CHAPTER 64

In a demonic arcane dungeon, a wooden spit rotated while a naked elf, covered in wounds and sprinkled with various spices, was turning over the fire. The demon queen, Caroline, laughed maniacally.

"Ahh! That smell!!! This is the best scent I've ever experienced in this damned world!"

But there was no one around to admire her words except for the demonic spiders. The one on the rotating spit had already lost consciousness from the unbearable pain of salt and pepper burning into his wounds—seasonings that Caroline had added under the excuse of enhancing flavor.

"Hey, you have to stay alive! If you die, you'll taste bad!!!"

She activated her mental skills and forcefully woke up her captive, triggering another wave of screams and wails of agony.

"Kill me!!!!"

"Soon! But until then, let me think... Should I eat your leg or your arm first… and then heal them back? Oh my, I'm a genius!!! This way, I'll never have to worry about running out of good food again, right?!"

Upon hearing this, the captive tried once again to bite off his own tongue, but the wooden gag in his mouth prevented it. With burning, endless pain, his tears streamed down.

If there was ever a story of misery, it belonged to none other than him. He had spent his entire life in a hospital, battling severe cancer from early childhood until his teenage years. He died at the age of eighteen, having entertained himself during treatment by reading countless stories. He had imagined adventuring in the outside world or in a magical realm—a dream that had formed while confined to his hospital bed. But upon his death and reincarnation in a new body, it seemed as though his wishes had come true.

However, there was a problem.

With wounds, bruises, and shackled hands inside a filthy carriage, he soon understood his situation—he had reincarnated into the body of a newly captured elven slave. The realization had first sent him into shock, but it quickly sparked a glimmer of hope in his heart. He had to escape!

Having spent his entire life in a hospital and boasting thousands of hours of reading records, he convinced himself that he was destined to be the protagonist. He envisioned himself breaking free, fighting against slavery, attracting the attention of powerful nobles, building a kingdom where all would live in happiness, and eventually abolishing the aristocracy to establish equality.

But such thoughts had been crushed in his first and second pathetic attempts at escape.

The slave trader, frustrated by such a troublesome product among his merchandise, sought out the noble of the first city they arrived at—a man known for his twisted tastes and terrifying reputation.

Typically, this noble wouldn't engage in business with traders, as he valued his goods too highly. But among the merchandise was a slave who didn't know his place. Upon seeing the small, beautiful appearance and untamed spirit of the elf, the noble found price to be of no concern. In the end, the trader left the noble's castle with five times the price of a regular elf slave. And thus, the captive was handed over to a man who shattered his youthful, hopeful spirit within a year.

By the time he was sold again, it seemed like all those emotions had been erased. Healing the wounds and surviving the torture began to restore his sense of hope. But after just one day, it felt as if one tormentor had turned into five.

With no hope left for revenge against that noble, he decided that if an opportunity arose, he would drag these new tormentors to hell with him. And when the moment came, he took it. His actions saved his current tormentor's life—but at what cost…?

Now, as unbearable pain and burning consumed him, he deeply regretted his past decisions.

"The whole world…"

His cries were drowned in his sobs, and seeing the delighted expression of his torturer drove him to madness. But then, Caroline suddenly froze, looking fearfully toward the tunnel.

"No!!!! No!!!! No!!!! No!!!!"

She swiftly activated her demonic queen skills and leaped toward the tunnel, where the sounds of battle could be heard. But the fight consisted only of magical explosions and the insane laughter of young women, while the demonic spiders shrieked and Caroline's voice screamed in protest.

"No, stop!!!"

But then, the sound of an even greater battle erupted. Within a single minute, a new voice approached.

"Now, be a good girl and tell me where your altar is."

As the newcomers arrived and their gazes met, the captive's tears had not yet ceased. But seeing someone new in this situation was far from pleasant for the individual before him—the leader of the Witch Battalion and the newly appointed commander of the Undead King's aerial forces. The self-proclaimed ruler of the Kingdom of Death, Hejna, glanced down to the right, her eyes landing on the upper half of a faceless woman's spine—what was left of Caroline.

"Quite the entertainment you have here, huh? I was told to capture you all alive, but if I say you resisted and died during suppression, no one will care, right?"

Her eyes glowed along with the legendary white staff in her hand, an artifact that allowed her, a Lord-ranked individual, to easily suppress a Warlord-ranked demon queen.

"No, it wasn't me!"

But Hejna didn't believe her. With the rest of the demonic queen's body now frozen solid, she turned to the girl on the spit. She unbound the captive, took off her cloak, and wrapped it around her.

"Oh, little girl—"

But Hejna, who had initially felt sympathy at the sight of her suffering, was struck motionless by what happened next.

The captive, who had spent the last year knowing nothing but cruelty and, in her past life, had been abandoned by her wealthy parents to die so they could have another child—since she had no hope of survival—had never had a friend or anyone who cared for her. With trembling, wounded limbs, she threw herself into Hejna's embrace and sobbed uncontrollably.

For the first time in her life, after all the suffering she had endured, she felt an ounce of genuine kindness—and at this moment, Hejna was her entire world.

Such emotions did not go unnoticed by someone who had lived for centuries. Feeling the girl's brokenness and innocence, Hejna held her tightly. But as she glanced at the girl's severed ears, a deep sorrow welled up inside her.

"What's your name?"

But there was no answer—only weeping and wailing for ten whole minutes. The gathered witches, all of whom were Lord-ranked, surrounded her in silence, watching.

"What's your name, my child?"

Hejna asked gently as she sat on the ground, stroking the girl's face. The maternal instinct, which she had never experienced for centuries because she had never felt love, suddenly struck her like a tidal wave.

"Afrid."

Upon hearing that, Hejna lifted her up and looked into her eyes.

"You can call me Hejna, I—"

But before she could finish her sentence, Afrid spoke.

"Can I call you mother?"

It was as if a bomb had been dropped. The witches immediately erupted into a chaotic debate.

"No, she should be my daughter!"

"What?! I saw her first, she's mine!"

"You old hags don't deserve her—"

Their argument was abruptly cut short by Afrid's deep, primal scream as she repeatedly plunged a dagger into the demon queen's body. The room fell silent.

Only when the lifeless body of the demon queen stopped moving did a light engulf Afrid. Her power instantly rose from Elite level to Lord level, and all her wounds healed. Two skill stones appeared before her.