After a few hours of grappling, wrestling, and throwing insults, we collapsed in a tangled heap of limbs and bruised egos.

  "Huff… Puff… That was exhausting," Isaac panted, lying flat on the ground like a defeated NPC.

  "Not me." I stretched my arms and cracked my neck, smirking. "Still have tons of energy left."

  "You monster," he growled between wheezes.

  "Lil wins." Rona raised her hand with a sleepy grin, her arm wobbling like a tired referee.

  I raised both hands. "Thank you. Thank you. It was an easy-peasy match!"

  Isaac rolled his eyes and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Hey, I wanted to ask you something."

  Why are you always asking me? I want peace. Still, as a good friend... Sigh... If I survive whatever trial comes next, I'm charging a listening fee.

  I flopped down beside him, grinning. "Sure, shorty. What's up?"

  "Is it about Lyndall?" Rona wriggled between us, eyes bright.

  Looking down, my eyes twitched. That perfectly round head... My right hand inched closer, ready to whack her head, but my left hand stopped it.

  Isaac shifted to make space. "Yes."

  "You believe me?" I tilted my head, surprised.

  "Yes," they both said at the same time.

  I looked away fast, before it showed.

  I blinked. "I know Rona would, but you too? I thought you'd say something like 'superficial nonsense' or call me delusional."

  "I would," Isaac said calmly, "if I hadn't seen things myself. And I'm into ancient texts and dark myths."

  "You… understand ancient language?" I stared at him.

  "Some. I learned a few scripts so I could decode things."

  Rona and I stared like he had grown extra heads.

  "What?" Isaac shrugged. "It's either that or let my brain rot like someone here." He looked straight at me.

  Something inside me snapped.

  "You little—!" I lunged for his neck, but Rona dove in and grabbed me with surprising strength.

  "Come here, you smug little twerp!" I shouted, flailing like a windmill.

  "Relax!" Isaac scooted backward, hands raised. "We're getting off track. Just hear me out."

  I shot him a glare. Then I'll have your life!

  I stopped struggling, though my clenched fists and twitching brow said otherwise. "On with it."

  Isaac exhaled. "I once hacked into a supposedly dead server. Found a file called Private Account. I thought it'd be some juicy gossip or bank data, but it was actually a forbidden text."

  Forbidden text? Is he drunk? Even if those exist, what are the odds of finding one? On a dead server, no less. No. I have to support. Acting mode. Activate!

  "You accidentally stole a forbidden text?" I slapped my forehead.

  Someone. Give me the Best Actress Award or at least the Best Friend Award.

  "It's not like it was labeled Danger: Cursed Tome Inside. How was I supposed to know?"

  He sat up and adjusted his glasses, suddenly looking like some serious scholar. "When I heard your story about Lyndall, I remembered something. A text I read once. It mentioned a doctor, a demon, and a priestess.”

  "That's… oddly specific." I frowned. "How's that like my story?"

  "Just let me finish."

  Isaac folded his hands together.

  “This is an old story,” he said. His voice stayed calm and precise. “I’m telling it as it was written.”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  Then he began.

  Long ago, in a small village in Japan, there lived a doctor who practiced traditional medicine. He treated anyone who came to him, regardless of status or origin. The villagers trusted him, and for many years, his methods were enough.

  He believed he would live a peaceful life with his wife. That belief ended when a disease appeared in the village.

  The first victim was a farmer. He caught what seemed like a mild cold and recovered the next day. He never sought treatment. A week later, he collapsed in the middle of the night. By morning, he was dead. His body was shriveled, his eyes sunken, as if something had drained him from the inside.

  The doctor examined the body but found no cause.

  Within a month, more villagers fell ill. None survived longer than a week. The doctor used every remedy he knew. But failed. In the end, he could only lessen their pain before they died.

  Helplessness hollowed him out. His wife stayed by his side, and he held her as if that alone could keep her safe.

  Consumed by grief, he became mad. He drank whenever he could and never returned home. His wife could only cry in her sleep.

  One night, drunk and desperate, he wandered into the mountains. There, he found a shrine he had never seen before. It radiated something wrong, though he did not notice at the time. Drawn by curiosity and alcohol, he entered.

  The shrine was narrow and airless. The deeper he went, the more the walls closed in. At the far end stood a grotesque statue. Its shape was human only in suggestion.

  By then, the doctor was sober.

  He turned to flee, but his legs were tangled up and he fell. As he struggled to rise, a voice whispered, "Do you wish to save the village?"

