What happens when one is born human but is denied humanity?
They are exiled from society, become isolated, and receive no recognition from anyone.
As weak individuals form groups, establish order, and make laws,
to remain a part of that human group, one must abide by these rules.
And if they don't?
Simple, they are no longer considered human.
Look at the heinous criminals who commit murder, rape, assault, and so on.
Do we treat them as human?
As much as they commit inhumane acts, we never place them in the same category.
It may seem minor, but being denied one's very essence is a terrifying thing.
And we never know what those who are excluded will turn into later on…
So why am I bringing this up?
Because even among those exalted beings, the gods, there are those who have been excluded in this way.
Among the gods, there was one who was not acknowledged as a deity and was banished from the celestial realm, the scorned deity—Aer, the God of the Black Mist.
This decree by the gods also applied to their creations, the humans.
One must not follow the God of the Black Mist.
No one taught us this; it's like a taboo ingrained in our minds the moment we are born.
This notion has been perpetuated in human society for a long time.
However, just as the human heart cannot remain consistent, this idea wasn't destined to last forever.
On the day the Black Mist was first witnessed on the continent,
there were those who defied the longstanding notion of the gods and later came to be known as 'Followers of the Mist'.
For the first time as humans, they revered Aer as a god, and even negated other gods.
But the price for denying the divine order was steep.
Those who stuck to the old beliefs saw the Followers as negative beings that should not exist in the world, insisting that only ostracization and annihilation were the answer.
In other words, they denied their own humanity.
And so the Followers of the Mist were thoroughly ostracized by their fellow humans and ultimately exterminated, and only a handful of survivors later regrouped to form an organization known as 'Mist'.
Having experienced exile once, they retained no complacency or mercy.
They aimed to denounce the world order centered around the light and reveal the vile aspects of humanity lurking in shadow, with assassination as their chosen method.
Their primary targets were the upper classes of human society, whose atrocious acts remained hidden from public knowledge.
However, due to their brutal methods, even the common people held them in poor regard.
In the end, like the entity they worshipped, they continued to exist, denied the very essence of being human.
Now, how do I know this story?
Because I was an assassin within the Mist.
Common knowledge claimed that the Mist was purged by the 'Purification Army', led by the Knights of Light, but this was nothing but a distortion of the truth.
They were not subjugated; they merely concealed their own presence.
Supposedly waiting for the day when the heir to the divine power would reemerge, but that's complete nonsense; it was primarily the whims of that foolish god.
Anyway, the main reason I'm heading to the academy is to make contact with Mist once again.
But how could they have started operating already without me?
Unless that cursed god played another whim, it makes no sense.
I cannot travel to the academy in peace without verifying it with my own eyes.
With a calm heart, I looked around.
Just as a bright sculpture casts a dark shadow, even a thriving city has its exceptions.
Roads stretched in all directions and buildings rose densely between them. At some luxurious buildings sporadically visible, armed guards in swords and armor stood watch.
At a glance, they seemed not like professional guards with knightly experience, but rather ordinary mercenaries.
It was an atmosphere devoid of warmth or compassion, to say the least.
[Have you come out for hunter only to be reduced to hunting humans?]
Ceyram materialized and pinched my cheek, speaking firmly.
"Just something I want to find with my own eyes."
[That 'Mist' or 'Meatball', that thing? Even Aer, pretending to be a god, must have wanted a group of followers at his beck and call, right?]
Surprisingly, Ceyram didn't know about the Mist.
Even though she's a demon sword that inherited the divine power related to the Mist, as you know, she's been in slumber for hundreds of years.
It was impossible for her to know an organization that had been the talk of humans just a few decades ago.
Besides, she didn't particularly fond of that foolish god who was akin to her father.
[Looking for a needle in a sand dune? How do you plan to find these maybe-there folks?]
"It's nothing. Just like throwing bait to catch fish."
I entered a deep alleyway with no guards in sight.
A void with not even an ant passing by.
The perfect atmosphere for a quiet killing.
Finally finding a suitable spot, I squatted down and slowly closed my eyes, drawing out the black mist energy that had been lurking within me.
-Swish.
The dense clusters of mist filled the chilly alley.
Any ordinary human lacking courage would turn tail and run at once.
The fundamental principle of an assassin is to leave no trace, but the followers of the Black Mist are different.
Wherever they have been, there's always a dirty black mist left behind as impossible to occur naturally.
It's like a marker proving they were once there.
Now, if you really are hidden in this city, you cannot ignore the scent I am now emitting.
So come forward and witness my presence!
I will prove whether you are the ones I'm looking for!
"...."
But as I said earlier, if the ones supposed to smell me aren't in this city, then this black mist is nothing more than smog.
