The dream fades again, its meaning vague and unclear.
………
Daylight gradually brightens through my eyelids.
It seems to be the morning of the next day, and I am still safely lying in my bed.
Aegis: Little Painter, please wake up. There is an emergency at the Healing Spirit Institute.
Aegis: Little Painter, you are awake. Please allow me to go to the Healing Spirit Institute for support now.
Half-asleep, I could only see a blur of white before my eyes, probably Aegis's clothes.
Little Painter: Okay…
Aegis: Thank you. I'll be back soon.
After a few firm, steady steps, the room returns to silence.
I habitually tried to fall back asleep, but just as I was about to touch the pillow, I paused.
Aegis said there was an "emergency" at the Healing Spirit Institute… She left directly just now…
It seems like something serious. So I should…
Get up and follow her.
Recalling yesterday's memories, I followed the correct path to the Healing Spirit Institute.
The residences I passed looked just the same as yesterday. People were heading to work, cooking, or doing laundry, all looking very peaceful.
Halfway there, I arrive just in time for their prayer session—
The bell ringing from the sky was solemn and awe-inspiring, causing everyone stopped what they were doing upon hearing it.
This scene left me standing in place, while everyone — whether on the street, indoors, or repairing roof tiles — turned to the south, clasping their hands and bowing deeply.
A woman: May the Goddess bless us… may we never be harmed by the miasma…
A woman: Little Paul was taken by the miasma he caught last month. We are deeply saddened, but we understand he has been sent to Your side by the scholars, cleansed of sin and returned to purity…
A woman: May he be free of illness and disaster in the next life, never again lured by the evils of the ice fields and deserts…
I stood in the shadow of a corner, not joining their prayer.
The ritual ended quickly — it was simply bowing to the south, closing their eyes, and praying. Afterward, everyone returned to their usual routines.
The distant marketplace soon buzzed with activity again, and the houses in front of me regained their calm.
The same expressions, free of any anxiety or dissatisfaction, returned to everyone's faces.
I stayed hidden in the shadows, waiting until no one noticed me before moving forward again.
A small head, covered by a white robe with deep blue eyes showing, peeked out from the rooftop behind me.
He blinked, the hem of his robe hanging limply in the air, like a fragile scarecrow ready to collapse with a gust of wind.
On the way to the Healing Spirit Institute, my thoughts drifted slightly.
That praying woman mentioned "not lured by the evils of the ice fields and deserts." The "evil" must refer to the miasma.
But contrary to what I learned yesterday, the miasma here is not just from the desert but also from the ice fields.
The place where I was pulled into this world was an ice field… Last night, I also asked Aegis about the ice field, but her response was, "Information is missing."
Unlike previous journeys, this time, I want to actively seek out the doubts surrounding my experiences.
That's why I chose to come here.
When I arrive at the Healing Spirit Institute, I saw its gates tightly shut, and there wasn't a single person in the usually busy areas.
A substitute was guarding the only street leading here and it seemed he had completed the task of dispersing the crowd.
When I appeared, he must have recognized me and did not stop me.
I walked up to the Healing Spirit Institute, held my breath, and pushed a crack in the door open.
As soon as I poked my head in, I felt an invisible barrier separating the inside from the outside, and I was crossing through it.
A male voice from upstairs: Ah!!!
I took one step inside and a scream pierced my ears.
A dozen life scholars stood in a circle toward the back of the hall, no longer holding books but wands like the mages guarding the teleportation array.
Female Scholar: Who's there!?
Soon, a dozen eyes focused on me from behind them.
My fingers trembled slightly behind my back, but the leading woman quickly recognized me, her expression turning to surprise and awe.
Female Scholar: Holy Emissary, why have you come? We are capturing an apostate, and it might be dangerous. You should leave.
I wasn't paying attention to her words. I surveyed the scene inside the hall and clearly saw some misplaced and damaged facilities.
There had clearly been a conflict, and the scholars had formed a circle around someone who had been forced back, retreating to the second floor.
According to the female scholar, this "someone" was the apostate they were trying to capture.
Before she could finish speaking, another scream echoed from upstairs, followed by the sound of a blunt object hitting the ground heavily.
A male voice from upstairs: Ugh!!… Please… spare me…
Most of the scholars turn around warily, fixing their gaze again on the stairway leading to the door.
The commotion here was loud, yet I hadn't heard a thing from outside.
Someone must have used magic to block everything from within…
As I thought this, I held my breath and wondering whether I should take another step forward—
But I was momentarily stunned by what happened next.
As if struck by a charging elephant, a tattered white robe crashed through the second-floor railing, falling from the inside stairs, tumbling through the air, and landing on the stairs in front of me.
Momentum sent him rolling down the steps, leaving an arm's-width trail of blood on the pristine floor before finally coming to a stop.
The scholars were dumbfounded, unsure whether the poor man was still alive.
Nearly half a minute passed before he let out a faint groan, trying to roll over to make his impending death a bit more bearable.
Apostate Scholar: The research… I can't… get out…
Apostate Scholar: The research… my…
I was surprised by his muttering when footsteps echoed from the inside stairs.
The scholar lying on the ground instantly fell silent, his dry lips no longer moving, pale and still, without even a tremble.
The footsteps were slow and heavy, reverberating through the sunlit empty hall
As they descended, step by step, I finally saw the figure clearly.
Alkaid: You shouldn't have run. It only adds to the suffering.
Alkaid: You could have peacefully gone to the Goddess, bearing your sins, but now — you've wasted most of the life you could have contributed.
Apostate Scholar: …
I stood in the shadow of the door, looking across the hall at the two figures by the stairs.
The scholars beside me naturally lowered their once-tense hands. I heard a few breaths, they were relieved.
Apostate Scholar: Lord, I was wrong. Please, let me live…
Alkaid: Live? Fine, tell me, what is it that someone like you wants to live for?
Apostate Scholar: My research, my… research… Just let me live, and I will devote my life to research…
I couldn't see Alkaid's expression, but his actions paused for a moment.
Then, he squatted down, his white robe lightly brushing the floor, stained with blood, like a ghostly flower bowing by the river of death.
Alkaid: Go on.
Apostate Scholar: Ugh, ahh… Lord, you know I have only loved research my whole life…
Apostate Scholar: I only, only wanted to bring this result outside the Healing Spirit Institute, to let more people use it…
The apostate scholar cried. But it wasn't a loud wail — just trembling, helpless sobs like a baby's, his back curled toward Alkaid.
He closed his eyes, his face covered in blood and tears. Both sinking into his fearful wrinkles, nailing death to his face.
Alkaid: Oh… is that so.
Alkaid: Yes, our achievements must first be unconditionally offered to the Goddess, and only after the Divine Court has judged them will they be spread to benefit the world.
Alkaid: This waiting period can last ten years, or as long as a century. Many people live their entire lives without seeing the day their “child” is known to the world.
Alkaid: So, I understand you. I deeply, deeply understand this endless waiting.
Alkaid: But because of the wait, you've broken the oath you swore when you entered this place, taking the so-called results to the people for praise—
Alkaid: Benny, this is not your achievement, it belongs to the entire Healing Spirit Institute, gained under the Goddess's watchful eye.
Benny: …No!
Suddenly, the scholar named Benny opened his eyes wide.
Those words seemed to have struck at the deepest anger he had suppressed, allowing his rage to briefly overpower his fear.
Benny: Why is it not mine? Why must it all be handed over?
Benny: I, I—I lost my legs and four fingers for the experiment. I poured my heart and soul into it. I experimented on myself, endured countless nights of agony alone!
Benny: It took ten years to produce a result. The result wasn't a gift from the goddess, it was earned through my efforts!
Benny: When I couldn't make any progress no matter how much I tried, when I cried and used regeneration magic on myself only to grow deformed joints…
Benny: I prayed to the goddess a thousand times, ten thousand times, yet I never heard a single response from her, not even a single miracle…
Benny sobbed and broke into tears.
The scenes he described played in my mind, leaving me speechless and trembling.
Yesterday, when I toured this clean and orderly place, I never thought that these passionate scholars might be conducting such research.
But the sobbing before me was entirely genuine, and the leader here, Alkaid, after bending down to listen to it all, reached out his hand to his subordinate.
Alkaid: Poor child.
Alkaid: You've lost your way, enticed by the temptations of the devil. You crave the unfair freedom of others, thinking it will bring you praise and honor, but you don't know what that cost truly is.
Benny: Wanting my achievements to be recognized, how is that twisted? I'm willing to dedicate my entire life to this because other work is even more boring!
Alkaid: Sigh.
Benny struggled to support himself, twisting his neck in an attempt to glare at Alkaid.
But Alkaid stood up, shaking his head regretfully, and gently brushed off the dust from his clothes.
Alkaid: You've gone too far astray.
Alkaid: …I can't keep you.
As he lowered his head and closed his eyes, the hall suddenly turned cold.
In an instant, a layer of blackness shrouded the clear world, as if countless creatures devouring light rose from the ground, waving their tentacles and greedily plundering nourishment.
Alkaid's usually floating hem swayed violently.
I had an illusion — the feeling that something pitch-black was slowly forming at his feet, stretching toward Benny.
…But suddenly, blood was shed in the hall.
It was an unforeseen scene — in the very instant when all went colorless, a magically formed hidden weapon shot from upstairs, piercing Benny's head with perfect accuracy.
Alkaid's slowly raised right hand paused. His eyes opened and the space returned to clarity, as if nothing had happened.
He tilted his head in confusion — or perhaps indifference — surveying the corpse on the ground, his brows furrowing impatiently.
The owner of the hidden weapon soon descended from the second floor, stepping down the stairs properly, as if participating in a routine report.
Aegis: Report, the danger has been eliminated. The criminal failed to detonate the magic crystal hidden in his teeth.
Alkaid's brows soon relaxed. He raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised, then laughed.
Aegis crouched down, pried open the corpse's mouth, and extracted a small crystal from the muddied flesh.
Alkaid: Well done.
Alkaid took the crystal, while Aegis stood respectfully with her head bowed.
Alkaid, slightly intrigued, examined the tiny crystal in his hand for a moment before holding it in his palm.
Alkaid: The artificial life's observation of energy fields is indeed meticulous and accurate. I never thought it could be applied like this. Who was responsible for tuning this feature?
Aegis: Report, it was Lord Benny. He completed the refinement process for this function.
Alkaid: …Oh.
Alkaid glanced at the corpse at his feet. The pool of blood crept closer and starting to stain his clean boots, but he didn't move.
Alkaid: 042, how does it feel to kill your creator?
Aegis: Report, it is the duty of the life of the Holy City, no feelings are involved.
Aegis: Also, I request that you call me "Aegis" from now on.
Alkaid: Oh?
His tone rose, revealing surprise he didn't bother to hide.
Aegis took two steps back, turned around, and walked straight toward me.
This movement made Alkaid aware of my presence, and for a moment, his eyes narrowed slightly.
The scholars who had been standing in front of me automatically stepped aside, leaving me standing still until Aegis reached me.
Aegis: Little Painter, I have completed the task. Thank you for allowing me to come over.
Little Painter: …It's fine.
I looked at her. Her gaze was pure and her white simple dress was clean, yet her right hand and sleeve, which had reached into Benny's mouth, were stained a shocking red.
I remained silent and gestured for her to return behind me.
Looking forward again, I saw Alkaid standing by the pool of blood, watching me with calm unwavering eyes.
I walked toward him. It only took a minute, but during that minute, countless thoughts flashed through my mind as I looked at him.
The scenes I had just witnessed were shocking, entirely different from the image he presented to me yesterday.
And all of this happened inside the closed Healing Spirit Institute, clearly a secret hidden from the public.
Having witnessed all of this, I was now seeing another side of him…
I tried to predict what our next conversation would be, but as I finished crossing the hall, I was left to face the cold, unchangeable fact—
I couldn't imagine his reaction.
Alkaid: How did the Holy Emissary spend the night?
In the end, he spoke first.
He smiled slightly, arms folded in a relaxed manner, as if today were a holiday in the Healing Spirit Institute.
Little Painter: …I spent it well, thank you for your concern.
Little Painter: The Holy City treats me just as it treats its own people… I can feel the sense of security it provides here.
He observed me closely, though his pupils constricted slightly, like a snake.
Alkaid: You're right. The most perfect aspect of the Holy City is that under the goddess, everyone is equal. As long as one follows the goddess, the Divine Court will spare no effort to protect them.
Alkaid: But apostates are an exception.
He clearly had something specific in mind.
I met his gaze, refrained from responding, and simply nodded.
Alkaid: 042 — no, Aegis — performed admirably in this capture operation. It seems my decision to give her to you yesterday was the right one.
Alkaid: But I didn't expect there to still be people in the world who would name an artificial life. Are you claiming ownership?
Alkaid looked at me, once again adopting his gentle and teasing demeanor.
Yet, this statement could also be understood on a deeper level…
As if questioning whether naming Aegis overstepped the rules set by her creators.
Aegis: Suggestion, You are using vague questions towards Little Painter, and I do not wish for you to treat her this way.
I was slightly surprised and turned around. Aegis stood behind me, facing Alkaid, her back as straight as her pointed hidden weapon.
Alkaid gave her a thoughtful glance, then fixed his gaze on me.
Alkaid: It seems Aegis prefers the Holy Emissary over her place of origin.
Alkaid: And it seems you've trained her to the point where she's comfortable calling you by name. How enviable.
You can call me by my name too
Little Painter: You can call me by my name too, I've never forbidden it.
Little Painter: But you, Alkaid, you've always been too polite with me.
I said directly, stepping forward to subtly position myself between the two of them.
Though I couldn't quite grasp how this tension had developed, it was clear that I was the cause.
Alkaid didn't seem bothered by my actions. He smiled faintly and regarded me for a while.
Alkaid: Little Painter.
His smile was overly gentle, leaving me momentarily confused about his intent.
I remained silent, so he spoke again.
Alkaid: It seems the Holy Emissary still won't let me call her that. You're not even responding to me.
I was momentarily perplexed and wanted to say something, but he made a silencing gesture, crossing his arms in a secretive manner, and shifting his gaze to the nearby stairs.
Does Lord Abyss want me to name you?
Little Painter: Does Lord Abyss want me to name you? But you don't need me to give you a name.
Little Painter: Alkaid, you told me to call you by this name, and I've followed your wish.
Alkaid: That's true. Then please continue calling me that.
He said, curling his lips into a natural smile.
Then, he shifted his gaze to the nearby stairs.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Alkaid: I apologize for letting you witness such a tense capture. That was my oversight.
Alkaid: The scholars still need to clean up, so the Healing Spirit Institute can return to order quickly. Shall we leave now?
He gestured toward the main door.
I took one last glance at the body on the floor, feeling desolate, but still left deep in thought.
7. Utility and Freedom
Alkaid left me on the street in the residential area and then walked away.
I stood at an intersection, bowing my head in silence.
Aegis: Excuse me, did I do something that displeased you?
I was slightly surprised and turned around. Aegis looked at me in confusion.
No, that expression wasn't just confusion — there seemed to be some... disappointment as well.
Aegis: Ever since we left the Healing Spirit Institute, you've been distracted. I feel like it's because of me.
Aegis: Did I do something wrong?
You shouldn't have killed that scholar
Little Painter: Hmm, I think... you shouldn't have killed that scholar. Wasn't he one of your creators?
Little Painter: And if what he said was true, then his life was indeed extremely tragic.
Little Painter: His efforts and sacrifices were immense, but the Healing Spirit Institute didn't think the results belonged to him.
Little Painter: You, as an artificial life form, killing the very people who poured their heart and soul into creating you — it makes me feel... conflicted.
Aegis nodded, showing some sadness for a moment before turning rational.
Aegis: To humans, this action must seem terrifying. I understand your discomfort.
Aegis: For me, it wasn't about killing a creator, but about protecting Abyss and the Healing Spirits Institute's facilities, minimizing damage.
You did nothing wrong, I'm upset for other reasons
Little Painter: You did nothing wrong, I'm just upset about something else.
Little Painter: I was thinking... if what the scholar said was true, then his death was indeed tragic.
