#72
Why were pure-blood demons called evil spirits?
When humans first encountered them, they called them gods. Later, they called them demons, and finally, evil spirits. The form remained the same, but perception gradually became more concrete. Incomprehensible emotions, ways of thinking beyond human common sense, and power that rendered humans helpless. All of these things led to them being labeled as “non-human.”
Their own actions were partly to blame, but the reason Theodore just mentioned also played a part.
In the end, coexistence failed. The premise that they were “beings who look like humans but can never be human” was unmistakably clear. The abnormal emotional reactions they displayed, their violence, their ability to manipulate memories—such abilities were far too removed from human moral and ethical systems.
They were beings who freely manipulated emotions and memories, yet could never truly understand proper emotions.
They would cry then laugh, laugh then kill. They would speak of love while destroying. They could imitate emotions, but never truly “empathize.” Such beings ultimately could not enter the enclosure called “humanity.”
But several generations ago, the Emperor had brought those forbidden beings into the empire.
It was a painful mistake.
“It’s really strange.”
Theodore trailed off, then slowly continued.
His voice was low and subtly weary. It was the tone of someone whose emotions had been broken. The voice of someone who had thought about something for a long time, and moreover, someone who found that conclusion unpleasant.
“I keep seeing that bastard as human.”
It was a truth difficult for even himself to accept. The moment the gap in perception widened, the direction of his emotions began to twist. His reason denied it, while his senses accepted it. That was the most dangerous part.
Theodore rose from his seat and walked to the window. Cool sunlight seeped into the room through the slowly opening curtains.
The light was thin and transparent. It wasn’t the sharp noon sunlight. Early afternoon light, seeping in at a slightly tilted angle. Rather than brightening, it made silhouettes more distinct, illuminating his profile with even greater stillness.
He gazed down at the garden beyond the window and muttered.
The garden looked peaceful. Wind was blowing, leaves swaying, and a young deer was grazing on the grass in the distance. Theodore’s gaze as he watched such a peaceful scene wasn’t properly seeing that scenery. His gaze was directed toward the past, or perhaps toward somewhere deeper in his heart at this very moment.
“From the moment that bastard began to look human, my heart has been endlessly uncomfortable, as if I’ve lost control.”
That was emotion. The chaos of sentiment that had escaped the bounds of reason. Every time his heart wavered, he tried to tighten his grip, to clench harder. But the more he did so, the more difficult control became, and conversely, his emotions grew sharper. An uncomfortable heart meant a heart that was moving.
Skyle understood the meaning of those words. He also knew how dangerous such expressions were.
He didn’t merely listen. He judged, interpreted, and accepted. And above all, he thought this conversation shouldn’t be delayed any further. Emotions spread. The more truth is denied, the more it settles in that place.
So finally, he drew in a breath and opened his mouth without further delay.
His voice was slightly lower than usual. Cautious but firm. This was confirmation. A cold intervention to organize emotions.
“However, the fact is that he is not human.”
The words were simple, but the meaning was heavy. Not just a categorical confirmation, but a declaration to organize the coordinates of emotion.
Theodore turned his head.
Slowly, and precisely. His gaze didn’t crumble; rather, it became more composed. Because he knew that statement was necessary. The work of carving boundaries for himself once more—Skyle was doing that for him.
A calm gaze reached him.
That gaze, which had been silently staring, seemed to seek wordless agreement while simultaneously harboring a coolness that seemed to want to examine himself.
“It’s not that someone’s opinion matters, but that’s simply the fact, isn’t it.”
Skyle’s words were not a rebuttal but a reconfirmation. Emotions that had been shaken once needed to be returned to reason. Otherwise, they would collapse. Emotions cloud truth, and collapsed truth soon becomes weakness.
“…Right, demons are not human.”
Theodore answered thus. Those words were like a ritual cutting away at his heart. The ending was low and heavy, but within it was cold resolve. It was an attitude of recalling reality again to avoid being tainted by emotion.
