Chapter 779

“What did you just say?”

Raon’s eyes widened, locking onto Wrath as the cotton candy-shaped demon drifted down from the sky.

“Is Sia’s soul inside that thing?”

“I don’t know if it’s Sia,” Wrath replied, shaking his fluffy blue head with firm conviction, “but there is definitely a human soul embedded within that orc’s spirit.”

He nodded sharply, his thick chin wobbling with the motion.

“If you kill that orc now, the human soul will be destroyed along with him!”

Wrath frowned deeply, making it clear—no harm could come to the Green King, not yet.

Raon narrowed his eyes, turning back to the battered figure before him.

“Is that true?”

The Green King, silent once more, slowly raised his broken stone sword.

His eyes glowed—bright red and unwavering. There was no answer in words, only in will.

He had no intention of surrendering. Even in this state, he would fight to the end.

“Haha…”

Raon gritted his teeth, his hand trembling around the hilt of Heavenly Drive.

He couldn’t keep fighting—not like this. Not with Wrath saying a human soul was tied to the Green King. Whatever else Wrath was, he wouldn’t lie about something like that.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

“…I’m just trying to protect myself.”

The Green King shook his head slowly, his voice calm, even now. That was all he said.

“In the end…”

Raon’s jaw tightened as he stared into the Green King’s eyes—eyes that still held dignity and purpose, even through the pain.

Wait a minute…

Could this even happen?

Normally, when someone wore one of Eden’s helmets, the mental image of the monster overlapped with the mind of the host. It always resulted in a battle of wills—one soul trying to dominate the other.

That was what happened with Loctar Defort. Raon had fought him in the mental world… and absorbed his soul.

This wasn’t the same. This was something far more complicated.

But if Sia’s soul was still inside the Green King… then the absorption hadn’t been completed. Something had interrupted the process.
He needed answers—fast.

“What’s your name?”

Raon slowly lowered Heavenly Drive, his gaze fixed on the orc before him.

“Murkada.”

The Green King answered without pause. He had kept silent about Sia, but he gave his own name without hesitation.

“Murkada?”

“In the human tongue, it means ‘a tree with deep roots.’”

Raon blinked. “I figured a king wouldn’t need a name. That’s unexpected.”

He gave a slight shrug, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“…”

Murkada remained silent once more—but it was no longer the silence of defiance. It was something else. Something heavier.

The Green King remained tense, his broken stone sword now wrapped in a blazing red fighting spirit.

“My name is Raon Zieghart. I’m the younger brother of the human whose body you currently inhabit.”

Raon closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, offering that truth as a show of trust.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I refuse.”

Murkada’s grip on the shattered sword tightened. His voice was firm, unwavering.

“I don’t trust humans.”

His red eyes flicked to the burned corpses of his kin littered across the ashen ground. His lips curled, revealing sharp teeth.

Of course…

Raon let out a soft breath, watching the fury in Murkada's eyes swell once more.

“This won’t be easy.”

Murkada had claimed that he and his kin were slaughtered after being deceived by humans—then, even in death, were forced into this body against their will. Given that history, his distrust of humans was more than understandable.

As his expression grew cold and tense, Murkada’s fighting spirit flared once more. He clearly believed Raon would strike again.

But Raon didn’t move to fight.

Instead, he lowered both hands and fully sheathed Heavenly Drive.

“I’ve been through something similar,” he said quietly, “but I suppose I can’t truly understand how you feel.”

In his past life, Raon had lived a nightmare under Derus’s control—stripped of freedom, identity, and purpose. But after reincarnation, he’d come to know the value of connection… of people.

Murkada’s torment, however, ran deeper.

To be manipulated by Eden, even after death—that was a cruelty beyond Raon’s own pain.

“Please. Until recently, I didn’t even know my sister was alive. I don’t want to cause more pain to the family I’ve fought so hard to bring back together.”

Raon bowed his head to Murkada, laying bare the sincerity in his voice and posture.

“...”

Murkada’s hand trembled for a moment, but he didn’t lower his stone sword. His stance, his resolve—still unchanged.

“Hey! Orc.”

