Aellaran's gaze was fixed on the man before him.
So handsome he was when his eyes were closed. How did he look so masculine, yet so feminine at the same time?
To think that it was him, Aellaran, who had put him in such a state. All it took was a pan at the back of the head for the powerful squire to fall.
He still felt guilty for rendering him unconscious; but still, it had to be done.
The memories from the previous night surfaced. After taking the transformation potion, Vill had morphed into a peerless beauty — the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, much more dazzling than the beastmaidens Aellaran always fantasised.
Then, Vill had kissed him.
Aellaran hadn't resisted, as a matter of fact, he quite enjoyed it and even now, he couldn't get that sensation of the kiss — the warmth and taste of his tongue, the floral fragrance of the soap, the suppleness of his lips.
There, in the princess's room they kissed... they really had kissed in his fiancée's room as she thought they were changing into the gowns she lent them.
Holy mother! What was he even thinking. He was a man! A MAN!
It was Vill's fault. Yes. He was the one that kissed him first. It was Vill, who never liked him in the first place, that kissed him, not the other way round.
Was it because Aellaran had also been a girl?
But since when did the cold and distant Vill — the one that didn't like people, the one that despised and avoided Aellaran, the one that occasionally called him bothersome, and hated it when he called him Vill — since when did he like girls?
And now, he just sat there with his hands and feet bound, looking so alluring.
Aellaran felt like chugging transformation potion down his throat, watch him turn into that beautiful girl that he couldn't forget, then hug her tightly and kiss her again.
He wanted to tell him he was sorry for knocking him off while he wasn't watching.
So what if he was a man; so what if Aellaran liked beastmaids; so what if he was affiliated with demons.
What! No. No. He didn't feel like that... that was just sleep deprivation, not his thoughts.
He liked beastmaids, not men.
Also, he had demonic ties.
Yes. Another reason why they couldn't be together.
Not only was he a man, but he also had ties with demons, the greatest threat to the Moon Empire. As per the requirements, he should immediately report him to the Jade Hounds.
'Stop thinking about him. He is beyond saving. Report or you'll become an accomplice to a demon. Save yourself. It is better to get rid of him. He hates you.'
No.
Aellaran just couldn't bring himself to turn him to the authorities.
They would just end his life, and Aellaran didn't want that.
Still, that didn't change the fact that he was a half demon, and there was no reverting back once the demon transformation began...
No.
There had to be a way... the system... if he upgraded it, maybe — just maybe — it could help remove the demonic energy...
Yes—
"Urgh..."
Just at that moment, Vilinros slowly returned to consciousness.
***
A couple of months before...
In an arid land desolate of anything save for cracked earth, scattered shrubs, and a lonely path paved with stones, a coffle of prisoners snaked its way under the watch of soldiers mounted on dire wolves.
Each soldier wore a red helmet and was shrouded in grey mist that protected them from the sun. The mist rose from the dire wolves' fur and was so dense such that one couldn't see the bodies of the soldiers — only their red helmets protruded from the mist.
The caravan was dead-silent save for the rhythmic sound of the chains and two soldiers behind the coffle. The blistering sun didn't seem to stop them from chatting boisterously.
Beside the two, a soldier whose helmet had been removed rode silently, not bothering to involve himself in their chatter. He had black hair with a slight green tinge and a youthful face. He was a statue of a man with eyes that barely blinked, perpetually looking to the front as if frozen.
There were three lines. At the end of the central line, a young man with jet black hair, watery black eyes, and cracked lips trudged slowly.
Step. Step. Another step.
With every step, the chains announced themselves.
Cling! Cling! Cling!
Aellaran could barely lift his feet. He felt like he could topple over at any moment. Yet, he kept on going, not daring to stop.
The muffled sting on his back was enough of a reminder of what could happen if he faltered in his steps.
Wherever the burly prisoner in front of him stepped, Aellaran stepped.
Under the sun that was at its zenith, the smooth stones were hot enough to sear the feet of anyone foolish enough to step on them; therefore, the prisoners walked in a meander and Aellaran followed suit despite having shoes, unlike the other prisoners.
The shackles were hot against his skin, his vision was doubled, and his throat and tongue were dry.
His attention was split between walking and his imagination.
For some inexplicable reason, the thoughts were sweet in his head, like he was having a pleasant dream and the reality outside was nothing but background noise.
