Kind Demon King

She pulled a handkerchief from her kimono—or was it called a yukata? Maybe this world didn't even have those. She wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“Are you okay?” I asked, unsure if that was supposed to happen.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired,” she replied, her gaze shifting back to Larve.

“I don’t think your friend here is a beastkin. Her soul feels… different.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t matter to me. Did that create any problems?”

So Larve wasn’t a beastkin either. Should have guessed but it didn’t matter. I was set on taking care of her. She smiled softly. “I guess so. But you don’t need to worry. I learned about her condition—she simply lacks life force.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“Life force is just as its name suggests—the essence of life. It’s not something you can see with your eyes; it’s tied to vitality. You mentioned being wounded, right? Perhaps your friend belongs to a race that can transfer life force, and she gave hers to you to heal you.”

I felt my fists tighten. Was it my fault? I was the older one. I should have taken care of her. Stupid kid, why would you do something like that?

“How can I treat it?”

Despite my foul mood, Ama kept her gentle smile, her relaxed demeanor offering slight comfort.

“A revitalization potion can help her. There are alchemy stores where you can buy one, but it may take time and money to find a good quality one. Alternatively, you could obtain it from a dungeon.”

Alchemy was real in this world?

“What is a dungeon?”

She looked bewildered by my reaction. “You don’t know what a dungeon is?”

“Just remind me.”

Her suspicion was palpable. Was knowledge about dungeons common sense here? Damn, I really need to learn more.

“Dungeons are places where strong concentrations of mana warp space, forming a sub-space. The mana condenses, leading to strange phenomena—monsters, mutated plant life, and unique minerals. If you manage to clear them, you can gain powerful items born from records and skills.”

Good. More video game stuff. I had been feeling those elements were underutilized recently.

“That doesn’t sound renewable.”

Despite that, relying solely on dungeons for resources didn’t seem wise. It reminded me of how my world depended on fossil fuels. The Energy Crisis of 2036 sent shivers down my spine just thinking about it.

“As long as the dungeon has enough mana, it won’t collapse.”

“How long can a dungeon last?”

“It depends on several factors, but dungeons rarely collapse. When someone enters a dungeon, they fuel it to some extent. Using mana is best since some of it remains, helping to sustain the dungeon further.”

I realized I needed to learn more about this mana concept. This world had many mysteries yet to unfold.

“Is there a specific dungeon that drops that potion?”

“The Howling Beast dungeon, one of the main dungeons in Whifur, has a high drop rate. It’s known to be incredibly difficult to conquer, but Commander Börü and our group would be willing to assist you in return for your help with this operation.”

I glanced at Larve, concern etched on my face. “Is her condition stable enough for us to wait that long?”

“She’s in some kind of hibernation—likely an ability of her race. I’ll need to check the library when we return. You can leave her with me. I’ll cast recovery spells so her body doesn’t develop sores from lying there all day.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

I returned to the inn where I was staying. The innkeeper was furious, having discovered part of his building was broken due to those guys' entry through the window. I managed to calm him with promises of more money and then went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up and headed to the barracks where the beastkin were held. They were confined in small, poorly constructed huts just outside the town. As I looked towards the road leading to the hills, I guessed that was where the mines were located.

“What are you doing here, kid?” one of the soldiers sitting just outside the barracks asked, eyeing me.

“I’m looking for a job. I know how to fight—or at least beat people up. I heard you were looking for folks with that capability.”

One soldier burst out laughing, and soon the others joined in.

“Do you think you can fight just because you have a scar on your face and a sword?”

I scanned him, suppressing the urge to touch my eye scar. Scars were familiar to me; I carried them like badges of the roads I had traveled. But this one felt different. It was a reminder of someone I had tried to protect, and annoyance bubbled within me.

“Better to have a scar than a beer belly, old man.”

The soldiers roared with laughter while the one I roasted fell silent.

“Damn, Donald! Are you going to take that lying down?”

One soldier nudged him, grinning.

“Fuck off, kid!”

He stood up abruptly.

“Maybe you should have stayed down and rolled towards me. It would probably be faster.”

He lunged for his sword, but I shot forward, kicking his hand away just as he reached for it. Taking advantage of his shaky balance, I sent him crashing headfirst into the ground. I opened my arms as if I just finished performing a dance, and the soldiers erupted into laughter and applause.

“I’m going to cut your balls off!”

Donald roared, his face covered in mud. I gestured for him to come closer with my left arm behind my back. He charged, and I sidestepped.

“Ole!”

I shouted like a bullfighter as he lost his balance again and tumbled to the ground. Some soldiers were rolling on the floor, laughing, clutching their stomachs.

“What is this ruckus?”

A man in better armor compared to others emerged from one of the barracks. His trousers were undone, and he looked disheveled.

“This kid wants to join us, Captain. Donald wanted to test him, and he’s been on the ground ever since.”

The captain scanned me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re that boy who’s been hunting for ten days, right? I must thank you. My men haven’t had fresh meat in a while. The hunters in this town can’t hunt their own asses even if they were given the best hounds. You, on the other hand…” He let the sentence hang in the air.

This man had been a high-ranking soldier for a long time; his tone and posture conveyed authority despite his messy appearance.