Little Painter: His efforts and sacrifices were immense, but the Healing Spirit Institute, or rather the city's order, doesn't seem to recognize such things as personal value.
Little Painter: And the order and methods of the Healing Spirit Institute are quite... cruel.
Aegis nodded, stepping forward and gently placing a hand on my shoulder.
Aegis: I understand how you feel now. You are a very kind person.
Aegis: I agree with what you said, "The Healing Spirit Institute's order and methods are quite cruel." In my understanding, this is a matter of weighing absolute value.
I'm not upset, just thinking
Little Painter: I'm not upset, I'm just thinking about what I just saw.
Little Painter: If what that scholar said was true, then his life was truly tragic.
Little Painter: His efforts and sacrifices were immense, but the Healing Spirit Institute, or rather the city's order, doesn't seem to recognize such things as personal value.
Little Painter: Of course, the city's background and the Healing Spirit Institute's status are very special. But I'm still pondering... whether all of this is right
Aegis nodded.
Aegis: In my understanding, this is about weighing absolute value.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Aegis: The crystal that the scholar mentioned could trigger an explosion, with enough force to bring down a building. When Abyss was about to execute him, his teeth made a move to activate the crystal.
Aegis: For me, between a scholar and a building, the former is undoubtedly of lesser value. When you expand this comparison to the city, this is the value the city adheres to.
She wasn't wrong — here, they follow a value system where the collective outweighs individual freedom.
As for my view...
I believe the happiness of the majority is more important
I believe individual freedom is more important
I was pondering this question, not paying attention to my surroundings.
It wasn't until a large sword pressed against my back and Aegis shouted for it to stop that I turned around.
Rorschach: Holy Emissary, I can't believe I ran into you while wandering the streets. What a coincidence.
8. Test of Courage
Even when you show your talents, remember to conceal your true strength.
9. Puppet Emperor
After a strange sparring session, the attendants pushed forward by Rorschach were all driven back by me.
I mostly used physical techniques and even when I had to use illustra, I did it in a very concealed manner.
I had a gut feeling that I shouldn't reveal my abilities yet.
Rorschach had been observing from the back all along and seeing this result, he revealed a satisfied expression.
I remained silent, simply staring at him, allowing him to step closer one step at a time.
Once again, he pressed his sword against my chest, his movements decisive and vicious, yet his expression was like a child playing mischievously.
I faced him head-on, ignoring his actions.
After three seconds, he finally smirked and lowered his sword.
I glanced around. The street behind him was completely empty, save for a dozen or so of his attendants.
They were standing in a strange square formation, and in the center of the empty space between them was a large... wooden board.
From the surrounding homes, a few faces peered through the windows, watching covertly. However, they didn't seem hostile, rather more nervous.
It appeared that the people who had originally been on the streets had been driven home, and the orders naturally came from the divine emperor standing before me.
Little Painter: Your Majesty's presence is indeed powerful, enough to make the people retreat wherever you go.
Little Painter: Looking at it this way, it seems my perception was too weak to sense your approach, which is why I foolishly stood in the street and ran into you.
I spoke steadily, directly meeting his gaze.
He burst into laughter and with a seemingly casual demeanor, walked up to me, patting me on the back and turning me 180 degrees.
The force was undeniable, and his over-familiar attitude quickly enveloped me as his arm extended.
During our last conversation, he gave off the same feeling — an easy violation of boundaries, with a hint of danger. I maintained a neutral expression following his pace.
Rorschach: The Holy Emissary is not foolish at all, you're simply unafraid of me.
Rorschach: That makes me like you even more — so I came to invite you for a stroll through my royal garden. What do you say?
Little Painter: …It would be my honor.
Little Painter: ……
Aegis: ……
Rorschach: Next — hmm, night light or silver dew, which one does the Holy Emissary prefer?
Little Painter: I…
Rorschach: Ah, I forgot you know nothing about the teas here. Go, bring all the varieties from the carriage, so the Holy Emissary can experience the local flavors of the Holy City.
Sweating attendant: Yes…
For the fourth time, Rorschach gestured with his chin, then clapped his hand against his knee with a loud smack.
Before me, the table was already laden with an array of drinks and snacks, dazzling in red, orange, yellow, and green.
The vehicle we were sitting on resembled a flying carpet, its four corners stretched as it glided over streets and houses, its motion so smooth it felt like we were floating on water
Yet, this was not the result of any magic, for around the "flying carpet," there were three or four dozen people, heads bowed, carrying thick horizontal poles across their shoulders.
Little Painter: (This is like a luxurious open sedan…)
The hands presenting food from behind me never stopped. I was at a loss, faced with the crowded table, unsure of what to do.
If I raised my gaze to Rorschach, I would meet his sharp blue-green eyes. He rested his chin on his hand, half-smiling, his fingers covering his pupils like a lion licking its paw while surveying the scene.
Little Painter: Your Majesty the Divine Mandate, I don't need to eat so much right now—
Rorschach: Not eating? The journey will be boring without food.
Little Painter: …
Once again, he cut me off before I could finish, forcefully steering the conversation in his own direction.
Rorschach: Even though there's everything on this carriage, it can't offset the time spent waiting on the road. It doesn't compare to my ancestors' grandeur by a tenth.
Little Painter: Your ancestors, did they have the ability to teleport instantly?
Little Painter: No, the teleportation arrays across the Holy City already have that ability, so…
I didn't finish my sentence, instead looking directly at Rorschach.
He finally moved the hand supporting his chin, letting out a bored grunt.
Rorschach: There are no teleportation arrays near the royal garden. Even the arrays in the Holy City can't match the freedom of soaring through the skies.
Little Painter: Soaring through the skies?
Rorschach suddenly averted his gaze, pushing heavily against the base of the seat as he stood up.
The strength in his arms, capable of wielding a giant sword with one hand, was astounding. With just one movement, the otherwise steady "sedan" swayed.
The "sedan" carriers: Ugh…
Rorschach: Hurry up — walk faster! Any later, and the sun will have set.
The "sedan" carriers: Yes…
The carriers nervously readjusted their balance, allowing the "flying carpet" to soar once more without the aid of magic.
I remained silent for a long time, watching the red marks from the heat form on the back of their necks. At this moment, Aegis, who had been sitting beside me but completely ignored by Rorschach, finally spoke up.
Aegis: Your Majesty the Divine Mandate, you are not living the equal life that the Goddess advocates for all believers.
I looked at Aegis. Rorschach too, finally focused his gaze back on the carriage, staring down at the artificial being that was looking up at him. There was a peculiar, resentful emotion gathering in his eyes.
Aegis: Apologies for my presumption, but as I understand the Goddess's law, no one should indulge in luxury, nor treat others as slaves.
Aegis: As an artificial life tasked with maintaining the Holy City, I must question this situation.
Though Aegis's words lacked social tact, they echoed the thoughts I had silently been considering earlier.
The Holy City I had seen so far had no such scale of indulgence.
This clearly violated the Goddess's law, yet Rorschach deliberately used this extravagant carriage and entourage to meet me, parading through the streets…
It was as if he were making a power play or conveying something twisted and intense.
Aegis's gaze was firm and resolute. I followed her lead and also looked at Rorschach.
Rorschach, however, merely chuckled silently. He said nothing, his expression cold and unsettling.
This unnerving standoff lasted for two seconds before Rorschach suddenly laughed, shaking his head, then sat back down in an exaggeratedly relaxed manner.
Rorschach: The doll lady is right, but if I don't ride on people, should I ride on dogs?
Aegis: I don't understand your meaning.
Rorschach: As the Goddess said, royal blood is the blood that listens to divine commands. My ancestors rode on dragons. Wouldn't it disgrace the divine to ride on anything lesser now?
Aegis: …
Aegis said nothing, but her gaze grew sharper. Rorschach, however, ignored her completely, leaning back with a nonchalant expression.
The atmosphere grew tense. As I gathered my thoughts on how best to respond to Rorschach, he suddenly banged his wine cup down on the table before me with a loud clink.
Rorschach: If not for the Holy Emissary begging me at the start to let you on board, I'd never have let a crystal-made fake touch my things in my lifetime!
Rorschach: Doll, do you even know how much you're wasting by saying these things?
Aegis: …
Rorschach: I'd rather have these forty-four idle men carry me north than use any life magic from the Healing Spirit Institute.
Rorschach: Oh, we're here. Let's get off. You're finally free from my orders to drive these poor souls.
With a glance at me and Aegis, Rorschach got off the vehicle without a backward glance.
We had stopped at the outskirts of a residential area, beyond which lay wild overgrown fields.
As he said, this place was further north than the Healing Spirit Institute, with clear views of distant mountains, perhaps at the very edge of the Holy City's territory.
Those mountains were likely the sealed border — the legendary "Divine Wall."
By the time Aegis and I got off, Rorschach had already disappeared into the wilderness, his black cloak vanishing into the layers of trees.
His actions seemed as though he were heading to the border, leaving his intentions unclear, but it was obvious he wanted me to follow.
I steeled myself and called for Aegis to follow me.
The carriage carriers stood neatly in place, none daring to sit down.
We finally arrived at a desolate garden.
Delicately carved decorations piled on stone pillars, but half of them had already collapsed.
Trailing leaves clung to every crack, like wounds that couldn't heal.
I approached a barely recognizable doorway. Rorschach leaned one side of his body against the doorpost, one hand resting on the gnarled tree trunk beside him, blatantly blocking my way.
Rorschach: She can't come in.
He said this while staring at me, never once looking at Aegis.
I stayed silent, which made him smirk, as if this was exactly the reaction he was expecting.
Aegis: I can follow your orders, Your Majesty the Divine Mandate, but you must swear not to harm Little Painter.
Rorschach: Oh, so a little lip service and you'll believe it? He really is trying to turn everything into the same stiff, rigid thing as himself.
Rorschach let out a faint hum, lowered the hand resting on the tree, and crossed his arms.
My path opened. He crossed his legs, still leaning against the pillar, tilting his head while nodding his chin toward me.
Rorschach: Please come in, Holy Emissary. I promise I won't harm you.
We locked eyes for two seconds, and I strode in.
He seemed to chuckle lightly and followed me after I stepped through the doorway, closing the rusty crooked iron gate with his large hand.
Aegis remained outside the fence, silently waiting.
Rorschach and I walked slowly through three concentric outer rings, finally stopping by a fountain in the garden's center.
Unlike his previous aggressive demeanor, Rorschach now said nothing and made no physical contact with me.
He was the first to stop walking, and I followed suit.
Without looking at me, he stared at the dried-up pool for quite a while and then planted his heavy greatsword into the ground.
Little Painter: Your Majesty the Divine Mandate brought me here to show me something?
I spoke up.
After we stopped walking, all that remained was the intermittent, timid chirping of insects, with even the wind growing rare.
A centipede crawled to the top of the fountain, half its body suspended in the air, probing around as if ruling over this forgotten palace.
Rorschach's gaze fixed on it. He frowned and looked gloomy.
The dim sunlight flickered sharply, and the little creature, which had been flaunting itself, suddenly fell down charred and blackened.
Rorschach: How reckless, that little thing was too full of itself.
He brushed his hands together as if dusting them off and turned his gaze elsewhere, shaking his head.
Now he stood with his back to me, shoulders relaxed, as if he were merely out for a casual stroll—
More alive than at any time I had ever seen him.
Little Painter: Excuse me, is this Your Majesty's former residence?
I looked up and asked flatly.
He turned around, raising an eyebrow, legs slightly apart, one hand on his waist.
Rorschach: It seems that in terms of emotional perception, people from other worlds are no different from us.
Rorschach: But sorry to disappoint, you guessed wrong. Most of my life was spent in the Divine Court.
Rorschach: After all, god doesn't allow royal offspring to leave that place. They still need our blood to help them study the mysteries of this world.
You can't leave the Divine Court?
Little Painter: So, Your Majesty cannot leave the Divine Court? Does this mean we are now violating… the goddess's law?
Rorschach: If we return before dark, no one cares. It's a captive cage. People are let out during the day and dragged back in at night.
Little Painter: …?
His explanation was strange. I was confused but didn't question further.
If this is true, then the so-called "Divine Mandate" royal family is actually imprisoned… livestock?
But who is keeping them captive? And is the punishment truly carried out by "people"?
Does the goddess also have mysteries she wants to study?
Little Painter: The goddess wants to study the mysteries of this world? Aren't they supposed to be omniscient?
Rorschach chuckled softly in response but didn't speak.
However, he instinctively placed his hand on the sword beside him, tapping it lightly.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Is there something special about your bloodline?
Little Painter: Your Majesty, I've always been curious about the uniqueness of the royal bloodline.
Little Painter: They told me that royal blood can hear the goddess's will, and now you're saying the goddess needs that blood to study mysteries.
Little Painter: It's really… strange.
Rorschach: Strange?
He looked me in the eye with a mocking expression in his gaze.
Rorschach: Yeah, well, when people are bred like animals, how could it not be strange?
Little Painter: …!?
I was stunned by his words and he suddenly stepped closer.
He clapped his hands heavily on my shoulders, both hands pressing me firmly in place.
Rorschach: Since Miss Holy Emissary has gotten this far, I might as well tell you plainly.
Rorschach: The god wants my royal lineage to produce offerings for him. For this reason, the emperor must choose as many women as possible.
Rorschach: Even those who disobey, my father was eventually forced to mate with his sister, and that was exactly what the god wanted.
Rorschach: Now, I, Rorschach, have reached the right age, too. So tell me, Miss Holy Emissary, what should I do?
I… don't know
Little Painter: I… don’t know…
Each sentence struck me with shock. I was too stunned to respond and could only stand frozen in place.
Rorschach's face was close enough to feel his breath and his smile widened slowly, like a predator sinking its teeth into its prey.
I stiffly took a step back, unable to predict his next move.
Seeing this, he seemed disappointed and after staring at me for a moment, he loosened his grip on my shoulders, pulling back into his previous relaxed conversational stance.
Rorschach: It seems I have quite the connection with the Holy Emissary, makes me want to share even more with you.
Little Painter: …What?
You've crossed the line
He was getting closer and closer, so I directly placed one hand on his chest and firmly opened the hand he had been holding me with.
Little Painter: You've crossed the line!
I pushed hard against his chest and actually forced him back.
He stumbled two steps with a light laugh, easily regaining his balance, narrowing his eyes with a playful expression.
I glared at him, but he ignored it, casually adjusting the wrinkled collar of his shirt.
…Completely wild, almost insane.
Rorschach: It seems I have quite the connection with the Holy Emissary, makes me want to share even more with you.
Little Painter: …
…We're getting married?
Little Painter: …Then, we're getting married?
This person was all fangs and claws, but I didn't follow his lead at all.
I looked at him, met his burning breath, and calmly asked the question.
He was stunned, his pupils slightly dilating.
That reflex was soon overtaken by a new expression. He smiled, reaching out to brush past my ear.
Rorschach: Is the Holy Emissary serious?
Little Painter: I am serious.
His thumb slowly slid down along my ear bone, lingering lightly on my earlobe.
His other fingers grazed through my hair, resting behind my ear, at the junction between neck and jaw, provoking a delicate itch.
This was clearly a flirtatious gesture. I didn't dodge, instead I stepped closer and our eyes locked.
By now, his breath was audible. I lowered my gaze and letting it slide slowly from the corner of his eye, moving tantalizingly toward his ear.
Little Painter: Your Majesty is still an emperor, and it would be an honor to marry an emperor.
Little Painter: But it sounds like your ambition goes beyond finding some woman to breed with. You want to defy even the act of breeding itself, don't you?
Little Painter: What do you want me to do for you?
I raised my hand, fingertips slowly tracing up his arm, brushing over his broad shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, slipping into his collar.
His breath paused for a moment, his body hesitating briefly before relaxing again, and the hand resting near my ear slid into my hair at the back of my neck.
Rorschach: Hmm… I want the Holy Emissary to sit on my throne, govern the country for me, deal with the god's surveillance, and help me bear offspring so that god won't bother me anymore…
I immediately lowered the hand touching his neck, pressed it to his chest, and shoved him forcefully away.
He stumbled back with a light laugh, fixing his half-open collar.
