"Sunfruit. Just the red ones. This one needs enough for days." The demon princess held the artifact out like it was a common copper, unbeknownst about Khan's internal scream.
His face went through three distinct expressions in under two seconds:
First, pure blank shock.
Then the slow, dawning horror of a man watching a mythical dragon attempt to pay for street food with a legendary sword.
Finally, the long-suffering grimace of someone whose soul had just left his body, filed a complaint with whoever sent him to this ridiculous world, and been told to "try again later."
'This...' His brain supplied with the exhausted calm of a man who had seen too much, 'The daughter of the Demon King himself. Currently trying to buy mutated apples. With an SS-Rank artifact. From a man who looks like he'd sell his own mother for half a copper...'
The merchant's eyes snapped wide open so fast it was a miracle they didn't fall out. His pupils dilated until they were almost black. A visible tremor ran down his arms and into his fingers, which had begun twitching like they were trying to grab the relic on their own.
'By the goddess...' His mouth fell open, a thin strand of saliva forming at the corner of his lips before he remembered to swallow.
That wasn't some fancy noble's bauble. That was the kind of thing that the lords started wars over. The merchant immediately straighten his composure with a cough. He has to get this thing by any mean.
"Eh... it's a bit scratched," He lied, scratching his nose. "But I'm a nice guy. I'll give you three extra red n' ripe sunfruits for it. And I'm taking a loss here!"
The princess's hood shifted slightly. Her voice was soft, melodic, every syllable carrying the weight of someone who had once commanded armies. "This one offers an SS-Rank artifact for a mere bag of fruit. Surely even a humble vendor can see the imbalance—"
Khan shot out like lightning wrapped in sarcasm.
He yanked her hand back, hard enough to make her stumble into his chest.
"GUARDS!" he bellowed, voice booming across the square with perfect trader outrage. "Fraudulent trade practice! This bastard's trying to rob a lady blind! SS-Rank emblem for a handful of apples? That's not commerce, that's highway robbery with extra steps!"
The merchant's predatory smile collapsed into pure confusion. "W-what? I was only—"
People were already gathering. A dozen curious eyes turned toward the stall. Someone shouted "Thief!" just for the drama of it.
The vendor started waving his hands frantically. "No, no, this is a misunderstanding! The lady offered—"
Khan didn't wait. With the same fluid motion he once used to save his stomach from growling back on Earth, he snatched two perfect sunfruits from the sack, dropped them neatly into the princess's empty bag, and yanked her away into the moving crowd.
"Come with me."
They slipped between stalls, Khan's grip firm but not bruising, until the noise of the square faded behind them. He dragged her into a narrow, shadowed corner between two crumbling warehouses, hidden from the street by stacked crates and the long afternoon scorching light.
"Unhand me—"
"May I have a look at it?" Khan glanced once toward the mouth of the alley to make sure no one was watching.
His voice lowered, gentle, and perfectly modulated. "I'm not going to rob you. I just need to see that thing properly. Please."
Miriel hesitated. The royalty composure warred with simple fatigue. After a long second, she gave a small, reluctant nod and reaches her beautiful hand out again.
The Emblem was smaller than it had any right to be for something carrying that much power. It was roughly the size of a large plum, perfectly spherical, and made of what looked like black crystal so dark it seemed to drink the light around it.
Thin, luminous veins of shifting color ran beneath its surface — deep crimson for flame, cold sapphire for water, sickly green for wind, and a heavy, oppressive violet that could only be void.
The colors didn't stay still; they swirled slowly, sometimes bleeding into one another, sometimes separating into distinct elemental currents that pulsed in rhythm with an invisible heartbeat.
Khan studied it in silence for nearly a minute. Finally, he let out a slow breath. "...I thought so,"
Miriel took the Emblem back, watching him closely through the hood.
"I'm an Artifact Researcher," He lied. " I've spent years digging through old texts and ruined libraries. There was a book... Very old, written in the tongue of the old demon empire. It described something exactly like this."
["An old book." Really?]
[At least commit to the lie. Add some dramatic coughing or a faraway look. You're making both of us look bad.]
Khan's left eye twitched.
He ignored the system's windows and kept his expression calm.
"The Elemental Emblem of Sargan the First. It was only ever bestowed upon true High Demon Royalty. Direct blood descendants of the first line. No one else was allowed to even touch it without permission from the throne itself."
"So, you must be one of them." He said quietly.
The alley felt smaller.
