{Chapter: 127: Charles And Saya's New Life}
The man stood stiffly, sweating despite the cold wind that crept through the rotting seams of the cabin. Before he spoke, his eyes drifted down to the person he had half-carried across continents to reach this damned place—Saya.
Saya, pale as paper and barely breathing, lay sprawled on the floor like a discarded doll. His skin was clammy, and his soul… flickering.
Charles swallowed hard. His lips moved, but no words came for several seconds. He had heard of Dex before. Who hadn't?
The rumors were endless:
"You'll cry once, despair twice, and regret being born three times."
And yet, they always ended the same way:
"But it works."
Even those broken and cursed beyond salvation whispered, "He'll fix it. But you'll wish he hadn't."
Still, Charles had no choice.
He bent one knee, then the other, until he was bowing with his head low to the dust-choked floorboards. His voice trembled with desperation and resolve.
"I need you to cure him," Charles said, his words nearly cracking. "Whatever the price, just name it. If there's anything I can offer—wealth, labor, blood—I'll pay. Just… please. Save him."
Dex blinked once. Slowly. With the air of a man who had heard countless versions of that plea over the years. He finally looked at Saya—really looked.
A strange light flashed in Dex's eyes, one that belonged to someone who had seen too much of the world and understood it far too well. His fingers twitched slightly, the only outward sign of interest.
'Ah,' Dex thought, narrowing his gaze. 'That's what happened.'
In less than a breath, he understood Saya's condition. It wasn't some simple illness or curse. No, it was more complex, far more intricate. Saya's body and soul were no longer aligned—some trauma or magical backlash had shaken their harmony, making them incompatible. It was like trying to play a symphony with a broken violin.
He closed his eyes briefly and calculated. A dozen options unfurled in his mind like an alchemist's diagram. All viable. All expensive.
When he opened them, his voice was calm. Cruel, almost, in how casual it was.
"5,500 souls of Level 2 monsters."
Charles's breath caught in his throat. His knees nearly gave out. That was… outrageous. It wasn't just steep—it was merciless.
Dex, of course, knew that. He always asked for a thousand times the value first, just to weed out the indecisive. A man who couldn't accept absurdity wouldn't survive what came next anyway.
Charles clenched his fists tightly, blood draining from his knuckles. He wanted to shout, to rage, to walk away—but Saya's limp hand in his own silenced all of that. His heart ached.
He bowed his head again.
"I accept."
Dex didn't smile, but there was a faint nod. Business was business.
"Good."
A moment later, a black parchment burst into existence between them, etched with red sigils that pulsed like veins. Charles signed without hesitation.
Once the deal was sealed, Dex leaned forward and placed a single finger on Saya's chest. A pulse of raw magic surged through his hand and into the still body.
Saya's limbs twitched. His lips moved faintly.
As Dex's power seeped deeper, he noticed something… peculiar.
Hidden beneath the layers of broken soul and battered flesh, something stirred. A foreign element. A second breath.
Blood that wasn't his.
Dex narrowed his eyes. It was faint, almost dormant, but unmistakable—transplanted blood. Ancient, powerful, and adaptive. He immediately recognized the wizarding method: Blood Grafting—a dangerous technique that involved stealing the lineage of magical creatures to grant borrowed gifts.
Yet this wasn't a failure.
No, this graft had succeeded spectacularly. The foreign blood had not rejected Saya—it had merged. The grafted blood had become symbiotic, developing a subtle self-regulating function within his body, lying dormant all this time.
Dex paused.
If he activated the blood's hidden potential, it could synchronize Saya's soul and body naturally, cutting the cost of the treatment by two-thirds.
An amusing idea flickered through his mind. He changed the treatment plan on the spot.
'Let the blood do the work. I'll activate it and let whatever happens, happen.'
As far as he was concerned, he had one job: make the patient wake up. If the activation caused side effects—personality changes, body changes, latent abilities, bloodline reversion—that was none of his concern.
He pressed down slightly harder. Controlling plague.
Saya's body arched as the ancient blood ignited like wildfire.
The place darkened. A low, bestial hum echoed from within Saya's ribcage. His skin shimmered faintly, as if something inside him had awakened after a long, cursed slumber.
Dex watched dispassionately, already thinking about what he'd have for dinner.
---
Soon after, Dex turned his head with a disinterested yawn and said to the stunned Charles, "The treatment was successful. His body is stable, the imbalance is corrected, and he'll wake up in two days."
His tone was casual, as though he were announcing the successful repair of a coffee machine rather than the miraculous recovery of a person on the brink of death. For a moment, Charles felt the weight in his chest lift—but that relief was swiftly crushed under a strange, suffocating tension.