Little Painter: If you're joking, don't waste my time. I've never seen someone so shameless, wanting a free ride.
Rorschach: You misunderstand, Holy Emissary. I was just testing you.
I turned to leave, and he quickly caught up, waving his hands with a smile, saying it wasn't like that.
I narrowed my eyes at him, slowly intertwining my fingers in front of me. He received the signal of an impending attack and relaxed, spreading his hands in a gesture of submission.
After staring at each other for a moment, I turned my head away, stomping toward the exit.
He followed, sighing softly with a smile.
Rorschach: It seems I have quite the connection with the Holy Emissary, makes me want to share even more with you.
Little Painter: Fine, but don't treat me like a fool again.
Rorschach: Of course not. Consider it a small token of apology for earlier.
Rorschach said as he walked beside me.
Now, we stood together with the sunlight behind us, facing the distant mountains, as if we were the newly reborn masters of this abandoned nameless garden.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Rorschach: I happen to be hosting an execution ceremony this afternoon. Would you like to join me?
Little Painter: What are the benefits for me if I go?
Rorschach: Benefits, hmm — I'm so used to it that it's hard to say, but the execution ceremony holds a lot of weight in the Holy City.
Rorschach: Like the scholar who was executed by the white-robed ghost this morning in the Healing Spirit Institute — Holy Emissary, have you ever considered what his fate would be if he had managed to escape?
I paused.
The "white-robed ghost" must be referring to Alkaid.
During the previous conversation with the two of them in the Divine Court, Rorschach always addressed Alkaid as "Lord Abyss."
I noticed then that his use of the honorific was rather sarcastic.
Rorschach harbored a deep animosity toward Alkaid.
Just now, he also mentioned that "the royal family is nothing more than livestock bred to produce sacrifices for the gods"…
I took note of these clues and returned to the current conversation.
Rorschach asked me, if the scholar who tried to smuggle his research out of the Healing Spirit Institute had managed to escape, what would his fate have been?
He would have shared his technology to benefit everyone.
At the very least, he would have gained personal freedom.
Death.
Rorschach looked at me, saying nothing.
He strode toward the garden's exit, making a "please" gesture with one hand.
I followed him.
Rorschach: Citizens of the Holy City, today, we once again gather for a moment of loyalty to the Goddess.
Rorschach: Today's convicts number… thirty-four. A bit more than last month.
Rorschach: This is not a good omen, but for those present, the more convicts there are, the louder the warning bell rings for us all.
Rorschach: Please remain silent, listen carefully to the sins of these people, and reflect on yourselves!
Here, at the center of the Holy City, stands a high platform.
The "ceremony" was well-prepared, and when Rorschach and I arrived, the crowd below was already swelling.
Thirty-four convicts, shackled by the neck and wrists, stood under guard by two executors each.
Among them were men and women, young and old, and the youngest one was only seven years old.
Boy at the far edge of the platform: Mama, mama! Where's mama...
Enforcer beside the boy: Your mother has been taken to the Healing Spirit Institute. All infected by the miasma must receive treatment.
Boy at the far edge of the platform: Mama! ...Lilian went in like that last year too...
Boy at the far edge of the platform: Nobody comes back... sob sob...
I sat beside Rorschach, looking down on this cruel and absurd scene with him.
Every emperor must preside over these executions, he had told me earlier on our way here, and it was clear he was more than accustomed to it.
Rorschach continued to laugh heartily, holding a wine cup in one hand, his sharp gaze fixed on the proceedings.
His smile carried no warmth, like a mask tempered by fire on his face.
Little Painter: Why… even children…
I didn't get an answer from Rorschach. He slammed his armrest, causing the wine cup to fall from his suddenly open hand, spilling on the ground like a head rolling into a pool of blood.
Rorschach: Sinner number one, harboring a miasma-infected person, in accordance with the Goddess's law, execute immediately!
Enforcer beside the boy: Yes!
I barely had time to process Rorschach's words before the enforcer's axe fell.
When I looked again, the boy's head was already on the ground, and his body slumped lifelessly in the shackles like a pile of mud.
Little Painter: ……
My body stiffened and my hands tried to grip for anything to steady myself, only to press painfully against the wooden armrest.
The cries and declarations that followed seemed like shadows flitting past my ears. I only caught a few charges, such as "Slandering the history of the Goddess", "Defying the Goddess's law", "Spreading heretical knowledge", and so on.
This might have been the first time I truly encountered the Holy City since I arrived.
The pristine windows I had seen that morning at the Healing Spirit Institute now seemed to be stained by the scarlet bloodshed before me.
Rorschach: The last one! Let me see… oh, another apostate scholar.
Rorschach: You people who possess knowledge truly are dangerous, just one misstep and demons will drag you into hell.
Rorschach had already strode to the very front of the platform, walking proudly before the crowd.
He performed his duties skillfully, swiftly, with ease. The identity of the Holy City's emperor had completely fused with his being.
How long had this life been for him?
I suddenly wondered, at what age had he ascended to this throne?
Rorschach: Weiss, joining the Life Research Institute but concealing your infected status, is no different from mocking the Goddess's followers in the vilest way.
Rorschach: The crowd has heard your sins clearly. Now, execute—
Weiss: I curse this country, curse all the believers, curse the false Goddess who will one day be slain by humanity!
Weiss: It's laughable to leave human fate in the hands of a god, truly absurd!
Weiss: You are all fools who willingly gave up your freedom… uh…!
The scholar's speech was cut short by the enforcer striking the back of his neck with the flat of his blade. He let out a sharp cry of pain, causing the entire crowd to fall silent.
Then, blow after blow rained down on the scholar's back, and he coughed up dark red blood, unable even to beg for mercy.
Some in the crowd showed signs of fear, lowering their murmurs to a whisper. This was the purpose of rulers beating death row prisoners.
Before anyone could react further, the enforcers having finished their beating, raised their axes high—
Rorschach: …It's over.
The puppet standing above thousands of people whispered alone to the blood-stained platform.
He raised his hand, and one by one, the crowd dispersed until the temporary platform was set aflame, because the blood of apostates was also impure.
I rose from my seat and slowly walked to stand beside him.
Two figures, separate from the crowd, watched as the fire slowly consumed itself.
The flames turned to ash and it began to rain.
10. Containers
It was night.
On the way back from the execution ceremony, I remained silent.
When Aegis and I returned to the residence and closed the door, I sighed deeply and sat on the bench.
Aegis: Are you feeling unwell?
I shook my head.
Aegis: Then perhaps you are not accustomed to the people and things of the Holy City. Is there anything I can do for you?
Little Painter: …No need.
I let my body relax.
Little Painter: It's not to the point of discomfort. I'm just…
Thinking about how terrifying the order here truly is.
Aegis nodded, then sat next to me with my permission.
A bit shocked by the execution scene.
Aegis nodded, then sat next to me with my permission.
Wondering if, as an outsider, I might also be executed one day.
Aegis: You won't be.
Aegis spoke with certainty, more like a promise than an objective judgment.
Aegis: The Goddess sees you as a Holy Emissary from another world. What they says is never false.
Little Painter: Is this part of the doctrine, or has it been proven by people?
Even if someone tried to verify it, there would likely be no record...
I responded casually, but Aegis paused.
She showed rare confusion at the question, and after a long while, she hesitantly spoke.
Aegis: It's strange, I don't know. But my mind is certain of this idea.
Aegis: I feel like… I've seen the Goddess. This impression doesn't come from prior knowledge… it's odd, but I'm certain.
I tilted my head. Aegis continued to think for a long time, then eventually shook her head, pushing the thought away.
With permission, she sat beside me.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Aegis: It seems the world you come from is vastly different from this one. I can't quite imagine it. Could you tell me about it?
Aegis: About… your world, and what you think of this place.
I described life on Earth to Aegis.
She listened attentively, her eyes occasionally widening.
In those moments, the expression on her face shone with an extraordinary light, far surpassing her usual rigid demeanor.
To be honest, "introducing Earth" is a rather large topic for me too, so I chose to describe an ordinary day from my life, expanding each detail into broader themes.
After my description, she opened her mouth slightly but said nothing, gazing thoughtfully at her hands.
Aegis: …Thank you for your story. I was startled many times. The differences between worlds are shocking to me.
Aegis: From what you've shared, I can hear the love you have for your home life. Perhaps not in every detail, but in certain moments it exists.
Aegis: It makes me wonder… whether the Holy City which I naturally agree with seems unreasonable and uninteresting to you.
Aegis: I want to know all of your feelings and desires… that would help me serve you better.
Little Painter: …Aegis, what about your own feelings and desires?
I suddenly asked.
Perhaps it was because the girl in front of me always carried an extreme seriousness and sincerity that I felt… something was missing.
Although it might just be because her goal as an artificial life is so, the body before me felt so real and alive that I couldn't help but ask.
Aegis: I am a container for emotions and desires, responsible for reflecting the world's image.
She suddenly spoke these very formal words, with such certainty and confidence, it was completely different from her usual demeanor.
Aegis: …How strange, those words were…
Aegis: …
Aegis: Please forget what I just said. It seems I said something that wasn't programmed.
Little Painter: …?
I looked at Aegis curiously, and she looked back at me with the same curiosity.
Her eyes were bright and clear, but her expression was confused, like a newborn fawn.
Aegis: Um… is there something on my face?
I shook my head.
Aegis became even more puzzled, her lips slightly parted, as if she wanted to ask something but held back.
In the end, she gave in during this silent staring contest, touching her cheek with her hand and hesitantly looking away.
Aegis: Ah… it's time to rest. I apologize for talking so much.
Aegis: Shall I prepare a bath for you?
Aegis and I rose and went to the bathroom.
By the time I had changed into my nightgown and returned to the bedroom, the moon was high in the sky.
I walked to the window and pulled the curtains closed—
Aegis: Who's there!?
A shadow entered from outside the bedroom door.
He moved swiftly and before I could react, Aegis had already fallen to the ground.
The figure stepped deeper into the room.
I froze, recognizing the face beneath the blue-green veil.
Little Painter: Emerald!?
11. Snooker
Emerald occasionally dreams of standing in the center of a massive billiard table.
Various colored balls pass by him,
each one falling into a pocket.
His field of vision is limited,
he can only see the tip of the cue as it reaches forward each time.
The person taking the shots stands outside the stage,
observing and acting with cold precision.
This person is highly skilled,
Emerald thinks,
because no second opponent ever appears by the table's edge.
All games are cleared in a single stroke by this one person,
repeatedly completing the difficult task of clearing the table with each turn.
Every game starts with a different setup,
but always ends the same way,
like practice.
But to this person, it's no longer a challenge,
Emerald thinks,
he has already witnessed thousands of rounds on the table,
long aware that the suspense of each shot means nothing.
This person has a meticulous strategy,
an accurate foresight,
and executing it is effortless.
Gradually,
Emerald starts to get tired of this dream.
He gives up watching and curiosity,
letting himself drift across the table like sliding into water,
floating in complete relaxation.
He has seen the domino-like collapse,
the red balls scattering in an instant from the impact.
The striker knows the trajectory of each ball by heart,
easily setting off a chain reaction.
He touches each ball,
categorizing them while counting.
Some stay together in pairs,
while others foolishly gather in a cluster, dancing hand in hand, singing.
But no matter what kind of ball they are, their fate is the same — they all end up in a pocket.
He always stops after a bit of drifting,
watching the unfortunate balls chosen,
rolling far away,
making a crisp sound as they fall into one of the six designated pockets.
A roll, or a click, no different from the sound of heads rolling.
He watches this scene with satisfaction, tilting his head casually in his awareness.
Slowly and quietly, each game reaches its conclusion.
As he watches the table gradually clear, a dull calmness washes over him.
But even so, these games still lack meaning.
Because the striker has mastered everything long ago, this is merely mechanical repetition.
Isn't this person bored? Is he really so numb and uninterested?
Emerald looks up and realizes that due to his previous indifference,
his view has become limited to just one corner.
The striker stands silently outside the stage, his cold eyebrows and eyes blurry and indistinct.
Emerald has a vague feeling that every time the person strikes the ball,
he seems to be staring directly at him along the cue.
Thud. A new shot begins precisely.
He starts rolling,
and in the gradually receding view, he sees the striker's gaze shift from him,
focusing instead on the intended pocket.
After each action is executed, this person is always the same — indifferent, unmoved.
Emerald doesn't think too much, letting his senses catch the sounds of balls colliding,
waiting to stop at some point, while the other slides away.
A roll, a click.
The last black ball glides towards its predetermined death.
He lazily watches the scene,
ready to enjoy the world that belongs to him alone.
The large table is now empty.
He looks up to see the striker putting down the cue,
walking away without a glance back.
He catches a glimpse of the silver-white hair flowing behind him,
like moonlight spilling on a lake,
delicate yet untouched by the world.
Once the footsteps fully fade, Emerald stretches his awareness, closing his eyes in contemplation.
No. Something feels wrong.
If the striker is him,
then who is the one left on this motionless death-like table?
He suddenly opens his eyes, looking down at his own blurred body.
Struggling, straining, as if called by a delayed destiny,
he finally sees the last truth.
The one who remains on the table, always sliding on and on.
Every shot is involved, every shot is out of the way,
pushed by external rules and goals to collide with others,
creating one perfect conclusion after another.
He triggers all results, but takes responsibility for none of them.
The white ball, struck by the cue and propelling everything, was him all along.
Little Painter: Emerald!?
If you chose option 1 or option 2 in the prologue
This unexpected encounter was not something I anticipated, and there's no way Emerald could have learned my location so quickly. Yet, here he suddenly stands before me.
If you chose option 3 in the prologue
The person I came here to find now presents himself to me — though in an unexpected form.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Emerald furrowed his brows slightly, glancing around the room after confirming my face.
For once, he didn't speak directly, showing an uncharacteristic distant expression.
But for some reason, I sensed that beneath his annoyance, there was more confusion.
Aegis: Little Painter, please stand behind me, I can still fight!
Little Painter: There's no need to be on guard.
Aegis stood up behind Emerald, ready to fire her weapon, but I raised my hand to stop her.
She froze in place, her eyes shifting between Emerald and me, hesitating before lowering her guard.
If you chose option 1 or option 2 in the prologue
I looked at Emerald, wondering how to begin speaking.
Yet, even more abruptly than his appearance, he asked—
If you chose option 3 in the prologue
I stared at Emerald, feeling a growing anxiety inside.
Little Painter: Emerald, I've finally found you. These past few days—
Emerald: …Why are you here?
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
His brow furrowed deeper, showing an expression of genuine shock.
I was stunned, completely puzzled by his reaction.
Emerald: Little Painter, how are you outside Earth?
Little Painter: ?
Emerald: This doesn't make sense… something must have gone wrong.
I stared at him in astonishment. He turned to the side and lowered his head slightly, as if a thousand questions were stuck in his chest.
His tone when speaking to me was oddly unfamiliar, yet for some reason, it felt like something I'd known before, though I couldn't immediately recall…
Emerald: …No matter what, I'll take you home first.
Little Painter: …??
Now it was my turn to be shocked as he grasped my wrist, not forcefully, but firmly enough that I couldn't shake him off.
This isn't right, my body realized before my mind, and I pulled my hand to my chest slightly, staring at Emerald with a confrontational gaze.
Emerald: …What's wrong? You're not usually like this.
He hesitated as he finished his sentence, the emotion subtle but detectable. After years of knowing him, I quickly recognized it.
I stood my ground more firmly, adopting a stance that could not be questioned.
Little Painter: Emerald, we've already promised to respect each other's independence, whether spoken aloud or silently accepted.
Little Painter: You wouldn't say something like this to me now, would you?
As I spoke, I pointed behind him with my free hand.
Little Painter: And you wouldn't carry the Wheel of Time in its scythe form in a non-combat situation. It's too cumbersome, and you don't like unnecessary trouble.
Little Painter: So, are you really Emerald?
Emerald: ……
I saw a flurry of emotions flash across his face… wonderful expressions.
He looked into my eyes, confusion and surprise alternating.
Finally, he released my hand slowly.
Emerald: I would never make such a bet.
Little Painter: What?
