Chapter 0

"Someone once said that knowledge is everything."

But the consequences of such words are far from simple.

It can lead to division, spark arguments, and at worst, result in violence—all because of something someone said.

No one really knows why people always argue about things whose truths are still unclear.

From the beginning—can humans truly do all those things without a force pushing them from behind?

Can they create both good and bad things without thought?

Or... were humans made to bring destruction?

...

The answer?

...

We don't really know.

We only hold onto what we believe in. A "truth" that only we can see.We believe in it, we spread it, and eventually, someone comes along who disagrees.

What happens next?Debate.

A cycle that never ends.

Even the smartest people have things they stubbornly believe in.And as long as those beliefs aren't challenged, nothing will ever change.

Everything keeps revolving around the same thing. Over and over.

All in the name of knowledge.

And what happens if someone gathers too much knowledge?

You might not believe it, but there once was a man who was called the smartest person in the world.

He invented many things—like a light source, a simple flying machine to draw water from a well, and countless other creations.

Then one night, under a dark, quiet sky, he was walking alone.

People often think of night as a dangerous time, when the world takes on a darker side.

And honestly?They're not wrong.

For some people, that's exactly how it is.

"In the end, human nature is a lot like a coin—good and evil, heads and tails, two sides of the same thing. Forever existing together. Hypocritical."That's what the smartest man in the world once said.

He hated himself, and hated the people around him too.

Why?

Because, apparently, he had a deep reason.

"Humans are meant to die from the very beginning. So why bother making connections, if all it leads to is pain?"

He didn't believe in human relationships anymore.

To be exact—He had already given up on them.

He had seen too many relationships fall apart, again and again.

...

What?

Maybe he just never saw a real relationship?A serious, healthy, and lasting one?

Such a common thought.

But if that's what you're thinking now, let me ask you something.

What's the difference between a candle made in a dirty place and one made in a clean one?

The people who made those candles came from different circumstances.

Their reason?

They likely made them to survive—either for their family or for themselves.

Now think carefully.

What about the quality of those candles?

You might say: "They're both good," or "The place doesn't matter."

But the truth is—The shape and color of each candle would definitely be different.

And quality?That depends on the materials and the skill of the candle maker.

So, what's the answer to my question?

Think about the meaning behind that metaphor, and you'll understand.

The point is—don't judge or look down on other people's struggles like they're nothing.

Even so, that doesn't mean we should ignore them either.

Life is complicated like that...

Forget it for now.Let's go back to the smartest man in the world.

.

.

.

.

In a very short time, the moon had already risen above the man's head. On a silent night, he walked alone. In the stillness, he was the only one moving.

"Damn those officials, asking for something impossible like a lamp that can shine forever. What are they thinking?"

He walked alone, venting his frustration into the night air, muttering to himself and cursing the higher-ups.

"I guess their dirty souls are finally showing, huh? Damn it, I'm going to protest—loudly—starting tomorrow!"

The more he spoke, the calmer he felt. That was how he released his pent-up emotions.

When he found a chair, he walked over and set down his walking stick.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

With one inhale, he felt its aroma. With one exhale, he felt his exhaustion.

What else could be as calming as a cigarette on a quiet night with no disturbances?

Nothing.

It was the best peace he could get these days.

"They say no one can do extraordinary things like I can, but behind those words, they just want to earn my favor. Disgusting. I hate those noble monkeys."

He kept cursing under his breath.

Then, an idea struck him.

"...You know what? What if I wrote a book about human nature? It might help someone else in the same position as me."

His spirit ignited again. Just to write a book. Just to share knowledge.

He rushed home and sat down at his desk, pulling out a blank notebook.

He wrote the title: "Ego of Human."

This book would serve as a reminder—for him, and for anyone who owned it—to stay away from the cruel nobles who only cared about themselves. The hope and message he wanted to convey was about what life looked like when you lived under noble command.

Used like a tool. Over and over.

"There is no such thing as a good noble. No generous noble. No sincere noble. It's all just an illusion—for us and our feelings. They use us. Enslave us. Until we die."

That was what he wrote on the first page.

As he kept writing, time seemed to fly. One hour felt like ten minutes.

A true genius forgets time when they're completely focused.

Everything he wrote came from experience, from his opinions, from how nobles behaved.

By page 78, he paused and leaned back in his rocking chair.

"...I've always wondered why nobles only think of themselves... I mean, I get that our own lives are important... but I feel like they don't see life the same way..."

Something felt off.

'How do they view life, really?'

A question with far too many possible answers.

"Is it just about wealth and fame? No, that can't be right..."

