling. Something bad grows inside me, as if black, acidic ink were poured into my heart and spread to the rest of my body.

  “It's worthy,” Wander says. “It's the least we can do.”

  Without further ado, however, I get up and go to a tree. I manipulate the wood carefully and with difficulty, then shape it into a shovel and bring it to the elf.

  Wander thanks me, and we start digging. The repetitive movement is difficult at first, but my body soon gets used to it. My mind wanders as I dig the earth, thinking how much faster it would be if I used a spell to open a hole, or how much time we are wasting doing this.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Even so, during the process, neither of us said a word. Maybe it's out of respect. Maybe it's because we were processing what happened. It doesn't matter anymore.

  We carry Velinar's body to the hole and lay him inside, then cover him with dirt. It wouldn't take more than a few days for the big worms to consume him.

  After we finish, I let my gaze wander. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't find the words. Wander stares at the grave, leaning on his shovel.

  “… The first person I killed was a jerk at the academy.” He breaks the silence. “Not medical school, but regular school. I was fourteen. The arrogant bastard wanted to fight to show how much better he was. But I had scissors and he didn't. So I won.”

  “Is that what he was talking about when we first met? How did he know that?”

  Wander takes a breath. “Our culture is peaceful. We prefer art, philosophy, things that transcend the mundane. Violence among equals is rare. A brutal case like this spread quickly. It was considered self-defense, but I still had to join the army to pay my debt to society. Not that I had anywhere else to go, anyway.”

  “… I see. I'm sorry.”

  He shrugs, drops the shovel, and then sits down, leaning against the rock just as he did when I first met him.

  “You asked me where I learned medicine. I'll answer you if you let me ask you something in return.”

  I nod. “Go ahead.”

  “You're the demon king, aren't you?”

  “If I were a fairy, I could say yes and get an answer for free.”

  “Fortunately, you're a demon.”

  I spit out a laugh. “I don't think that's much better.”

  He smiles slightly at the corner of his mouth. “… Hey, Sieg. Why didn't you destroy the world?”

  “What?”

  “The Hero said you have the same consciousness as the Demon King of the past. That means another version of you chose to destroy the world. But if your memories were erased, you had to decide again. Why didn't you choose to destroy everything again? Why are you acting differently?”

  “It's the right thing to do.”

  “… Is that it? That simple?”

  “That simple.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “The voices don't like it. Disobedience hurts them. So it's part of revenge for tormenting me. But it's not just that. No, it's just…”

  A boy raises his sword against a fairy he cannot defeat. Houses burn around him.

  “I would be a slave to the cycle that created what I was. There is no path available to me. They all end in death, corruption… Or victory.”

  “… I think I understand. It must have been difficult.”

  “Yes. In the beginning. Every day. In one way or another, at least. Over time, with Hoffstein and Morgana, it got better. Not good, but sustainable. Habit, as you said. You'll understand if we stay together for a while.”

  “May the Flame burn my body before I have to spend any more time in this group.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  “N-no offense.”

  “Don't worry about it.”

  Silence. He had promised me an answer. I feel something strange. I want to know, but I also don't want to bother him. Finally, I crack my back, sore from the effort, and decide to prepare my exit.

  Before I could leave, however,

  “My father was in poor health,” Wander says.

  I turn back to him.

  “...The money my family had was spent keeping him alive. But it wasn't really living. Bedridden, weak, sick, we were just postponing the inevitable. With the rest of the money I could get, I studied, studied, and studied.”

  He rests his chin on one hand, staring at the grave.

  “One day, a girl had an accident in front of me. But she died from bleeding shortly after. I continued my studies. I killed a jerk with scissors. I studied. I joined the army. I studied. I became the best, even among the official academics. But it didn't help. Soon, my father died too.”

  Silence.

  “I see. Sorry for asking.”

  “No problem.” He inhales. “We're allies now, aren't we? I'm not in the best condition. Can you destroy something for me?”

  “… Yes, of course. What is it?”

  “A monster. It's about to appear.”

  “A monster? I don't sense anything. Is it something from the fairy world?”

  “No. It's mine.”

  “Yours? What do you mean?”

  “…”

  Something is wrong.

  “Wander? What are you doing?”

  “Waiting.”

  A tremor spreads across the ground.

  A rotten smell spreads through the air. The smell of flesh. I feel mana gathering on the ground, then manifesting into a dense mist, a dark green aura. Wander's aura. It leaks from the grave, circling it, pulsing. Something evil and twisted moves, writhes, then rises.

  An arm extends, scratching the dark earth with its pale hand. The limb breaks under its own strength, awkwardly pulling the rest of its body upward. Kneeling before me, the monster slowly raises its face.

