Chapter 41: Fiend
For the native inhabitants of this continent, if they had to choose the most detested supernatural beings, the number one would probably be the twisted chaos—those demon dragons that bring endless plagues and deathly silence. The second most hated would likely be the fiends.
In the earliest age of chaos, fiends emerging from the Abyss ravaged the entire continent for thousands of years. Humans, dwarves, orcs, elves… countless living beings suffered under the fiends’ grasping limbs and sharp teeth, enduring torments and massacres that no words could ever accurately describe. It was only when the benevolent gods—represented by the Three Goddesses—and the heroes who are still celebrated in bardic songs, paid unimaginable and horrific costs that the rift between the Abyss and the material plane was finally sealed. Only then did the blood-stained shadow of the fiends fully dissipate.
Yet even so, in certain circumstances, fiends would still attempt to forcibly descend upon this continent through the remnants of the rift—and without exception, every appearance of a fiend brought chaos, blood, and death.
The vast majority of fiends possess a significant degree of immunity to both physical and magical damage. Of course, with the aid of the gods’ power, skilled warriors and cunning mages can indeed exterminate fiends using divine arts.
But the reason fiends are so troublesome is not merely that they can harm the body—they can also corrupt the human soul.
Considering that the fiends capable of deceiving the laws of reality to descend into the world are at most low-ranking fiends whose very names are unknown, these cursed creatures often act in ways far more subtle and cunning than their legendary, monstrous, and powerful counterparts.
If necessary, they can even directly parasitize the dark side of some unlucky person’s soul in the form of a mere shadow. Once the parasitism succeeds, certain emotions—or rather, certain minor flaws in a person’s normal character—will be infinitely amplified by the fiend.
The greedier grow greedy, the more frenzied become the frenzied.
Though there was no concrete evidence, everyone believed that those notorious tyrants and the fearsome black mages who appeared on this continent after the Great Rift was sealed had the shadow of fiends behind them.
There were even rumors that the most famous tragic figure of Alfied—Victor, the Dragon Slayer—may have met his fate because of some fiend’s design. After all, before the Great Rift was sealed, the only force on the entire continent capable of suppressing fiends was the terrifyingly powerful dragons.
It was said that, for dragons, those squeaking, pus-filled, tentacled creatures were very much like special medicinal substances. The intense negative energy within them could effectively counterbalance the ever-raging magical fire coursing through a dragon’s body. As a result, dragons never minded spending a bit of time during their leisure hunting and devouring these soft, oddly shaped “little things.”
But before we dive deeper into the food chain of this continent, let’s rewind time a little—back to when the fiends had not yet appeared, when Green River Village was quiet, and Alan was in his little cottage, with cheeks as rosy as a blooming rose and eyes sparkling, grinning foolishly as he shared breakfast with the dragon vine, Little Green.
For some reason, that day Alan and Little Green’s breakfast was unusually abundant and delicious—after all, Alan didn’t often awaken at the break of dawn in such a sudden flurry of excitement, so overjoyed that sleep was impossible, and channel that fiery energy straight into the kitchen.
The country mage, newly acquainted with the sweetness of love, had baked some honeyed caramel peaches. They were plump and juicy, much like the batch treasured by Veles, and roasting made them especially soft and fragrant.
He turned those peaches into a large serving of caramel peach pudding. Each bite was soft and sweet, perfectly reflecting the overflowing emotions within the heart of its maker.
In addition, there were puff pastries filled with sheep’s cheese, drizzled with a generous spoonful of tangy, bright-red currant jam; bundles of asparagus wrapped in bacon, fried until crispy and savory; of course, there was also pea soup simmered with peas and sour cream, accompanied by salty bread rolls brushed with olive oil, sprinkled with parsley and garlic, and baked to a tempting golden brown.
Oh, and Alan had also prepared homemade soft ice cream for Little Green. The ice cream was made by magically whipping the cream at high speed, giving it a texture as soft as clouds. On top, he drizzled double the honey, which contained crunchy nuts and chopped dried fruits. Immersed in the golden honey, the purplish-red and orange-yellow dried fruits glimmered like gemstones. And the soft ice cream wasn’t served in an ordinary wooden bowl, plate, or small copper pot—it rested atop a freshly baked waffle, still exuding the aroma of butter.
This breakfast, which might have been considered overwhelmingly lavish for a normal person, was soon devoured by the spirited Little Green with the efficiency of a whirlwind.
With every bite, the thick vine curling beneath the chair couldn’t help but sway for a long while. The branches on the table involuntarily sprouted cluster after cluster of small pink flowers.