Emerald: Giving up my own experience, gambling on an uncertain outcome with someone I don't fully know… I would never participate in such a foolish wager.
*The "Sword" in title refer to sword from tarot card
Part 0 - The Scales Open
I seem to be dreaming.
In front of me stretches a vast unfamiliar ice field with fierce snowstorms obscuring most of my view.
The warmth of my body is rapidly fading. I lift my hand and notice my fingertips are slowly being covered in something crystal-like and I finally start to feel alarmed.
Why… am I here?
Where is this place?
A broken stone monument emerges from the gap in the snowstorm.
I try to reach out, but I find myself frozen, unable to move.
So strange, so strange…
Why did I fall here… Why so suddenly?
At that moment, the roar of a beast echoes from the sky.
As it lands, the earth trembles for a moment and the ice beneath me cracks.
It's… a dragon…
………………
I open my eyes, finally breaking free from the dream.
I thought I could reach out and grab my phone that was ringing with the alarm, but instead…
Little Painter: Where is this…?
The self-preservation instincts from my long adventures in different worlds immediately make me sit up from bed immediately.
This is a simply decorated yet uniquely styled room, with unfamiliar sigils painted all over.
If this were Earth, even as a movie set, the detail would be too seamless.
I stay silent, holding my breath, waiting for a while, and confirm that the surroundings are very quiet — there seems to be no one else in the room.
I look down and see that I'm still in my usual outfit, without any injuries.
This situation leaves me filled with suspicion.
I move my legs off the bed and sit on the edge, deep in thought.
Some memories slowly surface… What I can be sure of is that the ice field dream was a real experience, just before I passed out.
Before that, I was…
Attempting to study the White City fragment obtained from the Patriarch.
I was trying to study the fragment, which came from a mysterious giant tree that had been cut in half.
I had approached it cautiously and had coexisted with it peacefully for some time, so this sudden transportation was unexpected.
As for what triggered this…
I have a headache. Perhaps the details, like the nightmare are temporarily lost due to extreme cold.
Attempting to study the White City fragment someone had left for me.
I was studying a fragment from the White City, which mysteriously appeared at my doorstep one day.
I had no perception of how it got there, I just opened the door and found it.
Its origins were unmarked, but my intuition told me it was from the White City.
Moreover, I felt certain it was a "gift of gratitude" for completing my journey through the Phantom Crystal City.
This conviction was as clear as if it had been written in black ink on white paper in my mind.
Even though I couldn't recall who had sent the gift, I carefully began my research on it.
The fragment coexisted peacefully with me until…
I have a headache. Perhaps the details, like the nightmare are temporarily lost due to extreme cold.
Tracing a new signal from Emerald.
I was following a new signal from Emerald.
Even after leaving the planet that felt like the tail-end of a cosmic trail, his journey continued.
In the part where I joined him, I often saw his thoughtful and questioning gaze.
I vaguely understood that Edgar's story resonated deeply with some part of Emerald's unknown, even to himself, past.
This past, once set aside, was now resurfacing like shells on a shallow shore, pushed to the surface by the tides of the present.
People are like watchers on the shore, wait and observe silently, standing on the edge of the sea.
Only by stepping forward and exploring the dangerous coast can one realize the vastness of the sea of experience.
Every night, as our souls wandered, I could faintly hear Emerald's footsteps through our subtle, wordless connection.
The sound was slow, deliberate, sometimes leaping, as if opening to the sea, unafraid of the growing waves.
But one day, this distant echo abruptly ceased.
The last message I received was quite clear — he mentioned he had found key clues and gave me the coordinates of his current location.
So, I wasn't worried by his "disappearance." Instead, I quickly prepared for another journey.
I went to the coordinates he provided and then…
…Then I can't remember. I have a headache. Perhaps the extreme cold made me forget some of the time.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
In any case, I must have been swept into a time-space rift and landed on that icy plain.
If what happened in the dream is real, then was it the dragon that saved me?
The last image in my mind is of the dragon curling me up with its tail.
I don't remember feeling pain, so the dragon must have been relatively friendly toward me.
As for where I am now…
I stand up and pace around the room, opening doors to get a sense of the layout.
The whole house is empty, but it's fully equipped for living.
It seems like someone treated me as a guest and let me rest here…
Little Painter: If that's the case…
Then I'll boldly step outside to take a look.
Opening the door
The view in front of me is breathtaking.
A golden-yellow sky envelops a vast plain, with a river flowing from the mist in the distance, winding its way across the land and merging before me.
Next to this clear river is a stunning city of blue and white buildings.
They are built around a massive tree, which acts as their core, branching out with rhythmic elegance.
The enormous canopy covers half the sky and strange lights dance among the leaves.
These bright and vivid colors correspond with the floating stone bridge in front of me, revealing elements of magic.
A guard at the door: You're awake! …Holy Emissary, please proceed to the Divine Court.
Divine Court…?
I nod to the spear-wielding guard, who responds with a warm albeit slightly fearful smile.
With half my suspicions at ease, I calm myself and head in the direction he pointed.
Will I encounter a mythical magic-ruled kingdom?
And as for the title "Holy Emissary," what does that mean…
Here, in the Land Abandoned by God,
Where giant stones fall into the freezing abyss and monsters are born at sunset,
Utilitarians build walls to let sunlight shine on a decayed nation,
Philanthropists heal all beings, seeking to cleanse all impure heretics,
Fated ones slumber in ice caves, swearing to overthrow a thousand years of history with blood,
And the outlanders, indifferent to humanity, follow the law of survival of the fittest.
Now, a stranger arrives, setting off the chain of conflict, bringing with them the scythe of death.
Three forces, three hopes, three desires.
My choice will be…
I arrive at the grand doors of a magnificent building.
The guards are already waiting and lead me inside the palace.
As I enter, I see familiar faces.
I smile confidently but cautiously, anticipating the journey that lies ahead.
1. Divine Court
Rorschach: Is this the Holy Emissary from another world? Lord Abyss, you must be joking.
The two guards escorted me to the grand hall and then left. In this magnificent palace, I stood alone by the door facing numerous attendants and two rulers.
There was no need for them to introduce themselves — the Rorschach of this world sat on the highest throne of the hall, idly stroking the massive sword resting on the armrests beside him.
Alkaid stood on the step below him, as if in a waiting posture. Dressed in a white robe, he looked both graceful and composed, but the hem of his robe swayed as if moved by an invisible breeze.
Beneath the two tiers of steps was another, where no one was standing, but the circular symbols on the ground were similar to those under Alkaid's feet.
I could see that the ones in front represented leaves and a tree trunk, while Alkaid's symbol was obscured.
Speaking of which, on the opposite side of Alkaid, there was another vacant spot with a symbol of a tree crown, likely representing someone not present.
After observing for a moment, I raised my gaze and met the amused expressions of the two.
Rorschach's smile lacked warmth, while Alkaid's eyes narrowed slightly.
Rorschach: Oh~ it's the first time I've seen someone daring to examine this place. At this rate, Lord Abyss's judgment might be a little more reliable.
Alkaid: Your Majesty, you know this is the will of the goddess.
Alkaid: We mortals can only relay the goddess's words. I dare not overstep when it comes to matters of other worlds or the outside.
Alkaid looked into Rorschach's eyes and after finishing, he glanced at me. For some reason, I felt that the slow and cold gaze above his ever-smiling lips was like that of a reptile.
Rorschach: Just a joke, did Lord Abyss take it seriously?
Rorschach: Alright, it seems our esteemed guest is almost confused by this idle chatter. Come here, Miss Holy Emissary, you can ask any question — once you come to me first.
Finally, Rorschach leaned forward slightly, as if tired and beckoned to me.
He lifted the massive sword with one hand and stabbed it into the ground beside the throne with a resounding hum.
Walk up to him as he said
I walked forward calmly.
They called me a "Holy Emissary," so they wouldn't harm me.
After all, if they meant harm, I would've been harmed while unconscious.
As I stepped onto the platform, Rorschach smiled in satisfaction. He propped his head with one hand and spread the other, his eyes bright, like a mischievous child finding a new toy.
Rorschach: If all Holy Emissary from other worlds are as obedient as you, does that prove that the system of the Holy Wood City is indeed great, capable of making everyone in the world submit?
He never took his eyes off me, but his words were directed provocatively at Alkaid.
Alkaid did not reply and I couldn't see his face now, but suddenly, Rorschach stood up and faced me, stepping to the edge of the platform.
I stopped on the steps below him.
Stay still
I stood still, calmly looking at this ruler, conveying through my gaze, "Please show sincerity to a lone visitor like me."
They called me "Holy Emissary," so as long as I didn't provoke them, I shouldn't be harmed.
After all, if they meant harm, I would've been harmed while unconscious.
Faced with my gaze, Rorschach frowned openly, but the lower half of his face let out a soft chuckle.
Rorschach: Interesting.
Suddenly, he stood up and stepped to the edge of the platform.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Rorschach: Miss Holy Emissary, I know you must have many questions right now, so let me answer them one by one.
Rorschach: Yesterday, you were found unconscious by the northern people near the Holy City's border, frostbitten and in a coma.
Rorschach: The priests from that area brought you to the Divine Court and our Lord Abyss healed you and sought an oracle from the goddess.
Rorschach: The result shocked me greatly — the Holy Wood Goddess said you were a visitor from another world, here to experience the local customs and take your knowledge back to your world to forge cross-world friendships.
Rorschach: I could hardly believe it, but Lord Abyss assured me of it.
After all, everyone knows what's outside the Holy City. Aren't all "outsiders" just the foul beings?
Alkaid: There's no need to appear overly dominant in front of outsiders.
Alkaid: After all, scaring the Holy Emissary would not be ideal.
Suddenly, Alkaid interrupted the exaggerated explanation. I looked over and he still wore a smile, but his head tilted at a strange angle like a sword about to be drawn.
He did not use any respectful titles when addressing Rorschach, which was different from earlier.
Little Painter: ...I roughly understand what you're saying. You — how I should address you—
Rorschach: Your Majesty. Your Majesty of the Divine Mandate.
Rorschach raised his head and after speaking, sat back on his throne and crossed his legs.
His expression remained amused, making me feel cold.
Little Painter: And the other person is... the one Your Majesty the Divine Mandate addressed several times, Lord Abyss.
Alkaid: It's fine, you can call me by my name, Alkaid.
Rorschach: You remember his title but not mine. Miss Holy Emissary, you sure know how to show favoritism at the right time.
Little Painter: My apologies, but I wasn't trying to draw attention in any particular way. I always treat people sincerely. Besides, didn't you address him by his title more frequently just now?
Rorschach wrinkled his nose but soon smiled sharply, spreading one hand.
The series of conversations from entering until now made me take a deep breath. Although they seemed to be giving me a hard time, in reality, their words were mostly aimed at each other.
Alkaid: The Abyss represents the roots of the tree, absorbing nutrients and guarding against toxins.
Alkaid: The Holy City is governed by four sages, in addition to me. They include the sage of the trunk, "Solidity," the sage of the branches and leaves, "Prosperity," and the sage of the crown, "Firmament."
Alkaid: Prosperity and Firmament are busy with their duties, so they are not here today.
Alkaid: Solidity refers to the deputies of the churches in various regions. They are the most devout believers, forming a group that makes collective decisions and dedicates their lives to the goddess.
I nodded. Alkaid's expression softened.
Now he gave off a humble impression. Perhaps the coldness only appeared when he was competing with others.
Alkaid: As you can see, besides the Divine Emperor, the Holy City is governed by the four sages, each named after a part of the tree and responsible for corresponding duties.
Alkaid: The tree represents life and the laws of the universe, which are the ideals pursued by the Holy City.
Alkaid: Since the Holy Wood Goddess has granted humanity peace and happiness, we mortals should praise and follow her.
Alkaid began explaining the world to me.
The Holy City, built around the Holy Wood Goddess and its turbulent history.
Years ago, the continent was surrounded by miasma, which gave birth to monsters, making life unbearable for humans.
As humanity faced extinction, they sacrificed blood calling out to the heavens.
The goddess heard their cries and sent dragons to protect humanity.
The dragons fought fiercely, starting from the northern ice fields, gradually expanding human territory.
Where they died in battle, fiery mountains emerged with maple trees growing from the blood of dragons.
The mountains formed a circle, marking the borders of the Holy City.
On the day all the dragons perished, a hollow giant tree suddenly grew in the center, naturally forming a courtyard.
Under the protection of the mountains and the giant tree, monsters and miasma could no longer invade.
Thus, people called the mountains the "Divine Wall" and the giant tree the "Divine Court."
Grateful to the goddess, humanity under her guidance built the Holy City, which stands to this day.
Alkaid: What do you think of this legend, Miss Holy Emissary?
It's a grand and noble myth.
Alkaid: Yes, nowadays everyone in the Holy City from young to old learns the teachings. This helps people remember their origins and contribute to the Holy City.
Alkaid agreed with me, his expression gentle.
But after he spoke, he turned his gaze away, looking toward the empty doors behind me.
Sorry, I don't believe in supernatural forces.
Rorschach: Ah — I had a feeling this might happen. Although Miss Holy Emissary is here for sightseeing, not everyone in the Holy City will necessarily be pleased with the rules.
Rorschach: Lord Abyss, it seems your path ahead will be challenging.
Alkaid: Not at all, preaching for the goddess is my fortune. It's just a pity that His Majesty the Divine Mandate has given up on that chance himself.
I felt like these two were once again at odds.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Little Painter: …Lord Abyss's earlier introduction was helpful to me. Although, I'm still somewhat confused about my situation.
Little Painter: You both said I'm the Holy Emissary from another world… but I don't have such a goal. Strictly speaking, my arrival here was an accident.
I spoke calmly while observing their expressions.
Alkaid remained completely still, but Rorschach's pupils dilated slightly.
However, two seconds passed and no one in the hall spoke.
Little Painter: ...I want to know—
Alkaid: I believe the Holy Emissary can trust in the goddess's will.
Suddenly, Alkaid interrupted my... unclear words.
Alkaid: Since the goddess sees the potential for you to witness the Holy City, I believe this is the right path.
Alkaid: People often find it hard to perceive their own destiny and for that reason, the goddess provides guidance for those who bear a heavenly mandate.
Little Painter: …
I had considered taking on this identity, as it seemed that this is a country where religious doctrine reigns supreme and an outsider like me might not be welcomed.
But if I accept this identity, from their earlier conversation, it seems I could become a pawn in their local power struggles.
…Though right now, there aren't many other clues. going with the flow seems like the best way to free up some mental space for thinking.
Little Painter: Alright, then... I'll leave it to Lord Abyss to guide me.
When I said "Lord Abyss," Alkaid deliberately frowned.
Little Painter: ...Alkaid.
Since you're so polite, I won't hold back — besides, it's hard to suppress the reflex of calling a familiar face by name.
I sighed helplessly and Alkaid couldn't help but chuckle.
I glanced at him in confusion — he still had a friendly demeanor — he quickly understood what I meant and replied.
Alkaid: I see you still seem bewildered. I find it both amusing and somewhat humbling. Please follow me, introducing the Holy City to you is part of my duty.
As he spoke, he strode down the steps, but his footsteps made no sound, like a ghost in a floating white robe.
I paused for a moment, then realized I was falling behind, so I hurried to catch up.
Little Painter: I'll leave it to you then.
He swiftly "floated" out the door and just as I reached the entrance, I turned back.
Rorschach was still seated on the highest throne, not standing, but staring at me with a piercing gaze.
Little Painter: Your Majesty of the Divine Mandate, I'll—
Rorschach: Tell the Holy Emissary from another world. The goddess has issued new orders.
He suddenly spoke, looking at me with a loud serious tone.
This was surprising, as any divine decree should be rare and revered, usually requiring some rituals and interpretations before being declared.
However, Rorschach just sat there for a moment and then began delivering the oracle to me.
I initially thought it was a capricious joke from the emperor, but to my surprise, even Alkaid stopped, slowly turning back to gaze at Rorschach attentively.
Rorschach: Little Painter, familiarize yourself with the Holy City in three days, observe everything through your eyes, ears, and heart, and leave no detail unnoticed.
Rorschach: On the first day, visit the streets and alleys, and on the third day, return to the Divine Court...
