Chapter 58: The Demon and the Madman (Part 2)
Mr. J brushed his flaming red hair back.
He looked at the villagers, who were so terrified they couldn’t even muster the courage to meet his gaze, but instead directed all their pent-up resentment and hostility towards a scrawny little girl around ten years old and a frail old man who looked like he was about to be buried.
Gazing at this ridiculous scene, a smile slowly spread across his face, revealing a rather unsettling grin.
“Alright, let me tell you a story.”
Clap, clap.
As he spoke, he lightly clapped his hands twice. The sound, though soft, made the increasingly agitated villagers freeze like frogs caught in the gaze of a venomous snake—unable to move, speak, or even lift their heads, they fell silent once more.
Seeing this, Mr. J nodded in satisfaction.
Behind him, he could still hear the knights passionately cursing, their voices growing more intense, interspersed with sounds of fierce resistance, followed by the clanging of swords and the dragging of corpses. The heretics were dragging headless bodies toward a sparse thicket not far away—where a gruesome collection of fallen knights already dangled, the stench of bl**d wafting through the air.
The villagers were utterly shaken by the ruckus.
Mr. J didn’t even bother to look back. He gazed at the frightened lot before him, guessing from their terrified expressions that the unknowing knights behind him had likely pulled some wet brain move again. He heard a woman’s stifled sob from the crowd and caught a whiff of weak urine from their direction.
Mr. J didn’t care in the slightest.
He began his story, disregarding whether anyone had the heart to listen.
“Let me tell you a story. There was once a village where a demon poisoned the well. The villagers who drank from it started growing tails, except for one wise man who didn’t.”
As he recounted the tale, he strolled back and forth.
He couldn’t resist glancing at the little girl again, noticing she was still being silenced by the old man’s hand, her tiny eyes glaring at him, seemingly filled with anger. This amused him, prompting him to wink at her.
“The wise man told everyone that if they stopped drinking from the well, they would return to their human forms. But everyone thought he was mad and wanted to burn him. With no other choice, the wise man drank from the poisoned well as well, and thus balance was restored—a troupe of monkeys danced and sang—a widely known comedic tale in the Eastern Continent.”
Mr. J paused, shifting his gaze from the girl and smiling as he scanned the crowd: “And that’s the end of my story. Just that simple. But I bet you all didn’t understand a word of it. That’s fine though. What I want you to think about is, what would have happened if the wise man hadn’t drunk from the well…”
As his eyes swept over the crowd, everyone lowered their heads, trembling in fear, too scared to meet his eyes. This bored him a little, so he turned his attention back to the brave little girl. He raised a finger, pointing at her.
“You there, little girl, what’s your name… ah, never mind, that’s not important. Why don’t you tell me, what if that wise man hadn’t drunk—”
Before Mr. J could finish his sentence, the little girl broke free from the old man’s grip in a fit of rage.
“I won’t say it! I don’t want to, boo-hoo!”
She barely got a few wails out before the startled old man clamped his hand back over her mouth. She tried to speak again but couldn’t break free, so she resorted to biting. Unfortunately for the little girl, the stubborn elder refused to loosen his grasp.
Mr. J watched, excitement bubbling up inside him.
“See, you may not be a wise man, but you don’t want to drink from that well either… alright, alright, I’ll just tell you directly. If that wise man hadn’t drunk from the well, typically, two things would happen.”
He raised one finger.
“The first thing is, he would be tied to a stake and burned to d*ath. You can all imagine that scene—whoosh, the flames erupting, crackling away as the wise man screams, turning into a pile of charred remains—how pitiful. But he’s an outlier, and not strong enough; this world can’t accommodate weak outliers. It’s a bit funny, but that’s just how it is.”
Then he raised a second finger.
“But the other possibility is that the wise man possesses enough skills to escape the village, or perhaps strength, and then he runs away. Afterward, the villagers, furious, would see him as an unreasonable madman. The demon wouldn’t just sit idly by; it has the power to control everything, to have things go its way. Yet someone dares to oppose its will? Absolutely not! It cannot allow anyone to voice dissent, so the demon disguises itself as a servant of the deity, telling the villagers that the one who fled is the real demon.”
Mr. J paused, his lips twitching in a manic sort of grin.
“So, the wise man’s identity shifts from human to madman, and then from madman to demon. Eventually, not only that village but the entire world couldn’t accommodate him.”