“Yes, half-demons are traces of beings that didn’t originally belong to the earth forcing themselves to take root here.”
Skyle spoke matter-of-factly. Each word was precisely calibrated. These weren’t words meant to shake someone’s emotions. They simply meant to remember. To not forget.
How many humans had been sacrificed in the process of taking root?
That number was uncountable. Deaths not recorded in history, pain not remembered even by someone. Skyle knew this. Even if he hadn’t seen it directly, he could imagine that weight.
How much more had been perpetrated against others when it had even happened to the Emperor?
“The entire clan bears unforgivable original sin.”
“…Right.”
Theodore’s answer was heavy. It was a short, concise word, but what it contained wasn’t simple agreement. It was a conclusion he would have repeated to himself over a long time, the weight of organized emotion that remained like lingering attachment even after thinking and thinking again repeatedly.
“That’s also why Marcus suffers, isn’t it.”
Skyle gently continued. It was acquiescence, not rebuttal, and simultaneously a reminder. He had quietly brought up a name that corresponded to the intersection of their shared memories, understanding, and emotions.
“That’s right. However, I don’t think being born is a sin.”
Theodore briefly turned his teacup with his fingertips. The scent of cooling tea spread, and it felt as if even the warmth remaining within was gradually disappearing. But his words held clear will. His judgment was cold, but it wasn’t hatred. His conviction not to define birth itself as sin might have stemmed from his sense of responsibility as royalty, as a leader.
“I know.”
Skyle answered briefly but certainly. Not words meaning “I understand,” but “I know.” This was confirmation of fact, not comfort. And then, in the moment of silence when words didn’t continue—
Just… as he drew out the word, Skyle unconsciously recalled Ersen, whom he had seen earlier.
The wounds hidden beneath a calm expression, the subtle fear that flickered in his eyes even while speaking nonchalantly, the gentle smile on his lips and the solitude beneath. Ersen was a bundle of contradictions. The more he looked at him, the more his heart quietly wavered.
A being he could neither fully trust nor fully abandon.
A person who couldn’t be reduced to a single identity. Someone who, despite judging him dangerous, ended up being kept close. Though he had repeatedly told himself to be cold, his heart was gradually narrowing the gap. Even when trying to discard emotions, his senses reacted first. Just by his being near someone, the atmosphere of the room changed, the texture of the air became different.
That half-demon who kept catching his eye.
It probably wasn’t intentional on his part. Rather, if he had been someone capable of calculating such things, he might not have been shaken to this extent. But that was natural. An innate presence, or—something deeper.
“Just that we mustn’t forget. That he is not human.”
Though the words came from Skyle’s mouth, they somehow sounded like a soliloquy. The tone was closer to a vow than conviction. A warning to himself, a declaration to hold himself back. Too many emotions were layered upon that single sentence.
Theodore’s expression became calm.
He didn’t refute. He offered no comfort or additional words. It was simply time to listen and accept. Between those who know each other well, such silence often carries the most meaning. Instead of words, he sent a gaze.
And he looked at Skyle for a moment.
His gaze wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t dull either. Eyes that observed while simultaneously trying to understand. Rather than posing a question to Skyle, it was an attitude of reading together the sentences within him.
Because his words sounded closer to something he was repeating to himself rather than words directed at Theodore.
These weren’t words thrown out hoping for an answer. Simply words trying to grasp something he didn’t want to lose. The last struggle of someone who knew it was dangerous, yet was aware that the danger was gradually becoming duller.
On the day when the family members he had loved killed each other, half-demons had been defined as absolute evil in Skyle Rodias’s dictionary.
The blood-stained scene, his sister’s lifeless body, his young self standing dazed with blood on him. That memory had never been forgotten. It was engraved in his bones and became the reference point for all his judgments. Half-demons were his clearest enemies.
Theodore had to take seriously the words of a close friend who had experienced their danger firsthand.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