Suddenly, his voice cut off.
I was puzzled, but then I saw Rorschach's face showing a look of surprise and realization, with an intense light flickering in his eyes.
Rorschach: ...On the second day, visit the royal garden to examine the dragon's remains.
Little Painter: ...?
After stating the tasks for the first and third days, the second day was suddenly inserted, which seemed a bit odd in order.
But I didn't think too much of it and imitating the gatekeepers earlier, gave the most respectful response I could.
Alkaid: ...Oh?
A soft murmur sounded near my ear. I glanced at Alkaid out of the corner of my eye and he still maintained a calm and humble demeanor.
Rorschach: The oracle is finished. Little Painter, do you need me to repeat it?
Little Painter: I've already memorized it. Thank you, Your Majesty.
I bowed to him, expressing both my gratitude for the oracle and my farewell.
Rorschach: Little Painter. So that's your name.
Rorschach raised his eyes and looked at me, suddenly breaking into a smile.
He placed both hands on the armrests of the throne and awkwardly opened his shoulders.
Everything came to a sudden stop and I stared at him, trying to offer some sort of response.
However, he then turned sideways, inspecting his right palm.
In it was a small blue emblem, which he absentmindedly tossed in the air and caught.
Rorschach: ...Go.
After repeating it three times, he caught the emblem firmly in his hand and spoke.
I bowed to him once more, then turned and left.
Soon, Alkaid and I exited the grand hall and stepped outside.
The sunlight was just right, almost piercing through the thin layer of skin on his face, making it seem as though his bones might show.
Only then did I notice that his skin seemed naturally pale, yet this face could still manage a gentle and elegant smile.
Alkaid: The three-day schedule starts today. Now, Holy Emissary, please follow me to your residence. Along the way, we can visit the streets and alleys.
Little Painter: Wasn't I staying at the place we just passed through?
I asked, looking back in the direction we had come from, but there were no buildings in sight.
Alkaid: To facilitate travel, the Holy City is equipped with teleportation arrays in various locations. Some can create the illusion that you're walking, but in reality, you've already crossed space.
Alkaid: Compared to the temporary array I specially prepared for you this morning, there's another regular route leading to the Holy Emissary's residence. Please follow me.
2. The Flower Giver
Alkaid led me to a teleportation array.
As I noticed when I first arrived at the Divine Court, all magical devices here seemed to be embedded with crystals.
A mage with a staff stood guard by the array. Seeing us, he bowed respectfully and raised his staff with Alkaid's permission.
The crystal at the top of the staff resonated with the one embedded in the ground. I felt a cool current wash over me and soon, the scenery before me changed to a new location.
We arrived at the end of a district, where various block-like buildings spread out across the ground.
The residential buildings were uniform in height and style, with only the triangular roofs giving the landscape a sense of rhythm.
In the distance, a spire — or perhaps a group of churches with pointed roofs — faintly emerged from the mist.
I could imagine that if one looked down from above, they would see a ring of modest residential buildings surrounding the towering churches, like protectors around their guardians.
Girl with the fruit basket: Holy Wood Goddess bless! Freshly picked fruits this morning — only ten copper coins per bag!
Old man running a stall: Winter is coming! My clothes are windproof and warm — wear them and you won't get sick…
Woman vendor: Do you need a mirror? Check your appearance before worship — the Goddess will surely see your devotion.
Woman vendor: This mirror not only reflects dirt but also warns you against falling into luxury.
The streets were clean, lined with many small stalls.
People shouted and haggled, their voices loud but not noisy. There was an astonishing harmony among them, always leaving a narrow path for pedestrians to pass through.
If this is typical of a small market in the Holy City, it's clear the city has self-sufficient productivity and good order.
Though the variety of goods was relatively limited — many stalls sold nearly identical items — and each vendor's display could barely fill a shoulder-width table.
The simple and neat clothing of the people, along with their lean and slightly sunburnt physiques, indicated that the city's production was just enough to sustain its people.
I retracted my gaze from my observations, keeping a steady pace.
Alkaid walked beside me in sync, occasionally giving me a gentle smile when I looked his way.
His gaze was similar to mine, calmly observing the people since we arrived.
Yet, for some reason I felt he was sometimes distracted, as if thinking about something far beyond the crowd — something that might cool his smile.
Uniquely dressed vendor: Fish from the northern cold seas. Only those with outstanding contributions can buy.
Uniquely dressed vendor: The Goddess's crystals are precious. So everyone, please cherish them.
A distinctively dressed merchant stood at a crossroads ahead with a taller and grander stall than the others, attracting a line of people.
I approached and saw he was selling dozens of fish, all lively and jumping on the wooden table.
There was no water or ice — just a thin layer of mist surrounding them.
Little Painter: Is this… magic preservation?
I quickly found traces of magic. In the merchant's hand, a crystal slowly emitted light creating the mist that surrounded the fish.
This crystal was similar to the one used in the teleportation array earlier. Though the vendor used it with very low power, it still couldn't hide its brilliance.
The residents in line chose their fish one by one, the vendor announcing the price and the buyers handing over the corresponding currency.
The transaction at this stall was very quiet — almost too solemn — each person bowing their head slightly as they handed over and received items, while the vendor behind a veil looked down at them.
Uniquely dressed vendor: …Hmm?
Suddenly, the hand holding the crystal lifted much higher.
Only then did I look away and notice the vendor staring coldly at me.
He scrutinized my clothing, his suspicion deepening.
He abruptly raised his hand, signaling the people in line to stop, then stepped down from the stall, walking straight toward me.
Uniquely dressed vendor: Daring to stand out and covet the Goddess's crystal—
Alkaid: Enforcer, she is not the enemy of the Goddess.
Alkaid's voice rang out and the surroundings instantly fell silent.
The "vendor" whom Alkaid addressed as "Enforcer" turned his head at the sound, as if noticing him for the first time with a look of surprise.
The crowd also looked at Alkaid and I heard a few murmured gasps, all calling him "Lord Abyss."
This scene seemed familiar to Alkaid. He gave a simple smile to the onlookers and refocused his attention between me and the Enforcer.
Alkaid: Allow me to introduce her, Little Painter is a Holy Emissary from another world and the Goddess is already aware of her presence.
Alkaid: It's foreseeable that the Holy Emissary will be visiting various places in the Holy City over the next few days, so misunderstandings like today's are inevitable.
The Enforcer respectfully listened to Alkaid's words, his expression deeply reverent.
Though still visibly startled, he quickly knelt before me, head lowered.
Enforcer: Holy Emissary, I deeply apologize for my rudeness earlier.
Enforcer: I will spread the word of your arrival to my brothers and sisters to ensure you are not misunderstood again.
It seemed that this Enforcer was part of the "Solidity," one of the Four Sages introduced earlier in the Divine Court, representing the tree's trunk.
No wonder he was so different from the other vendors. I imagine the transactions he oversaw were more like church-regulated control over the regions rather than simple commerce.
Alkaid: Thank you very much. I should also warn the Holy Emissary to avoid similar misunderstandings in the future.
Alkaid: In the Holy City, crystals are the most powerful, versatile, and precious material, directly representing the Goddess's blessings.
Little Painter: I understand, so that's why this brother was so wary of me earlier.
I addressed him using the "brothers and sisters" term that the Enforcers used and bent my knees slightly mimicking a medieval curtsy from Earth.
This seemed quite effective, as he nodded and stood up.
Little Painter: From now on, I won't stare at any crystals… and desecrate the Goddess.
I raised my voice slightly, speaking to everyone watching. As I glanced at Alkaid, he nodded slightly with approval in his eyes.
The conflict was thus resolved. The Enforcer returned to his stall, waving the crowd back into place.
Alkaid: The conflict was resolved quickly, it seems the Holy Emissary is quick-witted.
Little Painter: Thank you for helping me out.
Alkaid: Not at all. It's my fault for not warning you earlier, causing you distress.
Our conversation was filled with polite exchanges. Just as I wondered whether to continue with the formalities, Alkaid slightly turned and moved aside from in front of me.
His gaze drifted, calm and unreadable, like a fish silently swimming in the deep sea.
I followed his steps, continuing to walk forward.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps stopped behind us.
Girl with the fruit basket: Lord Abyss, please accept this!
We turned around to see the same fruit vendor girl standing in the middle of the road, offering a bouquet of flowers to Alkaid.
Girl with the fruit basket: I picked these fresh this morning. My mom says they can cheer people up!
Girl with the fruit basket: And... and it was thanks to you that my mom recovered from her illness… We are truly grateful, so please accept this bouquet!
Alkaid: …
Girl with the fruit basket: B-because, Mom said you always look busy and in the Healing Spirit Institute, you're always frowning...
Alkaid: Thank you.
Alkaid, who had been silently gazing at the girl without responding, suddenly reached out and took the flowers.
Girl with the fruit basket: Great! ...Sorry for disturbing you. Goodbye, Lord Abyss!
The girl quickly ran back to her stall, as if the gesture had taken all her courage.
After the shy girl ran off, Alkaid stood in silence, still holding the bouquet as if unsure what to do with it.
The morning sun, breaking through the mist, cast a soft yet solitary shadow of him on the ground.
Alkaid: …Holy Emissary, let's go.
We continued moving in our original direction.
Along the way, I followed up on what the girl had said and learned more about the Holy City from Alkaid.
As he mentioned before, his "Abyss" represented the roots of the tree, specifically tied to healing and saving lives.
More accurately, his Healing Spirit Institute was an institution focused on life research, functioning as both a research center and a hospital.
The subjects of healing were tied to the so-called "miasma" mentioned in legends.
While Alkaid didn't elaborate further, I confirmed that this "miasma" still existed, corrupting people even today.
Alkaid: And here is the headquarters of the Healing Spirit Institute. I didn't want to bring you here, but since you insisted, I had no choice.
It sounds like I forced you…
I just want to understand your work.
Alkaid smiled but didn't respond to me.
At this time, it was already close to noon and many people were coming and going at the entrance of the Healing Spirit Institute.
What caught my attention, however, was that some of these people didn't enter the gate but instead approached a vertical box on the side, dropped something inside, and then left.
A middle-aged man covered in patches: Goddess above, please approve my application. This idea will surely succeed this time, please believe me!
He held a piece of paper, bowed several times in front of the box while clutching it, and then placed it into the left side of the box.
After that, he quickly strode away. His face as he turned, looked thin and pale, as if he hadn't eaten for a long time.
A middle-aged woman covered in wounds: I seek your forgiveness, Goddess… my wealth exceeded the balance… I shouldn't have… used my new invention to speculate and expand my business…
Her clothes were clean but torn in many places and the tips of her hair peeking out from under her cloak were stained with blood.
Her expression was gloomy, her eyes empty as she muttered her confession. She threw a bag of money into the right side of the box, closed her eyes, and left with traces of tears still visible on her face.
Afterward, several more people repeated similar actions and I gradually understood the pattern.
The poor placed their wishes — possibly self-recommendations — into the left side of the wooden box, while the rich, bearing wounds, placed money for atonement into the right side.
Little Painter: Is this… robbing the rich to give to the poor?
I stood under the shade of a tree across from the Healing Spirit Institute, pondering for a while before asking Alkaid. He had been standing there with me, politely and without interruption the entire time.
So, I directly questioned him and he gave me a rather intriguing expression.
He looked at me with a faint smile, his brows relaxed but the muscles between his eyes slightly tensed, as if saying, "You still remember me, huh?"
Alkaid: The Holy Emissary is not only quick-witted but also observant.
Alkaid: This is one of the ways the Holy City achieves equality, based on the Goddess's laws, to give everyone equal opportunities and punish the greedy.
Little Painter: Equality?
I thought of the sights I had just witnessed on the way — those districts indeed appeared equal.
Under the shining sun, people shared the same food, clothing, and shelter. I didn't see anyone in rags, nor did I see anyone dripping with gold and jewels.
Alkaid: The Goddess loves all people equally. She wishes to bestow the greatest happiness on humanity.
Alkaid: There are no strong oppressing the weak, nor envy and ambition sparked by inequality. People live harmoniously, peacefully, and contentedly.
From the perspective of someone from Earth, this sounded a bit like a fairy tale.
But judging by what I had just seen, it seemed the Holy City had really achieved this.
This is an impressive construction.
Little Painter: This is quite an impressive system… everyone's survival needs are met and there's no unrest caused by wealth disparity.
I sincerely praised it, but Alkaid didn't respond right away. He looked into my eyes and after a long pause, finally spoke.
Alkaid: Thank you for acknowledging it.
There was a weight to his words that I didn't quite understand.
Is the Holy City really this perfect?
Little Painter: It sounds incredibly ideal… is the Holy City really this perfect?
My question was a bit provocative, but Alkaid didn't seem angry.
Alkaid: People only believe what they see with their own eyes. The Holy Emissary hasn't seen much of the Holy City yet, so you can take your time before reaching a conclusion.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
After that, I asked Alkaid to take me inside the Healing Spirit Institute.
3. Healing Spirit Institute
We first arrived on the first floor of the Healing Spirit Institute.
The decor resembled that of a hospital. The space was open, with bright and clean windows. Numerous beds were lined up on either side and the sheets and accompanying equipment were all spotless.
Many healers hurried around the hall, some checking patients while others shouted brief and accurate instructions after making diagnoses. Everything was well-organized.
Alkaid: Are there any new suspected infections today?
Healer at the Healing Spirit Institute: Yes, there are fourteen, which is an increase from last week.
Alkaid entered the hall, quickly scanning the room before asking the healer at the entrance.
The healer's brow was furrowed, but upon seeing Alkaid, his expression relaxed. He walked briskly toward Alkaid, respectfully and anxiously handing him a clipboard as he gave his report.
Alkaid: …
Alkaid: I see. Well, as usual, those on the night shift can wait for me.
Healer at the Healing Spirit Institute: Understood.
The healer nodded and hurried away.
As soon as I entered, I realized that this was a busy and serious place.
So, I simply followed Alkaid without making any further requests, while he, familiar with the surroundings, gathered information from everyone as we moved forward.
Soon, we reached a staircase at the back of the hall and began to climb.
After a few floors, we arrived at a level with a different design from the hospital-like facilities below.
Although the layout was similar, the decor here resembled more of a research institute.
Many devices and instruments were neatly arranged, most of them embedded with crystals.
The crystals in the equipment currently in use emitted a bright glow from within, as though flames were burning inside them.
The scholars at their desks worked quietly and even those who noticed Alkaid merely nodded silently in greeting before returning to their work.
Alkaid led me to a corner.
I noticed that, aside from the research stations, there were no places to sit.
His expression relaxed slightly as he stood by the window, gazing into the distance.
I followed his gaze toward the direction of the Divine Court.
Alkaid: Everyone in the Healing Spirit Institute sees their work as a noble ideal.
Alkaid: The Goddess assigns a suitable job to each person, but they aren't ordered to come here. This is a place people can only enter by applying voluntarily.
I picked up on a detail in that statement — the Goddess assigns each person a job.
Of course, this didn't seem to be a strict order, as the people here hadn't followed it.
It appeared that the people here lived between the Goddess's will and their own desires.
With that in mind, I suddenly asked.
Little Painter: What is Alkaid's ideal?
It was as if he had heard a question that had never existed before. He turned, surprised.
I didn't think my tone had implied doubt, yet his eyelids tensed slightly.
He stared at me with a complicated expression, as though he were trying to see through me — or something else entirely.
Eventually, he slowly curved his lips into a smile.
Alkaid: A world free of disease.
Little Painter: A world free of disease?
I was slightly shocked and met his gaze. There was no hint of a joke in his eyes.
His expression, which had been complicated just a moment before, now settled into something light but cruel.
But soon, he lifted his head and looked at the busy scholars.
Alkaid: Isn't that what the Healing Spirit Institute is working toward?
Alkaid: We help people prevent and detect the erosion of the miasma. For those who are unfortunate enough to be infected, we do our utmost to eliminate the disease or help them find release.
Alkaid: The suffering caused by miasma extends far beyond just the infected person. The Holy City has been peaceful for many years now and the people today probably can't even imagine the true horror of the miasma.