  Velinar stares at me. But it wasn't him. Not anymore. His arrogant and proud eyes are replaced by empty, personality-less imitations. His ego is gone along with his mind.

  His white skin no longer circulates blood, becoming paler and colder than mine. He trembles and arches his back until his feet are firmly planted on the ground. Then he draws his sword and takes a step forward.

  His movements are unnatural. The green aura lifts him up and moves him as if pulling the strings of a puppet; his limp, no longer functional muscles are merely sustained by magic.

  Velinar is dead, but he moves as if alive.

  “Firebolt.”

  A ball of fire breaks through the air toward him and explodes in his chest, opening a hole in his lung. From here, I can clearly see his spine.

  The undead reacts with another step toward me. There was nothing to kill. Nothing to feel pain or heat.

  He advances. He tears through the ground at impressive speed, crossing the distance between us in a single instant—

  But it's not enough. Another firebolt, aimed a little higher, disintegrates his head and cuts off his body's movements inches before the blade hits me. The creature falls to the ground, now destroyed.

  Silence.

  I turn to Wander, quiet.

  “… A sorcerer's manifestation allows them to use some abilities better than others. Nia is expressive. Her manifestation is related to music. Whether the manifestation is shaped by you or you by it, I don't know. Maybe both.”

  He observes the corpse, still resting his chin on his hand, standing still as he has been since the beginning.

  “My manifestation is death. At first, I was confused. All magic is lethal if used correctly, so did I just need to have the intention to kill someone to increase my emission? No. It didn't work that way. Month after month, day after day, I spent my whole life trying to prevent death. I continued to study corpses to understand the body, but I couldn't even heal my own eyes.”

  Wander clenches his fist and grits his teeth. The disguise falls behind the peaceful expression he puts on as a facade to avoid conflict. Now it's obvious why.

  His Manifestation is not “everything that causes death,” but everything directly related to it.

  “You didn't get lost from your group, did you?”

  “No. My group was wiped out by Hilda's hordes. The leader was strong, but I couldn't save him in time. He died. I wished he hadn't. I was desperate. Then, for the first time, it happened. I healed death.”

  Wander reaches out and grabs the undead's wrist, lifting him up.

  “And I brought him back.”

  “… But it wasn't him.”

  “No. It wasn't. But he saved us. So that no one would find out, I ran away with Nia. That's when we found Cloud, and then you.”

  “Did you know this would happen?”

  He lets go of the wrist and lowers his head.

  “No. It doesn't happen every time. But I felt like it was going to. It's like the urge to vomit. Death. It happens to everyone around me. I'm cursed. I'm sorry, Sieghart. I can't control it.”

  I inhale, despite the rotten smell. Then I reach out my hand to the boy.

  “It's okay. I understand.”

  He slowly raises his head, frowning at the action. Wander hesitates, looking away angrily.

  “Sorry, I lost my composure. It's not how I normally act.”

  “Whatever. I think bad things about everyone. At least I have something good to think about you now.”

  “There's nothing good about this situation.”

  “No. The curse is yours. You're alone in this. But everyone has their own curses. We can be cursed together. Isnt that nice?”

  He spits out a laugh, his face still apathetic, as if numb. “You're terrible at this, you know?”

  “Really? It sounded good in my head.”

  He looks away. “A little. Can you not tell Hoffstein? He'll kill me if he finds out.”

  “He won't kill you. He would have done it to me otherwise. But it's okay. Your secret is safe.”

  Wander takes a breath, then nods.

  “So? My arm is starting to hurt.”

  He doesn't accept immediately. He waits a few seconds to come to terms with his own failure, then to make sense of the confusion in his mind. Finally, however, he shakes my hand and lets himself be pulled up. Standing up, the elf straightens himself.

  A firm handshake seals the veiled agreement. Something tells me I need to stop making deals with fae beings in the middle of forests. This is already the third one. I would like a reward, but since the last one I received was an illusion from Aldwyn, I prefer to leave things as they are.

  Wander had tried to bury his enemy with respect, but evil does not care about honor. I suggested we bury the body again, but he refused. The creature was no longer Velinar. There was nothing left that deserved respect.

  Necromancy. The mere mention of magic is enough to make the air heavier. Blasphemous, related to the twisted gods who demand sacrifices.

  I would like to consider what happened. I should. The silence bothers me, tortures me with doubts. But I ignored it. I avoid my thoughts as if they were part of the evil voices; I push them to the back of my mind along with the others. A terrible decision for any kind of functional mind; the absurd foolishness that the young heart I have never heard before propels me to do.

  Terrible. Absolutely, vehemently, terminally terrible.

  Still, in silence, Wander and I returned to the group.