Among the half-frozen, half-ruined buildings, Hax saw a man kneeling on the rocky ground.
In his arms was a little girl who had turned into a pale white mass—like a marble statue carved too perfectly by death.
The man held her tightly.
Too tightly.
As if the warmth of his body could still pierce that unnatural cold.
The heavy steps of Hax's armor echoed as he approached. Metal met stone with a dry, alien sound in the silence of the city.
But the man did not turn.
He did not tremble.
He did not scream.
His eyes were empty—not empty from fear.
But empty because everything was already over.
"Why?"
One word.
Hoarse.
Cracked.
Directed straight at him.
He knew.
He knew who stood behind him.
He knew who was the source of this calamity.
"Sorry about that…"
Hax knelt on one knee before the man.
The movement of his black armor sounded heavy as it touched the stone ground, yet his posture resembled a gesture of respect—or at least something imitating it.
But behind the faceless helmet, there was no turmoil.
No guilt.
No regret.
He realized that emptiness calmly.
Was it because he was no longer human?
Or because the man before him was merely one of hundreds of variables affected by his rational decision?
He did not know.
And perhaps… he no longer cared to know.
Yet one thing still needed to be done.
An explanation.
"If I hadn't done it," Hax's voice echoed from the hollow cavity of his armor, flat without any rise or fall in tone, "all the humans, animals, even the plants in this city would have been burned to nothing by that dragon."
There was no defense in his words.
No attempt to seek forgiveness.
Only a statement of fact.
Like a calculation report.
Like a decision concluded before emotion was ever involved.
For Hax, it was not a choice between right and wrong.
It was merely a comparison of losses.
And he had chosen the smaller number.
Slowly, Hax opened his Inventory.
A glass vial appeared in his hand—filled with a thick purple liquid that glimmered faintly like a heart beating slowly in the darkness.
"I can bring your daughter back to life."
Those words shattered the emptiness.
The man's eyes, once lifeless, trembled.
A small, fragile light flickered within them once more.
"But…"
He tightened his hold on his daughter's body.
"But what?!" His voice broke. "I'll do anything! Anything! As long as she comes back!"
Hax looked at the pale white mass.
"Your daughter will not return as a complete human."
The item was called Change of Life.
In the game he once created, it was a resurrection liquid belonging to the Demon King—used to revive fallen heroes… not as humans, but as other beings. Followers. New entities with different forms.
The man trembled.
But only for a moment.
"I don't care…" his voice weakened, but his resolve hardened. "As long as she lives… whatever her race… her form… she's still Lyra. My only daughter."
The silence approved the decision.
Hax opened the vial.
The purple liquid was slowly poured over the white mass.
A faint hiss was heard.
Soft steam rose, like snow finally surrendering to spring.
Cracks spread across the white surface.
Color returned.
Skin.
Hair.
Breath.
The small body lay in her father's arms, now warm and real.
But something had changed.
From the top of her head grew a small light-green leaf.
On both her arms, delicate vines coiled gently like living ornaments.
"So that's how it is…" Hax murmured softly.
"Your child has been reborn as a Dryad."
A forest spirit.
An entity bound to nature.
The child's eyes slowly opened.
"Father…?"
That small voice shook the man's world harder than any mana explosion ever could.
"Why are you crying?"
Tears fell from the man named Arven Halric, beyond his control.
What Hax had done was not merely healing.
It was a miracle.
A miracle that even the Church could not perform.
The girl slowly rose.
But instead of embracing her father again, she turned toward Hax.
Then she knelt.
Bowed in full reverence.
"Your Majesty…"
Hax fell silent.
The second effect of the potion.
Of course.
Change of Life did not merely resurrect.
It created a bond.
However…
The girl's gaze remained clear.
Her consciousness had not completely vanished.
She was still Lyra.
Only… now connected to him.
The first subordinate in this world.
No.
It could still be altered.
Hax stood and raised his hand above the little girl's head.