  The images of people dying filled his mind. Without hesitation, he turned back, dropped to his knees, and agreed.

  The voice told him to pray every day. In return, his power would surpass death.

  When he left the shrine, he carried a small statue with him. Behind him, the larger one remained, sneering.

  The next day, the villagers recovered. Within a week, the disease vanished. The doctor was praised as a hero.

  What no one knew was the cost. Each patient lost part of their life force. It passed through the doctor and into the god. That was how the village endured.

  If the prayers ever stopped, even for one day, their bodies would decay, and their souls would remain bound.

  Years passed. The doctor and his wife lived in peace. They raised five daughters, and later, a son.

  Then winter came.

  Villagers began dying in their sleep. The doctor prayed harder, but no answer came.

  A traveling priestess arrived near the mountains. She sensed something rotten and followed it into the village. It led her to a cabin made of warped planks and rotting wood.

  Black fumes seeped from the cabin’s cracks, curling into the cold air.

  The door opened on its own.

  A boy stood inside. He looked no older than ten. His face was pale and well-shaped, almost delicate. An oversized shirt hung to his knees. He tilted his head slightly, studying her.

  For a moment, he said nothing. Then he smiled, as if pleased to see her.

  His eyes were dark, not empty, but too deep, as though something was watching from far behind them.

  When the priestess raised her staff, the boy frowned and charged.

  The boy threw his hand and struck the ground where the priestess was. The priestess dodged it. The boy quickly threw a kick at her. She blocked it with her staff, but he wasn't over.

  Each strike grew faster and heavier. She defended until her arms trembled. The boy sent another heavy kick, which made the priestess skid back across the ground.

  The priestess knew she couldn't stay on defense any longer and resorted to an attack. She struck her staff at him consecutively, but he avoided her with ease.

  He laughed; his voice layered with others.

  Their fight dragged on. The priestess slowed. Both paused, facing each other from a distance. She held her staff, gasping for air, while he hovered above the ground, watching her struggle with visible interest.

  Then she remembered her master’s final teaching. Her face grimaced, but when her eyes fell on the boy, her resolve hardened.

  She charged. The boy, overjoyed, rushed to meet her. This time, she did not block.

  His fist pierced her abdomen. Blood spilled onto the ground. She struck his cheek with her staff, barely enough to turn his head.

  Her eyes fluttered. Her breathing hitched. The boy smiled, hummed softly, and began to pull away.

  As he tried to pull back, she wrapped her arms around him and held on. The boy looked down at her, confused. The priestess gave a weary smile and muttered, "I won't let you harm anyone... anymore." Another hack escaped her. She spoke the sealing rite through blood and breath.”

  His confusion turned to panic. He struck her again and again, frantic now, but she wouldn't let go.

  Light tore through them. The boy screamed. His voice fractured, the many voices inside him crying out at once. However, the priestess only smiled as the light disappeared along with the boy.

  She collapsed on the ground, her consciousness slowly fading away.

  When it ended, neither the shrine nor the village remained.

  Isaac cleared his throat and said calmly, "That's how the story ended."

  I sat there frozen, replaying every detail. Five daughters. One beautiful son. Cabin. Winter. Demon child. Everything was too similar.

  I did not realize I had stopped moving until a sharp pain bit into my arm. I turned and saw Rona’s fingers digging into my sleeve. I looked up. She was staring at me. Neither of us spoke.

  "After hearing your story," Isaac said quietly, "it just clicked."

  "I-It's just a coincidence," I said. My voice cracked. "There's no way Lyndall is… that."

  Hell no. That would mean there's a demon inside me. A demon! I shook my head hard.

  "I'm just saying," Isaac replied, "be careful. You attract strange things."

  Oh~ Another problem when you're too attractive.

  "Thanks, I feel so reassured." My tone dripped with sarcasm.

  Rona suddenly jumped onto me. "Rona gives Lil good luck!"

  I hugged her. "Aww~ Thanks, Rona."

  Even so, the questions clawed at the back of my mind.

  Why is Lyndall inside me? Is the priestess my ancestor? How did she survive a hand through the gut?

  Isaac spoke before I could ask. "If the child was Lyndall, then yes, the priestess could be related to you. As for how she survived... Well, sealing a demon inside yourself isn't something any ordinary human can do."

  He looked straight at me.

  "…You calling me abnormal?"

  "I'm saying maybe you inherited some of that monstrous strength and willpower." Isaac's lips curved slightly. "Ya… monstrous."

  Some answers arrive long before you’re ready for them.

  Well. He’s still Lyndall.