The Supporting Character in a Horror Novel Wants to Live as a Human

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A crow cawed loudly.

The cawing sound echoed through the forest, which cast eerie shadows and prevented even a sliver of moonlight from entering.

The ground was black and dark.

Below the damp earth, various decaying matter left behind black stains.

A cart was crossing through the forest where the stench pooled on the ground, touching ankles like fog.

Laborers who were deaf and had shortened tongues that prevented them from speaking wandered as they pulled and pushed the cart.

What they barely managed to reach through the hazy vision was a small clearing without trees, and in the center of that clearing, a damp pit.

"......"

One of the laborers nodded.

With strange sounds—oomph, heave-ho!—the cart tilted, and the bodies it carried spilled into the pit.

Thud, thud, thump.

The sound of weighty bodies landing was heard four times.

People piled on top of people, and more people fell on top of them.

But there were no screams. No pleas for help either.

The laborers, without even looking into the pit, hastily gathered the cart and left. All that remained was the pit and the bodies that had fallen onto the decaying corpses.

Not long after the laborers departed, someone appeared.

He had been hiding in the darkness, and now he peered into the pit while tightly embracing something.

Despite the unpleasant and terrible smell that wafted up, his expression remained unchanged.

Into the pit filled with nothing but death and decay, a living person threw himself.

As soon as his feet touched the bottom after climbing down the steep walls of the pit with nimble movements that belied his size, he felt like making the sign of the cross. But he couldn't because of the bundle in his arms.

Instead, he recited prayers in his mind, desperately hoping that today's deeds would not condemn him to hellfire.

Blessed one, let your seven sons look down upon us.

He placed what he had been holding onto the ground. A bundle wrapped in a dark blanket squirmed.

From within, a white hand, arm, and leg emerged, breaking free from the tightly wrapped blanket.

Legs that staggered like those of a newborn stood on the ground. The young man crawled towards the fresh smell of flesh amidst the stench.

Beneath their abdomen lay sin and wickedness.
Carved into their bodies are the secrets that humans shun and deny.

The white hand caught its prey.

It was a pretty woman with a broken neck. She still looked alive, her face filled with vivid anger.

Looking up at the pitch-black sky, she seemed to be cursing a god somewhere up there.

The young man nuzzled her a few times, like a newborn beast.

"Mother."

I've come, Mother. I, your good child, have come. I've come to keep my promise. I always listen well, don't I? I'm a good child, aren't I? Father, grandfather, grandmother, they're all here, aren't they?

Despite his whispered mumblings, the woman remained motionless.

But that seemed to be enough.

He kissed the bloodstained, pale corpse's forehead.

The young man leaned against the cold body of the woman who had stiffened with her eyes half-open, as if expecting her to rise and praise him.

Ah, I'll do it. I'll accomplish everything as you told me to!

The man standing at the edge of the pit knelt on one knee and clasped his hands together. He could not bear to witness with his own eyes the sin he was about to commit. His clasped hands trembled faintly.

Oh, seven sons beyond the heavens.
Please forgive the sins I have committed, and with stern mercy and love, save those who have lost their way...

In the middle of the hushed black forest,
From the top of a tower made of the most wretched bodies,
The sound of satisfied laughter came from a being that belonged neither to earth nor to heaven.

Chapter 1

For Dennis, a low-ranking royal scribe, today was just like any other ordinary day.

He was a man with no ambition for advancement.

Dennis was more accustomed to recording trivial matters in his documents—like how many more horses were added to the royal stables or that the stone walls of the northern castle had been repaired—rather than witnessing great historical events.

Today seemed to be another day of recording the kingdom's small and peaceful affairs, but then.

"Dennis Frencelheart, I have come for the record of today's conferment ceremony."

"So you're today's scribe. This way."

What in the world is going on?

Dennis looked around in confusion as he crossed the magnificent hall.

Everything around him glittered as if on fire, and the floor was laid out smooth without a speck of dust.

The detailed paintings decorating the walls surrounded the entire hall, and even with just a passing glance, they shimmered colorfully as if sprinkled with jewels and gold dust.