"Dominion Command: Listen to my order."
Mana trembled faintly.
"From this moment on, remain with your father."
"Become an overseer for this city."
"Protect this place."
"And learn how to conceal your identity."
A brief silence followed.
"Understood… Your Majesty."
Beneath the sky that still retained the lingering chill of the comet,
a new being had been born.
Not as a tragedy.
Not as a victim.
But as the beginning of something far greater.
And for the first time since arriving in this world—
Hax created life.
___
The sky above Ashen City looked ordinary.
Too ordinary.
There were no black clouds. No sign of disaster.
Yet the faint scent lingering in the air told a different story.
At the front stood a woman with long silver hair flowing like threads of moonlight. Her white armor was not flashy, yet every engraving on its surface radiated discipline and trained power.
Seraphina Noctrelle.
The Hero of the Kingdom.
The sword drawn in the name of the throne.
Behind her was a girl in a dark-blue robe with a magic circle emblem on her shoulder—the mage from her party assigned as a mana analyst.
And an elven archer with blonde hair, her steps light even on the cracked stone road.
They did not arrive as guests.
They arrived as investigators.
As an answer to something that did not yet have a definite name in the palace—
an event temporarily recorded as the "Black Rain."
The western district of Ashen was still in recovery.
A quarter of the area had been destroyed.
Some buildings were reduced to foundations and eroded walls as if drenched in corrosive liquid. Wood blackened, stone cracked, the ground pitted irregularly.
A faint acidic smell still lingered.
Like the remnants of rain that never truly evaporated.
Seraphina knelt and touched the damaged road surface.
Her fingertips felt something.
Not merely traces of magic.
This was more like… forced erosion.
As though the existence of something had been scraped away from the world itself.
"The mana residue is strange," the female mage behind her said softly. "Not water element, not fire, not pure darkness. Like a mixture… but also not."
"A large-scale ritual?" the elf asked.
The mage shook her head.
"There are no traces of a magic circle."
Seraphina stood.
"A Rank B adventurer also died, correct?"
"Yes," the mage replied. "According to the report, a Rank B adventurer hunting a Jack O' Lantern was caught when the rain fell."
Seraphina looked up at the now-clear sky.
A Rank B was no ordinary adventurer. And that monster, a Jack O' Lantern.
Their mana reflexes and defenses were enough to withstand ordinary area magic.
Yet they're died.
Along with the monster.
Without meaningful resistance.
"To the guild," she said shortly.
Adventurer Guild of Ashen
The moment the large wooden doors opened, the conversations inside immediately dimmed.
Several adventurers stood spontaneously.
A man who had been laughing suddenly swallowed his own voice.
Seraphina Noctrelle was not merely a name.
She was a living legend.
The northern war had been won thanks to her sword. Many young adventurers began their careers inspired by her.
The female receptionist at the front desk froze for a few seconds before hurriedly bowing.
"H-Hero Seraphina! Welcome to the Ashen's Adventure Guild!"
Her tone barely concealed her admiration.
Seraphina gave a slight nod.
"I have come under the King's orders. I want a full report on the Black Rain incident."
The atmosphere turned serious.
The receptionist pulled out several documents and spoke in a more formal tone.
"The death toll is recorded at five hundred and twenty-eight, Miss. Including one Rank B adventurer and several gate guards. Most victims were found with severe corrosive wounds—skin and tissue as if… melted or eroded."
The female mage quickly took notes.
"Did the monster also die?" Seraphina asked.
"Yes. The Jack O' Lantern being hunted was destroyed as well. They normally have resistance to elements and curses, but the rain was… different."
"Any witnesses?" the elf asked.
"Yes. They said the sky suddenly darkened without storm clouds. Then black liquid fell like rain… but only over the western district."
Seraphina narrowed her eyes.
Localized rain.
Not a natural phenomenon.
"Was there any suspicious individual in the city before the incident?" she asked.
The receptionist fell silent.
Then hesitantly retrieved a small box from beneath the desk.
