03.

In this world, one thing was clearer than any black-and-white logic: Dezeb Avganis stood above everything.

“Hmm.”

The calamity of this world lit a cigarette, his face showing signs of contemplation.

Erable anxiously awaited his judgment.

“This is… quite useful. I just came out for a stroll, but I’ve picked up something interesting. Young lady, would you like to join the army?”

＊ ＊ ＊

“So, that’s how it happened.”

From the other end of the line, she could hear the sound of the Count rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.

[You’re telling me you’re joining the army when I haven’t even sent my own son there….]

Erable moved the receiver slightly away from her ear. Perfect timing.

The Count began to shout.

[Do you even know what kind of place that is?! Are you out of your mind!]

Erable cautiously brought the phone closer again, only to pull it away once more as the shouting continued. She waited a bit longer until the volume lowered slightly before attempting to speak again.

“You’re going to raise your blood pressure. Calm down. No, really, why are you yelling… okay, fine, don’t calm down—ow!”

She failed. Her eardrums nearly burst.

[Are you out of your mind?! You call after three days and expect me to believe this makes sense?!]

“Well, it’s a bit of a stretch, I know.”

The Count let out a long sigh, and Erable quickly moved the receiver away from her ear again.

He proceeded to loudly question her sanity.

“I’m perfectly sane. So please, calm down. It just happened, that’s all.”

It was an infuriatingly vague and simple explanation, but honestly, she had nothing better to say.

And besides, even her own head was still a mess.

Erable sighed.

She couldn’t put it off any longer, so she made the call, but even she wasn’t fully grasping the situation yet.

How could I have known I’d be caught like that?

How was I supposed to predict that avoiding those people too perfectly, during the New Year’s festival when everyone tends to stare at them once or twice, would become a problem?

I still don’t get it.

Why did that even become an issue?

Why are these psychos so obsessed with checking every little thing?

“At first, I thought you were just trying to get attention.”

That’s what Birgo Hag had said, laughing as he tossed her crumpled dress in front of her.

Birgo Hag, the lunatic who burned 1,120 people alive under Dezeb Avganis’s orders.

He said he found the dress in the garden.

And he even complimented her, saying she was the first person he’d ever seen trip while climbing out of a first-floor window.

So, she had been tailed from the moment she left the banquet hall.

‘They must have all seen me change clothes in under 10 seconds…’

Thinking about that made her want to die, but somehow, she had survived.

She was alive.

Even though she now had an identification tag implanted in her….

“I’m really fine,” Erable said, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand.

She was already familiar with this horrifying device, developed by Aries Cedar.

This dreadful object, which caused pain close to torture upon insertion, was a high-performance, internal plasma bomb equipped with various additional features, including location tracking.

However, surprisingly, it wasn’t entirely a bad thing. In fact, it was proof that she was considered useful.

Given how expensive it is to produce, the people managed with these identification tags are rarely even touched by the dogs.

Among the murderers who claim several victims every day, this feature was truly invaluable.

[How can you say you’re fine?! Do you even know what kind of place the army is? Why are you going somewhere where you have to fight predatory monsters all the time?!]

“Well, the 41st Division doesn’t fight monsters. They mostly do terraforming….”

[Shut up!!]

Ah, my poor eardrums.

As soon as she spoke, the loud voice came again, and Erable pulled the phone away from her ear, grumbling.

[Just come home!!]

I’d love to, but… And besides, this tag can probably eavesdrop too.

“I’ll come home when I get a break. To the Count’s territory. I’m telling you, I won’t be fighting any monsters.”

The Count didn’t seem convinced.

“Why would I fight monsters? Even if the whole division is deployed to a conflict zone, I won’t be fighting. Who would waste a gun on someone with a level-2 body stat… Ah, okay. Stop shouting. I’m just telling you, it’s like getting a job.”

Erable spent a long time trying to reassure the Count that everything would be fine.

Of course, the Count wasn’t convinced. But eventually, he accepted that he couldn’t persuade his adopted daughter.

[That Avganis, he’s the commander of the unit, right? People say he’s a well-respected young man, so that’s reassuring.]

“Well, there you go.”

A model of excellence, Dezeb Avganis.

