Became the Imperial-Certified Mad Dog

Prologue – Mad Dogs

There’s a saying that a stick is the medicine for a mad dog.

It means that even beings you can’t reason with can be subdued through physical means.

While many say it’s not a good method for ethical reasons, I think not many people can deny its effectiveness.

…But what should one do when the mad dog that needs to be beaten is actually holding the stick?

“What are you doing here brooding alone, kid?”

In the middle of having a deep discussion with myself, I coughed at the smell that could blank out your mind with just a whiff, and a gruff voice struck the back of my head.

“Ah, get away when you talk, the cigarette smell- ugh, the burning smell.”

“That smell isn’t from me, it’s coming from over there.”

As if trying to make my embarrassment real rather than a misunderstanding, or perhaps out of consideration, the old man pointed behind us while putting a cigarette from his pocket to his mouth.

Whoosh-

Behind the old man and me, like a scene of hell you might see in an ancient cathedral, an entire village was burning thoroughly.

“Hey… kid, got any matches?”

“Why are you asking someone who doesn’t smoke for matches? There’s plenty of fire over there.”

To the old man’s nauseating question that he always asks despite knowing I never have any, I didn’t even bother sighing and just pointed to where there was more than enough of what he needed.

“Oh.”

And would you believe this crazy guy actually thought that was a good idea?

With a look of realization, he nodded and went back to the scene, bringing his unlit cigarette to a corpse that barely maintained its shape, sharing the fate of the village.

Sizzle-

“Thanks for the light.”

This crazy person who used a corpse as a lighter must have thought he was being proper or sensible in his own way as he bowed his head slightly in reverence while holding the cigarette in his mouth.

Then, as he seemed to be stretching, he suddenly gave a light kick to the corpse’s head.

Pop-

The corpse, already burned beyond recognition and barely maintaining its shape, naturally lost its human form with just that light kick and scattered widely like dandelion seeds in the wind, becoming completely reduced to ashes.

“…! Why the hell did you have to do that too?”

A speck of ash from the corpse the old man had scattered touched my cheek.

Even though it was just burned ash, that was no reason not to feel disgusted, so I frantically brushed it off.

“If you carelessly put out and throw away a cigarette, it might cause a forest fire later.”

“Oh god…”

Faced with this remarkable statement that cycled between sense and nonsense multiple times in a single sentence, my rising irritation and the curses about to emerge from my throat suddenly subsided, and all I could do was sit back down, overcome by a strange sense of powerlessness.

Was this person injected with drugs in his youth, or did he become like this because he didn’t receive the drugs he should have?

As these small questions arose, seeing my colleagues returning one by one from the burning village made me unconsciously sigh.

Remember the story about the mad dogs with sticks I mentioned earlier?

Surprisingly, and despairingly, those mad dogs are these very people.

And not just ordinary mad dogs, but Cerberus – the shadow organization known as the shield protecting the Imperial Family, the most powerful and noble existence in this country.

That’s who we are, and who I am.

‘Damn, I want to retire.’

How did I, who wasn’t even a noble or soldier, let alone part of the Imperial Family, end up hanging around with these crazy guys?

As I strengthened my resolve to return to a normal life once again, I recalled the first terribly wrong button that started it all.