I walked along the dirt path, my bare feet brushing against pebbles and rough soil. Each step felt awkward. My balance was off without my tail, and I kept stumbling like a newborn calf. It was humiliating… but also strangely humbling.
Before, my every movement shook the ground. Now, I could barely walk straight.
As the sun rose higher, the path widened, revealing farmlands stretching into the horizon. Fields of wheat swayed in the wind, and I could smell the scent of freshly tilled earth. Up ahead, I saw wooden fences, small cottages with thatched roofs, and smoke rising from chimneys.
A village.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I had no memories of this body's past. No money. No identity. And worst of all, no power.
As I neared the village gate – if you could even call it that, it was merely two wooden posts tied together with rope – I heard the chatter of humans. Farmers carrying bundles of straw on their backs, children chasing each other barefoot on the dirt, merchants shouting prices at passing buyers.
I felt… out of place. Their carefree lives, their laughter, their petty concerns. They had no idea what it meant to hold power over life and death. No idea what it meant to carry the burden of ruling a kingdom drenched in blood.
I stepped forward, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. But soon enough, I caught the attention of an elderly woman selling vegetables under a cloth canopy. She squinted at me, her wrinkled face furrowing with concern.
"Boy? Where are your parents?" she asked, looking me up and down. "You're awfully thin… did you get lost on the roads?"
Parents… I hesitated. Should I lie? Tell her I was an orphan? Or perhaps pretend I had amnesia? Both were believable for someone in this state.
Before I could answer, my stomach growled loudly. Embarrassment flushed to my face. The old woman let out a soft chuckle.
"Poor thing. You look half-dead. Here."
She reached into her basket and handed me a small bun filled with sweet bean paste. I stared at it, the aroma making my mouth water instantly. She raised an eyebrow.
"Well, go on. Eat it before the flies get to it."
I hesitated again. Back then, I never accepted food from anyone. I didn't need to. I hunted beasts myself, cooked them over my own flames, and ate alone under the silent night sky.
But now…
"…Thank you."
My voice came out quieter than I intended. I took the bun and bit into it. Sweetness exploded on my tongue, and before I knew it, I was devouring it like a starving beast. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Was it because I was human now? Or was it because… this kindness felt so alien to me?
"Easy there, lad," she said softly. "You'll choke if you eat too fast."
When I finished, I bowed my head deeply. I remembered seeing humans do this to express gratitude. As I straightened up, the old woman patted my shoulder.
"There's an inn down the road. You can ask the owner if you can work for meals. He's a kind man, though his wife's tongue is sharper than any blade."
She pointed towards a small two-storey building with a faded wooden sign swaying in the breeze. I nodded silently.
As I walked towards the inn, I heard murmurs among passing villagers.
"Did you hear? The Hero's party finally defeated the Demon King."
"Yeah… but rumours say the Demon King wasn't a demon at all. Some say he was a Dragonewt who took over the demon lands."
"Dragonewt or not, good riddance. Maybe the wars will finally end."
Their words pierced through me sharper than any sword. So… the world knew. They spoke of my death with relief and casual scorn, as if I was nothing more than an inconvenient storm that finally passed.
I clenched my fist. The bun's sweetness still lingered on my tongue, mixing with the bitter taste rising in my throat.
Fine, I thought, raising my head high. If this world sees me as dead… then let it be so.
I am no longer the Demon King.
I am no longer a Dragonewt.
I am… human now.
And so begins my life in this weak, fragile body.
But whether gods or humans like it or not… I will survive. And I will find the meaning behind this second chance.