Wrath floated closer, his blue cotton candy form puffed up with irritation. He twisted his lips, glaring at the Green King.

“This king is talking to you! Answer him! Cough!”

He winced and frowned, clearly frustrated with his own timing.

“If you don’t open your mouth right now, I’ll freeze you into an ice cube and—”

“Stop.”

Raon sighed and grabbed Wrath by the arms, shaking his head.

“If you start throwing tantrums, how are we supposed to—ugh.”

Even mid-sentence, exhaustion tugged at Raon’s body. He didn’t have the strength to deal with Wrath’s theatrics and Murkada’s silence at the same time.

As Raon struggled to restrain Wrath—who was flailing like an angry balloon—his strength suddenly vanished. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

No... it wasn’t just his body.

It felt like his soul was unraveling.

“Are you alright?”

Wrath rushed behind him, catching him before he hit the floor. His fluffy blue form cushioned Raon’s back like a sofa—soft and oddly comforting, just as his cotton candy appearance promised.

“You’re not in your right mind! Cough!”

“Judging by that cough, you’re not exactly in peak condition either,” Raon muttered, gently poking Wrath’s forehead.

“Don’t joke around!” Wrath scolded. “If you push yourself any harder, your mental image will shatter—or worse, you’ll die!”

He shook his head furiously, waving his stubby arms like a child throwing a fit.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Even with those weird rings helping you hold out, you’ve still been containing this king’s power! Your soul is probably cracked in more places than you realize!”

Wrath gestured up and down, practically vibrating with worry.

“You need to stop. Rest. And also, we need to try the new bead ice cream flavor! Cough!”

“…So that was your real goal.”

Raon let out a faint chuckle. Even on the edge of collapse, Wrath never failed to stay true to his chaotic brand.

“I feel… pretty dizzy,” Raon admitted, holding his forehead. “Even during the fight, my vision kept blurring.”

“The fact that you couldn’t sense the human soul inside that orc was already a red flag. Cough!”

Wrath shook his head, clearly agitated. “You were in a messed-up state from the moment you entered this mental realm.”

“I see...”

It made sense. Forcing himself to fight at full power—while containing Wrath’s energy and maintaining his mental image—had been reckless. Just as Wrath said, it had pushed him too far.

Now, the dizziness was overwhelming. His body… no, his soul couldn’t take much more.

Raon turned his gaze to Murkada.

“Murkada, I’ll return. And when I do…”

He exhaled slowly, voice calm but firm.

“I hope we can have a proper conversation.”

Raon gave a faint gesture toward Murkada, who remained motionless, his stern gaze never wavering. Then, without another word, Raon closed his eyes.

Both his soul and body had reached their limits.
He drifted into unconsciousness before he could open them again.

“…”

Wrath watched silently as Raon's form began to fade, his presence slipping away from the mental world.

Once Raon vanished, Wrath floated quietly in the air.

A ripple of blue chill spread like a calm but freezing lake.

The giant cotton candy form melted away—replaced by the true figure of the Demon King.

Frost-colored hair cascaded down his back, and a dignified chill radiated from him.

“You…”

Murkada’s throat tightened. He swallowed hard as he looked at the transformed being before him.

“You’re not… human.”

“To think you still believed this king was human after seeing the blue cloud earlier—how typically prejudiced of an orc,” Wrath said with a faint, amused smirk.

His lips curved slightly, both mocking and entertained.

“You… Humans have done you great harm. Your soul is soaked in grief and rage.”

His expression shifted—just slightly.

“But it is remarkable… that you don’t let it consume you.”

The anger Wrath sensed from Murkada was raw—intense enough to pierce through the stillness of the mental world.

And yet, Murkada held it in.

He suppressed it with a discipline that not even most human saints or sages could manage.

“Because no human can be trusted.”

Murkada ground his teeth as he spoke. Even showing anger toward humans, he said, was a waste of emotion.

“This king doesn’t know the full story of your past,” Wrath said, raising a slender, frost-colored index finger. “But there is one thing I do know.”

He paused, eyes narrowing.

“That young human… the one who vanished after acting all arrogant and self-important—I know exactly who he is.”