He laughed at himself, not inviting me or waiting, but slowly walking deeper into the hall.
I pondered for a moment and followed.
Little Painter: Is the late stage of miasma sickness… truly terrifying?
Would people rather choose "release" than live alongside it?
Little Painter: Does it cause infections among family members and neighbors? Or lead patients to attack them? …Oh, right, in the legends, it was said that monsters emerged from the miasma…
Alkaid: Those monsters still roam the desert beyond the Holy City's borders. If not for the divine wall that isolates the world of miasma outside, peace and happiness would be shattered quickly.
Little Painter: If that's the case… then for the people of the Holy City, is the world outside the wall all dangerous?
Little Painter: With such thorough miasma checks, people… wouldn't venture outside the divine wall, would they?
Alkaid slowly nodded.
Alkaid: Crossing the divine wall and allowing the miasma a chance to infiltrate is the greatest crime under the Goddess's laws.
Alkaid: Even if ten thousand of those who leave are lucky enough to survive the monsters, they would still face the harshest punishment upon returning here.
Those words sent a chill down my spine.
Little Painter: I originally thought the legends were just legends and that the monsters were like the dragons said to have died on the borders — no longer existing in modern times…
Hearing this, Alkaid paused for a moment.
Alkaid: Monsters exist and perhaps dragons do as well?
Alkaid: Is the Holy Emissary deliberately joking with me? —The creature that saved you on the ice field was a giant dragon, so how could you believe dragons don't exist?
Little Painter: …Huh?
As far as I remember, I hadn't mentioned this to anyone… Rorschach had told me that I was "found unconscious at the border by people from the north."
Alkaid: Oh, I overheard while you were unconscious. You were shouting "dragon." I guessed that at that time, you were probably reliving what had happened before you passed out in your dreams.
After Alkaid said this, he resumed walking.
The explanation seemed reasonable. After all, Rorschach had said that after I was brought to the Divine Court, it was Alkaid who treated me.
Thinking about this, I examined my limbs — there were no signs of frostbite or any scratches that might have occurred. I quickened my pace to walk beside Alkaid.
Little Painter: I forgot to thank you earlier. Thank you for healing me.
Alkaid: Just doing my duty. It was the Goddess who wanted to save you.
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his back straight and his head slightly raised.
Except for the occasional changes in his expression, his every movement was calm and dignified, like… a spokesperson for god.
Little Painter: …Alkaid, you've talked a lot about the Goddess's will and serving a deity that protects humanity is indeed noble and respectable.
Little Painter: But, aside from what you call your duty, is there anything you personally want to do?
This time, Alkaid turned his head.
For a moment, I thought he wanted to stop me from continuing to ask, but when I looked closely into his eyes, there was no sharpness there.
Alkaid: If the Holy Emissary is interested in me, there's no need to ask in such a roundabout way.
Little Painter: …Huh?
Was he implying that I wanted to ask if healing me was his own desire?
How did he even come to that conclusion!?
I was momentarily stunned, but he smiled knowingly and tilted his head slightly, then continued walking ahead.
Soon, Alkaid finished showing me around this floor.
Actually, each room was quite similar to the hall we had just visited.
Seeing that I had become familiar with the space and was visibly more relaxed, Alkaid discreetly indicated it was time to head back and I nodded and followed.
However, at the end of a corridor, I suddenly noticed a door we hadn't entered yet.
Little Painter: What's this room?
Alkaid hadn't intentionally avoided it, so I asked.
He paused, silently contemplating for a moment, probably considering whether to take me inside.
Alkaid: It's the storage area for artificial life forms. They're still in the trial phase.
Little Painter: Artificial life? …The technology — or rather, the magic — of the Holy City is truly impressive.
I quickly corrected my usual way of speaking. In a country where faith and magic were intertwined, the study of life must be classified under the domain of magic.
The many crystals I had seen embedded in devices throughout this building also supported that notion.
However, I was somewhat surprised that while the general populace lived in a state of basic survival, the life magic here had already advanced to the point of creating life.
Little Painter: May I… take a look at the artificial life area?
Alkaid looked at me. One second. I caught a fleeting hint of caution or warning on his face.
But after a second, he smiled and stepped aside to let me pass through the door.
Alkaid: Go ahead.
4. Aegis
This is an extremely dark room, with no signs of activity inside.
The only faint light comes from crystals positioned high above, spaced evenly, casting slight reflections of the storage chamber below.
The vague silhouettes within the chamber appear humanoid, which feels eerie. I can only hope that what Alkaid told me is true — that these are artificial beings and not something else.
However, when I reached the center of the room, I saw the form beneath the brightest crystal.
Little Painter: …!
It was a clean, sharp-featured female face.
It — no, she — was sleeping, her body covered in a white dress.
Before she is awakened, she may not possess life.
Little Painter: Can I take her with me?
Alkaid: …
Alkaid: As long as it doesn't violate the Goddess's laws, anything the Holy Emissary desires should be given.
Alkaid: However, if I may ask, why do you want an incomplete artificial life?
Indeed, on our way here, Alkaid had given me a rough introduction to the situation of artificial life in the Holy City.
He said that attempts to create artificial life were made to bring more happiness to the citizens of the Holy City. These beings can naturally sense human desires and work tirelessly to fulfill them, but it's still in the experimental stage.
The dolls here, "apart from this goal and basic knowledge, are like blank slates" — those were Alkaid's exact words and it sparked an idea in me.
I had already felt that this is a country where every word and action must adhere to doctrine. I am alone here and I likely won't make any friends in the future...
Because I am an outsider in this strict order and to protect themselves from the miasma that seals off the borders, the Holy City has historically been accustomed to excluding foreigners.
In that case, a "blank slate" artificial life… might be my best companion and support.
Little Painter: Alkaid, I feel very lonely here. I'm not familiar with your doctrines and I have no close friends or ideals to share with others
Little Painter: Plus, I'll need some time to adapt to food, clothing, and living arrangements. Though you might assign me a maid, maids strictly follow the doctrine too and I'm afraid of unintentionally violating any rules and causing conflict.
Little Painter: So—
Alkaid: Lonely...
Alkaid didn't argue or try to dissuade me. He merely latched onto my first word, mulling it over alone.
Alkaid: Do you feel like you're standing on the edge of an abyss here, with only sharp needles to tread on, pricking your feet as you go?
I was surprised. The words were so abrupt.
But Alkaid smiled softly, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of crystal light, like a firefly on the verge of being swallowed by the endless night.
Alkaid: I understand. I will send her to you. Very soon.
That night, Alkaid escorted me to my residence.
I brought the artificial life with me and bid him farewell at the door.
The "abyss" of the Holy City, the roots of the trees that absorb nutrients and prevent disease...
There was something secretive and stubborn about this person, but I couldn't quite see it clearly yet.
I closed the door, having already dismissed the maids.
Just as I was about to sit on the sofa, I realized the girl in the white dress was still standing at the entrance.
Artificial Life: ……
Little Painter: You — just come in.
Artificial Life: …
She stood there blankly. For a moment, I wondered if she couldn't understand me, but then she took a step forward in response to my instruction—
And stopped again.
Artificial Life: I have entered the room.
Little Painter: Ah…
She seemed only capable of rigidly following commands, which gave me a bit of a headache.
I thought for a moment and simply took her hand, leading her to the sofa.
Little Painter: You can sit down.
Artificial Life: Yes.
Little Painter: What's your name?
Artificial Life: Artificial life does not have a name. Please give me a name.
Little Painter: …
Little Painter: What is your understanding of yourself?
Artificial Life: I am your guardian and will protect you to the death.
Little Painter: Then...
Little Painter: Aegis.
Aegis: …?
Little Painter: Aegis, that will be your name. It's the shield of the supreme god in legend, thick like the clouds in the sky, capable of blocking all external harm.
Aegis: Ae-gis…
Aegis: Understood.
The girl nodded firmly, her posture so precise it reminded me of a machine.
Little Painter: Alright, Aegis, I'll be asking you a lot of questions from now on. I hope you can use the knowledge of the Holy City to answer me.
I reconfirmed some information through Aegis.
The general situation of the Holy City matched what I had already observed, such as the history that everyone must recite, the strict prevention of miasma, and the measures taken to seal the borders.
Significant life aspects like occupations and wealth are all regulated by the goddess's law.
In this structured order, job classifications are scarce, nearly all focused on basic survival and the consolidation of doctrine.
As a "painter" like myself, I could only use my brush to depict the doctrine or create practical propaganda.
The citizens of the Holy City are simple, without the kind of crimes that involve encroaching on one another.
At the same time, they lead unadorned lives. Their clothes have no extra patterns and most meals consist of salted bread and meat.
This lifestyle doesn't seem to match the Holy City's productivity — when I raised this doubt, Aegis explained that all their advanced resources are devoted to vital life research.
That's the same as what I saw in the Healing Spirit Institute.
Aegis: As you know, the Holy City is guided and protected by His Majesty the Divine Mandate and four sages, who are the goddess's spokespersons.
Aegis: His Majesty the Divine Mandate receives divine oracles from the goddess and the sages are responsible for carrying them out.
Little Painter: …Wait, His Majesty the Divine Mandate listens to oracles? Does that mean the goddess really exists and speaks to him from time to time?
Aegis: Of course, the goddess truly exists.
Aegis became serious, frowning. She strictly adhered to the knowledge she had but didn't treat my "ignorance" with bias.
Aegis: His Majesty the Divine Mandate's family has a long history, said to date back to before the Miasma War. They called upon the goddess to help save humanity and that duty has been passed down to this day.
Aegis: The only law in the Holy City, the Goddess's Law, is a collection of oracles heard by generations of emperors.
I nodded, signaling that I understood her explanation.
So, the process of this country's order is: His Majesty the Divine Mandate listens to the oracles — laws are formed — the sages carry them out — the people follow them.
This process seems strange because it appears to lack any bottom-up interaction.
I was thinking this over as Aegis continued her explanation.
Aegis: Every citizen of the Holy City must strictly follow what I've introduced. You, Holy Emissary, are not currently bound by these rules, but I still suggest you familiarize yourself with the culture of the Holy City as soon as possible.
Little Painter: Alright. By the way, I'd prefer if you call me by my name, Little Painter, and you're free to disregard cultural restrictions when addressing me.
Aegis: Yes, Little Painter.
Aegis placed her hands on her knees, turned her upper body 30 degrees and said to me seriously,
Aegis: Well then, Little Painter, I've observed that it's time for you to sleep. Shall I help you rest?
I was curiously observing her when she stood up from beside me and faced me directly.
Little Painter: Hmm… Sure, could you check the bedroom for any potential hazards? I'll go take a bath and join you in the bedroom later.
Aegis: Understood.
I carried my pajamas out of the bedroom and, under her strict gaze, exited the room — she had immediately stood at the bedroom door after hearing my command.
I glanced back nervously at her and she looked back just as openly, until she disappeared from my line of sight. Now, I had no idea whether she was still staring at me.
I quickly washed, dressed, and took a deep breath before walking into the spot where her gaze had been interrupted earlier.
Aegis: Have you finished bathing?
Aegis was standing perfectly still, not having moved a single step, but now she was holding a small creature the size of a mouse.
It was squealing wildly and I was startled.
Aegis: A rodent creature, hiding in the wall near the balcony leading to the bedroom. I have captured it alive and sealed the hole permanently. Do you wish to dispose of it?
Little Painter: …Yes!
Aegis: Understood.
Aegis lowered her hand, placing the rodent on the floor. She squatted down like a child, stretching her hands out toward it.
The cold air released from her fingertips instantly created ice crystals in the air. The poor little creature twitched twice before losing its life.
Frozen in a ridiculous pose with its claws extended, Aegis picked it up and holding the glistening body in both hands as she stood up.
Aegis: Perhaps it could also be considered... an ice sculpture.
I slowly walked up to her. She shifted to hold the shiny corpse in one hand, slightly offering it forward.
Aegis: May I give it to you?
I don't really need something like this…
Little Painter: It seems I don't really need something like this...
Perhaps my expression looked a bit awkward because Aegis appeared disheartened.
She looked at the "ice sculpture" in her hand, nodded quietly.
Soon after, magic gathered in her hands again and the rodent turned into fine dust, floating away from her palms. She gathered the remnants neatly and tossed them into the trash bin.
Aegis: Understood, you don't like ice sculptures. I will remember that.
Uh, actually, the issue isn't about ice sculptures… but explaining that to her now seems difficult.
Aegis: I've already disinfected the area, so please rest assured. Next, you need to sleep.
Alright, thank you.
Little Painter: Alright... thank you. Please hand it over.
I extended my hand and Aegis smiled joyfully.
Although this couldn't be considered a proper ice sculpture and most people wouldn't treat it as a gift, her desire to give me a present intrigued me.
She carefully handed it to me, waiting for me to take it.
Little Painter: Hmm, thank you...
I took the strange gift in my hand and even examined it for a moment.
Its cold surface felt surprisingly pleasant to touch, but then another thought struck me.
Little Painter: Uh, it won't melt, will it?
Aegis paused for a second.
Aegis: It will, although slower than regular ice from nature.
Aegis: However, if you like, I can maintain its temperature. I will check it every two hours.
I couldn't help but chuckle but quickly regained my composure.
With sincerity, I walked into the bedroom and placed the "ice sculpture" on the table near the foot of the bed.
You wanted to give me a gift?
Little Painter: So... you wanted to give me a gift?
Aegis: I learned from common knowledge that this is how humans express fondness. If you don't mind, you can keep it.
Aegis looked at me, very serious.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Little Painter: Well then... good night.
Little Painter: ...
Aegis: ...
Aegis: May I ask, would it make you uncomfortable if I lay beside you?
In the darkness, Aegis lay perfectly straight beside me. I had told her to do so when I couldn't bear seeing her standing next to the bedside table any longer.
Little Painter: Yes, I want you to feel more comfortable too. You don't need to keep your arms and legs so stiff like chopsticks...
Aegis: May I ask, what are chopsticks?
Little Painter: Uh...
I tried to recall something common in the Holy City, but nothing suitable came to mind.
At that moment, the mattress subtly dipped and Aegis's voice came closer to my ear.
Aegis: I seem to have made things difficult for you. There's no need for you to feel embarrassed.
Aegis: I will try to position myself as you suggested... like this, is it?
I turned my head slightly.
Though I couldn't see her eyes, I could sense her movements through the mattress.
She hesitated, bending her legs and curling them slightly, with her hands loosely clenched into fists, resting beside me.
I didn't say anything. She cooperated with the silence of the night.
I relaxed, ready to conclude the first day of this new journey.
Little Painter: ...
Perhaps after I had fallen asleep, in the quiet, Aegis gently held my hand.
Aegis: Goodnight, Little Painter. I will always protect you.
5. The Dragon's Shadow in the Dream
Where does the dragon's shadow in the dream come from?
A dream.
Vague images emerge from the depths of memory only to vanish again, like bubbles on the surface of water.
The icy wind from the frozen plains hits me, making me shiver and freeze, and at that moment, a massive dragon descends from the sky.
Dragon?: Who are you?
That voice is...
I try my best to reach out toward the shadow of the dragon.
However, the dream suddenly flips, and dark waters surge up from beneath the icy surface.
When I look again, the dragon now covered in wounds and lunges toward me.
Why would I have such a thought? Because of Fei's death?
Patriarch: Your connection to this world has been severed. It's time to seek new life elsewhere.
When exactly did the teacher die?
Past Little Painter: ……
And she, little painter
……
He woke up on the throne.
The hall was still empty, except for a pale purple figure standing respectfully, waiting to report to him.
Patriarch: …Did I fall asleep again?
Falling asleep on the throne, sinking into dreams he couldn't control — he had long grown accustomed to this.
One meaning of "Patriarch" is "Shepherd of Souls," and the best way for him to lock onto and control souls was through dreams.
He wielded dreams as weapons. If you use a weapon too often, it begins to control you.
Thus, his dreams became a vague and unknown realm, where even he didn't know what he would encounter next time he slept.
So, he began to loathe sleep.
He was used to sitting here high above, passing time with boring observations and reports.