After coiling in one spot for 30 minutes waiting, the only thing that came was the damp evening breeze.
Eventually, I began to feel self-critical for what I was doing.
[Is master playing at being a plaster statue again?]
Ceyram appeared to be amused by my seemingly foolish actions (?).
Indeed, if I haven't seen an ant for so long, they probably don't exist in this city.
I could have just gone to the headquarters and woken up that foolish god to ask directly, right?
I've been acting like a blind man in front of the most certain method.
I rose from my spot and dusted myself off.
-Slither slither
Just as I was ready to disperse the mist and head back to my lodging, I heard a strange noise from the far end of the alley.
It sounded like something being dragged with effort.
I immediately tuned my ears to the source of the noise.
-Clop, clop.
Mixed with the noise were the footsteps of a stranger.
The footsteps belonged to one person, but the presence I felt was not solitary.
Moreover…
[Do you smell blood?]
As if having caught a whiff of something exquisite, Ceyram savored the scent.
Mixed with the growing presence was the filthy scent of blood.
Pleased that my 30 minutes playing at being a statue wasn't in vain?
My lips, which had been straight, were now curving into a broad smile.
"...?"
But the excitement of waiting for them to approach was short-lived,
as the footsteps that had been drawing closer suddenly snapped to a halt.
-Dart dart!
They stopped, and then there was the sound of a sprint.
The problem was that it wasn't coming towards me, but instead moving away.
Meaning they were running away from me.
[Running away?]
"What is this madness?"
Without a moment's hesitation, I dashed from my spot.
I had baited and waited, only to have the prey sniff and flee?
It was clear that the figure wasn't scared of the unfamiliar mist, but was fleeing from my presence within it.
As I cut through the mist and turned the left corner, I finally spotted the back of the retreating figure.
-Thump!
Without hesitation, I grabbed the throat and slammed him to the ground.
"Choke!"
The overpowered figure coughed in agony.
I calmed my racing heart and quickly scanned his entire body.
Height, around 170 cm; weight, about 70 kg.
Though his face was hidden by a black mask, judging from the wrinkled skin on his nape and the sound of his voice, he was a middle-aged man.
In his outstretched right hand, a bloody wooden club.
Next to his wandering left hand, a huge sack fit for stuffing a person.
Judging by the red stains visible through the yellow fabric, it was clear the blood scent had come from there.
"Damn!"
The bloody club danced in the air.
The scoundrel tried to grab the club and swing it at me.
But since my hand clung tightly to his throat, the club fell far short of its mark.
I squeezed his throat even harder.
"Crack…!"
His vocal cords strained and in the pain of being strangled, he lost his senses.
Only when his body went cold and he was on the verge of fainting did I let go.
[Is this guy a follower of that buffoonsome god?]
Ceyram poked his head with her finger to see if he was still alive.
The black mask, blood-stained club, and though I hadn't checked yet, the sack that likely held a person—they all seemed to fit the criteria… but something was too clumsy.
"Sa…"
The man, gasping for breath, barely managed to make a sound.
"Spare me, please…!"
A desperate plea for life.
I found myself sighing without realizing it.
It was a sham.
A fake who'd clumsily mimicked the appearance of others.
For an assassin who shook the continent to beg for life so pitifully…
It was impossible for true members of Mist to tolerate such contemptible behavior.
This man was not from the Mist.
-Wriggle
Suddenly, the beige sack next to me stirred.
"Ughhh…"
Accompanied by an unsettling groan.
Considering the rough and husky voice, it didn't seem likely to contain a beautiful woman.
Curiosity piqued, I untied the sack to take a look.
Hmm…
Inside was a middle-aged man with no hair and a potbelly like a mountain.
Though I did not recognize the face, the quality of his clothing suggested he might be a wealthy noble.
It appeared he had been struck with something blunt, as there was a wound on his forehead with dark red blood flowing.
It seemed the intention wasn't to kill with a single blow, but merely to knock out and kidnap…
A miss.
I had come in search of Mist and instead got entangled in a mundane crime scene.
The more I get involved, the more it seems like it's only going to give me a headache…
"That man must not…"
The masked man reached weakly toward the sack with desperate eyes as if it contained bars of gold.
What a pathetic sight, almost enough to bring tears to my eyes.
I tied the sack up again and handed it back to him.
"...?"
Through the mask, his eyes blinked, clearly puzzled.
"I don't care what your game is, if you don't want to be torn apart, don't go around like this."
"…Yes?"
"If someone other than me had seen you, you'd already be dead."
Subsequently, the mists that had dominated the area dispersed.
Leaving the man lying there in bewilderment, I left the place at my leisure.
(To be continued)
Editor's musings:
We will change Dark Mist to Black Mist. It sounds better.