The Only Side That Matters

Morgana stood in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, glaring at the steaming bucket of dark, murky water like it had personally wronged her. Which, in a way, it had.

Goblin blood clung to her armor like it had signed a bloody lease agreement, refusing to move out no matter how much she scrubbed. Bits of meat and unidentifiable chunks swirled in the water, bobbing like grotesque dumplings.

“For fuck’s sake…” she muttered, running the rag over the breastplate again. 

“If I had a washing machine, I’d have been done an hour ago. But nooo, we’re in medieval fantasy land. It’s all buckets, rags, and maybe a rock if you’re feeling fancy. People here wash their clothes like they’re trying to tenderize them for dinner.”

She twisted the rag, scowling at the streaks that just wouldn’t come out. “Ugh, and of course goblin blood smells like something died, fermented, and then died again. What’s the point of looking badass if you smell like roadkill marinated in piss?”

The blood had seeped into every seam and stitch of her armor straps, a sticky, stubborn red-brown mess. She threw the rag into the bucket and watched the water go from disgusting to downright biohazardous.

“This is exactly why horror movies always have gore splattered all over. Because it never fucking comes out,” she grumbled, reaching for another clean rag. "I should have cleaned this shit right after I come home instead of letting it dry for a whole night..."

“And don’t even get me started on the smell. Eau de Rotting Goblin isn’t exactly the fragrance of the year. Someone should bottle it and call it ‘How to Lose Friends in Ten Seconds’.”

Her hands stilled on the armor, her gaze catching on a streak of dried brown near the edge of her glove, and the bells from the city's church tolled noon, solemn, holy, annoyingly serene. Perfect soundtrack to a blood-scrub, really. The sound hooked into her memory and yanked up last night's conversations.

Her mind slipped back to the inn. The way Avric had said the demons’ morale had shifted. The battle cries for some mysterious “Demon Queen.”

The war.

And here she was. A demon in disguise, in the middle of human territory.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the armor like it had the answers she needed.

If the demons were gaining ground, sooner or later the warfront would reach this city. And when it did, she’d have to choose.

Humans… or demons?

She wrinkled her nose. “Great. My choices are either play happy little human until they try to kill me, or join the team that probably eats people for snacks. Fantastic options all around.”

If she fought for the humans, she’d have to kill her own kind. The idea should’ve stung, but it didn’t. What did sting was the thought of them finding out what she was before she could choose. She could picture it already...

Pitchforks, torches, steel, and magic all coming for her throat. No chance to explain, no chance to negotiate. Just another “monster” to be put down.

But what about the other side? Helping demons would mean killing humans. Not just soldiers. Merchants, farmers, children... She’d been human once. Shouldn’t that mean something?

It didn’t.

That was what made her pause.

Leaning forward, she stared into the water again. The crimson tint, the chunks of goblin flesh caught on the rag. She’d slaughtered those goblins without hesitation. No guilt, no remorse. Just… irritation about the cleanup afterward.

And the wolves before that. The orcs.

If she’d still been Amelia, the mere thought of killing anything would have left her sick to her stomach. Now? It was as if the part of her that should care had been neatly cut out and tossed away.

The realization hit her like Truck-kun hitting an isekai protagonist.

It wasn’t just her body that had changed when she’d hatched from that egg. Her mind, her instincts, her entire personality had shifted to fit her race better. She was still her... but she wasn’t. Not completely.

Her hands tightened on the cloth. She should have felt horrified. But she didn’t feel that either.

A humorless chuckle escaped her. “Great. I’m a sociopath now. Wonderful upgrade. Do I get a badge for that, or just free therapy I’ll never attend?”

For a few minutes, she sat there, letting the truth settle in. She didn’t like it. She didn’t hate it. It just… was.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part.

Finally, she set the armor aside and stood, looking around her home.

She would choose one side.

Hers.

If she needed to kill demons to keep herself safe, she’d do it. If betraying humans meant living better or becoming stronger, she’d do that too. No loyalty, no flag, no cause. Just survival and advantage.

She smiled to herself. A sharp, determined smile that felt right.

The bucket of bloody water still sat in the middle of the room, reeking faintly of iron and death. She gave it one last glance before dumping it outside, watching the filth stain the dirt.

Grabbing her gear, she strapped on her freshly cleaned armor which was still a little dirty. She slipped her cloak over her shoulders, and stepped out into the sunlit street.

The world could keep its sides. She’d carve her own.

And if anyone discovered what she was? Well… they’d get the full demon experience.

For now, she had a role to play. The cheerful young adventurer.

And today, she needed another quest.

Her boots clicked against the cobblestone as she made her way toward the Adventurer’s Guild, the determination still burning bright in her chest.

Only time would tell whether that fire would burn the world... 

Or just everyone in her way, really.