He kept thinking of possibilities until he stood up—tired—and accidentally stumbled into his bookshelf, knocking many books to the floor.

"...Damn it..."

Scratching his head, he kicked the books in frustration. That's when he saw one book flying through the air that caught his attention.

The book landed dangerously close to the fireplace, making him panic. He grabbed an iron rod to pull it out.

"No no no—damn this leg!"

Rushing, he saw the book start to catch fire. Without hesitation, he grabbed it with his bare hands, then patted it down and blew off the dust.

"...Huh?"

He was shocked. The book, which he thought had burned, hadn't suffered any damage at all.

'A strange book... what material was it even made from...?'

Thinking that, he sat down again and started to read the curious book.

Its title was: "The Pathway," with an unclear cover. The book was an old yellow color with brown spots, making it look worn.

Clearly, this wasn't a book he had ever bought. He assumed it had belonged to someone who had lived there before.

'I didn't even know books could resist fire like this...'

Calmly, he opened the book. At first, nothing seemed unusual.

But the more he read, the more his eyebrows furrowed—and the more shocked he became.

'F-Forbidden knowledge!'

With trembling hands, he slammed the book shut and tried to burn it again.

'No one must ever see this! I have to destroy it, now!'

In a rush, he gathered every bit of fuel he could find—wood, oil, cloth—all just to burn a single, dangerous book.

He knew: everything he had read had to be kept secret. No one could know. Not even a little.

'Burn! Burn! Burn!'

His panic grew. His thoughts were spinning out of control.

A deep, terrifying fear crept through his chest.

Maybe "terrifying" was too weak a word.

But nothing else could describe it better.

He kept feeding the fire with fuel, certain now that the book had burned to ash.

'Damn it, who the hell leaves a book like that lying around? I need to get out, fast!'

Quickly, he packed what he needed and left everything else behind. He was ready to go. He walked down the stairs toward the living room.

In the middle of that dark night, the sound of the fire echoed in his ears, and something about his workspace felt... wrong.

Panic crept in again. When he reached the door, the doorknob felt ice cold and wouldn't budge.

'Why is it locked??? I remember putting the key in my pocket!'

He couldn't find the key anywhere. His mind screamed for action, his fear kept growing. His body felt frozen between choices.

'Wait—did I leave it in the study?!'

The thought struck him, and he remembered: his coat was still in the study, exactly where he'd left it when he got home.

'I have to hurry—!!!!???!?'

"..."

"....."

Total silence fell over him. His face turned cold, frozen without time to react. His eyes lost their light, and sweat quickly drenched his forehead.

A strange creature held the book up in front of the genius's face. "...You... read this...?"

"..."

His body remained frozen, unable to move. The voice wasn't human—it was distorted, like several people speaking all at once.

"...Answer... me..."

Its eyes were completely black, with no pupils at all.

"...Ha..."

Its breath was icy cold. Its hair was dirty gray, and it had no nose, no ears. Even its mouth was torn open on one side, the tear reaching all the way to its left ear.

"..."

The genius was in complete shock, unable to speak. His body no longer obeyed him. His hands were stiff, his legs trembled violently, and his breathing became erratic.

The creature smiled with terrifying malice. "...You... human..."

"...Please..."

"...Here..."

"No..."

"..."

With a whisper to the genius's ear, his body reacted instantly—his expression broke down and tears began to stream down his face.

"SOMEONE HELP ME!! PLEASE!! ANYONE, HELP!!"

The creature grinned cruelly and started laughing.

"SOMEONE PLEA—HMFP!?"

His mouth was suddenly covered by something slick and disgusting.

"HMFP!!?? HMFP!!!"

"KHAHAHA... How does it feel, having a snake seal your mouth? Feels good, doesn't it?"

'CRAZY! CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY!!!'

The genius struggled to break free from the snake wrapping around his mouth, but the more he resisted, the tighter and stronger the coils became.

"You humans really are the best toys we've ever found. So easy to play with, wherever we go\~"

"HMFP!!!!!"

He tried to scream, but the snake only squeezed harder.

"By reading this book, you accepted the consequences. And those consequences must be paid immediately. And the price is..."

"HMFP! HMFP!!"

"YOUR LIFE!! WAHAHAHA!!!!"

"HMF—"

His mouth was destroyed—or more accurately, the upper part of his mouth had been completely torn off.

"...Truly impressive..."

Unimaginable brutality. A mystery left behind.

And knowledge—the root cause.

All of it connected.

To a single truth.

"It's all finished..."

A truth witnessed

"My lord..."

Through eyes—

"...Hast—"

And a name.

___________________________________________________________________________________

To be continued.

___________________________________________________________________________________