The direct descendant of the Marquis of Avganis, talented enough to be a prime candidate for commander-in-chief within the next 200 years, and known as a brilliant young leader.

That was the public perception.

It was all a cosmic joke. Even though I personally found it more ridiculous than joining the army, it was a helpful reputation when trying to reassure my overly worried adoptive parents.

“They say he treats his subordinates really well. Doesn’t give them too hard of a time.”

The Count fell silent for a while, then spoke in a softer voice.

[Call me often, at least.]

“I will.”

Though this simple conversation carried many different meanings between them, both knew that three days ago could have been the last time they ever spoke.

“I have to go now. My assembly time is almost up.”

[Damn it, girl…!]

Before the Count could get worked up again, Erable quickly added.

“And you should get out and have some fun too. Go to a nice gay bar, find a big, burly man who looks like a bandit, and stop worrying about me.”

[You little…!]

“I’m hanging up. Don’t drink too much, and don’t pass out in the street again. Cleanliness is key. Don’t make your old foster daughter take care of you when you’re sick.”

[Hey!!]

Erable cut off the Count’s yelling phone call with a click. There was no point in dragging the conversation out. It would only lead to more worries.

“…Ugh.”

She curled her aching body up slightly.

A couple of nights ago, thanks to the adrenaline rush, she hadn’t even realized she was hurt.

She’d tripped climbing through the window, dashed madly through the forest in the middle of the night, and been pulled and thrown around by murderers. There was no way her body was okay.

And then there was the identification tag.

Her entire body felt like it had been beaten up. The pain was so bad that she couldn’t even remember the moments before and after getting the tag inserted.

She’d blacked out for hours.

‘Why did I even agree to go home…’

She should have just stayed hidden in the countryside, living quietly.

A painkiller would have been nice, but the Count’s house in the capital was practically empty, and there was nothing useful around.

Erable carefully tucked her phone—still on an installment plan—into her back pocket and got up from the sofa.

It was really time for assembly.

Punctuality is key for any salary worker, right? If she didn’t want to die, she’d have to work hard. Her life depended on her job performance, after all.

“…”

Erable stood for a moment, staring down at the neatly folded dark green gym uniform and shoes on the table.

“…How did I even wear this?”

I must’ve been really desperate.

At my age, squeezing into a middle school gym uniform… Never mind the emotional trauma, it was just too small.

Seriously, how did I even fit into this? When people are cornered, they can do anything, apparently.

This is worse than wearing tights. And I rolled around in front of those guys looking like this?

“…”

It didn’t stretch, did it?

She carefully ran her hands over the fabric, checking the sleeves and neckline. Luckily, the gym uniform hadn’t stretched and was still intact.

Satisfied, Erable packed it all into a box and closed the lid. The gym uniform, labeled ‘Min Jiwoo 2-1,’ was tucked away once again.

I’ll need it again someday, when I go back. I’ll go back eventually.

‘…It took eight years this time.’

So maybe it’ll take another eight years, or maybe a few more. As long as I survive, I’ll have another chance to return.

‘I just have to do well… do well.’

Erable whispered to herself.

Eight years in this world.

It had been more than enough time to learn the harsh reality that there weren’t many things someone without a nationality could do.

Not only was it difficult to find a decent job, but she hadn’t even been able to grasp the world’s flow of events.

For the past eight years, Erable had done everything she could to survive in this foreign world, where even the language was unfamiliar, as a person with no status.

Understanding her limitations had been key.

To meddle in the plot of the original novel? That would be suicidal in a world drenched in blood.

Even though she’d been adopted into a noble family, it would still be akin to a collective suicide attempt.

**Hellhound.** Despite the title, this story wasn’t about the dogs.

It was about the dog’s master.

Dezeb Avganis.

The man who embodied hell in ‘Hellhoun’.

He was on a completely different scale. To even grasp the number of his victims, you’d need to look at government records.

He was the kind of monster who could easily destroy a planet or two for breakfast. And he was the protagonist of this story.

There was no romance in the original novel.

There were only perpetrators and victims.

If the main character was special in any way, it was only because he was the one most carefully and intricately destroyed by the protagonist.

There was no way she would rely on that one slim chance. Not in the slightest.