Aellaran was back in his mansion, and the chambermaid had just brought him water when the burly prisoner abruptly stopped, resulting in Aellaran bumping into him.
The two soldiers stopped their chatter.
Aellaran looked up. His double vision focused just in time to see a prisoner being pulled from the coffle after being unchained by a dismounted soldier. The soldier, who wore blood red garments, unsheathed his sword and plunged it into the prisoner's chest.
The prisoner who was old and frail grasped his chest before falling face first, dead.
The soldier then connected the chains and mounted the snow white dire wolf, the mist shrouding him.
As for Aellaran, as opposed to the first time he saw it happen when he felt pity and indignation, he felt nothing. This was a common occurrence.
Unlike Aellaran — who as the soldier had boasted, was a precious find due to his unique blood-slave lineage — or the girl at the end of the line to his right — who the soldier had referred to as a princess, someone they couldn't afford dying — when the other prisoners fumbled, they didn't get away with merely a whiplash.
They were killed and left in the desert.
Soon enough, vultures that circled overhead, smelling death, would feast on their bodies.
His gaze landed on the girl who looked about his age. In stark contrast to the other prisoners who only had loincloths, she was dressed in an elegant set of garments which still looked splendid despite being ragged. Her hair, just like the other prisoners, was green, though hers was brighter with a deeper emerald colour.
Throughout the journey, for the past five days, she had been Aellaran's main source of strength, a silent companion whose presence served as an anchor. If she could endure the harsh journey, so could he.
At this exact moment, a dire wolf stopped beside the girl.
On it was mounted a youthful soldier with a handsome face that was more feminine than it was masculine.
The instant he saw him, Aellaran's heart skipped a beat, and then a rush of excitement followed. For a moment there, Aellaran felt like his saviour had appeared.
The young man, however, did not spare him a glance.
His attention was focused solely on the princess, and Aellaran felt like exchanging bodies with the girl to be in her position.
He stretched forward a hand shrouded in grey mist. In his hand, there was a waterskin.
"Water. Drink. Quick."
The girl looked at him, then stretched her shackled hand for the waterskin.
Shwap!
Just then, the sound of a cracking whip resounded. The unstoppered waterskin was lashed off the soldier's hand.
Aellaran gulped as he watched the water seep into the earth, forming a dark stain. But before he had time to think—
Shwap!
Another crack and the girl fell to the ground, kneeling.
"What do you think you are doing, young lad?"
One of the two chatterboxes — a middle-aged man with thick beard, the one that had captured Aellaran — rode to the spot behind the handsome young soldier. From his voice alone, Aellaran could recreate the face behind the visor.
"Giving her water."
The young man succinctly replied, not even bothering to look at the bearded man whom Aellaran now hated more than ever.
The man was clearly displeased with the response; nonetheless, he smiled.
"All prisoners must be treated equally. She'll be given water with the rest of the prisoners at the next stop. You should have given some to this tasty blood instead... after all, he is only my prisoner, not the Empire's... heheh."
Said the man who was the source of all his misery. If only he were not shackled, Aellaran could have strangled him to death. Wasn't he the one that captured him? Wasn't he the one that whipped him all those times he missed a step and disrupted the caravan? Why was he pretending to care about him now?
The thoughts, however, vanished when the bearded man made his next move, replaced by surprise.
"Here, drink some."
In his hand was a waterskin.
The man was actually offering him water!
Aellaran wanted to reach for it straightaway. But then he took a moment to consider.
Knowing the soldier, this must be a dirty trick, something for the soldier to laugh about with his friend after whipping him.
His eyes moved from the waterskin to the soldier's visored face.
The soldier nodded reassuringly, promising him no harm.
"Come on, take it. It's yours."
Aellaran tentatively reached for the waterskin.
At any moment now, he expected pain on his back for being foolish enough to think that the soldier could offer him any water.
The tip of his finger had barely brushed against the surface when—
Howl!
The cry of a wolf came from the front, signalling it was time for movement. The soldier pulled back his arm taking with it the precious water into the mist.
"Too bad. Now move."
The glint in Aellaran's eyes vanished. He looked at the girl who was back on her feet, then his gaze returned to the feet of the burly prisoner.
Cling! Cling! Cling!
Aellaran had barely taken a step when the air suddenly turned cold and the world turned dimmer.
Then, snowflakes started falling from the sky.