The gazes of the figures appearing in all the paintings were directed at one place.

Following that line of sight revealed a single chair.

At first glance, it might seem like nothing more than a somewhat ornate old chair found in the marketplace.

But that chair was the throne that was said to have been presented by seven sages in commemoration of the Founding King's defeat of the fearsome monster that existed in those days!

The chair, engraved with the seven virtues that a monarch should possess, had not broken or tarnished with the passage of time. It had not burned or twisted.

Dennis made the sign of the cross in his heart as he headed to the designated spot.

A small desk, a bundle of parchment, a quill pen, and ink.

The familiar writing tools that Dennis always handled somehow felt eerily unfamiliar today.

"Wait here."

"Yes, understood. But... I heard there was a conferment ceremony today."

"And?"

And what?

Dennis quickly looked around.

The hall, which was normally used only for banquets or ceremonies, was completely empty.

In a typical conferment ceremony, there would usually be a carpet for the recipient to walk on or decorations hung for the recipient's family.

But today, the hall was completely empty.

The elderly chamberlain, seemingly noticing Dennis's confusion, nodded.

"Yes, that's understandable. This will be different from any conferment ceremony you've attended before."

"Different in what aspect...?"

"Enough! I called for you because I heard you were the most reserved among the scribes, but it turns out you might be the most loose-tongued of them all?"

"N-No, that's not the case. I apologize for my rudeness."

Dennis blushed and lowered his head.

The chamberlain softened his tone, appeased by Dennis's quick retreat after the light rebuke.

"You won't have much to do today. When the ceremony begins, just write down what you see. Then return to the archives and submit it. Simple, isn't it?"

"Y-Yes. Of course. I'll do that."

Dennis stared at the bundle of parchment placed before him.

Probably when the conferment ceremony proceeded, there would be a long, drawn-out benediction, followed by a sage's priest coming to give another blessing, reciting a pledge, taking an oath, and then the slow, tedious announcement of what title would be bestowed.

Would one bundle of parchment be enough to write it all down? Some people filled up ten pages just with the merits of their family, he'd heard.

Ah, come to think of it.

"Excuse me, about..."

He raised his head, intending to ask about the family of the person receiving the title, but the chamberlain was already on his way out of the hall.

It seemed pointless to call out to him now; he probably wouldn't hear.

Dennis just scratched his head in frustration.

Well, not knowing the person doesn't mean I can't write, does it?

I just need to do my job diligently.

He finished his preparations by unwrapping the bundle of parchment and dipping the pen in ink.

As he prepared, the strange feeling of discomfort he had initially felt seemed to fade a bit.

Now, all that was left was for the doors of the hall to open and announce the start of the ceremony.

Announce...

That's all that needed to happen.

But the doors showed no sign of opening.

A conferment ceremony or not, the hall was quiet with not even an ant in sight.

Dennis was left alone in the empty hall for about an hour.

'This is ridiculous!'

After waiting for so long, Dennis began to suspect that the conferment ceremony might be a trap to put him on standby duty.

He was mentally compiling a list of jobs he could do if he was fired from his position as a royal scribe when—

Creeeeak.

'Finally!'

As the heavy doors of the hall opened, three people entered.

A young man who looked like he had just come of age was followed by two others.

One of them was a man with curly brown hair, tall with a kind look in his green eyes.

The other was a man with black hair tied tightly, reaching down to his waist.

He was a head taller than the brown-haired man, and despite wearing a cloak, his robust physique and broad shoulders appeared quite intimidating.

The black-haired man had a sword at his waist, though it didn't look like an especially remarkable blade.

What was remarkable, however, was the man's face.

His features were distinct, with thick eyebrows. His skin was notably unblemished for a warrior, without even minor scars or blemishes.

His eyes, as black as his hair, held a deep, sunken look that didn't appear particularly pleased.

Yet, with a face like that, if he went out to the square, ladies would follow him, and young nobles would persistently invite him for a drink.

'He looks formidable.'

Dennis attached a one-line evaluation to the black-haired knight and turned his attention to the person at the front.

