CH: 14: Complex Human Nature

{Chapter: 14: Complex Human Nature}

Two Months Later – The Capital of the Principality of Madon

Inside a luxurious manor, nestled within the wealthiest district of the capital, the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle trickle of a fountain filled the morning air. Beyond the towering iron gates and elaborate marble walls, the estate's sprawling gardens stretched like a masterpiece of carefully curated nature, bursting with vibrant flowers from foreign lands and hedges trimmed to impossible perfection.

At the heart of this tranquil haven, within a lavishly adorned pavilion, sat Dex. His posture was relaxed, yet his presence exuded an undeniable authority that unsettled even the bravest of men. Clad in finely tailored garments that matched the culture and aesthetic of this world, he looked every bit the noble gentleman. But there was an underlying strangeness to his stillness, an eerie quality that turned the warm sunlight filtering through the garden's canopy into something cold and distant.

The table before him was laden with the finest delicacies: rare fruits imported from distant continents, expensive wines that shimmered like liquid gemstones, and golden plates adorned with intricate engravings. Yet, Dex barely acknowledged them. His attention was fixed on the substance floating above his palm—a mist-like essence, translucent and swirling in an unnatural rhythm.

The gray-black vapor moved as if alive, shifting between states of solid and intangible, resembling both dust and air at the same time. It had no fixed form, no weight, no texture—yet, it carried an unmistakable aura of power.

A soft crunch of boots on gravel broke the silence. Approaching the pavilion was a man who had once carried himself with arrogance, but now walked with careful reverence. Salt, no longer clad in the cult's traditional black robe, had donned a noble's outfit that, while elegant, could not mask the deep unease in his posture. His once-proud expression was tempered by something unfamiliar—hesitation, even fear.

He stopped a few feet away from Dex, bowing his head respectfully before speaking.

"Sir, everything you requested has been gathered." His voice was steady, but a closer listen would reveal the slight tremor beneath the surface.

Dex did not immediately respond. His golden, reptilian eyes remained locked on the shifting mist in his palm, as if considering something far more important than the presence of the man before him. Finally, without sparing Salt a glance, he spoke in a voice devoid of warmth.

"Good. You may leave."

A simple dismissal, spoken with the weight of an unspoken command.

Salt did not argue, nor did he linger. He bowed his head again and turned to leave with quick, measured steps, careful not to appear hurried—but also not daring to delay.

It wasn't just respect that drove his obedience. It was survival.

Even now, with Dex in a seemingly human form, sitting idly like a noble enjoying a peaceful morning, there was something fundamentally unnatural about him. Something predatory. Salt had spent his life around sorcerers, warlocks, and cultists who had sold their souls for power. He had stood in the presence of beings that defied mortal understanding. Yet none of them had ever filled him with the sheer, suffocating dread that Dex did.

Just standing within the same space as him felt like standing at the edge of a bottomless abyss.

Salt clenched his hands into fists, forcing himself to suppress the memories clawing at the edges of his mind. The night of the summoning ceremony—the screams, the sudden betrayal, the sheer carnage—flashed before his eyes, and he felt the familiar chill of terror creeping up his spine.

He had witnessed death before. He had orchestrated it, commanded it, sacrificed countless lives in the name of his own ambition. And yet, watching the cultists he had once called subordinates be slaughtered like insects, their lives snuffed out in an instant without even the dignity of a struggle—it had shaken him in ways he refused to admit.

They were nothing to him. Expendable pawns, faceless tools meant to serve and be discarded. He had never once hesitated to sacrifice them. So why, then, did the sight of their lifeless bodies continue to haunt him?

Was it guilt?

No. It couldn't be.

He was not a good man. He had never been one.

And yet…

Perhaps only when one stands on the precipice of true power, on the verge of being crushed beneath a force so overwhelming that resistance is laughable, does one finally understand the helplessness of the weak.

For years, he had believed himself superior—an elite among sorcerers, a predator among prey. He had held no regard for the thoughts or lives of those beneath him, convinced that the strong had no obligation to consider the weak. He had believed it an honor for them to serve him, to die for him.

But that arrogance had shattered the moment Dex arrived.

There had been no battle. No exchange of blows.

Only a single glance.

A moment of eye contact with those golden, vertical-slit pupils—and everything Salt thought he knew about himself collapsed into dust.

In that moment, stripped bare before something far beyond his comprehension, he understood the insignificance of his own existence. The pride he had once worn like armor was reduced to nothing but a fragile illusion. He was not strong. He was not elite. He was nothing more than an insect standing before a true predator.

The fear had settled deep into his bones that night, and it had not left him since.

Dex, meanwhile, remained motionless, his expression unreadable. He was aware of Salt's inner turmoil—he could sense it, taste it in the air. The man's weak attempts at masking his emotions were almost amusing.

Dex did not pity him. Nor did he despise him.

He simply found it… entertaining.

After all, what could be more ironic than a man who had spent his life sacrificing others, now grappling with the sudden, inescapable reality that he, too, was just another disposable pawn?

Even without using any supernatural abilities, Dex could feel the weight of the resentment clinging to Salt. It was like a thick fog, an invisible shroud of hatred and regret left behind by those who had suffered at his hands. Ghosts that would never let go, never forgive.

Did Salt truly believe that simply changing his ways could erase his past?

Dex nearly chuckled at the absurdity of it.

A man like Salt could no more become a righteous person than a viper could sprout wings and take to the sky.

Still, Dex had no intention of stopping him.

He was curious.

Would this self-proclaimed genius, this man who had walked the path of darkness his entire life, actually believe in the possibility of redemption? Would he truly attempt to change?

And if he did… would he survive the consequences?

It was a fascinating experiment. One that would, at the very least, provide some amusement in the days to come.

Like a spectator watching a play unfold, Dex leaned back in his chair, golden eyes gleaming with something between amusement and indifference.

For now, he would simply watch.

After all, every great story needs a tragic character.

And Salt…

Well, he was playing his role perfectly.

*****

I am transitioning to Subscribestar. Currently, there is no content available, but it will be added shortly.