Inside was an identification crystal—usually used to test mana affinity and race of prospective adventurers.
The crystal was cracked from within.
Thin black lines spread from its center.
"A few days before the incident, a man in black armor underwent this test."
"What was the result?" the female mage asked.
"The crystal turned pitch black… then trembled for a few moments before cracking. As if something inside it refused to be identified."
The room fell silent.
Several adventurers who had been pretending not to listen were now truly frozen.
Seraphina did not immediately speak.
Her gaze fell on the cracked crystal.
"Some witnesses said he was seen around the western district hunting Goblins… shortly before the Black Rain fell."
Goblins.
The lowest monsters in the threat chain.
Seraphina slowly raised her face.
Someone with mana capable of damaging an identification crystal—
hunting Goblins?
Was he hiding his strength?
If that man was a mage—
he was far above the kingdom's standards.
If he was not—
then what they were facing was something not recorded in any archive.
Seraphina slowly closed the crystal box.
"I want all witness reports. Time details. The position of the first victims. The pattern of the rain's spread."
She turned toward the door.
"And if that man in black armor is still within this region…"
Her voice was calm.
But the pressure behind it made several adventurers unconsciously hold their breath.
"I will find him."
Outside, the wind blew through Ashen's ruins.
And for the first time in a long while—
Seraphina felt something she had not felt even on the battlefield.
Not fear.
Not anger.
But a premonition.
That the tragedy in Ashen was not the end.
____
That night, Hax remained in Liora City.
He accepted Arven's offer to stay—the man's house was located far enough from the incident site.
A simple wooden house.
Warm.
Too warm for a creature without body temperature.
Hax stood in the corner of the room for a long time before finally sitting down. He did not sleep. Not truly.
Undead did not need that.
Morning came with soft light filtering through the curtain gaps.
And the hurried sound of small footsteps.
"Good morning, Your Ma—"
Lyra stopped mid-sentence, remembered something, then corrected herself with a bright smile.
"Good morning, Mister Hax!"
She stood before him with a proud expression, as if she had just completed a difficult exam. In her hands was a small tray holding bread and warm soup still steaming.
"Father said guests must be served food."
Hax looked at the thin steam rising from the bowl.
He felt no hunger.
Not anymore.
"I do not require food," he answered calmly.
Lyra blinked several times.
"Oh… because Mister Hax is strong?"
He did not elaborate further.
The child did not need to know that his body was merely empty armor moved by will and mana.
Lyra finally giggled softly and carried the tray back without looking disappointed.
After the door closed, Hax opened the System.
A transparent panel appeared before him.
Status.
Skills.
Dominion Authority.
His eyes—or whatever replaced that function—scanned the list of abilities belonging to the Demon Lord he once designed himself.
Abyss Rain.
Comet.
Dominion Command.
And several other skills.
Parameter values had changed.
Mana output increased.
Effect radius expanded.
It was not merely an increase in numbers.
He had felt it directly.
Abyss Rain did not merely erode targets—it devoured areas beyond initial calculations.
Comet did not merely destroy—it permanently affected the environment.
As if this world… interpreted his skills differently from the game.
Or—
As if this world amplified them.
"Scaling based on reality," he murmured softly.
This was no longer a simulation.
This was a real ecosystem.
And his power was no longer limited by an artificial balancing system.
The bedroom door opened slowly.
Arven appeared in simple neat clothing. His face still held traces of fatigue, but his eyes were more alive than yesterday.
"I will go to the city church today," he said carefully. "As a witness to the event."
He bowed slightly.
"Your Majes—"
"No need to be that formal," Hax cut him off flatly. "Just call me Hax."
Arven fell silent for a moment, looking hesitant.
"Very well… Mister Hax."
Hax did not correct him again.
That was enough.
"The Church will investigate this incident?" he asked.
"Yes. They say it may be divine punishment… or a high-level curse. Many citizens are asked to give testimony."
Divine punishment.
