Chapter 6. The Master of Dekarim
2016.01.21
The scratching sound of a pen nib against paper echoed through the room—scritch, scritch. A man holding a large black feather pen calmly read the documents laid out before him, signing them one by one.
Picking up the papers, reading them, and signing—his sequence of actions flowed smoothly, like a steady stream of water. There was no room to interrupt his movements, which connected seamlessly like a continuous current.
“Your Holiness, Caliph!”
The perfect scene was broken by a voice calling out to him.
He set down the pen in his hand and adjusted his slightly disheveled clothing. The neat attire he wore was the black priestly robe of the Ahalah faith, a symbol of asceticism.
The white stole draped around his neck, adorned with intricate golden embroidery, indicated his extraordinary status.
A clear and serene voice flowed from his lips.
“What brings such commotion?”
He was the leader of the Ahalah faith—the Caliph.
With long silver-gray hair neatly tied back, he possessed fair skin that matched the white stole around his neck, refined facial features, and gray eyes filled with a warm light.
Yet for some reason, the Ahalah priest standing before such a gentle-looking Caliph had a face drained pale with fear.
Even in front of this benevolent man—who seemed as though he would forgive a priest even for theft, or even murder.
The priest trembled violently as he bowed his head. Prostrating himself flat on the floor, he spoke.
“His Majesty Sultan Hashar is alive.”
“Ah….”
At the priest’s words, the Caliph let out a quiet sigh. A faint crease formed between his brows. There was not a trace of anger in him—only a sense of regret over a failed task.
However, in contrast to the Caliph’s reaction, the priest was shaking so violently his teeth began to chatter. Watching him, the Caliph smiled faintly and called out.
“My priest.”
The priest slowly raised his head. The Caliph spoke with a benevolent smile.
“Do not worry too much. I will not take your life.”
“C-Caliph…!”
As soon as those words fell, the priest began smashing his head against the floor repeatedly, expressing frantic gratitude.
The Caliph did not stop him, even as blood began to stain the marble floor from the priest’s forehead. Instead, he held a feather pen and gently waved it as he spoke.
“In any case, I never intended to kill Hashar. So, did she come to the banquet?”
The priest hurriedly replied.
“She did. The moment Hashar made contact with her, a tremendous surge of energy was emitted.”
A spark of interest flashed in the Caliph’s eyes. He asked softly,
“Are you certain?”
“I am certain. She was undoubtedly of Devaris royalty.”
There was no falsehood in the priest’s desperate tone. After briefly scanning the priest from head to toe, the Caliph spoke.
“You have completed your duty and returned safely. You may now withdraw.”
“R-Really!?”
Overcome with relief at having survived, the priest repeatedly bowed his head in gratitude before the Caliph.
However, this only seemed to irritate the Caliph—not because of the failed mission, but because the blood flowing from the priest’s forehead was staining the marble floor.
The Caliph looked at the priest steadily and spoke.
“My priest.”
“Y-Yes, Caliph.”
The Caliph extended his hand. A sacred white light began to emanate from it. Seeing the light, the priest’s eyes widened in terror.
“The floor has been dirtied.”
“C-Caliph….”
Raising his well-shaped eyebrows, the Caliph said,
“It is not beautiful.”
White light enveloped the priest’s entire body. Before he could even scream, his body collapsed to the floor as a cold corpse in a matter of moments.
The Caliph shook his head.
“…Dear me. That only made it less beautiful. Guards!”
Knights clad in black armor quickly rushed into the room and prostrated themselves.
“Your Holiness.”
“Clean this up.”
At his command, the knights immediately dragged the priest’s body outside. Watching the scene, the Caliph picked up a silver pitcher placed nearby.
As a reddish liquid was poured into a tall, clear glass, a fragrant aroma spread throughout the room.
Holding the glass as though it were wine, he savored its scent. After closing his eyes briefly to enjoy the fragrance, he took a sip and exhaled in satisfaction.
“Devaris’ last royal….”
The Caliph absolutely needed her. More than anyone else—he needed her desperately. Staring at the glass in his hand, he suddenly set it down with a sharp sound.
The red liquid splashed up and then settled back into the glass.