Fortunately, after blooming, these flowers didn’t grow the troublesome tendrils or teeth that sometimes caused Alan headaches. In fact, they looked like the most ordinary flowers—delicate and full-petaled, somewhat resembling roses.
To Alan, these flowers seemed more like a unique physiological response that a magical creature like a dragon vine displayed when pleased.
The dragon vine shook its branches, and the flowers neatly fell onto the table.
“This… is for me?”
Alan paused for a moment, then smiled at the plate of flowers still smeared with cream and honey in front of Little Green.
He found himself unable to stop smiling today.
Little Green swayed its flower head.
“Thank you.”
Alan’s lips curved again. He gently patted the dragon vine’s lush, dripping-green leaves, gathered the beautiful pink flowers, and arranged them into a small bouquet, placing it in a jar of water with a touch of honey.
When Lelian arrived at the country mage’s house, this was the leisurely scene she witnessed.
A lovely breakfast, a gentle mage, and the tranquil countryside… Thinking of the reason for her visit, the vice-captain of the Royal Knights couldn’t help but pause. A faint bitterness and awkwardness welled up deep in her throat.
Of course, part of the reason she stopped was also the sudden sight of emerald-green branches slithering out from just before her feet. Clearly, they were also part of Little Green. The branches were vibrant green, but each leaf was sharp as a blade.
And now, those green blades were pointed straight at her.
“Ah… it’s you—”
Fortunately, Alan had noticed Lelian’s arrival before the dragon vine could tear her apart in a terrifying display. The mage certainly remembered this red-haired woman; she had been at the injured Lart’s side just yesterday.
“Vice-Captain of the Royal Knights, Lelian.”
Lelian introduced herself stiffly to Alan, then quickly added a hesitant clarification.
“Sorry, Mage Alan… I seem to have disturbed you and… your—” She glanced awkwardly at Little Green, her lips twitching, before continuing, “this ‘pet’s’ breakfast.”
Her voice grew increasingly dry and nervous.
As Alan walked toward her without any caution, the dragon vine behind him visibly swelled. Its flower heads, grotesque in a nightmarish way, all opened at once, silently radiating a fierce hostility straight at Lelian.
Lelian had no doubt that if she were outside Alan’s line of sight, this terrifying plant-like magical creature would tear her to pieces without hesitation.
A bead of cold sweat formed on her temple, but she seized the moment and urgently spoke to the young mage before her.
“The reason I came… it is because I have an important matter to request. Mage Alan, I know you are our captain’s—Prince Lart’s—longtime friend. I earnestly beg you… please, go see him.”
“Huh? What happened? Wait—did something happen to Lart when he went back yesterday?”
Alan looked curiously at the anxious expression on Lelian’s face. Although he had little interaction with her, he had a strong instinct that she shouldn’t appear so tense and fearful under normal circumstances.
Yet, thinking of how he had just rejected Lart’s confession yesterday, a subtle unease and awkwardness stirred in Alan’s heart.
“I feel that Prince Lart isn’t quite right—not ‘not quite right’ in the usual sense…” Lelian raised her hand and gestured vaguely in the air. She lowered her voice, her lips moving as she spoke, her face pale. “I… I would like to ask you, Mage Alan, to check on him. I—I suspect…”
Lelian hesitated for a moment before voicing her deepest suspicion.
“I suspect that Prince Lart has been parasitized by a fiend.”
This was undoubtedly a bold and almost insane hypothesis.
Especially considering that from the moment Lart was injured, he had already undergone meticulous and complex magical examinations, and the accompanying priests of the Knights were quite certain that he had not been affected by any negative energy, nor showed any signs of being cursed.
“But I still feel something isn’t right.”
Lelian took a deep breath, then looked at the black-haired mage in front of her.
“Although I have no proof… I trust my instincts,” she murmured. “That prince… he wasn’t like this before. Alright, sure, he used to have a bit of the spoiled nobleman’s temper, but it never made me break out in goosebumps like this. By the Goddess of Light, there aren’t many creatures in this world that can make my skin crawl.”
The battle they had faced before had already been full of oddities, and Lelian had seen with her own eyes a dark shadow slip into Lart’s body…
Records of how fiends parasitize humans were mostly sealed away in the deepest vaults of the Mage Tower.
Lelian had only ever heard fragmented legends. Yet even those scattered whispers were enough to unsettle her.
What finally drove Lelian to make such a terrifying conjecture was the expression on Lart’s face last night, when he learned of Veles’ news.