Interesting.
"I will come as well," Hax said.
Arven looked slightly surprised. "To the church?"
"I want to know how they view this event. And how the city's condition stands afterward."
It was not a request.
But neither was it an order.
Arven slowly nodded. "Alright… Mister Hax."
A few minutes later, they left the house together.
Liora's morning air felt quieter than usual.
People walked with lowered voices. Some houses remained closed. Wooden boards covered broken windows.
The citizens' gazes shifted quickly when they saw Hax.
His black armor was difficult to ignore.
And in the distance—
The church tower stood tall, its bell silent.
Waiting.
That morning, before leaving Arven's house, Hax did not immediately step outside.
He reopened the System panel.
If his power was no longer bound by game balancing, then even the slightest carelessness could trigger a response he did not desire.
His skill list slowly scrolled.
Then he found it.
Life Signature Masking.
A high-level passive-active skill.
Concealing life signatures, rearranging mana frequency, even falsifying biological identity in the eyes of detection systems.
In the game, this skill was designed for infiltrating holy territories and human cities.
Ironic.
Now he truly needed it.
"Activate."
Thin mana enveloped his armor, then seeped into the hollow cavity within. The cold and empty aura that usually surrounded him was gradually covered by a new layer—
Warm.
Pulsing.
Like the life energy of an ordinary human.
If a priest or mage examined him, they would see only a man with stable vitality. Nothing more.
"Output adjusted to ordinary adventurer level," he murmured.
He stepped toward the church.
---
Liora's church building stood gracefully with white stone pillars and stained-glass windows reflecting the morning light.
Several citizens gathered in the courtyard, their faces grim.
As Hax stepped onto the stone stairs—
The large church doors opened first.
But the one who greeted him was not a white-robed pastor.
Instead—
A tall figure with a human body and the head of a reddish-brown fox.
Golden eyes sharp.
Ears twitching subtly.
A demihuman.
Without warning—
He lunged.
Claws shot toward Hax's neck with speed unusual for a church guard.
Hax shifted half a step.
The claw left only a thin scratch in the air.
The second attack came from the right. A kick. Then successive punches.
Not wild attacks.
Technique.
Trained.
Several citizens screamed and backed away.
Hax blocked one punch with his armored arm. A soft metallic clang echoed.
He did not retaliate.
His mind focused on one thing.
Life Signature Masking… failed?
No.
His life aura remained stable. No undead mana leakage.
Then why—
"Stop, Fent!"
A heavy, authoritative voice echoed from inside the church.
A white-robed figure with a sacred symbol on his chest stepped out.
The head of Liora's church.
Fent remained in an attacking stance, breathing heavily, fangs slightly visible.
"He's not an ordinary human," he growled.
"On what basis?" the church head asked calmly, though his gaze had shifted to Hax.
Fent sniffed the air.
His nose moved slowly.
"Blood."
Silence fell.
"I smell unnatural blood from his armor," Fent continued. "Not human. Not common animal. A scent that is… wrong."
Hax understood.
Not mana detection.
Hunter's instinct.
A demihuman's sense of smell was far sharper than identification magic.
He slowly lowered his arm, showing he had no intention of fighting back.
"I am an adventurer," he said flatly.
His voice was steady.
Without defensiveness.
"On my way to this city, I hunted several monsters. Most likely the scent comes from their blood."
Fent narrowed his golden eyes.
"That scent is not like goblin or forest wolf."
"Of course not," Hax replied without pause. "I do not hunt only goblins."
An answer not entirely false.
He had indeed killed a dragon.
Only that was not the true source of suspicion.
The church head looked at Hax longer.
He sensed life energy from the man in black armor.
Stable.
Normal.
No sign of undead. No trace of active curse.
Yet—
There was something difficult to explain.
Like looking at the calm surface of a lake while knowing unseen depths lay beneath.
"Fent," the church head finally said. "Lower your hand."
Several tense seconds passed.
