Mystic Races.

They were once believed to be descendants of ancient heroes, blessed with extraordinary powers during the era when gods walked the earth. Others say they are a race born from the blessings of fairies.

Gods, fairies, and dragons.

Born of these sacred and mysterious beings, the mystic races possessed both strength and uniqueness.

Take the dwarves, for example: naturally gifted artisans with unparalleled craftsmanship. Or the mermaids, mystic races of the sea, whose bodies are adapted to life underwater.

As their name implies, the mystic races are both enigmatic and rare. However, their rarity isn't solely due to their small numbers. Many speculate that it's because they find civilized societies distasteful.

They are well aware of the risks—stepping into the realm of civilization could lead to their enslavement.

For this reason, mystic races often rejected the idea of mingling with civilization. On rare occasions, they might appear in the southern continent to study mysticism, but in other continents, they were often regarded as little more than myths, with most doubting their very existence.

Even in the southern continent, where they occasionally appeared, they were far from common. And even if someone were fortunate enough to encounter a mystic race, they might not recognize them.

Consider the barbarians: despite their size and strength, they appear almost identical to ordinary humans. Similarly, many other mystic races share a resemblance to humans. Such similarities make identification nearly impossible.

But then…

“…I-it’s real! It’s a real mystic race…!”

Damian Follet was stunned.

Hovering in midair, a being with bat-like wings extending from its back stood before him. Its eyes glowed crimson, and its hair swayed as though it had a will of its own.

And, most notably:

‘Such an enthralling presence…!’

The intoxicating aura surrounding the figure was enough to make one’s mind hazy and submissive. It was a charm no man could resist—a dangerously alluring force that could make anyone lose their senses.

Yet…

“Wow, even after all this beating, you’re not dead? Impressive, you.”

“P-please spare me! N-no, just stop hitting me….”

“If I cut your neck, will you die? Or maybe burning you would work? If not…”

“Eek!”

“…Don’t freak out. I’m not actually going to kill you. I was just giving examples.”

“……”

“Hm, but burning you to death would work, wouldn’t it?”

“P-please, spare me…!”

“Ah, so burning works. Good to know.”

“Waaahhh!!”

The Dream Demon sobbed pitifully, but it had no effect on the figure towering over it.

The knight, who had been beating the creature for a solid seven hours, still showed signs of unrelieved frustration.

“Stop crying. Before I actually bring a torch and some oil.”

“……”

The Dream Demon fell silent, trembling all the while.

‘…Seems like it does want to live, at least.’

Damian Follet averted his gaze from the strange yet brutal scene.

If he got involved now…

‘It’d only shorten my lifespan.’

He was deeply curious about where the Dream Demon had come from and why it was being beaten, but he buried his questions deep in his heart.

After half a year of living as a trainee under a monster, Damian had learned to grow his sense of discretion—or rather, he’d been forced to.

Picking up a hoe to pull weeds from the instructor’s garden, Damian headed off.

It was just another chaotic Sunday morning.

‘So this thing really is a mystic race.’

And not just any mystic race—a Dream Demon.
A creature that manipulates dreams and feeds on the life force of men.
Often likened to succubi, Dream Demons were one of the most reviled mystic races, much like vampires or witches.

‘Is that why Raphael called it a pitiful creature?’

It made sense now. The old priest called his fellow clergy “brothers,” but referred to Judea Pierre as a “child.” The church, unofficially at least, still harbored prejudice against mystic races. And a Dream Demon, of all things?

Accepting such a creature would be unthinkable. If its identity were revealed…

‘It wouldn’t be a joke. This thing would face the Inquisition.’

The one subjected to a heretic trial wouldn’t be anyone else—it’d be this creature.

Also…

“…So, who are you?”

“…Huh?”

“I’m asking because you’re not the redhead I know.”

“……”

“Thought so.”

Even if it did face the Inquisition, it wouldn’t be undeserved.

Special Trait: Hyper-Perception.
This ability, listed in Ihan’s status window, granted him near-supernatural sensory awareness, feeding him a constant stream of information.

Just as he’d discerned the familial bond between the duke and his ward at a glance, Ihan’s trait allowed him to glean numerous details about Judea Pierre’s identity.

“Not just your appearance, speech, or personality—even your minor habits, voice inflections, and hand movements. Everything’s different. It’s like you’re a completely different person.”

“You… you can tell all that?”

“It’s obvious.”

“…Maybe you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“What a revolting thing to say. You must want another beating.”

“N-no! Absolutely not…!”

She hurriedly denied it, almost screaming.

Then…

“It’s just—I was so shocked. I never imagined someone could clearly distinguish between ‘Pierre’ and ‘me.’”

“…Hm.”

“Let me reintroduce myself. I’m ‘Judea.’ Another persona that shares this body and soul with Pierre.”