Miriel didn't answer right away. The Emblem hovers on her palm, its inner lights pulsing slower, as if reacting to the tension between them.
Khan kept his posture relaxed, hands visible.
"I'm not asking for your secrets," He added. "Just wondering if you need someone as a tour guide around this faraway land, your Highness." He points to her bags where two sunfruits waiting to be eaten by her delicate, beautiful lips.
[Impressive. Such Expert-level delusion.]
[Would you like a medal? Or should I just start calling you "Professor Khan" from now on?]
'Keep talking and I'll find a way to mute you,' Khan's jaws tightened. 'This is already hard enough without your running commentary.'
The Demon Princess' violet eyes stayed on Khan, but her mind drifted back to that blood-soaked night months ago.
------
Her last loyal subject — the old prophet who had followed her since she was a child — lay dying in her arms. His robes were soaked through with black blood, and his breathing came in wet, rattling gasps.
The ambush had been swift and merciless. Everyone else was already gone.
With the last of his strength, the prophet reached up and gripped her wrist. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Your Highness… listen."
He gathered every remaining drop of mana in his ruined body. The air around them grew heavy as he forced the spell into existence.
"The Last Thread of Fate."
Silvery light, thin and flickering like a dying candle, bled from his eyes and mouth. For several seconds his body arched in pain as the prophecy tore itself from his soul. Then his voice, suddenly clear and distant, spoke the words that had been burned into Miriel's mind ever since.
"You lost everything… your throne, your people, your name. But on the land of humans, you will find an 'irregular'. One who walks outside the laws of this world. An incarnation of Avarice — greedy for knowledge, for prosperity, for advantages that should not belong to him. He will be the one. Find him… and he will help you regain what you have lost."
The light faded. The prophet's hand went slack in hers. He died with a faint, peaceful smile, as if he had finally completed the one task that mattered.
------
Miriel studied him for a few more seconds, the weight of the dying prophet's words still heavy in her chest. The man in front of her had recognized the Emblem instantly. He had stepped in without hesitation when she was about to be scammed. He carried himself like someone who saw far more than he should.
And most importantly, she couldn't detect any mana inside of him.
Every living beings carried mana inside their body the moment they were born, even the bugs. A skilled magic caster can easily detects the amount of mana inside literally everything.
'But this man...' She tilted her head, studying him like he was something that shouldn't exist. 'There's nothing. Not even a trace. That shouldn't be possible.'
"...Are you an 'irregular'?" She tilted her head slightly, voice soft and almost innocent.
Khan's expression immediately soured.
He frowned, one eyebrow twitching as he stared at her.
"Erm... Just to be sure, your Highness. What's your definition of 'irregular'?" He asked flatly.
Miriel blinked, then answered with complete sincerity, reciting the image the dying prophet had left in her mind.
"Someone who doesn't belong to the rules of this world," She said. "A being who appears out of nowhere with power that breaks common sense. Someone who can grow endlessly, defeat enemies far stronger than himself with strange abilities no one has ever seen before, and change the fate of nations with just his presence. The kind of person who receives a power that lets him stand above everyone else… like a chosen existence that the world itself bends around."
She looked at him with quiet hope.
Khan stared at her.
For a long moment, his mind went completely blank.
Then the resignation settled in — heavy, familiar, and deeply tired.
Just a moment ago, the system window had appeared in front of him, his heart had actually raced. For one brief, stupid second, he had genuinely believed he was about to become that guy. The overpowered protagonist. The one who gets a broken cheat skill, steamrolls through every obstacle, and has the world rearrange itself around his convenience.
Instead, what he actually received was a skill that let him peek at people's embarrassing status effects. Useful in its own pathetic way, but a far cry from the god-like existence he had secretly hoped for.
And now this exhausted demon princess was standing in front of him, describing — with complete, innocent seriousness — the exact version of himself he had once foolishly imagined of becoming.
The irony was so thick he could almost choke on it.
Khan slowly rubbed his temples, eyes closing for a brief second as he accepted, once again, that the universe had a cruel sense of humor and it was aimed squarely at him.
'Of course,' he thought with quiet, bone-deep resignation. 'Of course she thinks the irregular is some broken, world-shaking chosen one. Why wouldn't she? That's what everyone expects when they hear 'irregular.' Not… whatever the hell I actually am.'
[She just perfectly described the protagonist you thought you were going to be.]
[Reality check: You are currently a walking wiki with trust issues.]
[Would you like me to play a sad violin track for your crushed dreams?]
Khan didn't even bother arguing with it anymore.