Then the fox demihuman stepped back half a step, though his golden gaze never left Hax.
"If you are truly an adventurer," the church head continued, "then you must have also come as a witness to the Black Rain incident."
"Correct."
One word.
Short.
Controlled.
Yet behind the black helmet—
Hax began to realize something.
Magic could be deceived.
Systems could be manipulated.
But the instincts of living beings—
Those were far more difficult to fool.
____
They gathered in the church's main hall.
The hall was wide and high, morning light piercing through stained glass, casting red and gold shadows upon the cold marble floor. The faint aroma of incense lingered in the air, mixed with melted candle wax atop the altar.
At the far end stood a statue of the Goddess of Light, her hands raised in a protective pose.
Under that stone gaze, mortal humans discussed destruction.
Several priests and nuns had assembled. Their white and gray robes rustled softly as they moved. Tense faces. Low whispers cut short whenever someone mentioned the Black Rain.
And among them—
Fent.
The fox-headed demihuman now wore a priest's robe, a sacred symbol hanging from his chest. If not for his distinct head and ears, he would hardly differ from the other clergy.
He leaned against a pillar, yet his golden eyes never truly left Hax.
The church head led the meeting from a long table in the center of the hall.
"Begin," he said calmly.
Arven stepped forward.
With a voice that still carried a faint tremor, he retold the events of that night.
About the dragon that emerged from the mountains, its silhouette cleaving the sky like the shadow of disaster.
Then about something that descended afterward.
Not rain.
Not light.
But white fragments, soft like snow—yet bringing a silent end.
He described how those particles touched skin… and slowly turned people into lifeless white masses. Frozen, not by ice, but by energy he could not comprehend.
The church hall fell silent.
Yet throughout the entire explanation—
He did not once mention Hax's involvement.
Not about the black armor standing untouched in the white rain.
Not about the star that fell from the sky.
Not about the hand that reversed death.
He erased that part from his story.
Perhaps out of gratitude.
Or perhaps because he understood something unspoken.
How terrifying the black-armored figure truly was.
A being capable of creating something that could even kill a dragon.
A being who could revive his dead daughter.
Some truths… were safer buried.
Silence lingered a few seconds longer than usual.
The church head's gaze slowly shifted.
Not to Arven.
But to the black-armored figure who had been standing silently at the side of the room.
"And then," he said calmly, "who is the knight accompanying you?"
His tone was not accusatory.
But neither was it entirely neutral.
Arven flinched slightly.
"T-that…"
A thin sheen of sweat formed on his temple. His fingers clenched behind his simple clothing. He had prepared to recount the night's tragedy—not to explain the being standing beside him.
Before his nervousness turned into suspicion—
Hax stepped half a step forward.
"An adventurer," he answered.
His voice was flat. Stable. Unhurried.
"I happened to enter the city when the incident occurred."
There was no pressure in his words. No defensiveness.
Only carefully selected facts.
Several priests observed him closely.
His black armor was too conspicuous to be called "ordinary."
Hax slowly raised his hand and produced a thin card from beneath his inner cloak.
An adventurer's card.
The guild emblem was clearly engraved on its surface, reflecting the stained-glass light from above.
He handed it over without hesitation.
The church head received the card and examined it briefly. No forbidden symbols. No curse seals. Only the official identity of a registered adventurer.
The man's gaze lifted again.
"And you decided to help?"
"I was there," Hax replied shortly. "That was enough."
An answer that did not fully explain anything.
Yet offered no opening for attack.
Several priests exchanged glances, silent yet meaningful. After that brief pause, they returned their focus to discussing the tragedy that had shaken the city.
"That phenomenon is not recorded in the holy scriptures," one added.
Fent finally spoke, his voice heavy.
"The energy was not holy. Nor was it an ordinary curse."
Silence descended.
The church head folded his hands atop the table.
"In recent weeks," he said slowly, "reports have circulated from other cities about mana anomalies. Dungeons changing. Monsters behaving unstably."