Ruixi: Sir, the inspection of Fu Island is complete. The report will take about twenty minutes…
Patriarch: Speak.
Ruixi, his subordinate, looked up somewhat surprised at Patriarch, as if sensing he had forgotten something.
Ruixi: Uh, the Cardinal said there were still some things she was concerned about, so she stayed behind and didn't return with me.
Patriarch: ……
Right, I did forget something, Patriarch thought.
That child — the one named Little Painter who he brought back here fifteen years ago — was usually the first to report respectfully.
But today, she separated from Deacon Ruixi, saying there were things she needed to investigate.
Patriarch: There's no need to report on Fu Island. I'll hear it from her later.
Patriarch: Tell me what she has been up to these past three days, in full detail.
Ruixi: Yes, sir — but don't tell her I snitched.
Patriarch: Oh?
Patriarch raised an eyebrow slightly — ever since the child was young, he had Ruixi by her side to assist her. Ruixi was his eyes, and they all understood this. Yet now, Ruixi joked about "snitching."
Patriarch: Has she caused trouble again?
Ruixi: Not quite trouble, more like… upholding justice.
Ruixi skillfully recounted little painter's activities over the past three days.
Patriarch: Understood. You may leave. I'll wait for her here.
Ruixi: Yes, sir~
Ruixi's figure disappeared outside the door.
Patriarch relaxed completely, leaning against the throne as if suddenly very tired.
His gaze swept across the hall and eventually returned to the armrest of the throne, where a metronome shaped like a musical instrument stood silent.
???: Your Holiness.
The call made him withdraw his hand from the metronome.
Little Painter was standing in the center of the hall, looking up at him from afar with a subtle smile, her eyes as clear as a mirror.
Little Painter: Your Holiness, I'm late and deserve punishment.
Patriarch: What punishment do you think you deserve?
The Pope stepped off the platform briskly, walking up to me.
I am the orphan the Pope took in fifteen years ago—
I can't remember exactly what happened then, only the sounds of people fighting and bleeding.
The Pope said I never truly belonged to this blue planet.
That day, after my parents passed away, my connection to Earth also dissolved.
The Pope recited something twice over the bloodstains in my home, then took me away.
For the next fifteen years, he raised me like a father.
Patriarch: Ruixi said you were interested in Fu Island. I thought maybe some boy was keeping you there.
Little Painter: Your Holiness speaking in jest. You know I would never.
The Pope stopped about thirty centimeters from me, smiling as he scrutinized me.
His gaze brushed over my cheeks, shoulders, fingers, and hem, clearly noting all the small scratches on my body, before he finally stood still and patted my wrinkled collar.
Patriarch: Looks like someone gave you trouble. Who would dare?
Little Painter: Those nobles who've turned into phantoms, still troubled by the same issues as before.
I recounted what I had observed over the past three days.
The hall I stood in was built on a dead planet far from the Empire—
According to the Pope, he had long forgotten how many years he had spent on this planet.
Years ago, the Pope, weary of the Empire, left his post and settled here.
His ties to the Empire gradually thinned, and now only a trickle of energy exchanges remained.
He governed abandoned planets — abandoned for reasons such as the deaths cause of harvesters or the planet's environment deteriorating to the point where life became scarce.
The Pope proactively established new systems on these planets, providing knowledge and technology to rebuild civilization while ensuring they adhered to his strict emotional tribute system.
This hall existed under that principle — part of the energy collected here was used to sustain it, the rest handed over to the Empire to keep the place peaceful.
Fu Island was one of these abandoned planet.
It's called an island because the planet had only a small piece of land, the rest was ocean.
Fu Island was originally ruled by both giant beasts and humans, who rarely interacted.
An Empire admiral took interest in the place, using methods to manipulate the beasts to oppress humans and harvest their emotions.
Eventually, humans defeated the beasts, and the admiral perished with them.
The cost of this battle was countless, one consequence being the transformation of human nobles into phantoms.
Little Painter: These nobles were a special kind of human with beast blood. They used this blood to gain magical powers, amassing wealth and establishing rule.
Little Painter: The beast blood came from their deal with the admiral, who had now perished.
Little Painter: However, during the rebellion against the beasts, these nobles played a vital role, sacrificing everything to use forbidden magic.
Little Painter: After the beast's death, they unexpectedly became bodiless phantoms, unable to find a way to return to human form.
I presented my understanding of this history.
In reality, due to the enormous losses in the final war, there were no records of this history, and the few survivors had differing accounts.
Therefore, uncovering the truth became an important part of my mission.
The Pope listened without comment, only covering his mouth with his hand and nodding slightly.
Patriarch: So, the phantoms troubled you, asking for help to return to their bodies?
Little Painter: Exactly. Ruixi said the phantoms made the same request when you first visited Fu Island, but you didn't respond.
Patriarch: Yes. They did come to the right person, though, considering their situation.
Little Painter: And you didn't respond because you didn't want to, or…?
Patriarch: Of course, I didn't want to.
The Pope laughed, his gaze drifting elsewhere.
Patriarch: Now, let me ask you — how would you evaluate the people of Fu Island?
Little Painter: It seems you don't like the phantoms.
I bowed my head respectfully.
Patriarch: I'm not asking you to guess my thoughts. It's true I've been grooming you to be my successor, but simply mimicking my ideas is useless.
Patriarch: Little Painter, you need to form your own views. You can't just be my…
Patriarch: ……
The Pope paused, his lips parting slightly but failing to find the words.
Little Painter: Understood.
I tightened my hands behind my back.
Little Painter: I believe the nobles contribution to defeating the beasts is undeniable. Without them, Fu Island wouldn't have broken free from the former harvester's control…
Patriarch: And it wouldn't have fallen into our hands.
The Pope calmly completed my unfinished sentence.
Little Painter: Yes. From a merit-based perspective, they deserve more after the war.
Little Painter: Moreover, without much thought, it's clear that they were willing to pay a huge price to win this war, largely for their own benefit.
Little Painter: Additionally, they were already the rulers of human society, possessing more reasoning power than ordinary people. So, in the context of post-war reconstruction, maintaining their rule would be the most stable option.
Little Painter: From this perspective, we should help them recover their bodies, return to the society they are familiar with, and continue their rule with absolute benefits.
Patriarch: Good. And what about the other perspective?
Little Painter: The other perspective traces back to a more distant history.
Little Painter: The nobles' status came from beast blood, which originated from a deal with the Empire's admiral. This deal was likely dirty, and the humans who first accepted it probably didn't do so for any noble reason.
Little Painter: The original nobles were merely a group of people recklessly using the power of beast blood, crossing old class boundaries through a dirty deal, and ultimately establishing a new class that benefitted them.
Little Painter: When they finally decided to eliminate the giant beasts, it was only to divide the power of the beasts among themselves. Fighting with all their might was their choice, and in a way, becoming phantoms in the end was their deserved fate.
Little Painter: From this perspective, they are gamblers driven by profit. The gamblers won their bet but lost their identities and can no longer enjoy wealth and luxury — a fitting consequence.
Patriarch: Well said.
I lifted my head from my respectful and mature posture, realizing the Pope was gently clapping.
My statement was not particularly brilliant, and his clapping seemed more playful than genuinely appreciative.
Patriarch: So, after weighing the pros and cons, will you help them or not?
Little Painter: I did not help because when those phantoms "bothered" me, their words and actions were clearly driven by greed.
As I said this, the corners of the Pope's eyes lifted noticeably.
Though he habitually covered his mouth with his hand, I knew he was smiling.
Little Painter: You're pleased that I made the same decision as you.
Patriarch: Since I've trained you as a Cardinal, resembling me would naturally make me happy.
Patriarch: …But this happiness is wrong, it's too much.
The Pope suddenly averted his gaze, coughing as if realizing he had misspoken.
Patriarch: I told you, you cannot only have thoughts identical to mine.
Patriarch: Whether I'm happy or unhappy… it shouldn't influence you. Do you understand?
Little Painter: Yes.
I nodded with a smile.
Patriarch: I understand the matter now, but I doubt those nobles would dare to lay a hand on you.
The Pope motioned for me to come closer. I approached the throne.
He inspected the scratches on the hem of my clothes again, then looked up at me.
Patriarch: What happened here?
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: Ruixi told me that you executed five thugs in the street.
Little Painter: Yes. They were assaulting a girl.
I looked into the Pope's eyes. His assassin gaze was much more serious than it had been during the earlier "assessment."
Patriarch: You did the right thing — fairness and justice demand it.
Patriarch: But Ruixi said… you executed them in front of the girl, right during the assault, spilling blood on the spot.
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: Did you follow up on the girl's condition?
Little Painter: …I couldn't. At that time… there was only one afternoon left before our return.
Patriarch: Ruixi checked on her after you parted ways. He said the girl had a mental breakdown and nearly went mad.
Little Painter: ……
Suddenly, I felt something empty in my hands, a terrible coldness in my palms.
Patriarch: Come, Little Painter, look at me. I'm not criticizing you.
The Pope placed his hands on my shoulders. I closed my eyes, lowering my head toward him with a heavy sense of dread.
Patriarch: I know that whether it's due to your experience or my inadequate teaching, your actions always come from a sense of justice, but sometimes they lack empathy.
Patriarch: I know you're like this at times, which is why I had Ruixi accompany you. He has handled the girl's situation — he used hypnosis to erase those specific memories.
Patriarch: So you didn't cause any real harm. You don't need to be afraid.
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: But I still want to remind you about this incident — think a little more before you act in the future.
Patriarch: You are strong, even emotionally invulnerable. No one can intimidate you.
Patriarch: Therefore, you must think about how to realize your justice in a way that prevents unintentional harm and future regret.
Little Painter: …Understood.
Patriarch: You can think of it this way: if you executed the thugs in front of that girl, how would she process the event afterward?
Patriarch: Her justice wasn't acknowledged in court, so society didn't witness it or express support for her; nor did she achieve revenge by her own hand, so she couldn't prove her strength to resist.
Patriarch: She's not like you — you don't need society's validation or hatred to sustain you, because you… have me.
Patriarch: I’m always behind you, but they don't have such support. Therefore, the perfect justice you achieved may not have been the best outcome for them.
I kept my head lowered, feeling a light touch on the top of my head.
The immense fear that had suddenly risen within me slowly faded with his words and touch.
Little Painter: …I understand, Your Holiness.
Little Painter: I… will never make the same mistake again.
Patriarch: There's no need to rush. Shortcomings are corrected bit by bit.
Patriarch: Alright, I've scared you enough… go rest well.
When I returned to my room, night had already fallen.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands for a long time.
Clean, with calluses from wielding a sword, strong and unscathed.
Little Painter: But why… why can't I empathize?
Like today's incident… Before I came of age, I never thought about the things the Pope mentioned?
Little Painter: ……
I clenched my fists, then opened them again, repeating this action several times before stopping.
I raised my head in silence, gazing at the empty ceiling.
Little Painter: …I don't even feel guilt.
Little Painter: I'm just…
Little Painter: Just afraid His Holiness will dislike me.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: Why does he… get emotionally involved so easily, so effortlessly understand others thoughts?
Little Painter: And yet, I, his pupil…
Little Painter: Why am I… the complete opposite?
It's as if I'm just an empty suit of armor.
Apart from being invincible and unyielding… there's nothing else.
Chapter 2 - Breadcrumbs
In my memory, I have never encountered misfortune or hardship.
Since I was adopted by the Pope, any upheavals I faced could hardly be called setbacks.
The Pope always handled everything perfectly, leaving me with no regrets.
Raised by him from a young age, when he was unavailable, he would assign others to care for me.
People of different personalities, each teaching me how to deal with people and situations. Due to their absolute loyalty to the Pope, they never did anything to harm me.
The Pope often told me, "Always speak your mind."
So, whenever something displeased me, I would tell him, and he would take me along to communicate with the person involved until the matter was resolved, leaving no lingering issues.
Additionally, he personally took me to empire training sessions for several years so that I could interact with people of my age.
He never appeared on the training grounds but would always welcome me back "home" when I returned, bearing victories and wounds alike.
I used to naively think he stayed in a small room all day, waiting for me.
Looking back now, it was a miracle he could prevent the empire authorities from disturbing our residence at night.
Yet, he never showed frustration with worldly matters in front of me, only accompanied me patiently.
Even when I returned in defeat — I remember that day very clearly, it was the only time I lost on the training ground — the Pope showed no sign of disappointment.
Young Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: Who was it? Anyone capable of defeating you must be exceptional.
Young Little Painter: …Chuck. I've only seen him in the AH602 class.
Patriarch: A boy? How old is he, and what weapon did he use?
Young Little Painter: Eighteen, using a staff-type weapon. It was electric… not against the rules.
Patriarch: Did you get shocked?
Young Little Painter: …No.
Patriarch: Nonsense, your hand is scorched.
Young Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: You use a sword, the oldest and most straightforward weapon. Being noble without tricks often looks foolish in many environments.
Patriarch: But using such a "foolish" weapon and still managing to take down others — that makes you formidable. There's nothing to blame yourself for.
Young Little Painter: But you also use a sword, and you never lose to anyone—
I remember that the Pope crouched down to meet my eyes, even though I was only a 14 year old girl. His gaze was bright and clear, almost sparkling to me.
Patriarch: You don't need to be like me, Little Painter.
Young Little Painter: ……？
Patriarch: I always win because I must, but you don't need to do that.
Patriarch: As long as I am here, I won't let anyone force you. Otherwise, I'd be ashamed of raising you.
Patriarch: To me, you are perfect, Little Painter.
Young Little Painter: ……
I don't remember what else I said afterward, lost in my words.
All I remember is how much I wanted to cry, and for once, I couldn't hide my emotions as I usually did, but was forced to let the tears burst through the dam I had built.
This liquid that was so unfamiliar to me falling from my eyes, sliding down my chin, and landing on my wounds.
I felt the delayed sting, wishing to bury my face somewhere else, but the Pope held my shoulders.
Patriarch: Silly child, just let it out.
Then, he gently embraced me, with a soothing and relieved smile.
The Pope is that kind of person.
He has always treated me with such kindness, raising me to near perfection, like an unshakable mountain.
Under his care, I never had anything to cry about, and thus, my "growth" was smooth and without challenges.
But when I stepped outside the cathedral and onto the abandoned stars,
I suddenly realized I seemed to be missing something.
When I saw beggars on the roadside and elderly people missing limbs, I felt an invisible barrier between them and me.
I tried to express some emotional response so that they wouldn't fear me, a person of higher status—
but when I forced my facial muscles into a smile, it felt out of place, even to myself.
Although this dissonance was not reflected in the outside world, my kindness received appreciation.
I was still bewildered by the emptiness within… I didn't understand why I always felt distant.
Past Little Painter: …Your Holiness.
It was the first time I accompanied him on an inspection of the abandoned planets. After walking for about half an hour, I finally stopped him in a secluded area.
He halted without a surprise, his eyes and brows expressing a willingness to listen.
It was as if he knew entirely that I had something on my mind, and he was just patiently waiting for me to voice it out.
In front of the Pope, I have never been able to hide... like a naked and dull puppet.
Past Little Painter: Your Holiness, I… seem to struggle with using emotions to connect with people.
Past Little Painter: You taught me from a young age to empathize with others and consider fairness, but now… I feel like I can't do it anymore.
Patriarch: That's nothing to worry about.
I thought the Pope would scold me, but he merely shook his head.
Patriarch: The fact that you're even aware of this makes you a hundred times better than many arrogant people. At least you know it's something you need to do.
Patriarch: As for empathy, it's not something you can force.
Past Little Painter: But you're perfect at it…
Past Little Painter: You get angry at nobles who mock the starving and even execute them on the spot, personally.
Past Little Painter: That day at the execution, the people cheered, believing you to be a ruler with empathy.
Past Little Painter: At least… it helped bridge the gap between us and the natives, making them more willing to trust us—
Patriarch: Do exploiters have the right to speak of empathy?
The Pope's expression suddenly darkened, like a bottomless swamp ready to swallow everything.
Patriarch: I didn't lie, but don't think for a second others will believe me.
Past Little Painter: What do you mean…
Patriarch: We… are monsters born from the Empire's dyeing vat, Little Painter. Never forget that.
