Everything has its own beauty.
Albert was a firm believer in this saying.
Every day, he ventured out to see the world through his own eyes.
Ever since he was young, Albert had longed to explore the world beyond his village. The world outside the protective walls everyone spoke of so reverently.
And every time he asked why he couldn't go beyond them, his parents always said the same thing:
"There are demons out there!"
It was said that demons, like humans, were social creatures capable of speech—but they were also wicked beings who'd kill you for fun.
Despite that, Albert remained curious. In fact, the more people warned him, the more determined he became to leave.
When he came of age, the first thing he did was register at an adventurer's guild.
From then on, Albert traveled alone and carefree.
Everywhere he went had its own sights, its own ingredients and food, its own terrain and life.
Each place was uniquely beautiful to him. And as he traveled, he made friends, gathered wealth… and donated almost all of it.
He kept only what he needed to continue exploring.
For him, his love for discovery was worth more than gold.
He began his journey at fifteen. Now, at fifty, Albert was still adventuring—still searching for new beauty.
The only place he had never dared to explore… was the Khavlac Region, on the border of the Sacred Kingdom.
He had been told his whole life that demons lived there—that it was the heart of their kind.
Everyone tried to stop him when he declared he would go. But his mind was made up.
"My time's almost up anyway," he said with a smile.
Reluctantly, they let him go.
And it turned out to be the best decision of his life.
Despite everything he had been told about demons… they were just like humans.
He saw it with his own eyes—demons starving, demons crying, demons giving up.
Demons dying.
"Just what…"
Albert could barely believe it.
All his life, he had only seen demons raging or running. But now—this wasn't any different from what he had seen in human suffering.
He approached one—a tall, thin demon who looked barely alive.
It saw Albert… but instead of attacking, it simply lowered its head.
Was it begging him to kill it?
But Albert, instead, reached into his bag and offered it a piece of raw meat.
The demon looked at the meat, then at Albert—confused.
Albert gently pushed it closer, urging it to eat.
"…Thank… you…"
The words were clumsy, slow—perhaps because of the language barrier. Albert just smiled and handed over the meat.
The demon cleared its throat and took a small bite…
Then walked away.
Albert blinked. Why didn't it eat more?
The demon returned moments later—without the meat.
It had given every piece to other starving demons.
Then, without a word, it raised its hand—
—and snapped off one of its own horns.
"For… you…"
It handed the horn to Albert.
He stared in shock.
How could a creature give up a part of its own body like this?
Not just any part—its horn, a demon's very symbol.
Did… did it want to die just so the others could eat?
Was it offering itself as food earlier?
Albert didn't know. But from that moment, he was certain of one thing:
These demons were not monsters.
From that day on, Albert returned regularly—bringing food, quietly leaving it behind.
Each time, the same demon came to accept the offering. Each time, it tried to give him something in return.
Each time, Albert refused.
This continued for three years.
It was a simple exchange. Quiet. Wordless.
But it was enough.
The demons were happy. And Albert… was happy too.
But all good things must come to an end.
When the usual time for Albert's visit came, he never arrived.
An hour passed. Then a day.
The tall demon grew restless. Eventually, it went searching—until it reached the border of Khavlac.
There, it found a broken wagon…
…and inside it, Albert's body.
Cold. Bloodied.
Still clutching meat in his hands—meant for the demons.
The demon stared, unmoving.
Its benefactor, its friend, lay there with no honor. No burial.
So it carried him home.
Cradled him all the way back.
There, in a quiet dent in the mountainside, the demon dug a grave and gently laid him to rest.
Then it prayed.
"My name is Valen. As a token of gratitude… and of regret… I've made you the best grave I can.
Do not worry, friend. I will protect you—even in death."
And then…
Valen sat on the grave.
And began to turn to stone—from his legs upward.
Slowly. Peacefully.
Until he was still.
Now, the demons of Khavlac speak of this place as sacred.
A place where two races—once divided by hatred—found peace.
A place of hope.
The Tomb of the Good.
The Tomb of Hope.