“……”
If she were here, he would no longer need to long for things like this.
After a moment of thought, the Caliph picked up his feather pen again. Dipping the nib elegantly in white ink, he began writing smoothly on a sheet of jet-black paper. Letters, like works of art, formed across the dark surface.
After writing for a while, he looked at what he had written and smiled with satisfaction.
“We will meet soon, Ilshia.”
Alsned arrived at Hashar’s bedroom with a thick scroll tucked under his arm. Matters too sensitive to report formally in the office were often brought here for private, unofficial briefings.
As always, he entered the bedroom without much thought—but today, he could not hide his surprise as he looked around.
Normally, the room would be filled with a mist created by Caligula’s scent.
Yet today, it was unusually clean. The heavy, sharp fragrance characteristic of Caligula was nowhere to be found. Despite knowing it was improper, Alsned couldn’t help but ask.
“Your Majesty… the scent of Caligula….”
Crimson eyes turned toward him. Though half-lidded, they shone more clearly than ever. Facing the confused Alsned, Hashar let out a quiet laugh.
Though he understood what Alsned was wondering, he did not answer. He was not the type to be that considerate. Instead, he spoke of what he wanted.
“Have you found out?”
“Yes, I have.”
At Hashar’s nod, Alsned unrolled the scroll and began reading.
“It is well known that the blood, flesh, and tears of the Devaris have excellent regenerative properties for the body.”
He glanced at Hashar briefly after reading the first line. Seeing no reaction, he continued.
“However, the royal lineage of the Devaris possesses a more special ability—they can temporarily amplify another’s power through physical contact. It is presumed that amplification through blood and flesh would be even stronger—”
“Next.”
Apparently bored with the detailed reading, Hashar cut him off. Alsned cleared his throat and skipped further down, resuming from a marked section.
“It is possible that the claim that one can attain immortality through intercourse with a Devaris stems from the abilities of the royal lineage. In other words, if one were to engage in intercourse not with an ordinary Devaris but with a royal, immortality may not be entirely impossible—”
“Next.”
“….”
What exactly does he want to hear?
Alsned scrolled further down, then finally reached the last section.
“It is said that since the incident eight years ago, surviving Devaris have been living in hiding, revering the sole surviving princess among the royals as their king. However, this has not been confirmed. That is all.”
After finishing his report, Alsned waited for a response—but Hashar said nothing.
Alsned had brought this information with excitement, thinking it might finally interest him, but perhaps even this was not enough. As Alsned quietly began rolling up the scroll, Hashar suddenly spoke.
“Eight years ago… I once spared a Devaris girl. Do you remember?”
“Are you referring to when you visited Devaris territory?”
Alsned asked back at the sudden remark, but Hashar simply waved his hand without answering. A strand of black smoke emerged and wrapped around the scroll in Alsned’s hands.
The smoke lifted the scroll and gently placed it into Hashar’s hand. Hashar unfolded it with a rustling sound and scanned its contents before continuing.
“That girl promised to repay her debt in the name of Devaris.”
That reminded Alsned of something—a small child with bronze-toned skin, unimpressive in stature, but with clear, sky-blue eyes…
Still looking at the scroll, Hashar spoke.
“I remember her name. Ilshia Karim Devaris.”
“…!”
While Alsned struggled to grasp Hashar’s intent, Hashar asked another question.
“Alsned, since when have the Dekarim been appearing?”
“Since eight years ago….”
“Dekarim… and Karim Devaris—don’t those names sound similar? And the timing of eight years ago coincides as well.”
Only then did Alsned realize what Hashar was implying. His eyes widened in shock.
“Are you saying the Dekarim… is an organization formed by the Devaris?!”
Unlike the stunned Alsned, Hashar remained calm as ever. As if his own words meant nothing, he added casually,
“Nothing is certain. Only speculation.”
He tossed the scroll aside carelessly. However, black smoke wrapped around it, preventing it from falling, and gently placed it neatly on the bed.
Hashar looked directly at Alsned and said,
“But the dancer who helped me at the banquet was the king of the Devaris. That is not speculation—that is fact.”
“……”
After shock came silence. Alsned stood there, mouth agape, unable even to respond.