She would have sworn she had never seen a normal human wear such a horrifyingly twisted expression—it was not something any blessed mortal should display.
That intense mixture of jealousy, hatred, and murderous intent could only come from the Abyss.
Once a fiend parasitizes a person’s soul, the only ones capable of detecting it are spellcasters favored by magic.
The problem, however, was that during the previous battle, the priests accompanying the Royal Knights had been seriously injured and had to leave the group early for treatment at the temple.
“Ugh… this is… this is just too coincidental,” Alan muttered under his breath.
Lelian tugged at the corner of her mouth and repeated in her same dry voice, “Yes… coincidental, almost as if it were intentional.”
After the Royal Knights’ accompanying priest had left, in a backwater like Green River Village, the only spellcaster within ten miles was—and could only be—Alan: a mage skilled in gardening, able to fatten pumpkins and tomatoes, help villagers grow more wheat, and produce sweeter apples… cough, a country mage.
Even if Lelian had any other choice—an apprentice priest, or a gray-robed wandering mage—she would absolutely not have come to Alan’s little cottage this morning.
Low-ranking fiends might indeed be cunning and insidious, but that did not mean they lacked in offensive power or magical malice. Even the weakest of them could fight toe-to-toe with a battle-hardened paladin.
And Alan…
Lelian discreetly assessed the guilt and self-reproach radiating from the black-haired mage’s chest, and it almost took her breath away.
Even knowing that Alan had once traveled across the continent alongside Lart, and was not some bumbling amateur who couldn’t even cast a fireball properly, in Lelian’s eyes, Alan was still… far too delicate.
The young mage barely reached the height of her chin. His frame was so slight it seemed a gust of wind could blow him away. His skin, smooth as if soaked in milk, and his moist black eyes—Alan exuded not the slightest hint of aggression. He appeared soft and sweet, like a custard pudding trembling on a silver spoon, only fit for someone to savor slowly, not for confronting a fiend that could strike at any moment.
Yet Lelian truly had no other choice.
If Prince Lart really had, as her absurd suspicion suggested, already been unconsciously chosen as a host by a fiend, then the time left for him—and for the entire Royal Knights—was running out.
According to legend, once a fiend successfully parasitizes someone, it slowly incubates within the host’s body. It stirs the person’s darkness and negative emotions into an evil, terrifying storm, and in the midst of that chaos, it can hide deep within the host’s body, feasting upon their weakened soul.
Once the host’s soul is completely devoured, all that remains on the material plane is a hollow, walking corpse.
Moreover, a successfully incubated fiend also increases in rank.
“Of course, it’s possible I’m overthinking this… but a fully hatched fiend is no easier to deal with than a demon dragon,”
Lelian murmured, her gaze toward Alan complex and urgent.
“I know what I’m saying may sound ridiculous…”
After all, Lart had once been blessed by the gods. Even if he no longer enjoyed their favor, the residual holy light within him should have been enough to protect him from a fiend’s influence.
“But I really need to make sure…”
“Alright.”
Alan didn’t wait for her to finish and agreed immediately. He lifted his eyes and fixed a sharp gaze on the surprised red-haired swordswoman.
“I’ve actually had a vague sense that something about him seemed off,” the mage explained in a low voice. “Even after I added so much honey to his healing potion, he kept complaining it was bitter.”
“And…”
As he spoke, Alan’s eyes shifted toward his window. A thin frost seemed to veil his delicate cheeks.
His window was empty—silent, undisturbed, perfectly still.
Alan was shocked at his own sluggishness; only now did he realize the problem.
Normally, if he made that many sweet treats, the little ill-tempered neighbors—his fairies—would have immediately swarmed in, clamoring for their share.
But ever since Lart had come to his house last night… the fairies had not appeared again.
…
Confirming whether a person has been parasitized by a fiend was actually quite simple—provided, of course, that you were a spellcaster.
As a mage, all Alan needed to do was, while Lart was unguarded, cast a true-word spell. Immediately afterward, he could ask the host two questions: whether they came from the Abyss, and whether they were a fiend.
For any visitor from the Abyss, every fiend was cunning, insidious, and endlessly deceitful when dealing with humans.
However, under the invisible rules governing them, there were only these two questions that a fiend could not lie about.
They could only admit their true identity.
…
“And then the fiend reveals its true form.”
Lelian brought Alan to the Royal Knights’ camp in Green River Village. Her face was tense as she spoke seriously to the mage:
“…The amulet I gave you comes from the High Priest of the Temple of the Goddess of Light. It is a relic from the Great Rift War. It can at least protect you from attacks by a mid-ranking fiend.”
