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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Chaos
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The day the hero defeated the Demon King and saved the world, I was beaten by my master.
Fanfares and fireworks shone through the window, painting my face in a multitude of colors, but I could only lie on the floor and rub my stinging wounds.
“Long live the Hero! Long live the Hero!”
Everything was, in the end, someone else’s business.
The parade celebrating the so-called heroes defeating the Demon King, my master’s failure to secure a position in the capital and being stuck in this backwater town—all of it was someone else’s affair.
But misfortune always stemmed from someone else’s affairs.
Today was no different. Because the hero defeated the Demon King and demanded his due, his relatives and family became officials in the kingdom.
Because of this, my master, once again, failed to return to the capital.
A few letters written by a demoted official held less weight than a blood certificate proving kinship to the hero.
So, once again, my master beat me today.
I rubbed my bruised forehead and stared out the window.
Today, because of my master’s rage, I had to reflect in this dark, damp attic.
Rats squeaked, and the damp straw reeked of rot.
If I slept even a single night here, the musty smell would cling to me, causing everyone to avoid me, which would, in turn, give my master another reason to beat me.
“Long live the Hero! Long live the Hero!”
“Fucking bastards.”
I pulled the straw around me, trying to cover myself.
I had to wake up at dawn to fetch water, so I needed to go to sleep now.
The light filtering through the cracks in the window shone brighter than the stars, disrupting my habit of falling asleep while counting them.
“Fucking assholes.”
When I couldn’t sleep, old memories always surfaced.
From the pain of today’s beating to memories of my childhood.
Hateful memories that filled my mind.
Horrible memories that kept me awake.
“I’ll kill them.”
I was an orphan.
“I’ll kill them all. Fucking bastards.”
If there were levels to being an orphan, I was at the very bottom.
I grew up on the streets, begging from the moment I was weaned.
The thug who looked after me would punch me as soon as I brought back money, then throw a hard lump of bread at me instead of handing over a thick bundle of cash I earned.
He was always a pathetic man pretending to be brave.
When the guards actually raided our group of beggars, he claimed I was the leader and bribed the captain.
The captain accepted his claim, took me away, and I was dragged to the slave market without a trial.
Back then, the guard captain told me to be grateful for his leniency.
At the time, I genuinely thought it was something to be grateful for.
After changing owners a few times, I ended up at this mansion.
Half of my life was spent as trash, and the other half as a commodity.
Beaten every day for pointless reasons, I was likely headed for disposal soon.
“Fucking bastard.”
So, clutching the straw, I cursed.
Living a life of screwing his wife and drinking expensive wine every day, it was understandable that he’d be upset over something as trivial as not getting a position in the capital.
He had no idea what it felt like to live my life, day in and day out.
My master who beat me, the maids who ignored me, the servants who tormented me.
I wanted to destroy them all.
I wanted revenge.
I wanted to live a life of luxury like those heroes, inflicting pain on everyone.
-Tap
-Tap
-Tap
And then, a demon tapped on the window and spoke to me.
“Would you mind opening the window?”
She had purple skin and ruby-red eyes.
Her large breasts were brazenly exposed beneath a flimsy piece of lingerie, and her long, flowing hair shimmered in various colors in the light.
People were shouting.
“Long live the Hero! Long live the Hero!”
And the demon said to me:
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
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