Chapter 4: Hungry

Zora had forgotten one thing.

Yesterday, she had used a medicinal pill to keep Vane alive, which was the only reason he had survived until he woke up. At the time, it was too cold, so she had identified the pills using the "memories" in her head and took one herself as well.

Back then, her body temperature slowly rose, and her stomach felt completely full. That sense of satiety lasted until the middle of the following night—which was now—as her stomach gradually began to signal its need for food.

Zora was curled up under the covers, seemingly feeling the hunger even in her dreams. Her brow was furrowed, and her sleep was restless.

The window was wide open, and the early spring breeze, not yet warm, carried a trace of chill as it poured steadily into the room. The entire inn was plunged into a silent darkness, with hardly a sound to be heard.

The only sound in the room was the girl's steady breathing.

It was the hour of the Ox, a time when mortals should have been in deep sleep, yet a patch of wilderness outside the town was brightly lit. A fire blazed beneath an iron pot suspended in mid-air by three wooden stakes.

A hand moved slightly closer to the fire. The knuckles were well-defined, and faint blue veins meandered beneath the pale skin. The dancing flames reflected off the boy’s lowered chin, his face flickering in and out of the dim light.

Vane had gone to some trouble to find this place, thanks to the map markings found on the three thugs. After first confirming that there were no cultivators present, he had decisively masked his face and launched a surprise attack. The kidnapped commoners had scattered like startled birds and fled long ago, while the remaining accomplices were dealt with one by one.

In the darkness, doing such things alone often bred dark thoughts.

Suddenly, his palm felt a searing heat. A spark from the fire had leaped onto him, burning his hand. He didn't move; the pain was negligible.

However, his hands had been trembling slightly since moments ago. Even after warming up, they continued to twitch, as if they hadn't had their fill yet and craved the irrigation of warm, fresh blood.

The boy lowered his dark lashes. His nerves were humming with excitement, yet his gaze remained profoundly dark and restrained.

Vane waited until he had calmed down before taking a step. The dry yellow grass crunched beneath his feet, crushed into fragments along with the cooling blood. As he walked, he discarded the blades he had taken from those three men.

Even though Zora was also a mortal, she wasn't a useless person who could do nothing. He wasn't sure if she could tolerate a servant possessing weapons.

At this thought, he frowned slightly.

According to his original plan, after escaping the Demon Realm, he would seek power by heading to an immortal sect. Although the ways of the Immortal Cultivation Realm were entirely at odds with his nature, he could certainly maintain a facade to the end for the sake of survival.

Pretending was not difficult for him. Just look at him now—hadn't he become a slave without ever provoking Zora’s dissatisfaction?

Since he could remember, he had known he was different. It wasn't just the twisted thoughts born from a life of struggling for survival; there was an innate filthiness within him, a natural preference and excitement for bloody things. That inherent malevolence, mixed with the resentment he’d gathered over the years, often tore at his heart and blurred his sense of self.

Perhaps he was simply born to enjoy the pain of others.

But what of it? Everyone in the Demon Realm had their quirks; his was practically normal. Besides, he was now bound here, and the path to cultivation felt distant and uncertain.

He didn't even know what his master had come here for. She said nothing; she seemed to be all alone, and the first thing she did upon arriving in town was change clothes and sleep. This feeling of being so far off-plan was unpleasant.

However, his first priority was to be a good servant to her and wait for an opportunity. After all, with the Master-Servant Covenant in place, he couldn't perform any action that harmed her. His life was in her hands, and the Puppet Threads could make him slit his own throat at any moment.

The only stroke of luck was that Zora seemed to be a "good" master—so good that interacting with her often left him feeling deflated.

Vane walked back to the inn, carrying the night’s chill. The door was quietly opened by the night-watch attendant, who whispered, "Quickly, come in, sir."

"Thank you," Vane replied as he stepped inside.

The attendant hurriedly said it was no trouble. By the moonlight from outside, he caught sight of the drop of blood on the boy’s face and the dark, watery droplets on the soles of his boots. His heart leaped; he quickly closed the door, held his breath as he watched the boy head upstairs, and then quietly returned to his spot.

It was better not to be too curious. The attendant pushed aside what he had just seen and continued his watch on the first floor as if nothing had happened.

On the second floor.

Vane pushed the door open softly.

The room was bathed in moonlight, and the cool breeze brushed against his skin. The person on the bed was curled into a ball, hidden entirely beneath the covers.

Closing the door, Vane walked over to the window. Glancing at the clean, damp, light-blue dress hanging in the back courtyard, he reached out to remove the small sticks propping the window open and closed it.

The room instantly grew darker.

He didn't care that there was no bedding on the floor. Placing her boots on the other side, he lay down directly on the floorboards beside her bed, his arms tucked behind his head as he stared at the wooden ceiling above.

The sound of another person's breathing was right beside him. This unprecedented experience kept Vane from closing his eyes even after fifteen minutes had passed.

Just as he managed to lower his lids, the person on the bed suddenly sat up.

Zora had been woken by hunger; her first instinct was to find food. She crawled out from under the covers, but when her feet stepped down, they didn't meet the texture of boots, but rather the smoothness of silk garments.

Vane let out a muffled groan as he was stepped on in the stomach—his only injury of the night.

A few seconds later, Zora’s eyes, which had quickly adapted to the dark, saw his face. Her tensed body relaxed, and her feet lifted slightly before retreating back onto the bed.

Vane sat up without a word. It didn't hurt much, and generally speaking, a servant had no right to protest being kicked.

Zora looked at him. "Sorry."

Her voice was so flat that it sounded like she didn't have a shred of apology in her. But after Zora spoke, the boy remained silent—a silence different from before, as if he were hesitating to speak.

Then, Zora only heard him give a slow response.

"There is no need for an apology."

His commitment to the servant persona remained unshakable.

Zora paid no more attention to his strange reaction. With her on the bed and him on the floor, she only had to tilt her head slightly to see Vane’s face. He had been too careless; there were still traces left after his actions. There was a tiny but unignorable drop of blood on his left cheek.

Vane kept his head lowered, but suddenly felt a warmth on his face. Following her lead, he lifted his head. The girl’s soft fingertips, carrying warmth, were pressed against his skin.

He looked up discreetly. A few strands of Zora’s black hair fell forward. Her expression was exceptionally serious, her cheeks still had a touch of youthful softness, and her rounded eyes were fixed on him. She seemed as soft as a cloud.

She meticulously wiped the blood from his face and said, "Clean the blood off. Don't leave it there."

Then she let out a soft sigh, thinking that this servant was quite unskilled at killing. At least she knew how to clean herself up properly.

Zora withdrew her hand, looked around, found her boots, and stood up from the bed. She lit the candle on the table.

Vane stood up in the candlelight and saw her turn back to him, looking up at him slightly.

Vane: "..."

For some reason, after only a short time together, he could already guess the meaning behind some of her actions. For instance, she was definitely about to make a request.

Her brownish eyes looked like amber in the candlelight. "I'm hungry. Go to the kitchen and find some food."

"...Yes."