The youngest of the group, and seemingly the highest-ranking...

'Why does he look like that?'

The first thing that caught Dennis's eye was the heavy cloak.

A thick, heavy cloak, the kind that might be used in a coronation, was dragging on the floor.

While it was certainly a luxurious item, judging by the fur and decorations, the cloak didn't suit its owner.

The young man had his red hair braided in a classical style, letting it hang down.

But judging from the sweat trickling down his pale neck and his rough breathing, he didn't seem to be in good condition.

Upon reaching the base of the platform where the throne was, they finally knelt down with evident difficulty.

Dennis glanced at the red-haired young man, who was breathing heavily, and adjusted his own attire.

Now that the recipient had arrived, surely the King would make his entrance.

Dennis gathered his scattered concentration, trying his best to create a solemn atmosphere, and adjusted his posture.

No one came.

Not the King, not even a page announcing the King's movements.

In the suffocating silence, only the conferment party knelt before the empty throne.

Even Dennis, who was typically insensitive to such matters, felt the disrespect keenly.

Just as he began to worry that the young man, whose color had completely drained, might collapse, the hall doors finally opened again.

But the person who came through was not who they had been expecting.

Striding in without any regard for formality or courtesy, the person swiftly jumped onto the platform.

"Your Highness, the Crown Prince!"

"Remain seated. I won't be here long."

Dennis's mouth fell open.

Yurik den Menadia, the first in line for the throne, was known not only as the sole Crown Prince but also for being adopted by the current King from the previous King and established as his heir.

Why has he appeared here?

To attend the conferment ceremony? Or to make another announcement?

However, the Crown Prince's attire, no matter how generously one viewed it, was nothing more than what one might wear for a stroll, no more, no less.

Crown Prince Yurik, pointing to himself with a hand gloved in black silk, smiled calmly.

"The Sun of the Kingdom is quite busy. So I have personally come to preside over the conferment ceremony."

"Y-Your Highness, you personally?"

"I apologize for not paying attention to my attire. You'll graciously understand, won't you, Hartmann?"

Crown Prince Yurik asked those kneeling below.

Hartmann? Dennis was dumbfounded.

'Is this the Hartmann I know?'

The former Hartmann Ducal family was once a founding contributor to the kingdom, having a significant influence among central nobility and playing a major role in launching the Noble Council, which checked royal authority.

They were truly one of the most prestigious families among the prestigious.

The family produced exceptional talent in all fields, showing particular excellence in theology.

The fall of the Hartmann Ducal family happened just 8 years ago.

Under the charge of conspiring treason with foreign powers, the Hartmann family suffered terrible humiliation and was all but extinguished.

There were rumors that the legitimate heir of Hartmann was still alive, and now it seemed those rumors were true.

But how did he appear at the royal palace?

While Dennis was stiff with surprise and curiosity, a thin voice emerged from the red-haired young man.

"I pray Your Highness won't mind mere clothing."

"Yes, that's right. I've always valued that attitude. Being detached from worldly matters is difficult even for old men who have experienced all of life's ups and downs after reaching sixty."

The Crown Prince's tone was cheerful.

"Of course, no old man has experienced the hardships you've gone through, Hartmann."

"I..."

"It was really difficult. You broke through the siege and fled, taking down a bunch of palace soldiers on your way. And when I ordered your pursuit, I received the obituaries of seven of my personal knights. Truly, when you're involved, only interesting things seem to happen."

Dennis didn't know whether he should pick up his pen or not.

He was supposed to record what he heard and saw, but from the atmosphere to the content, he simply couldn't.

The red-haired young man, called Hartmann, bowed his head.

"I only hope that Your Highness will view it with generosity."

"Yes, of course. Anyway, now that you've come to the royal palace of your own accord, isn't it time to forget the past and think only of the future? Not just for you and me, but for the security of the country."

"My will aligns with Your Highness's."

"And what of your excellent knight and loyal servant?"

"There is no servant who does not follow his master."

Crown Prince Yurik looked down at them, maintaining a crooked smile throughout.

