The journey resumed beneath the looming silhouette of Mount Shizuku, a mountain whose name alone was enough to make seasoned travelers lower their voices. Its jagged peaks were often swallowed by mist, and the forest that descended from its slopes breathed with a damp, suffocating life. It was said that only creatures accustomed to violence could survive long within its domain, and that those who ventured too deep without strength or caution rarely returned the same—if they returned at all.
The merchants had chosen to make an intermediate stop in the trading town of Hailden, a modest settlement located halfway along the route leading to the port of Rokario. From there, the sea was still a week away, but Hailden represented a necessary pause: supplies, repairs, rest. For the caravan, it was routine. For Meruem, it was a first.
The merchants were… welcoming.
That fact alone unsettled him more than any hostile gaze ever had. They laughed freely during breaks, shared food without calculation, and spoke among themselves without the constant tension of fear. Their voices rose and fell naturally, unburdened by the presence of the being who had once threatened humanity's very future. Meruem observed them in silence, trying to understand what bound these humans together so effortlessly.
Between pauses in the road, Komugi would sit on a wooden crate and unfold her Gungi board, the familiar clack of pieces grounding her in a world she understood better than any other. Meruem often sat nearby, saying nothing, watching her fingers move with quiet confidence. When she wasn't playing, time seemed to stretch endlessly for him. He would remain seated at the edge of a wagon, his gaze drifting between the horizon and the surrounding forest, his thoughts spiraling inward.
Human nature.
The land he came from.
The Chimera Ants.
The Dark Continent.
Gin had planted a seed that refused to remain dormant.
That encounter had not reignited Meruem's desire for domination—it had fractured it, redirecting it into something far more dangerous: curiosity. His existence, once defined by absolute purpose, now felt disturbingly open-ended. Only one of the merchants dared to interrupt his silence regularly—the bearded man who had proposed their alliance in the first place. Even then, his words were measured, his tone cautious, his eyes constantly scanning Meruem's expression for signs of danger.
Then the air shifted.
"Creatures approaching from the west!"
The shout tore through the caravan like a blade.
Meruem moved before the fear could spread.
He leapt from the wagon in a single motion, his body slicing through the air as he closed the distance toward the forest's edge. The attackers revealed themselves almost immediately—Os-Viparas, feral beasts rarely seen outside the deeper regions of Mount Shizuku. Their presence alone explained the mountain's reputation, much like the legends surrounding the Zoldyck estate in another land.
The Os-Viparas were abominations of nature: thick fur covering most of their bodies, wolf-like hind legs built for explosive movement, elongated bare necks, and heads resembling twisted jackals with serrated jaws. Coarse bristles ran along their spines, vibrating faintly as they screeched, echoing through the trees.
Meruem annihilated them.
His movements were precise, ruthless, efficient—but slower than they should have been. He felt it with every strike. Where once a single blow would have erased such creatures entirely, now effort was required. Nearly seventy percent of his former strength was gone. The realization struck him harder than any attack.
When the final Os-Vipara fell, silence reclaimed the forest.
Cheers erupted behind him. Relief, gratitude, exhilaration. The merchants shouted his name, some laughing, others trembling. To them, Meruem was a protector, a miracle, a hero. The irony was almost unbearable.
He returned to the wagon without acknowledging them, his mood darkened, unsettled.
The narrator's presence lingered unspoken:
For the first time, Meruem did not experience weakness as a concept, but as a disturbance within himself. The King who had once stood above all now existed within limits. Alongside his search for truth, another path was forming—a path toward reclaiming strength. Not for conquest, but for preservation. He had sensed it clearly: Gin had not revealed his full power. The world was deeper, more dangerous, than Meruem had imagined.
He would need to evolve.
"Komugi," he said at last, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Come. Let us play."
She turned immediately, surprise flickering across her face before giving way to a gentle smile. The Gungi board was placed between them as the caravan resumed its slow advance. Without realizing it, the merchants lowered their voices, instinctively sensing that something important was unfolding.
Komugi closed her eyes.
"You can see now," Meruem observed calmly.
"I know," she replied softly. "But this is how Gungi speaks to me."
"Eight–five–three," Komugi announced. "Knight."
Meruem responded without hesitation.
"Five–six–seven. Special Knight."
The rhythm began.
Wood met wood. Strategy unfolded silently, invisible lines forming and collapsing with each move. Komugi played as if guided by memory rather than sight, reconstructing battles she had already lived a thousand times. Meruem pressed forward methodically, calculating several turns ahead, sensing pressure building beneath the surface.
"Six–four–three," Komugi whispered. "Ninja formation."
Meruem paused.
He recognized it. A championship pattern. One she had used before, long ago.
"You are not reacting," he murmured. "You are remembering."
"I have never lost," Komugi replied simply. "Every game becomes a memory."
Meruem attempted to corner her, compressing space, forcing her into apparent disadvantage. For a fleeting moment, he believed he had succeeded.
Then the flow shifted.
"The rhythm changed," Komugi said quietly. "Your breathing hesitated."
"Eight–two–five," she declared. "Reverse Knight—championship variation."
Silence.
Several turns later, Meruem exhaled slowly.
"…Checkmate."
Komugi opened her eyes and bowed her head.
"Thank you for the game."
Meruem stared at the board, then at her. Something within him settled—something fragile, yet profound.
As dusk approached, Meruem climbed onto one of the wagons, settling beside Komugi as the caravan continued toward Rokario. The merchants exchanged glances—uneasy, yet reassured. His tail swayed subtly with the wagon's movement, a reminder that he was not human, no matter how close he sat.
Would he truly coexist with them?
These same humans—deceptive, fragile, capable of both cruelty and kindness.
Komugi sat beside him, hands folded, peaceful.
Ahead, the road stretched forward into shadow.
And beyond it, an unknown future waited patiently for the King who no longer ruled—but still endured.