Ignoring him, Hashar touched his lips lightly.
A faint, lingering sensation remained. That kiss had branded itself into him like a mark. Like a searing iron pressed into flesh, it left a permanent imprint.
He would never forget it.
The immense storm he had felt at that moment—anyone with power would covet it. Now that he had experienced it once, he could not ignore it.
His feelings toward her were not something as leisurely as simple desire. It was something he had to possess—something urgent and absolute.
Hashar called out to the dazed Alsned.
“Alsned!”
“Y-Yes, Your Majesty!”
He gave his command.
“Find the master of Dekarim. We will entrust them with a request.”
“A request… a request….”
Stammering in shock, Alsned stood frozen as Hashar leaned back comfortably.
Waiting idly was not his nature.
Whether his speculation was correct or not—he would verify it himself.
“Sorry, Shukri….”
“……”
Ilshia glanced at Shukri cautiously. He kept his lips tightly shut and refused to look at her. He was clearly very angry.
Standing before Shukri, who would not even speak to her properly, Ilshia was anxious and uneasy.
Her original intention had simply been to check on Hashar’s safety and leave—but somehow, things had escalated into this. She had essentially broadcast to the entire world that a Devaris royal was here.
On top of that, she had kissed Hashar… The thought that all the Dekarim had witnessed that scene made her face flush deeply with embarrassment.
But she had not kissed Hashar without thinking.
Ilshia spoke hesitantly.
“He promised to help us… in his name….”
Before she could finish, Shukri suddenly raised his voice.
“We do not need the Sultan’s help!”
His tone was sharp and edged. This was not like Shukri at all. Ilshia looked startled as he pounded his chest in frustration.
“Even if he helps us, it is obvious we will pay a far greater price. How could you do something so reckless?”
He was genuinely furious. Ilshia called to him gently.
“Shukri.”
“……”
He did not respond. Turning away from her, Ilshia said softly,
“There are still Devaris we haven’t found… I think they may be trapped by slave traders.”
At her words, Shukri paused and looked at her.
Ilshia took a breath. Speaking about the Devaris was always difficult—for both of them.
She tried to remain calm as she explained.
“I heard about the Devaris at the banquet. If we couldn’t find them until now, we likely won’t be able to in the future.”
“Master….”
“To find them, our strength alone isn’t enough. We need something greater… the power of the Sultan.”
Shukri lowered his gaze. Though it was a small gesture, it carried deep despair.
Ilshia also lowered her head weakly and murmured,
“I’m sorry… but right now, they might be trapped and suffering….”
She covered her face with both hands, ashamed of herself. She knew—she knew she should not be doing this, that she should find another way.
But borrowing Hashar’s power was the fastest and most effective solution. He was the Sultan who ruled the southern continent—within that region, he was akin to a god.
In the end, Ilshia had acted on impulse.
“I… when it comes to Devaris, I’ve always been irrational… even at the banquet, I acted without thinking….”
As she rambled in confession, Shukri silently shook his head and pulled her into an embrace.
No one understood her feelings better than Shukri. The reason he had reprimanded her was because he cared deeply for her.
Ilshia began to tremble in his arms. Leaning against him, she finally revealed the fear she had long buried.
“Are they still alive? Are their fingers and limbs intact? Or are they suffering…?”
The Devaris were being held by slave traders. Even without seeing them, one could imagine what was happening.
Slave traders never killed Devaris—they would never slaughter the goose that laid golden eggs. Instead, they exploited them thoroughly to the very end.
Their flesh was torn and their blood drained as a matter of course. Female Devaris were often forced to bear children against their will, treated like livestock.
And those children would become the next victims.
But how could she say such things to her kind master? Now was a time for comfort. Shukri silently patted Ilshia’s back.
After some time, when Ilshia had calmed down a little, Shukri wiped her tears and said,
“Now is not the time to worry about them, Master.”
“…?”
Ilshia looked up at him, wiping away her tears. What could possibly be more important than the Devaris?
Seeing her confused expression, Shukri pulled out two neatly folded sheets of paper from his chest. One was jet black, the other pure white.
“These are….”
“Requests,” Shukri said with a sigh.
“From Sultan Hashar… and the Caliph….”