He looked around the room before continuing.
"And old legends are being mentioned again."
Someone whispered softly.
"Demon King…"
The word felt heavier than it should.
Several nuns bowed their heads. One priest made a protective sign with trembling hands.
"We do not yet have concrete evidence," the church head said. "However, the pattern of events… cannot be ignored."
Hax stood silently at the side of the room.
Demon King.
The term was not unfamiliar to him.
But what disturbed him was not the accusation.
It was another possibility.
Did this world have its own system?
An origin.
A Demon King truly born from this world's will—not an entity from the game he created.
If so…
Then his existence as a Demon Lord from another world could be considered an intrusion.
Two centers of authority within one reality.
That was not merely a clash of power.
It was the potential collision of existential laws.
Fent's gaze met his again.
As if the demihuman's instinct sensed something indescribable.
"If this truly is the emergence of a Demon King," one priest said, "then the Central Church will intervene."
"And the Holy Knights will be dispatched," another added.
The church head finally closed the discussion.
"We will not spread panic. For now, our focus is maintaining the city and calming the citizens. An official report will be sent to the capital."
One by one, they nodded.
The meeting ended.
But the anxiety did not leave with it.
---
Hax's footsteps echoed softly along the stone corridor as he left the hall with Arven.
The church doors closed behind them with a heavy sound.
The air outside felt lighter compared to the silent pressure within the sacred room. The morning wind swept away the lingering scent of incense from their senses, as if the outside world refused to bear the burden of that discussion.
Arven walked half a step behind him.
Several times he opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Finally, he exhaled deeply and forced the remaining courage in his chest.
"A-Are you…"
His sentence hung.
He did not dare say the word.
But he did not need to.
"No," Hax answered before Arven could finish.
Flat voice. No emotion. No pause.
Arven fell silent.
Hax continued walking, his black armor reflecting the pale morning light.
He had once borne that title.
Demon King.
But what they had discussed inside the church earlier… was not him.
He recognized the tone of their fear. It was not fear toward the entity standing beside Arven now.
It was fear toward something else.
Something born from this world itself.
Behind his black helmet, his thoughts worked in silence.
If there was another Demon King in this world—
Then he was not the only variable.
And if the Church began to move—
Then the time to remain passive would soon run out.
"In that case…" he murmured softly.
He did not stop walking as he activated his next skill.
"Summon: Umbra Vermis."
Dark mana seeped from the gaps in his armor—not exploding, not conspicuous.
But flowing.
The shadow behind his feet moved.
Pulsed.
Then—
From within it emerged small pitch-black creatures. Their bodies long, resembling worms, yet their surface not solid. As if made from condensed smoke.
Dozens.
Perhaps more.
They made no sound. No scent. Emitted no detectable mana.
High-level scouting creatures.
Several passing citizens noticed nothing.
Because those creatures did not truly "exist" within the normal spectrum.
Hax paused briefly at a quiet street corner.
"Investigate," he ordered flatly.
Dozens of tiny heads lifted simultaneously.
"Observe all individuals within this city and its surroundings who have the potential to become a threat."
There was no vocal response.
But the command was received.
In a single pulse—
All Umbra Vermis melted back into shadow… then dispersed.
They slid along walls.
Slipped through door cracks.
Crawled beneath horse carriages.
Moved from one shadow to another.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Within minutes, they had spread throughout Liora City.
The market.
The guard barracks.
Noble residences.
Even the church grounds.
Each Vermis shared vision and sensation directly with the central controller—
Hax.
Fragments of information began flowing into his awareness.
Heartbeats.
Mana fluctuations.
Soft conversations behind closed doors.
He walked slowly through a city that appeared ordinary.
Yet without anyone realizing—
All of Liora was now within his surveillance range.
"If anyone intends to target me…" he murmured softly.
His black helmet reflected the pale morning light.
"…I will know first."
And beneath the feet of unaware citizens—
Their shadows moved slightly more alive than usual.