“…”

“He pretends to be strong, but he’s fragile. He acts cold, but he’s warm.”

Wrath’s voice was unusually steady—almost reverent.

“He is not like the humans who killed you, revived you, and now toy with your remains.”

Murkada said nothing, but the red glow in his eyes dimmed. Slowly, he lowered his broken stone sword.

“I’m not saying you must accept him right away,” Wrath added, his voice quieter now. “But if you experience it for yourself… you’ll understand.”

Wrath gave a slight nod, as if telling Murkada to watch and decide for himself.

“Oh, what a pity,” he muttered, voice tinged with exaggerated regret. “Now that that damned brat has disappeared, this king must also take his leave… cough!”

A splatter of blood escaped his lips as he coughed—thick and dark. It wasn’t just fatigue. It was a wound to the soul, inflicted by the strain of aiding Raon far beyond his limits.

“For a Demon King,” Wrath said with a crooked smile, wiping the blood away, “wounds like these are nothing more than medals.”

Then he turned toward Murkada.

“Orc. We’ll meet again.”

He raised a hand and gave a lazy wave before closing his eyes.

“It would be nice if you ended up liking bead ice cream too.”

With those final words—light, but sincere—Wrath vanished from the mental world.

“Haha…”

Only after he was truly gone did Murkada lower his broken stone sword.

He let out a long, weary sigh, eyes drifting to the ground beneath him.

His feet… had not moved a single step from where it all began.

* * *

I had a dream.

It wasn’t mine.
And it didn’t belong to the ancestor of Zieghart either.

Instead of the dead, blackened forest I’d seen within Murkada’s mental image—the graveyard that had once been his home—I stood in a vast forest brimming with life.

Lush greenery stretched in every direction, vibrant and untouched.

It seemed I had this dream because I’d lingered too long within Murkada’s mental world. Some trace of him… of his memories… had followed me.

In the dream, I saw through Murkada’s eyes.

A young human child stood at the edge of the sacred grove.

From the child’s clothing and posture, he appeared to be of noble blood—though disheveled and trembling.

It was rare for a human, especially a child, to wander into the heart of the forest. Rarer still for one to come alone.

His clothes were torn and soaked with blood—not his own, but another human’s. He must have been attacked… and fled, stumbling into the depths of Murkada’s domain.

[It’s alright. I won’t harm you.]

The voice, gentle and resonant, echoed from Murkada’s soul—not as a king, not as a warrior.

But as someone… trying to protect.

Murkada had flailed his arms and made awkward gestures with his feet, trying his best to appear harmless.

He should have turned the child away immediately. That would’ve been the safest, most logical course.

But he didn’t.

The thought of the attackers chasing the boy and finding him alone in the forest... it was enough to make Murkada decide otherwise.

He brought him to the tribe.

[AAAAAAH!]

As expected, the boy screamed. But after a moment of trembling terror, he paused—watching Murkada carefully. Eventually, sensing no hostility, the child hesitantly followed.

His name was Essian.

Despite his noble appearance and bloodline, he was strangely pure. He played with the orc children, shared meals with the tribe, and even slept beside them in the communal shelters.

At first, the other orcs were wary, unsure what to make of the human child in their midst. But after watching him laugh and run with the younglings, they began to relax.

They accepted Essian as a guest.

Looking closer, I realized—Murkada’s eyes weren’t the only ones that were clear and calm. The other orcs, too, held no savage hunger in their gaze.

They were different from the orcs I had known in the human world.

Peaceful. Noble, even.

About a month passed.

Then the forest stirred with movement—strangers crossing its boundaries.

Knights and magicians began appearing in small groups, combing the woods with urgency. They were different from the earlier attackers. These ones weren’t hunting. They were searching—desperately.

Realizing they had come for Essian, Murkada quietly pulled him aside. He asked him not to speak of the orc village, not to tell anyone what he’d seen.

Essian, eyes filled with emotion, hugged him.

[Thank you! I will definitely repay your kindness, sir.]

Essian thanked Murkada and the orcs repeatedly before finally turning to leave, stepping back into the world of humans.

The orc children waved, the elders nodded solemnly, and Murkada watched him go with quiet eyes.