The red-haired swordswoman carefully hung the amulet, made from sunstone, around Alan’s neck. He tugged at his collar, letting his simple linen robe hide the precious charm beneath the fabric.
“Then you can send a signal—we’ll rush in immediately to rescue you.”
After saying this, Lelian stepped aside so Alan could see the Royal Knights behind her. These were her most trusted and closest comrades in the order. From their perspective, it was hard to believe Lelian’s bold suspicions about Lart. Yet, trusting her beast-like intuition, they still stood quietly on her side, if reluctantly.
Even now, Alan could sense that several of them were still skeptical of Lelian’s actions.
“Ugh… I hope Lart doesn’t get too angry when this is over—”
Alan heard someone muttering in an almost inaudible voice.
“No matter what, there’s no way Lart could be parasitized by a fiend… isn’t it said that his heart is made of diamond?”
…
Lelian had clearly heard the whispers as well. The red-haired swordswoman’s hand, gripping her holy sword, tensed so sharply that the veins on the back of her hand became visible. It wasn’t until Alan gently patted her on the shoulder that she managed to calm down.
“Relax a little, Vice-Captain Lelian. The problem probably isn’t that serious. After all, you are the Royal Knights. Even if things do go as badly as possible—cough—I trust you’ll be able to handle it.”
At the very least, there was still Little Green.
The dragon vine, now fat and lush from its indulgence in various sweets, coiled slowly in the shadows like a massive forest serpent. After having its breakfast disturbed by Lelian, the normally cheerful creature had immediately revealed a dangerous and irritable side. Alan had finally had to promise three times the usual amount of snacks just to quiet it down.
Honestly, watching Little Green slowly unfurl in the shadows, its flower heads lined with sharp teeth and dripping corrosive slime (no doubt aimed at the knights who had been whispering carelessly earlier—by this point, they had straightened up, their faces dark and tense), Alan felt more at ease than he did seeing the knights themselves.
He took a deep breath, his gaze flicking over the faintly golden sword in Lelian’s hands, then stepped past the camp’s gate, heading straight for Lart’s tent.
In his hand, he carried a basket. Inside rested a butter pound cake.
The butter had been mixed with double the honey and sugar. Even through the thick cloth covering the basket, its fragrant sweetness drifted invitingly into the air.
With the thick, moist pound cake in hand, Alan stepped into Lart’s tent looking exactly like any ordinary friend—merely checking in on Lart after yesterday’s awkward incident.
And Lart seemed to think the same.
He was sitting behind a low table in the middle of the tent, frowning slightly as he seriously dealt with the mountain of documents piled before him.
When he heard Alan’s voice, Lart’s expression flickered, and he looked up, meeting Alan’s gaze for several seconds. Then, as if awakening from a dream, he suddenly leapt to his feet.
“Alan?!”
There was genuine surprise in his voice.
“You—you came here!”
He hurried toward Alan, trying to stay composed but unable to fully hide his excitement.
At that moment, even Alan had to admit that maybe he and Lelian had been mistaken. Perhaps all of Lart’s unusual behavior was simply… cough… the result of a broken heart, and not that damned fiend.
“I just came to check on you. Yesterday, when you left my place, you didn’t seem to be in the best mood.”
Alan winked at Lart, then lifted his hand, letting the basket of cake be clearly visible. Of course, in reality, this was just to conceal the gesture he was making with his other hand.
Then, he cast a true-word spell on Lart.
A faint green glow pulsed as the spell took effect. Lart froze in place, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
“W-what… what are you doing? Alan? Wait, this is—”
Alan nearly couldn’t meet Lart’s gaze.
He pressed his lips together, almost awkwardly, and asked the question directly.
“Are you… from the Abyss?”
“……”
“Are you… a fiend?”
“……”
Just as Alan thought he might hear a clear denial from Lart, he realized that the tent had suddenly fallen into a deathly silence.
Lart stared straight at Alan. The faint trace of the earlier expression—joy mixed with disbelief—still lingered on his face, but from his slightly parted crimson lips escaped a soft, hissing laugh.
“Heh—”
Lart’s head slowly turned to the side.
“I’ve been discovered, haven’t I? Honestly,” a voice Alan had never heard before emerged from the familiar figure in front of him. “Alright, alright, don’t make that face. You know that kind of expression makes ‘me’ ache inside, my dear Alan.”
“That’s right… I really am from the Abyss.”
“And yes, I truly am a fiend now.”
“Nice to meet you for the first time, Mage Alan. You look… far tastier than that cake in your hands.”