Dennis dared to guess that the one who had struck the Crown Prince's guard was undoubtedly the black-haired knight.

The Crown Prince's gaze at the knight, aside from Hartmann, was burning with intensity.

"Yes, you certainly know how to please me. If only the poor former Duke and Duchess had known how to do even half as well as you, they would have had no regrets."

With a smiling face, the Crown Prince, who had been mocking Hartmann till the end, drew a sword from the scabbard at his waist.

"Since you said ceremony and etiquette have no meaning to you, I'll proceed with the conferment concisely."

Not a ceremonial sword, but a real one for the conferment ceremony.

Dennis's hand, which had hastily picked up the pen, hesitated.

Could he really record such a messy conferment ceremony?

Whether Dennis was sweating nervously or not, Crown Prince Yurik descended the four-step staircase and tapped Hartmann's shoulder with the sword in a visibly perfunctory gesture.

"I, Yurik den Menadia, on behalf of the Sun of the Kingdom, Valter den Menadia, confer the title of Duke of Hartmann to Arenheit Hartmann personally. Oh, and I also transfer the castle, territories, and members of the former Ducal family, Leandros and Arndt, to the new Duke, and hereby officially announce this to the entire kingdom. End."

'Good heavens.'

Dennis's eyes widened.

Not wealth, not soldiers, but just a castle that had been empty for 8 years, territories where the residents had likely fled, and two servants?

As the Crown Prince's sword disappeared back into its scabbard, Hartmann raised his head.

"I extend my infinite gratitude to the Sun of the Kingdom and his representative."

"Yes, as you should."

The Crown Prince, with a smile, watched Hartmann rise while supporting the thick cloak.

"You might feel burdened, but with so much to do, I believe you'll spend fulfilling days."

"How could I not?"

"And regarding the management of the territory. If there's anything you, a newly appointed Duke, can't do, ask those around you. Isn't that the joy of running a territory?"

"...I will, Your Highness."

"Do it with spirit."

Dennis, who had been eavesdropping, frowned involuntarily.

That's not something someone who personally killed off all the collateral branches and even distant relatives should say.

There were hushed rumors that Crown Prince Yurik's influence had played a major role in the downfall of the former Hartmann Ducal family.

The newly appointed Duke Hartmann answered with a rough voice.

"I will... try."

"That's right. That's right. I hope you'll soon bring me good news."

Unlike the Crown Prince, who was patting Hartmann's shoulder in a friendly manner, Hartmann's face was changing moment by moment.

His face, which didn't seem to be in pain, turned pale, then slightly yellow, then blue again...

"And on your way out of the palace, there's something I want to give you, if you're not too busy..."

Thud!

Hartmann, whose condition had been poor since entering the hall, finally collapsed in front of the Crown Prince.

Those kneeling behind him rushed to check the fallen man's complexion.

Calls of "Young Master" and "Duke" filled the air in confusion.

Yurik looked down at the scene with a consistent smile, then turned to Dennis.

"Scribe, after clearly recording that Duke Hartmann has collapsed, call a servant to prepare a carriage. It seems the new Duke has been considerably nervous."

Collapsed from nervousness?

Even to Dennis's eyes, it was clear that the young Duke had not collapsed from nervousness.

But as a low-ranking scribe, there was only one thing Dennis could say.

"Understood!"

* * *

His head felt like it was splitting.

Did he drink too much yesterday? This is why they say to drink in moderation as you get older.

Everything seemed to be swaying, and he didn't feel well.

Moreover, the morning alert bell that rang every day wasn't heard today.

Work, he had to go to work.

What time was it now?

He struggled to lift his sticky eyelids.

The bright morning sunlight came in, accompanied by the refreshing chirping of birds...

...Chirping?

His home was a semi-basement in Seoul.

"Ah, you've finally awakened. How are you feeling, Young Master?"

What? What's this?

An unfamiliar person who suddenly appeared smiled at him with relief.

In the cramped space, bench seats were attached to both sides, and everything kept swaying.

A cool breeze was coming in from the open sides.

What?

Where was this...?