SS 16📍

⁜ Episode 16. The Being from Another World

An ominous premonition—something anyone could feel—swept over both Damien and me.

As I stared at the door, panting, Damien clicked his tongue, pulled me behind him, and placed me at his back.

“Stay right behind me.”

His voice was low, steady, like a commander on a battlefield.

I quickly nodded and clutched at his clothes.

Surprised, Damien glanced back at me.

“Ah… sorry.”

Of course. If I held on to him, he couldn’t move properly.

I had never faced such a life-threatening situation before—not in District 88, not in District 14—and so my judgment faltered.

I hurriedly let go, bit my lip, and nodded again, signaling for him to go on. Damien hesitated, then whispered:

“Don’t worry too much. I’m really strong.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Assassination: S.

The first time I’d seen that, I thought, What kind of lunatic is this? But now? It had become the very icon of trust.

With S-rank assassination, he could do anything. He’d trained in swordsmanship. He’d defeated three knights.

I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to calm myself, sticking close to him as he moved.

Before opening the door, Damien paused. For a moment, I thought he was scared. But no—that wasn’t it. He was conscious of me, right behind him.

Why? What is it now? Am I holding onto him again?

I checked quickly. Both my hands were clenched into fists, not holding him.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

He answered:

“Too close—no, forget it.”

The nerve of this guy.

“You’re the one who told me to stick close.”

“True.”

He sighed. His profile showed a troubled expression, and somehow, that reassured me.

If he has the composure to be troubled by me clinging, then he must really be confident.

With that reluctant expression, he opened the door. Oddly, he seemed more concerned with what was behind him than ahead.

“Look forward!” I whispered.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, finally turning his eyes forward.

“Oh my, when did you two get so close?”

Standing there was Pythia, draped in a fur robe, smiling warmly at us.

At once, Damien tried to step away from me.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh come on, don’t deny it. At your age, twelve years old—”

“Honorable High Priest of the Great Temple of Gerka, I greet you.”

The familiar voice came from behind Pythia. Without thinking, I grabbed Damien’s clothes again.

He glanced back, half turning his head, then quickly looked forward again.

“Pythia, come here.”

The tone was commanding, but as always, Pythia questioned nothing. She walked gracefully to him, smiling kindly as if to ask what’s wrong?

Damien pulled her behind him. I hugged her at once.

“Arian? What’s the matter?”

Does Gerka protect his own saintess now?

“Arian, why are you trembling so much…?”

Her soft voice overlapped with Damien’s harsh one.

“The Saintess does not meet with just anyone. Reveal yourself.”

In truth, anyone who could climb a sheer cliff path could meet Pythia, the so-called saintess. Yet Damien spoke as if she were exalted, demanding the intruder’s name and rank.

He glared with loathing, as though at some foul beast.

The man sneered.

“Ha, unbelievable. First you barge into someone else’s temple, threaten trouble if you’re not let in, then accuse me of plagiarizing divine revelations, throw a tantrum, demand the High Priest be called to settle matters, and now—after running away, when I come to find you—you tell me to reveal myself? Why don’t you first explain who that girl is, standing behind you? Who is she, really?”

Hearing it laid out like that, I sounded… well, pretty unreasonable.

Damien turned, looking at me with weary suspicion. You really did all that?

Still clutching both Pythia and Damien’s clothes, I peeked out and checked the creature’s status.

[ Carnivorous monster, prefers human flesh ]

As expected. The status hadn’t changed.

“Th-The gods gave me a revelation. That priest is a monster.”

“…”

“I’m serious.”

“You are… what on earth…”

At my words, the monster’s eyes changed.

Damn it.

Without warning, it sprang at us like a coiled spring.

No time even to scream. My eyes widened in terror—

And blood sprayed into the air.

In Damien’s hand was a transparent spear, glowing faintly blue. It had pierced straight through the monster’s heart.

I had no idea where it had come from. A moment ago, his hands were empty. Magic? Something like that?

Damien glared coldly at the creature.

“We were in the middle of a conversation, you rude bastard.”

From the chest outward, the monster’s body began to freeze solid. Its lips moved weakly.

“H… how…”

How did you know?
How could you strike like this?

Or maybe it was trying to say something else. But it never finished. Those were its last words.

Its outer shell crumbled, scattering into glittering dust, like sunlight caught on drifting motes—light, dirty, fleeting.

The dust faded away into nothing.

What remained was a small, diseased, monkey-like creature.

Damien looked down at me. I was still clutching his clothes.

He seemed worried about me. For all that he was an S-rank assassin and a shameless flirt with Pythia, he wasn’t a bad person.

If I had been Damien, I wouldn’t have trusted me.

But Damien had trusted me. Without hesitation, he struck the priest-shaped monster a fatal blow.

“Thank you.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Only silence, as if embarrassed.

Relief washed over me. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Thank you… for believing in me.”

At last, he forced out a hoarse reply:

“Think nothing of it.”

Pythia helped me to my feet.

“Go to bed early tonight. You must be shaken, hm?”

I wondered briefly how to deal with the monster’s remains, but in the end, I obeyed Pythia and headed for my room. Someone else would take care of it. I needed rest.

Meanwhile, Damien rummaged through the kitchen, startled. Two months ago, when he last visited, it had been empty. Pythia used to survive on black bread at best.

Now it was stocked. Clearly, the girl’s doing.

He hesitated, then set out two teacups.

“She finally fell asleep,” Pythia said softly from behind him.

Arian Danier. Daughter of the Chief Court Attendant.

He had seen her once before—at three years old, in a dazzling dress, the star of her own birthday party, shining beneath a chandelier.

“Mm.”

Pythia stepped closer, gazing up at his face.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

She gave a faint, bitter smile.

The Damien Hamilcar she knew—the boy who always answered with one of three words: Yes. No. I’m fine. Like a puppet.

But with Arian, he acted differently. He argued, second-guessed, even made impulsive choices.

Cautiously, she studied his profile.

“You must’ve been surprised, spending time with Arian. For a noble’s daughter, she’s so down-to-earth, with such a unique charm.”

A pang of guilt pricked her. Down-to-earth? Unique? Quite a lie for a saintess to tell.

Yet Damien nodded without hesitation.

“Mm.”

“She’s someone I truly cherish.”

This, at least, was the truth.

“Mm.”

“Stay close to her.”

Her gentle words brought back Arian’s tear-streaked face to his mind:

“Thank you… for believing in me.”

But Damien hadn’t trusted her. He hadn’t cared whether the priest was man or monster.

The moment it charged mid-conversation, its fate was sealed. Nothing more.

Still, Arian seemed convinced that if the priest had not been a monster, Damien would not have killed him.

She didn’t remember him, but he remembered her. That birthday party. The girl blessed simply for being born.

Silver-blond hair like melted moonlight. Crimson eyes like captured sunset. Skin pale as porcelain. Adorned with jewels and dresses worth kingdoms.

She had seemed less a person than a fairy.

Damien remembered standing there in blood-stained rags, the contemptuous stares of the nobles, and the girl’s puzzled eyes.

Same space, same air—yet a world apart.

That gulf had never closed. If anything, it had only widened.

“I’d rather not.”

Today he had been unlike himself—too talkative, clumsy, oddly excited. And in that state, he had almost forgotten.

Forgotten who he truly was.

He was Damien Hamilcar. A being of Original Sin.