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the scene unfold—genuine, peaceful, and full of warmth.

But just as the smile reached my lips, the vision shifted.

[Your Majesty. Humans are destroying the forest.]

A hunched orc shaman with a long white beard knelt before Murkada, his voice trembling with urgency.

[It’s different from before! They’re not just cutting trees or gathering herbs—they’re trying to wipe out the forest itself!]

The shaman slammed his fist to the ground, his expression fierce.

They had to act. Now—before it was too late.

[Let’s observe a bit more.]

Murkada shook his head, calm and resolute.

He remembered Essian. He remembered the boy’s laughter, his gratitude, his promise. There were good humans. There had to be more like him.

So he waited.

Time passed again.

And just as the shaman had warned, the destruction deepened.

Humans tore down trees without restraint. They slaughtered beasts indiscriminately. The delicate balance of the forest—its very soul—was collapsing.

[Your Majesty!]
[Your Majesty!]

Dozens of orcs knelt before Murkada, their voices raised in desperation.

They were no longer asking. They were pleading.

[We must fight!]

Murkada’s expression darkened. Then, slowly, he stood.

[I will speak to them directly.]

Murkada approached the human camp cautiously, his heart heavy with the burden of avoiding war. He didn’t want bloodshed—not again. Confident in his command of the human language, he waited in silence behind the largest tent, preparing to speak with the human leader.

That’s when he caught a familiar scent—soft, nostalgic.

Golden hair, noble posture.

A young man emerged from the tent.

That scent… that face…

[Essian?]

The young man flinched in surprise but turned quickly, his eyes widening.

[Is it you, Lord Murkada?]

His voice held both disbelief and warmth. He gave a slightly awkward smile as he bowed his head.

[Why are you here…?]

[…Ah, I’m here to stop this development.]

Essian straightened, the hesitation in his voice giving way to resolve.

He explained that he was the illegitimate son of a high-ranking noble. Years ago, he had been attacked while traveling to claim his right as successor—that attack had driven him to the forest where he’d met Murkada and the orcs.

Now, he had returned—not as a lost child, but as a man with power, here to stop the royal family’s order to destroy the forest.

[I see. Thank you.]

Murkada nodded, his heart easing.

The war he had feared—averted.

A single connection from the past… had protected everything.

[Um… I’d like to see my old friends. Is that alright?]

[Of course. Everyone will remember you.]

Murkada’s voice was calm, but a faint smile touched his lips. For the first time in a long while, hope had returned to the forest.

Murkada led Essian back to the tribe.

The reunion was warm. Essian laughed like a child again, playing with the orc children, eating their food, sleeping beneath their wooden shelters as if no time had passed.

[Don’t worry. I’ll definitely stop the development.]

Those were his parting words.

There was no hesitation in his tone—so much so that Murkada, who rarely trusted humans, couldn’t help but believe him.

Whether or not Essian would truly succeed… it didn’t seem to matter at the time.

The human camps vanished. Not a single trace of them remained.

For two months, the forest was quiet. Peaceful.

Just as Murkada was about to tell the tribe to return to their normal lives—convinced the danger had passed—

Fire erupted.

Flames devoured the trees from all directions. The smell of smoke and blood filled the air.

The pounding of hundreds of hooves thundered across hidden forest paths—paths only the orcs had known.

It was the humans.

They had not only returned—they had come prepared. They had learned the land… and come to burn it down.

[Kill these filthy orcs that speak the human tongue!]

At the front of the extermination force stood Essian.

His blade gleamed red with blood. His once-gentle eyes were now filled with hatred and contempt.

He cut down orcs without hesitation—merciless, efficient. The innocent child Murkada once knew was gone.

In his place stood a monster.

Murkada would later learn the truth: Essian had needed an achievement to claim his place as his family’s successor.

He had chosen this—the development of the forest and the extermination of the orcs—as his path to power and wealth.

The boy who had once bridged the gap between man and monster… had become the worst kind of monster himself.

[Protect the children!]
[Defend the king!]

Cries echoed through the burning forest as the tribe prepared to make their final stand.

The attack had come too swiftly, too viciously.