Because… well, yes, Saya did look physically healthy. Radiant, even. Her breathing was steady, her complexion smooth and fair, as if blessed by some divine beautifying charm. But there was something fundamentally… off.
Very off.
Charles leaned forward, peering in disbelief at Saya's altered frame. The sharp lines of masculine youth were gone, replaced by elegant curves, delicate features, and a softness that defied everything he remembered. Her long, ink-black hair now shimmered with a strange, silvery sheen. Her eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly, like feathers brushing against porcelain skin. Her presence—once subtle and quiet—now carried a strange allure that made Charles hesitate even to look directly at her.
He gestured wildly, his voice stumbling out in broken fragments: "But… he… this isn't… Saya's a—!"
Before he could finish the thought, Dex spun on his heel and silenced him with a dramatic, almost theatrical wave of his hand.
"Ah, such primitive thinking!" Dex exclaimed with mock horror, his voice dripping with exaggerated disdain. "You truly disappoint me, boy! Women can't do the same thing? Is that what you were about to say? My dear misguided child, women hold up half the sky—and, I dare say, they often do it while walking backward in high heels and solving three riddles at once."
He stepped closer, eyes glittering with the smug superiority of a man who loved the sound of his own voice.
"Let's talk about identity, shall we? Even if his—excuse me, her—form has changed, the core remains untouched. The essence within is still there. A river redirected is still a river. A flame reshaped does not cease to burn. What you see with your eyes is but illusion's puppet. The soul, my dear child, dances to its own rhythm."
Charles took a hesitant step back, visibly overwhelmed.
Dex grinned, savoring every second of the younger man's discomfort. "You, my young friend, have fallen victim to the oldest trap in the world—judging the book by its cover. But do not despair. Wisdom comes with age… and if you're lucky, you might just live long enough to acquire some."
Then, in a lower voice, rich with mock sympathy, he leaned in and added, "Don't you just love it? Your best pal—oh wait, your best girl now—is finally always by your side. No more awkward goodbyes, no more guilty glances. Just you and her, together… forever."
He let out a low, sinister chuckle.
"Come now, be honest. Didn't people always say things like, 'If Saya were a girl, she'd be my type' or 'Too bad he's not a girl'? You wouldn't be the first to entertain the thought."
Dex paused dramatically, then spread his arms wide like a magician unveiling his final trick.
"Well… behold my generosity. I've taken your deepest, dirtiest little fantasy… and made it real. You're welcome."
Charles froze, stunned, mouth half open. His thoughts tangled into a screaming knot of confusion, outrage, shame—and something else he didn't want to name.
"!!"
He stared at Dex in disbelief, aghast at the man's shamelessness, unable to even summon the words to object. His face flushed red—not from anger alone, but the sheer absurdity of the situation.
But Dex was done.
With another wave of his hand, he dismissed them both without further ceremony.
A blink later, Charles found himself standing alone in a vast, dreamy sea of flowers just outside the treatment complex. The air was heavy with sweet fragrances—lavender, lotus, wild orchid—and the ground beneath his feet were as soft as fresh snowfall.
But none of it calmed him.
Charles was already pacing, shouting into the empty field like a madman.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
His hands clutched at his hair as he spun in frustrated circles. "He turned her—him—he turned Saya into a girl! Just like that?! He didn't even ask!"
He groaned like a tortured soul, sinking to his knees and shaking his fists toward the heavens. "Saya, I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! I just wanted to save you, not—this!"
Saya remained unconscious, peacefully lying among the blossoms like a sleeping goddess. Her serene expression only deepened Charles's guilt.
After a while, his outburst faded, giving way to a heavy, contemplative silence. He sat there, shoulders slumped, staring at her sleeping face.
Her long lashes cast delicate shadows across her cheeks. Her red lips were gently parted, and her breathing was slow and even. Her form… undeniably beautiful. Ethereal, even.
Charles rubbed his temples. "Maybe… maybe this isn't that bad…"
He tried to push the thought away, but it returned with unsettling persistence.
"After all," he muttered aloud, more to convince himself than anyone else, "gender doesn't affect strength, right? Right?"
Silence answered.
Then, looking once more at Saya—his childhood friend, his comrade, now transformed into something both familiar and foreign—Charles sighed deeply.
"Maybe… I just need to get used to it."
He glanced toward the horizon, where the flowers swayed gently in the wind, and the sky held the golden hues of an approaching dusk. Somewhere in the distance, birds chirped.
Dex's cruel words echoed in his mind.
"Just you and her… forever."
Charles swallowed hard.
"Forever, huh…"
And so, as the sun dipped lower and the field of flowers shimmered under the twilight glow, Charles sat beside the sleeping figure of his transformed friend, staring into the horizon, unsure of whether to mourn, laugh, or brace himself for whatever insanity was still to come.
******
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