The Extra Who Stole the Hero's System-Chapter 59: Megmura - 3

The journey to Megmura was a blur of days and nights, spent mostly in silence, punctuated by Herald’s terse instructions and my own frantic internal monologue. We moved with a relentless pace, avoiding main roads, sleeping under the skies in concealed clearings, always vigilant. My body, still recovering from that bandit duel, ached constantly, but the physical discomfort was a mere feel compared to the thoughts brewing in my mind.

I kept glancing at Herald as we walked, he was somewhat of an ominous presence beside me. My gaze lingered on his profile. What kind of place was Megmura to shape such a man? A man who wielded terrifying power with casual brutality, who spoke of centuries-old wars and cults as if they were everyday occurrences.

From the novel, I knew Megmura was a backend province of Ostina, a remote, unremarkable territory. But it had been so long since I’d read Hero’s Vow, and my memories of its scenery were frustratingly vague. I tried to recall any specific details, any landmarks, anything that might give me a clue about what awaited us. Nothing. Just a blank space in my mental map of Ostina. I just wished for the place to be at least habitable, a place where I wouldn’t immediately face another life-threatening scenario. My current situation offered little reassurance.

The landscape around us gradually shifted. The lush forests and rolling hills of central Ostina gave way to drier, more barren terrain. The air grew dustier, the trees sparser, replaced by scrubland and rocky outcrops.

Then, Herald stopped. He didn’t say anything, just halted abruptly. I nearly walked into his back. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"We have reached," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of any fanfare.

I turned, anticipation warring with dread in my chest. What I saw was utter desolation. Megmura. It was even worse than my most pessimistic imaginings. This wasn’t just a backend province; it was the back end of nowhere. The ’town’ was a collection of ramshackle buildings, leaning precariously, their roofs patched with mismatched materials. The roads were little more than dirt tracks, churned into mud in some places, choked with dust in others. The air hung heavy with the stench of stale alcohol and something else, something cloying and metallic that made my stomach churn.

Men lay sprawled on the roads, clearly drunk, their clothes ragged, their faces slack. Women, their eyes hollow, openly engaged in prostitution in the grimy alleyways, their whispered offers sliced through the filth and noise.

It was a place stripped bare of dignity, of hope. A place where desperation clung to every shadow.

And then, something caught my eye, something that sent a fresh wave of revulsion through me. A cage. A large, crude cage, fashioned from thick, rusted iron bars, sat in the middle of what passed for a town square. Inside, huddled together, were young adult females. Their bodies were slender, almost emaciated, and they were chained – thick, heavy iron chains tied from their necks to their legs and arms, binding them tightly. Their eyes, wide and terrified, darted around, reflecting the hopelessness of their situation.

I gazed a little longer, my mind trying to process the horrifying sight. Then, I saw it. Tails. Faintly visible, twitching nervously behind some of them. And then, beast ears, twitching atop their heads, replacing human ears. Beast-kins.

I knew about beast-kins from the novel. They existed in this world, a tragic, often exploited race. I remembered a scene where the protagonist, Eren, becomes friends with one after he rescues her, eventually adding her to his harem. It was a minor plot point, a way to introduce a new companion. But seeing them like this, caged, chained, utterly dehumanized... it was far more horrifying than any written description.

Herald, his eye fixed on the cage, noticed my horrified gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the grim reality before us. "Those are beast-kins. They were once human. Forcefully turned into living artifacts."

My mind reeled. Living artifacts? I knew about naturally occurring living artifacts, like the S-tier Mythic Dragon, which came with a beast core instead of a mana core. But these... these were different.

"Unlike the naturally occurring living artifacts, like the S-tier Mythic Dragon," Herald continued, his voice a dry, academic tone, "which comes with a beast core instead of a mana core, artificial living artifacts like the beast-kins aren’t naturally occurring. They aren’t ranked by tiers. And they are just sold into slavery."

He paused, his gaze still fixed on the cage, a subtle grimness in his expression now. "The beast-kins are made by taking a female human and replacing her mana core with that of a beast core. This process gives her beast-like features – tails, ears, the ability to walk with all limbs, enhanced senses, often increased physical strength and agility. The reason it must be female, for some reason, is that the female body is compatible with beast cores, unlike the male body, which will result in mana overload and immediate death."

