Welcome to the Demon’s Cabin - Chapter 35

His neck, which had been strangled in his dream, still felt sore. The nightmare of being strangled by his mother was nothing particularly new, but lately, it had become twice as exhausting because Irene had begun to pop up in his dreams as well. Last night, Irene had been smiling brightly while giving his mother instructions to kill her son. His mother’s ecstatic expression had been a truly impressive dream.

It felt like his head was going to split. Because his aura circuits were being crushed by the demonic energy of the mountain range, his condition was constantly at rock bottom, and thus his headache did not easily subside. Idris frowned as he rubbed his temples. Exhaling a low sigh, he began to diligently fabricate the details of a nightmare to provide as an answer should Irene ask why his complexion looked so poor.

‘Since I have to use my brain just to let out a single sigh, survival or whatever, I think I will go crazy first at this rate.’

After letting out another sigh as if the ground were sinking, Idris rose from his seat and tidied his bedding. He then organized the books he had left scattered last night. Since he planned to begin cultivation after gaining some familiarity with farming, he had been struggling for the past few days to read agricultural books that did not suit his destiny at all. He glanced at the cleanly designed clock hanging on the wall.

‘It is about that time now.’

“Mr. Idris, good morning!”

As expected, the door burst open and a bright greeting hit his ears. As it was every single day, the perfunctory knock that did not even wait for an answer was a bonus. Idris quickly gathered his feelings of loathing and put on a natural, faint smile.

“Good morning, Miss Irene.”

* * *

It had been about two weeks since he began staying in this nightmare-like Black Mountain Range. As a result of stubbornly observing Irene while endlessly fighting against his self that wanted to let go of its mind and be at peace, he was able to somewhat summarize the existence known as her.

Anyway, the three principles for dealing with Irene were roughly as follows.

First, treat Irene completely as a human, and never say anything with a nuance such as ‘You are a demon or a magical beast, and I find such a version of you fearful and loathsome.’

Second, do not show any attempt or will to go outside. Furthermore, do not point out her act of confinement either.

Third, do not be the first to ask or speak about overly detailed personal information. This included his own personal information as well.

It was easy to think of them as the minimum rules for survival.

Naturally, these were rules that applied only to Idris. Of course, Irene, who was the one in power, could act as she pleased without any principles. In the first place, the third item changed from time to time depending on Irene’s questions or mood, so he simply had to act according to his wits.

Fortunately, Irene was not the type to perfectly hide her emotions. It was a good thing for Idris, who had to lie flat on his face. If the person in power has an excellent poker face, it only makes it difficult to cater to their whims.

‘Her life pattern is more monotonous than I imagined.’

First of all, when it became around five-thirty in the morning, Irene without fail sought out Idris’s room and offered a morning greeting. It was impossible to know exactly what time she woke up.

‘I honestly do not even know for sure if she sleeps.’

She did not do so now, but in the beginning, she would stay in his room all night or come by quietly at dawn to watch him and then leave. The terror he felt when he woke up in the middle of the night, raised his body, and discovered Irene’s crimson eyes through the crack in the door.

Idris found it marvelous that he had managed not to scream and jump up at that time.

Anyway, Irene’s fixed routine consisted of nothing much other than the early morning greeting, two meals in the morning and evening, and a late-night goodnight greeting. From what Idris observed, Irene spent her remaining time following him around, making clothes, or tending to flowers.

He had even seriously wondered at one point if she was a Demon of Sewing, a Demon of Measurement… or something like that, given how obsessed she was with tailoring.

‘Her personality seems unexpectedly bright and innocent.’

Irene was generally surprisingly gentle and kind. If it were a normal situation, Idris might have been so moved by this undeserved and warm treatment that he would have shed rivers of tears. Even if she was clumsy, she cooked for him, always smiled at him, personally made clothes for him by sewing stitch by stitch all day long despite the trouble, and greeted him regularly….

However, as if to prove she was a wicked thing, her flaws were severe.

‘She pretends to be nice, but she is quite ruined. Her whims boil like soup, so at times it is visible to the eye that her thoughts flip-flop by the minute.’

Suddenly becoming gloomy, then suddenly becoming angry, then suddenly being in a good mood… if he were to list them, there would be no end. Still, Idris took comfort in the fact that she was in a good mood in most situations, and that Irene usually indulged in her whims internally before recovering again quickly.