“He was ostracized and hunted by all the tailed villagers—those monkeys conditioned by demons. Everyone saw him as a thoroughgoing demon, while the real demon sat in its gilded palace, a loyal servant of the deity, deceiving the masses into blind belief, revered and admired by a bunch of monkeys. Thus, a new era for humanity began—what a delightful occasion.”
After finishing, Mr. J bowed deeply to the villagers.
His stance was reminiscent of a jester taking a bow after a performance, his pale face adorned with a strange smile, then he spread his arms wide, expecting flowers and applause.
But there was none.
His devilish gesture only left the villagers feeling anxious and bewildered.
They sensed his joy but didn’t know how to respond. Confused and still gripped by lingering fear, they struggled to comprehend what he had just said.
These folks had lived on this desolate coast for generations with minimal outside contact and had received little education. The vast majority couldn’t even recognize a few characters, let alone grasp such nuanced stories. They hadn’t been paying attention, their sole focus on how to survive.
“…Ah, I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
Fortunately, no one voiced agreement, and Mr. J felt no embarrassment.
“What I want to tell you is, I am not a demon. I’m merely a simple madman, yes, simply.”
He brushed off the dust from his clothing, a sickly grin spreading across his warped smile: “Do you know what’s the saddest part about being a monkey? On the surface, it looks like a paradise, but in reality, all their vigor has been worn away. Just like you, living in hardship like this; when bad weather strikes, many might d*e. You’re doing everything you can to confine yourselves within a comfortable cage; even risking your lives, the rewards you earn are less than someone’s afternoon tea—you’re worthless and don’t even know how to fight against fate.”
“You don’t even have the right to be manipulated. Your lives are so worthless that you could rot away unburied at any moment. When bandits come, you d*e; when pirates arrive, you d*e; when there’s a war, you d*e; when the Abyss comes, you definitely d*e; and now that we’ve arrived, you still d*e. You live so pitifully and never think to ask why, because you’re neither the wise man nor that madman—you’re just a bunch of tailless monkeys.”
After Mr. J finished speaking, he cleared his throat, straightened his clothes, and glanced over the bewildered faces of the villagers. Then he circled back to his earlier point.
“Earlier, I asked what you were thinking, but you misunderstood. I wasn’t asking if you think of me as a demon… of course, you would see me as a demon; that was never the question.”
Hearing this, the villagers understood him clearer. Their panic deepened, and they hurried to offer explanations, but Mr. J paid no mind, simply waving his arm toward the kneeling knights behind him.
“What I want to know is, do you think, like those knights, that soon, a… hero will descend from the heavens? I know you love heroes; it’s the sad ideology the church has drilled into you. No matter what happens, just wait for those heroes to save you from peril, but I’m here to tell you this—it’s impossible.”
“Because I’m not quite like that madman in the story.”
“I’ve never been a benevolent sage; I’ve always been a simple madman. A madman should act like a madman. Do you know what I’ll do? That’s the third situation I didn’t mention earlier—I’ll smash your well.”
“And you… you can either d*e like this. Or, join me and become a madman.”
Mr. J’s grin suddenly turned monstrous.
He twisted his neck, pointing at the nearest heretics: “Marcus, Angus, Weithermill, and Hacha… a month ago, three thousand knights from the South Coast camp faced off against us nine, and they crumbled into chaos. Today, I’m rallying nearly two thousand here—”
He paused, his silent grin expanding.
“No, two thousand madmen.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha…”
Those he’d pointed at all began chuckling, and Mr. J casually waved his hand, prompting someone to pass him a kn*fe.
The villagers had no clue what was about to go down, yet deep inside, they felt something crucial— the most entertaining part was just about to begin.
“They have ten thousand of them, and we have two thousand. They have trained troops, but all we have are knives. They’ve gone hungry for three days, and we’ve suffered longer… so long that even if your beloved Pope Knight were standing right in front of you, she’d be torn apart piece by piece.”
Mr. J took the long sword, held it in his hand, and walked toward the crowd.
“The moment the ships hit the shore, I thought… perhaps there’s no need to think too much, just raise the blade and push forward. Maybe that would be more enjoyable… and it turns out I was right. Those knights collided with us like they were thrown into a meat grinder; that marvelous sensation… truly exceeded expectations of delight. No one can stop two thousand madmen. The heroes you look forward to, all those Pope Knights—none of them stand a chance… do you understand what I’m saying?”