My stomach churned. Forced transformation. Slavery. A horrifying, systematic cruelty. And the reason for it, the gender-specific compatibility, was a chilling detail that spoke of this world—dark, twisted science. This was a new layer of depravity in this world, one the novel had only hinted at, never explicitly detailed.

"The economy of Megmura," Herald added, his voice flat, "is basically dependent on the cultivation of these beast-kins and selling them as slaves to neighboring states like the Duchy of Nester. A lucrative, if morally reprehensible, trade."

My disgust was palpable. This was the ’cover-up’ he spoke of? A province built on human trafficking and forced transformation? My desire for a "quiet life" felt like a cruel joke in this place.

As we continued to walk through the squalid streets, Herald suddenly stopped. He turned and entered a rundown temple, its stone walls crumbling, its once-grand entrance now choked with weeds. The air inside was cool, musty, and smelled faintly of old incense and decay.

I followed him, my brow furrowing in surprise. A temple? Herald? The ancient warrior, the non-chalant killer, the man who spoke of vengeance and cults, in a temple? It seemed utterly incongruous.

"Came to finally seek salvation, eh, Master?" I said, a desperate attempt to inject some humor, some normalcy, into my grim situation.

Herald merely glanced at me, his eye had a hint of something unreadable in its depths. "This temple," he replied, his voice devoid of humor, "is a remnant of the forced occupation of Eudenia by the Tumedian Empire. The temple belongs to the religion the occupiers forced us to practice."

My mind immediately connected the dots. The Tumedian Empire. The tyrannical force from the Great War of Unification, the very empire that had occupied Herald’s homeland, Eudenia. This temple wasn’t a place of worship for him; it was a relic of oppression, a symbol of a brutal past.

We continued to walk deeper into the temple, the silence broken only by the echo of our footsteps. The interior was surprisingly well-preserved, despite its dilapidated exterior. My attention was drawn by the intricate details in the sculptures and frescoes that filled the walls. They depicted scenes of celestial beings, of grand battles, of divine interventions. I was surprised by Tumedia’s love for art, a stark contrast to their tyrannical rule.

My gaze fixed on one particular depiction: a magnificent archangel, its wings spread wide, its face serene yet determined, plunging a gleaming spear deep into the heart of a monstrous demon. The demon, crowned and regal, writhed in agony, its crown falling from its head as it lamented in pain. It was a powerful, almost visceral depiction of good triumphing over evil.

Herald, noticing my interest, stopped beside me. "Tumedia believed that an angel named Tumed would come and defeat the Demon Lord Asmodeus," he explained, his voice flat, "and terraform the demon realm, basically turning it into a paradise for humans to inhabit. A false prophecy, a tool of control, to justify their conquests and their ’holy’ war."

The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. The Tumedian Empire’s religion, their ’holy’ war, their forced occupation – it was all intertwined with the Demon Lord Asmodeus, with the very conflict Herald was fighting. It wasn’t just a simple fantasy trope; it was a deeply ingrained part of this world’s history.

After all the talking, all the grim revelations, Herald finally stopped before a section of the floor that looked subtly different. He knelt, his fingers tracing the outline, then with a grunt, he pushed. A section of the floor groaned, then slowly, silently, lifted, revealing a dark, narrow hatch. A set of rough-hewn steps led down into absolute blackness.

"This is it, Kai," Herald said, his voice low. "My home. Your new home." He descended into the darkness without hesitation.

I took a deep breath, the stench of Megmura, the lingering images of the beast-kins, the weight of Herald’s revelations, all pressing down on me. My new life. My new master. My new home. I followed him into the darkness, the hatch closing softly above us.

The air below was cool and damp, with that old stone smell that clings to basements and tunnels. Our steps echoed as we moved further in, the light behind us fading.

Then a voice came from ahead. Rough. Confident.

"Took you long enough, Herald."

"Mudrel," Herald greeted, his voice calm, utterly devoid of surprise.

I didn’t recognize the voice.

But when Herald replied "Mudrel," my mind reeled.

I knew that name.

One of the guards had mentioned him before. Mudrel was the one who killed Prudee. Evelina’s brother.

So what the hell was Herald doing talking to him?