“…How unnecessarily complicated.”

She could’ve just called it a split personality.

Judea Pierre.
Or rather, the "persona" named Judea spoke up.

“The Dream Demon race is one of the mystic races that is often treated no differently from demons. It’s an unfair judgment, but it’s true that Dream Demons survive by feeding on the life force of others. Naturally, this leads to us being shunned.”

“That makes sense.”

“W-wouldn’t it be normal to comfort me and say something like, ‘That’s so sad,’ at a time like this?”

“Do you think the victim of almost having their life force drained would feel like offering comfort?”

“…I-it’s not harmful! Even if I feed, the worst you’d feel is just a little fatigue….”

“So what you’re saying is like a thief claiming that a rich person wouldn’t suffer a loss if a little of their money was stolen. You impudent woman.”

“A-a-anyway!”

“…What a shameless woman.”

Unbothered by Ihan’s biting words, Judea continued her explanation boldly.

“Dream Demons, you see, are a race that, like witches, are born by borrowing human wombs. The difference is that while witches are born with the knowledge of their predecessors, Dream Demons are born as ordinary humans and only realize their nature at some point later in life. So, I was originally…”

“You must’ve been living in human society until you caused some sort of incident, then?”

“No, I was kidnapped.”

“……”

“There was a group that specialized in kidnapping mystic races. I was captured by them, brainwashed, and had my blood extracted. When the pain became unbearable, I even began to deny my own existence. That’s when… ‘Pierre’ was born.”

- It was probably only possible because I was a Dream Demon….

“……”

At her soft, lingering words, Ihan’s gaze darkened.

It wasn’t pity for her story that elicited this reaction.

Rather…

‘Seems like what Galahad mentioned wasn’t just empty talk.’

The mention of a “group that kidnaps mystic races” struck a nerve in him. Ihan’s instincts told him that this group was undoubtedly connected to the knock-off Blood Cult he had suspected.

“So, to summarize, you were in so much pain that you created a separate persona to suffer in your place.”

“…Doesn’t that make me sound like a terrible person?”

“Isn’t that accurate?”

“……”

Her expression was one of reluctant acceptance—she wanted to deny it but couldn’t.

Some might have been enchanted by her alluring, mysterious aura and tried to comfort her, but to Ihan, that so-called charm didn’t work at all.

Instead, his thoughts shifted elsewhere.

‘So, that was Pierre.’

Ihan recalled the madman who had fought him, then immediately pointed a gun at his forehead when the fight turned against him.
The one who acted as if life had no meaning.

‘A fabricated persona, huh?’

It made sense. Such emptiness could only come from someone like that.
Still, while he found her pitiable, Ihan didn’t fault Judea for her cowardice.

After all…

‘…If I could have done it, I would have created one too.’

“It hurts, it hurts so much….”
“Mom….”
“P-please save me! Save me!!”

Ihan’s mind wandered back to his past, to the time when he was just three years old and his parents had sold him into slavery, handing him over to a mage.

He remembered how children his age had writhed in pain, crying out, only to die.
How the child he had spoken to one day would be a cold corpse the next.
The emotions he felt during those days were nothing but dark.

He had raged endlessly, wondering how much longer he would have to endure such suffering.

“Why do I have to go through this…?”
He had repeated those words countless times each day.

“If this was how it was going to be, I wish I’d never been born at all!”

He had hated and resented the entire world.

‘I’d even imagined how wonderful it would have been if I’d had a double to endure the pain in my place.’

While he had called her terrible, he couldn’t say her actions were incomprehensible. Ihan stifled a bitter smile—these were feelings he didn’t want anyone to see.

“…I never thought it would actually happen. I didn’t think a new persona would just suddenly appear and take over my body….”

“Is creating a persona one of a Dream Demon’s powers?”

“M-maybe?”

“…How would you not know?”

“…I’ve never met another Dream Demon.”

“……”

“P-please stop looking at me like that!”

Judea Pierre—or rather, Judea’s persona—was, frankly, rather brazen. She was endlessly arrogant to those weaker than herself, yet grovelled before anyone stronger.

Ihan was certain now.

‘That’s it. That’s the [Villainess] he was talking about.’

Judea Pierre, one of the three great villainesses.
A character who appeared in the original story—or was it a game?—and someone who had driven the black-haired man to such rage. Ihan was now sure that she was the true culprit.

How was he so certain?

“Hey, this might be a bit late to ask, but why did you try to attack me?”

“W-what? T-that’s….”

“Just tell me. I won’t get mad.”

“…Well, I needed life force, and I figured if I was going to take some, it’d be better from a guy who had a lot of it….”

“…You wretch.”

“You’re so mean….”

See? She was a woman with no sense of guilt.

Ihan was convinced that this crimson-haired Dream Demon would have no grounds for complaint if she were put through the Heretic Inquisition.