Orcs fell one after another—not in battle, but while shielding their children, while trying to smother the flames, while desperately clinging to their king, who had never once raised his sword before.

[Aaaaargh!]

Murkada roared, unsheathing his stone sword for the first time in his life.

The red mist of blood blurred his vision.

He no longer saw enemies and allies—only bodies. Human and orc, tangled together in a grotesque tapestry of betrayal and death.

Despite the carnage, the orcs of Murkada’s tribe fought back. They were no ordinary warriors. Their tribe, steeped in wisdom and ancient power, pushed back the invaders and drove the humans to the outskirts of the forest.

But it was only a fleeting victory.

There was no time to breathe.

Rumors began to spread—twisted and false. The world claimed the orcs had attacked first, that they had razed human villages and killed innocents.

The truth was buried.

In response, the strongest warriors on the continent descended upon the forest.

For every ten humans that fell, a hundred orcs died.
For every hundred humans slain, a thousand orcs were slaughtered.

The once-verdant forest was now a graveyard.

Murkada, heartbroken but resolute, gathered the youngest orcs—those who had not yet awakened their inner wisdom—and led them to a final hidden path, far beyond the reach of war.

Then he turned back.

He stayed behind with the warriors.

They all did.

Not because he ordered them.
But because they chose to stand beside their foolish, broken king.

There was no time for farewell. No time for sorrow.

The human heroes tore through the final wards of the forest like they were paper.

And as the sky burned red—

[Raaaargh!]

Murkada let out one final, thunderous roar.

Murkada roared—not just at the invaders, but at the entire world.

He brandished his cracked stone sword, the symbol of a king who had never sought war yet was forced to bleed for peace.

[My name is Murkada!]

His voice shook the trees, the sky, the dying earth beneath his feet.

[The dumbest king in this world!]

The one who believed in coexistence.
The one who trusted a human.
The one who hesitated too long.

And then—

His vision turned red.

The roar of steel.
The cries of the fallen.
The sound of a forest breathing its last breath.

All of it faded into crimson.

* * *

ChatGPT said:

"Ha!"

Raon raised his torso and opened his eyes. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead from the vivid dream that felt as if he had lived it himself.

So that's what happened...

He now understood why Murkada had said he couldn’t trust humans. That kindness had been repaid with betrayal—a sword, not gratitude.

If it had been him… No, if it was him, he wouldn’t have stopped until the entire continent burned.

"This won't be easy."

After witnessing Murkada’s past, Raon knew pulling him out of that darkness wouldn’t happen easily.

But for Sylvia, for Rector—he couldn’t afford to give up.

– Are you finally awake? cough...

Wrath climbed onto the bracelet, coughing dryly.
– This king is hungry, so get up quickly and eat!

He shook his head dramatically, grumbling that his stomach was about to stick to his back.

"Hmm, you still look plump?"

Raon tilted his head, casually stretching Wrath’s round, squishy cheeks.

– Shut up! This king is a noble monarch, so I don’t show it! Cough!

Wrath scowled, puffing out his cheeks further as he urged Raon to get moving.

– Alright, I should get up.

Just as Raon began to rise with a faint smile—

Suddenly…

[You have extracted the true power of <Wrath>.]
[You have achieved victory against an overwhelmingly powerful opponent.]
[You have accomplished an impossible feat.]
[All skills...]
[Traits...]

A stream of messages appeared before Raon’s eyes, each one calculating the aftermath of the battle—assessing every ounce of power gained, every trait enhanced.

– This damn...!

Wrath trembled, glaring at the messages like they had personally offended him.

– I was already hungry, and now my stomach is starting to hurt! Cough!

He flailed his stubby arms in distress, wobbling on the bracelet like a panicked dumpling.

– You are truly tormenting this king!

Raon ignored the flurry of notifications and brushed the system messages aside. He rose slowly from the bed, the weight of exhaustion still present, but his eyes focused.

There’s something I need to do first.

***

If you find any errors or have suggestions, please feel free to provide feedback.

Thank you for reading!

[Author – Writing Ant, 글개미]

[Translator – MurimTang]

[Proofreader – Mayank]