NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 35: What Does My Father Eat?

Ravien was still asleep on the couch.

His head had fallen back, crimson hair draping over the edge of the seat, with the tips barely brushing the floor.

His face was calm; yet under the shadows, the circles beneath his eyes still held the weight of exhaustion.

From the massive window of the study, a stream of light poured in—where orange and green clashed without blending.

In the sky, the first moon had appeared between the clouds—the green moon.

When it collided with the light of the two suns, the sky turned into a stunning contrast.

This celestial phenomenon began every day at the first appearance of the green moon and lasted until the second, the white moon, rose.

But the light was always at its sharpest during the first moments the green moon emerged.

Rather than blending together, the colors intensified one another, and the light, refracted through the windowpanes, fell directly onto Ravien.

One side of his face was bathed in pale orange; the other, in a muted green.

Asogi was still watching his father.

From the outside, he looked completely human—but his eyes... his eyes were not.

His pupils were made up of dozens of smaller eyes, all embedded within one another.

These spiraling irises were motionless, and yet, not entirely still—they formed an inward gaze, a layered depth.

When he looked at Ravien’s body, he sensed an invisible flow of energy.

Under the reflected light on the skin, he noticed a subtle increase in vitality in certain areas.

It was as if something deep beneath the flesh was glowing—something very, very faint.

Upon seeing this, Asogi thought to himself:

"If I look deep enough, I might catch a glimpse of the capacity... Maybe even predict when he’ll wake up."

But then, for the first time, a different impulse took over.

He looked away from Ravien.

Slowly, he turned toward the door.

This was the first decision he had made on his own, after all the time he had spent by Ravien’s side.

"Father said he was hungry before he fell asleep... I should find him something to eat."

After saying this, Asogi stood motionless for a while.

In the silence, he listened once again to Ravien’s breathing. It was rhythmic and gentle.

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

He began observing the faint pulsations under the skin.

Around the shoulders, upper chest, and abdomen—there was a weak but consistent glow beneath the skin.

Signs of capacity.

The energy flow had slowed down, but it hadn’t stopped.

The brightness was gradually increasing.

He measured the time in his head.

"If it continues to fill at this rate..."

He could wake up in about an hour.

Slowly, he lifted his head. His eyes returned to Ravien’s face.

His facial muscles had relaxed, the line between his brows had faded.

Then he pulled back softly and stepped quietly toward the door.

He reached out and placed his fingertips on its surface.

He waited a moment—not knowing why, simply waiting.

Then he pressed.

The door opened without a creak.

Asogi turned his head slightly to glance back.

Then he looked forward again, and without a word, he stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him.

The stone floor of the corridor was cold.

In the empty space stretching along the damp walls, no sound echoed.

Only footsteps could be heard—soft and steady.

Asogi walked without focusing his gaze on anything.

He wasn’t observing his surroundings—he was simply moving forward.

But his thoughts found their own path.

"Father said he was hungry..."

That sentence repeated in his mind.

At first, it had seemed unimportant. But after a few steps, another question surfaced:

"What does he eat?"

Suddenly, he stopped.

He tilted his head slightly and looked to both sides of the corridor.

The walls looked identical—there were no markings.

"Does he feed like I do?

Does he eat humans?

Or... does he need something else entirely?"

He lowered his eyes.

He didn’t know the answer.

He had never thought about it before.

For Asogi, Ravien had always been a measure—most of what he knew was shaped through his father’s behaviors.

But he had never seen him eat.

Only occasionally, he would say "I’m hungry"—and that was it.

His eyes scanned the length of the corridor again.

He took a few more steps, then stopped once more.

He didn’t know which way to go.

He only knew three places in the castle: Ravien’s study, the bedroom, and the dungeon.

This corridor was unfamiliar.

He looked into a recess along the wall. There were no signs, no clues.

He stepped forward.

There was a fork to the left, but he had no idea where it led.

"I don’t know what my father eats.

But I can learn it from the human."

That thought struck him as strange.

And yet it rose from within.

For the first time, it truly felt like a thought of his own.

He wasn’t even aware of it.

Slowly, with no direction in mind, he kept walking.

Asogi was walking.

His steps were heavy, their rhythm steady.

Corridors unfolded one after another—the same stone walls, the same damp air, the same silence.

