Title: The Double Life of a Count’s Prodigal Son
“GRUUUUUAAAAAH—!!!”
An endless, vast land stretched before them, covered by the deafening roar of a massive beast and the trembling of the earth.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!!
Over two meters tall.
Muscles like solid boulders.
Dull green skin.
The creatures slammed their weapons into the ground, howling in unison.
“SKREEEEEK!!”
“SKREEEEEEE!!”
“GRRROOOAAAR!!”
Each of their cries was different, but every sound carried a destructive, oppressive force that crushed human instinct.
‘There’s no end to them…’
Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?
Maybe even millions.
“GROOOOOUUUUUU!!”
Hundreds of ogres, each over eight meters tall, roared under their control, iron chains wrapped around their necks.
“KEEEEEEEEK!!”
Wyverns, known as the tyrants of the sky, crouched low to the ground, their long necks raised as they screeched, carrying riders on their backs.
“OOOOOOH!!”
“GRRRRRR!!”
Minotaurs, as large as the ogres, and trolls—whose massive wounds healed almost instantly—all moved at their command.
Beyond them, countless other monsters either obeyed or submitted, moving in perfect formation like a human army.
Thud—!
The king of these creatures, twice the size of his kin, raised a massive two-handed sword high into the air.
No one could guess how many had been slaughtered by that blade, their bodies torn beyond recognition.
As the king moved, the earth shook, and the roars of the monsters—once deafening—fell silent in an instant.
The absolute authority of a monarch.
Millions of green eyes and the gazes of countless monsters focused solely on him.
Boom… Boom… Boom… Boom…
With each step he took, the ground trembled.
Squelch! Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
Pools of crimson blood splattered with every footfall.
“… Slater.”
The king stopped and muttered the name in a low voice.
His pronunciation was rough, almost grating, but the language he spoke was unmistakably human.
“…Kkh! Gah! Cough-cough!!!”
A mountain of corpses lay before him. Among them, a man barely clinging to life gasped, blood gushing from his mouth.
He tried to lift his head—or at least thought he did—but his vision remained unchanged.
Of course.
His left eye had long been lost to a broken spear tip. His right arm was cleanly severed below the elbow. His abdomen was split open, organs exposed. His legs were crushed beyond recognition.
It was a miracle he was even alive with such tenacious vitality.
“…Guh! Cough! Ugh!!”
He tried to push himself up with his remaining blood-soaked left arm, only to vomit more blood and collapse forward.
He no longer had the strength to even sit up.
Spitting out the metallic, lukewarm blood filling his nose and mouth, he barely managed to twist his body.
‘Damn it all…’
The worst moment of his life, yet the sky above was clear and bright.
Who would have thought the most brutal, desperate battle of his life would end like this?
‘I knew this would happen from the start.’
Forcing his head to the side, he looked to his right.
His eldest brother—his once-handsome face now unrecognizable, crushed beyond repair.
His second brother—impaled through both collarbones by a spear in an X-shape, his arms and legs severed.
And that wasn’t all.
The loyal knights of their proud house. The hardened mercenaries who had stood by them even when the world abandoned them.
All dead.
And in the most gruesome ways.
Not a single survivor.
After staring at the corpses, he barely managed to turn his head to the left.
‘Lily…’
He had wanted to protect her. Tried so hard. But in the end, he failed.
Her desperate screams, her agonized cries—they still echoed in his ears like a haunting refrain.
He didn’t even feel anger, hatred, or the urge for revenge.
Because it was already over.
A shadow loomed over him.
The grotesque face he would never forget, even in death, stared down at him emotionlessly.
Looking at that blank expression, the dying embers of his rage and hatred roared back to life.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?!’
Show me your triumph! Your satisfaction! Your arrogance!
His bloodshot eyes burned as his gaze naturally drifted downward—to the king’s waist.
A man’s head hung there like a trophy, proudly displayed.
‘Father…’
The strongest man he had ever known, the one who had lived the fiercest life, now humiliated even in death.
Tears of blood streamed from his eyes.
“You are the last human of the Slater family.”
The last Slater?
Me?
He let out a hoarse laugh.
“Bullshit… Just kill me already. I’ll be waiting for you in hell, you bastard!”
Even as he spat his defiance, the king remained expressionless, slowly parting his lips.
“I will not forget you. Our kind never forgets.”
The king raised his massive two-handed sword high above his head.
In that moment—
A whirlwind of emotions surged through him.
Regret. Fury. Resentment.
If only he hadn’t wasted his talent.
If only he had fixed his narrow, twisted way of thinking sooner.
Would things have been different?
Even with just his own strength, he couldn’t have changed everything—but at the very least…
‘I would’ve made sure you weren’t standing there unharmed!!’
But what was the point now?
It was all just belated regret.
“Slater… You were our greatest enemy!”
With those final words, the massive sword descended mercilessly.
CRACK—!!!
A Brutal Fever
It was a vicious illness.
Even renowned doctors and devout priests could do nothing but retreat helplessly before the raging fever.
For ten full days—
The third son of House Slater had to endure the fever alone, without proper treatment.
A handful of people worried for him, but most whispered in unison:
The prodigal son, who only tarnished the great Slater name, is finally being punished by the gods.
Some even said it would be better if he died—that his death would be a blessing for House Slater.
Then, after ten days—
“L-Lord Russo?!”
Jason, the butler, stared in shock at the sight of the third son, Russo Slater, sitting up weakly in bed.
“…Jason?”
“Yes, my lord!!”
“…Where are the orcs?”
“The orcs?!”
Jason was sure the fever had addled the young lord’s mind.
Russo turned his head blankly, muttering to himself before finally—
“…A dream? All of it… was just a dream?!”
With those incomprehensible words, he collapsed unconscious again.
“M-My lord!!”
Fortunately, Russo soon woke up, rising from his bed as if he had never been ill at all.
News of the prodigal son’s recovery spread instantly throughout the territory.
Many shook their heads in disbelief.
“Would’ve been better if he died cleanly. At least then, we could’ve pitied him a little.”
“True.”
“But who knows? Maybe after such a fever, he’ll finally start acting like a proper person?”
“That good-for-nothing? People don’t change that easily.”
“Well, sometimes a life-changing event can completely transform someone.”
“But… do you really think he’ll change?”
“We’ll see. He’s still a Slater by blood. They called him a genius among geniuses when he was young. Let’s wait and watch!”
A few held onto hope.
But in the end—
Reality proved otherwise.
Just two days later—
The prodigal son of House Slater showed the entire territory that he hadn’t changed at all.
