A mythical figure who is the hand and foot of the Great Demon. Enemies of the human species, demons.

　They were once created by the Great Demon, and even now, under the influence of the Great Demon, the right ones are chosen and transformed. They are different from our dependents who are selected by the demon's will.

　The will of the person is irrelevant there. They are simply repainted as the demons and the demons that once existed. It's like putting more paint on top of a painting.

　Man, elf, beast... It can be painted over. A demon is a unique paint. It paints over memories, history, even blood.

　That's the demon. The plague itself.

　And so it was here. Arche, the royal capital of the Garlist Kingdom. The city just east of it.

　Although disrupted by disaster and war, the Garlist Kingdom is still thriving. It is more prosperous than other countries and its people are enjoying peaceful days. There are a few inconveniences, but it can be said that they are happy.

　In the city, even though it is snowing, merchants are still coming and going. This city, so close to King's Landing, must be experiencing a strong taste of its glory. There were smiles on everyone's face.

　The anguish of the soldiers on the front lines. The longing of the heraldry. None of it matters here.

　In the middle of the city streets, there was a man. Alone, he paused as he watched the people passing through the city.

　He doesn't really remember why he is here. Maybe he was on his way to his family, or maybe he was waiting for his lover.

　But now it no longer mattered to him. The primal reminiscences that welled up from the depths of his soul rewrote him.

　From the tips of his hair to the tips of his toes. The feeling of his skin being meticulously reupholstered, layer by layer. No screams, no sobs. It's a natural way of being.

　When I suddenly realized that the man was no longer a man. He was just a different kind of individual.

　A man-- a demon. The one once called Drigman the Controller, his hair hanging down as he exhaled a white breath. His expression is quiet but fierce, and tinged with sadness.

I'm sad. I'm sad. I've had my heart ripped out with a blade. There's no shortage of words to describe my sorrow.

　It was just a monologue. Just words thrown up in the air. People who overheard it distorted their faces suspiciously, but paid no attention to it as they walked down the street.

"You should see. Look at the color of this uncanny sky. The smell of the air is uncanny.

　It wasn't something I said to anyone. Perhaps it was meant as an offering to someone. Maybe it was meant for the main demon Zebraelis and his people.

　Drigman just shook his body from sorrow. His long lips parted his cheeks and he let out a full breath of white.

　There was no longer any trace of a man in his body or in the color of his face. There was only the image of the demon that had once been there.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling bad?

　Is it the guards? Someone called out to Drigman, who was standing alone in the middle of the street. There was a mixture of kindness and caution in the voice. The hand on his shoulder seemed to have a little strength in it.

　But that didn't matter to Drigman. It didn't matter if he was male or female, young or old.

　This is a human being. How sad. Drigman composed his voice and said.

"I'm sorry, but you can't just copy our words.

　A voice so cold. It was enough to make me think my ears had been ripped off.

　A moment. Red flashed through the white. The person who called out to me had no idea what had been done or what had happened. The moment it felt like it, its brain and skeleton were jumping.

　The blood splattered, the flesh became fragments. It was as if it had exploded. The red, endlessly red fresh blood was erased by the falling dead snow.

　A moment later, screams and shouts. The surrounding area was flooded with noise. In the midst of it all, Drigman was just sad.

　Oh, where is the greatness of the world? Where's the glory of our people?



　Why has the demon species handed over this land to people like us? Why are we, once the champions of the earth, being driven into the forests and valleys, allowing them to flourish?

　How can a race of slaves so proudly put two legs to the earth?

　Drigman remembers well what he used to do. He had put two legs to the earth and had never been defeated in all that time. All the way to the end.

　And yet, even after all these years, to surrender our land to the human species-- a slave species. Impossible. In all my miserable years, I've never experienced such humiliation and pain.

　A boil is brewing inside my chest. Drigman's hair brushed the blood.

　--Oh, I remember you, Althea. If only it weren't for you. If only it weren't for you. If it weren't for you, this foolish world would never have been born.

　Rage and hatred crawling in my guts. Something akin to a throbbing vindictiveness stroked Drigman through the years. Forcing himself to swallow it, Drigman looks at the herd of livestock gathered around him.

　Eyes bewildered, eyes in awe, eyes in anger. They are many and varied, but to Drigman they are all the same. But they're a little brighter than they used to be.

　It's sad. Pathetic.

　They deserve nothing to think about, nothing to ponder. Just a pair of downcast, dark eyes. Only a stupid look. That's what makes them happy.

　Drigman heard a noise in his ears. Something being said by the livestock in front of him. It's probably language, but it's hard to make out.

　No, no, no. Maybe Drigman just didn't want to hear it. After all, no one wants to listen to the language of livestock. When a cow or a pig makes a sound, does anyone make an effort to understand it? First of all, no.

　So Drigman does not listen to their words. And if he did, he wouldn't try to make sense of it.

"I'll allow you one thing. I am generous. I'm not like jewel-bow Agathos.

　The name of a former comrade. Does she, too, have legs on this earth? Or does her soul still lie in the earth?

　Well, that's all good news for now. Your master, the great demon Zebraeliris, is still under the control of the hated Althea. Then let's do as he says for now.

　So there's only one thing to do. I let out a breath. I saw the cattle before me.

　Correct the world as it should be. To the world as it should be, with man and beast as livestock. We must restore the world to what it truly is.

　I think it's great that these beings who are nothing more than livestock have developed society to this point. I think it's great. But it should be done under the control of the demon species. That's the love the Drigman has for them.

　It's a cause. It's justice itself. Man and beast are only happy when they serve the greater good.

　With righteous love and pity, Drigman says.

"You can end this here. Or you can end up as livestock. I think it's obvious which is happier. I'm telling you, you're no match for me.

　At the same time, the head of a human who looked like an adventurer with a weapon exploded. It's not a metaphor, it just explodes, spreading blood and flesh. Those who turned away and ran away had their legs shattered and exploded.

　Some were confused, some were running away, some were in a frenzy. Some were confused, some were running away, some were in a frenzy... Everyone could not decide their attitude to this sudden situation.

　In the middle of it all, Drigman, the controller, thought.

　We made a mistake once. As a result, we've turned a beautiful world into a corrupt one. Then we must start again.

　Let's paint it again. Paint the painting, this world.

　Let the foolish exist just live in their foolishness and allow nothing but obedience. A world that is happy. To bring back that great world.

　So we can start over. We can start over.

That's good. This is getting interesting. It's getting fun.



　Let's stomp out this crazy world where humans are the champions of the earth and start over. For us and for them.