Nothing changed.

He just kept walking.

No one crossed his path.

Only one question echoed in his mind:

"Where did all the humans go?"

He quickened his pace, starting to observe his surroundings more carefully.

After several minutes, he saw a figure moving at the end of a corridor.

A man.

He was cleaning the windows.

Haldvir.

Asogi stopped.

His gaze locked onto a single point.

He knew this one—he had been with Jiho, that day.

He looked the same: medium height, slouched shoulders, an indistinct expression.

"Perhaps... I can question this lowly creature."

The thought passed through his mind.

Then he resumed walking—slow, but with purpose.

His footsteps echoed lightly over the stone floor.

The sound caught Haldvir’s attention.

He hesitated mid-wipe, then raised his head.

His eyes widened instantly.

He immediately recognized the figure before him—Lord Ravien.

But... something was off.

His hair wasn’t its usual crimson; it was darker now, almost black.

His eyes were the same, but the familiar weight in his gaze had been replaced with a more distant, vacant expression.

Even his face looked different—still stern and cold, but the intense aura he used to carry was absent.

Haldvir didn’t know what to say.

But out of respect, he quickly bowed his head.

He froze.

His breath caught in his chest.

He didn’t ask questions.

Because Jiho had once told him:

"Never question Lord Ravien.

Don’t ask why he’s come, or what he’s searching for...

Just show respect. Think of nothing else."

Haldvir had never forgotten those words.

So, he didn’t lift his head.

He clasped his hands in front of him, his voice calm and controlled:

"Lord Ravien...

Your presence here is a great honor.

Would you like me to be of assistance?"

---

(POV: Asogi)

This lowly creature... did he just mistake me for my father?

A sudden, uncontrollable anger surged within me.

Sharp, unsettling, and hard to name.

How dare he?

My father... he is the only one.

His existence towers above everything I’ve ever known.

I am not him.

I am just... me.

Ahhhhhhhh... My thoughts scattered.

I couldn’t focus anymore, all because of the words that left this filth’s mouth.

The pressure spilling from Asogi spread like an invisible wave.

It slammed into every corner of the corridor—touching the walls, the floor, the air.

With a low hum, the air grew heavy. The stone walls gave a faint crackle.

The fissures on the ground deepened.

The glass panes began to tense and creak.

Haldvir’s chest tightened.

His breath came in gasps, his mouth opened but couldn’t draw enough air.

"...hsss... ha... shhh..."

Asogi’s voice echoed through the stone walls.

It no longer sounded young or human. It was layered—resonant, otherworldly:

"Hey... you piece of trash...

Did you mistake me for my father?

This mistake... is unforgivable.

I’ll turn you into my father’s next meal."

And in that instant... something began to emerge from Asogi’s body.

From beneath his skin, through tiny pores and soft spots, wet, sticky tendrils burst forth.

Red, glossy, and scaly—some of them ended in forked tips.

Some writhed.

Some quivered on their own, hissing and making moist, squelching sounds as they scraped along the stone floor.

On the inner surfaces, eye-like structures opened—but they didn’t look.

They watched.

The tendrils stretched in all directions.

They climbed the walls, touched the ceiling. As they slithered over the floor, they began to drown the light from the corridor.

One wrapped around Haldvir’s foot.

Another crept toward his shoulder.

The floor grew damp.

The air started to stink of rotting flesh.

Haldvir’s eyes watered. He was trembling.

Just then—

"Tap."

The sharp click of a cane echoed through the corridor’s silence.

The tendrils froze.

Then, with a sudden snap, they burst apart.

They split into chunks of flesh.

But even those pieces didn’t simply lie still...

Some twitched.

Some crawled.

Some dragged themselves along the floor—until one by one, they withered and died.

Asogi turned his head.

Furious, he locked eyes with the owner of that cane.

At the mouth of the corridor stood an old man, leaning gently on his cane.

He wore simple, almost plain servant’s garments.

His face was pale. Thin lips pressed tight. His eyes stared into nothingness.

Jiho.

There was no expression on his face.

No anger, no concern, no curiosity.

He simply stood there.

Calm. Cold.

A long silence followed.

Then he spoke—soft, barely above a whisper, yet the words reached every inch of the corridor:

"In the Young Master’s castle...

...it is wrong to harm a servant without his permission."