Blood soaked into the grass as the three adventurers ran.
Branches clawed at armor. Breath scorched lungs. One stumbled, knees buckling—barely caught by his companions before he collapsed. Behind them, something heavy crashed through the undergrowth—low, guttural, patient.
A wild beast.
Not hunting for sport.
Hunting to finish.
They burst into a clearing—and froze.
Figures rose from the shadows.
Green skin. Yellow eyes. Short but armed.
Goblins.
Beside them—lean, blue-scaled kobolds, tails lashing, claws glinting.
"Run—!" the lead adventurer tried to shout.
Too late.
Pain exploded through his side. Legs gave out. Steel clattered uselessly.
The world went dark.
Consciousness returned in fragments.
Fear came first.
Not pain.
Fear.
Eyes snapped open. A scream tore from his throat.
Monsters.
Dozens.
Goblin faces. Beastkin forms. Kobolds watching silently. Stone walls surrounded the room—smooth, clean, unnaturally so. The air smelled of herbs, boiled water, and faint sulfur.
Weapons.
He lunged for his sword.
Nothing.
Panic surged.
"They took it—!"
"Calm down."
The voice froze him.
High-pitched. Clear. Human language.
A small goblin stood near the doorway, hood pulled low, hands raised slightly. Eyes cautious but not hostile.
"Please," she said again. "Do not move. Your wounds will open."
The blonde-haired adventurer stared.
"…You speak," he whispered.
"I learned," the goblin replied. "I am Luna."
Another groan echoed nearby.
His companions were alive—bandaged, pale, breathing slowly.
Healing.
The realization made no sense.
Three days earlier
Miko's hands shook.
Human blood stained them.
He stepped back from the stone beds, chest heaving.
"No," he said. "No more."
The goblin doctor's eyes burned as he looked at the unconscious humans laid out before him.
"They kill us," Miko growled. "They hunt us for coin. They report our location to the guild. They call us monsters."
The goblins and kobolds who had carried the wounded in shifted uneasily.
"We should throw them out," one muttered.
"Or finish them," another said quietly.
Miko clenched his fists.
Then footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Lucien entered the Healing House.
He took in the scene in a single glance: blood, fear, the choice hanging like a blade.
Miko turned sharply. "Professor, we should not—"
Lucien interrupted calmly.
"I am human."
The room stilled.
Miko stared.
"You do not hate me," Lucien continued. "You treated me. You learned with me. You trusted me."
He stepped closer to the beds.
"These humans were taught that monsters are enemies. That anything without mana is disposable. That killing us is justice."
His voice hardened, but not with anger—with memory.
"If we let them die because they are human… what difference is there between us and them?"
Silence crushed the room.
Lucien looked at Miko—not commanding.
Asking.
"We are not building a city to become a mirror of cruelty," he said softly. "We are building something better."
Miko's hands trembled.
Then—
Slowly—
He stepped forward.
"…I will help," Miko said, voice rough.
Lucien nodded once. "I will assist."
And they did.
For three days.
They cleaned wounds with boiled water and fermented alcohol.
They changed bandages with hands scrubbed raw.
They watched fevers rise and fall.
They did not pray.
They observed.
They waited.
And the humans lived.
The blonde-haired adventurer swallowed.
"Where… are we?" he asked hoarsely.
Luna glanced toward the doorway.
"You are in the Black Academy."
The man laughed weakly, disbelieving.
"That's not funny."
"It is not a joke," Luna said.
Footsteps approached.
The room seemed to lean inward.
Lucien entered.
The adventurers stiffened.
Human.
Wearing simple clothes—practical tunic, leather apron stained with ash and herbs. No armor. No weapon.
But the monsters parted for him instinctively.
The blonde-haired man stared.
"…You're their leader?"
Lucien tilted his head slightly.
"I am their teacher."
One adventurer whispered, voice cracking, "Why are we alive?"
Lucien met his eyes—gray, steady, older than his face.
"Because you were injured."
"…That's it?"
"Yes."
The silence that followed was heavier than chains.
Outside, the city continued to breathe—stone streets, measured steps, the low hum of voices learning symbols instead of prayers.
And for the first time, humans saw monsters not as prey—
But as a civilization that chose restraint.
The blonde adventurer looked at his bandaged side, then at Luna, then at Lucien.
"You could have let us die," he said.
Lucien's expression did not change.
"I know."
He turned toward the door.
"Rest," he said. "When you're strong enough, we will talk."
He paused at the threshold.
"And then you can decide whether to stay… or leave."
The door closed softly behind him.
In the quiet that remained, the adventurers stared at each other.
They had come to hunt monsters.
They had been saved by them.
And the question that lingered in the clean, herb-scented air was heavier than any blade:
What happens when the enemy chooses mercy?