Patriarch: I am just a failure consumed by my class status. Any empathy I show is merely to satisfy my vanity.
Past Little Painter: ……
That day, the Pope uncharacteristically didn't wait for me to continue the conversation and just walked straight ahead.
His steps revealed impatience, as if he wanted to escape his own shadow.
But after just a few steps, he stopped again.
He turned back to me, belatedly, with a faint mist covered in his eyes.
Patriarch: ……
I wasn't sure what he was thinking in those few seconds.
I only heard him sigh softly before walking back to my side.
Patriarch: Sorry, I vented my anger on you.
Patriarch: You… you're different from me. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.
Past Little Painter: There's no such thing, Your Holiness..
Past Little Painter: To be honest… I wish I could be more like you, Your Holiness.
At that moment… the Pope showed a rare expression of surprise.
He seemed like he wanted to say something but then decided against it.
Now, looking back, I realize something.
That expression was one he only showed when he realized he had misspoken.
Time passed quickly amidst our endless duties.
I don't know if it was just my imagination, but ever since I had grown enough to join the Pope on his inspections, his interest in collecting the abandoned stars had grown immensely.
He started gathering information, inquiring about situations, recruiting talents, personally attending to matters.
Gradually, the once lifeless space before the empty throne began to show signs of life.
Ruixi: This is the 15th field mission this year… sigh, the Patriarch has certainly been working a lot harder these past few years.
Little Painter: Speaking ill of His Holiness behind his back, aren't you afraid he'll hear and punish you?
Ruixi: Well, that depends on whether the Patriarch's little ears are willing to keep shut~
I crossed my arms and gave Ruixi a helpless glance.
He immediately raised his hands, smiling innocently like he was saying, "Oh, come on, no harm done."
Ruixi: By the way, the people of the Li planet really like you.
Ruixi: You were only supposed to observe the situation, but you went ahead and helped them start a reconstruction project. And the Patriarch, well, he's only associated with warfare. When he first stepped in, he really shook things up inside and out.
Ruixi gave me a subtle wink. I understood his hint.
I pressed my lips together, and he hummed a tune as he walked past me.
Time moved on, but the situation with the Li island was not unique.
If the Pope is a fiery sword, then I am a calm shield.
He never hesitates to wield his thunderous power to intimidate others, whereas I… am like a lowland beside a towering mountain, collecting the runoff from his storms.
Little Painter: …You all call me Your Eminence.
I took out a solidified purple droplet from under my collar, gazing at the ominous aura it emanated.
This droplet came from the Fu Island... something I obtained before I left.
When the Pope greeted me earlier, he hadn't noticed it — he only ever examines me for wounds, never with suspicion.
Little Painter: …"Replace it"?
I tossed the small, inky drop aside. It squirmed like a living thing, etching words across the table.
Little Painter: Still the same words...
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: When people fear the highest authority but dare not speak, the unspoken things often fall upon the second in command. Either they mock and deride her, or… they worship and follow her.
Little Painter: So… do they want to convert me?
I casually picked up the dagger from the table and threw it like a dart at the inky drop.
A sizzling sound echoed in the sealed space as the purple ink dissipated like ash.
Little Painter: But how could these "gamblers" be naive enough to think I'm a good person?
Little Painter: —So, they're here to place their bets on a new game.
Before I left the Fu Island.
???: Your Eminence… Your Eminence!
Little Painter: ……
Crimson Phantom: Your Eminence, please hear me out!
Little Painter: There's nothing more to say. Your greed has gone too far.
Little Painter: Coming to me to defame His Holiness.… Are you trying to start a rebellion?
Crimson Phantom: No, we are not—
???: Since Your Eminence is being so forthright, why not just execute us outright?
Little Painter: …Oh?
Little Painter: I don't think I've met you before, sir.
Little Painter: Since you bear the purple mark, should I address you as… His Highness the Prince?
Violet Phantom: I am unworthy of such a title from you, Your Eminence.
Violet Phantom: The nation has fallen with our bodies, I am no longer a prince.
Violet Phantom: But when my father was still alive, I was quite familiar with a certain feeling—
Violet Phantom: That feeling of being forced to rely on others, subject to their commands, as a so-called "heir."
Little Painter: ……
Violet Phantom: You hesitated. It seems some things are indeed universal across the world.
Violet Phantom: You know this conversation harbors seeds of rebellion, yet you have not struck, only turned to leave—
Little Painter: Continue and you will overstep your bounds, Your Highness.
Violet Phantom: You need not hold back. Executing me would only take a flick of your finger.
Violet Phantom: I have no valuable information, and all of our conversation is nothing more than a dying ghost's desperate plea.
Little Painter: ……
Crimson Phantom: Ugh—! No… please… ugh… (dies)
Violet Phantom: As expected, you didn't take my life, Your Eminence.
Little Painter: Get out of my sight, and don't let me see you again.
Violet Phantom: Understood, I'll stay far away and never let His Holiness see me again.
Violet Phantom: Goodbye, Your Eminence.
Little Painter: Fool…
Patriarch: Little Painter?
I stood at the top of the stone steps, looking up indifferently.
The Pope sat on his throne, gazing at me with weary eyes.
Little Painter: …Sorry, I was lost in thought, recalling something troubling.
Little Painter: I… wanted to ask how you're doing, but instead, I spaced out—
Patriarch: What's there to worry about with me?
The Pope chuckled lightly and slowly stood up.
But as he gazed around, his expression was hesitant, as if the surroundings felt unfamiliar or perhaps nostalgic.
Little Painter: Did you… have a long dream?
I asked him this.
When the Pope has no choice but to sleep, he sits upon this throne—
The throne seems to act as a safeguard, preventing him from getting lost or hurt in his dreams.
So whenever I see him asleep, I wait nearby.
I've encountered a few sudden situations before, though I've never been of much help.
Patriarch: Yes… the story I just dreamed of lasted several years.
Patriarch: The funny thing is, I never once reached for "existence," instead, I lost myself in the dream, never wanting to wake up…
I stepped forward, supporting the Pope by the arm.
And just as he reached for "existence," his hand stopped upon my touch.
Little Painter: After all, "Existence" is a passive object. It only works if you remember to touch it.
Little Painter: Most people who see it just think it's a metronome and won't have the intention to activate it.
Patriarch: But I'm not most people—I'm the one who made it as a reminder and placed it here.
Patriarch: When triggered, it will stop in reality, but in a dream, it never ceases.
Patriarch: This feature is as absurd as dreams themselves.
The Pope said this while shaking his head self-deprecatingly.
I smiled reassuringly and helped him down the steps.
Patriarch: No need to help, I'm not that old yet.
Patriarch: Though one day, I will be… But I still have a few hundred more years of peace ahead.
Little Painter: ….A few hundred years?
I couldn't hide my surprise.
Little Painter: I've never heard you talk about lifespan before.
Patriarch: Did you think I was immortal?
Little Painter: …Yes.
Patriarch: I used to think that too, but that wasn't the case in my dream.
I nodded slightly, signaling him to continue.
Patriarch: …Forget it, nothing worth discussing. When has any of my dreams been auspicious?
Little Painter: But… I want to hear you out. I want to understand your concerns.
I lowered my head even further.
The Pope's measured steps suddenly stopped, and we stood in the vast, empty hall.
He probably looked at me with a surprised gaze, searching for words in his mind.
Little Painter: You once said that dreams are the collection of the subconscious — the cracks and regrets, the desires and fears.
Little Painter: I want to hear about your dream… if you're willing to tell me.
I closed my eyes, and the hall remained silent for a few moments.
Then, in a soft voice, the Pope began to speak.
Patriarch: I dreamt that our kingdom fell. Though calling it a kingdom is an overstatement, it was merely a shadow under the vast empire.
Patriarch: I must have either grown old naturally or fought too many wars — there was so much conflict during that time, and we could never rest.
Patriarch: Then, rebellion broke out on the planet I ruled. It started like sparks and soon became an inferno.
Patriarch: I drew my sword amidst the flames, but — I remained sitting on this throne.
Little Painter: "Remained sitting on the throne"?…
Patriarch: Yes, Little Painter, do you know what I was doing at that moment?
Patriarch: —I was laughing, laughing as the system of dominance and submission finally began to crumble.
Little Painter: ……
I looked up in confusion, and the Pope was indeed laughing.
His gaze was fixed beyond the gates, where desolate lands and dim stars lay.
Patriarch: In the dream, I seemed to long for someone to replace me — for them to take my power, divide the resources, and reallocate them according to their desires. The universe would be bustling with activity.
Patriarch: And there I was, abandoning power and wealth, laughing and running through the wilderness, chased into a corner, and finally dying in front of everyone.
Patriarch: I asked you to kill me, Little Painter.
Little Painter: ……!
Patriarch: In that dream, I begged you to kill me.
Little Painter: …I don't understand…
Patriarch: At the end, I feared nothing and desired nothing, realizing that none of it was truly mine.
Patriarch: But you—I don't know how to deal with you. I raised you to be my shadow, but in the end, I had nothing to offer you.
Patriarch: I know you don't care about power, fame, prestige, or wealth…
Patriarch: So what can I give you, as a general of an empire that was never pure?
Little Painter: I don't need you to give me anything—
Patriarch: —So, in the end, I thought, if I let you kill me, you could become a hero.
Patriarch: Only by killing me can you truly break free from my… massive shadow.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: You're just tired of being a ruler.
Little Painter: You… were born to command respect from others, It's your gift, but it's been twisted and enslaved by circumstance.
Patriarch: It's a shadow I can't escape, little painter.
Patriarch: I fled to this place in reality, thinking I could enjoy some peace. But after this dream, I realized this is just another form of decay.
Patriarch: Even the greatest kingdom will one day fall, and the strongest regime will come to an end.
Patriarch: And I… heh, I'm just a crumb in the vast universe, being carried away by ants in a line.
The Pope said this as he looked up at the dome above.
His eyes shimmered in the sunlight.
That expression was not of someone discussing death, but of someone looking toward a new beginning.
I didn't understand the meaning of this scene, yet I was still moved by his expression.
Just then, Ruixi rushed into the hall.
Ruixi: Lord Patriarch, there's news from Fu Island.
Ruixi: The giant beast nest, which had become wasteland, has shown signs of disturbance, It seems that phantoms are uncontrollably gathering toward it.
Ruixi: They are said to combine with each other, mutate, and attack everything indiscriminately.
Ruixi: There is no record of such an occurrence in the empire's past archives.
Chapter 3 - The Sword Bestowal
Late at night, the ashes on the table reformed into a violet ink drop.
The ink drop floated in the air, making a sound.
Voice from the ink drop: Thank you for your support, Your Eminence.
Little Painter: Spare me the flattery. I'd rather you show some sincerity.
Voice from the ink drop: Oh… what kind of sincerity would you like?
Voice from the ink drop: All of my knights are willing to die for their country. I can assure you they will do everything they can to help you in the final conflict.
Voice from the ink drop: But aside from that, we have nothing else. All we have is our bare lives to offer to Your Eminence—
Little Painter: Being evasive won't do you any good, Your Highness.
Little Painter: A bunch of powerless phantoms daring to oppose a former general of the empire — you can't honestly believe I'd fall for that, can you?
Voice from the ink drop: ……
Little Painter: You may have defeated the previous harvester, but that guy was nothing compared to His Holiness.
Little Painter: Even if you succeed with a flawless plan, all that awaits you is his abandoned planet — nothing but vast wastelands.
Little Painter: Executing someone of such high standing without getting a reward equal to the risk — no one would gamble on such a foolish game.
Little Painter: Or is it that you've already found someone to back you up, Your Highness? Someone more powerful than me?
Voice from the ink drop: ……
Little Painter: Ah, I see.
Little Painter: Pitting two sides against each other while reaping the benefits from the sidelines — quite the plan, but unfortunately, Your Highness, you lack both the strength and the sincerity.
Voice from the ink drop: Wait… Your Eminence, we can—
Little Painter: Tell me the name of your backer, and maybe I'll consider negotiating.
Little Painter: —After all, the empire's internal power struggles cannot allow outsiders to interfere.
Since Ruixi's last report, the disturbances on Fu Island had become increasingly frequent. As it involved phantoms infused with beast blood and nests once controlled by the empire's harvesters, the Pope was quite concerned.
Little Painter: Are you suggesting that the beast blood inherited by those fallen nobles may have been tampered with by the harvester from the start?
Little Painter: That's certainly possible, given that the trade for beast blood was initiated by the harvester.
Patriarch: If it was merely tampered with, that's fine. Those fools, thinking they were superior, should've died with the tide.
Patriarch: But looking at the situation now, it seems there's something in the beast blood that naturally aggregates, causing chaos along with the remnants left by that guy.
The Pope adjusted the cloak he had just draped over his shoulders — he had decided last night that he would personally head to Fu Island today to resolve the matter.
I fastened his belt, straightening it from shoulder to waist.
Patriarch: What a hassle, always cleaning up after these people's messes.
Little Painter: Your Holiness is merely… temporarily unable to escape the shadow, conserving his strength under it.
I lowered my head slightly. As expected, the Pope cast his gaze toward me.
His lips curled slightly, the smile seemingly floating on the surface of his flesh.
Patriarch: You do have a way of hiding the key points, speaking in riddles.
Little Painter: If those in power were to hear my words, I would surely be punished. I wouldn't dare to cross the line further.
The Pope let out a light, airy laugh.
He slowly walked up the steps and drew a longsword from behind the throne.
Patriarch: Little Painter.
His voice suddenly became solemn.
Patriarch: This sword, I'm giving it to you.
I was momentarily stunned.
Patriarch: If this disturbance is indeed related to the previous harvester, we will surely have to pay a price.
Patriarch: At worst, I'll devour those phantoms.
Little Painter: ……!
Little Painter: You… haven't consumed a large number of souls in a long time. If these phantoms are indeed problematic, it will be a huge strain on your body.
Patriarch: What's there to be afraid of? It wouldn't be the first time.
Patriarch: I was created by piecing together countless souls. If I become tainted, I can just cut the bad parts away again.
Little Painter: But…
Patriarch: Your concern is valid. Just in case, take my sword with you this time.
Patriarch: This is the only thing in the world that can cut through me. If I lose control, you'll just need to sever the part that goes out of hand.
The Pope casually wiped the blade and handed it to me with a matter of fact expression.
I knew the weight of this sword…
It was practically the Pope's life.
A weakness, a vulnerability, or the origin of the sword itself…
But I—about to carry out a plan on my own…
Little Painter: Your Holiness, I'm not worthy of wielding this. Please… take it back.
Patriarch: Little Painter?
The Pope looked at me in surprise. He rarely showed such unguarded confusion.
Little Painter: I…
Little Painter: …You won't lose control. I believe in you. You are strong enough to overcome any danger—
Patriarch: Little Painter.
To my astonishment, he placed the hilt directly in my hand.
Patriarch: When did you become so indecisive, hmm?
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: I never expected that the fearless Little Painter of the Cardinal would be afraid of the weight of a sword.
Little Painter: This is equivalent to your life. I'm not worthy of taking it.
Patriarch: I get it, you're trying to say you don't think you're capable.
Little Painter: That's not…
But he ignored my hesitation and placed the weight of the blade into my hand.
The weight of the bones was placed in my hand.
Patriarch: Hold it. Hold it tight.
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: One day, you will have to take it, just like… in that dream.
Little Painter: I won't let that dream become a reality, your holiness—
Patriarch: Then take it with pride. You have long been worthy of succeeding me.
Patriarch: No… you were independent all along. It's just that I've stubbornly refused to let you go.
Little Painter: ……
I felt as though the Pope's hand was hot, that daring warmth of someone ready to shed everything seemed to flow through the gloves into my empty palm.
These hands of mine, always kept outside the barriers of human hearts, were entrusted with something so monumental... How fortunate.
Little Painter: Your Holiness.
I knelt down instinctively, letting the weight in my heart transfer to my knees.
Little Painter: Little Painter accepts this sword. Wherever you point, that is where my blade will strike.
Little Painter: I... vow to never betray you.
Chapter 4 - The Betrayer
To Her Eminence the Cardinal:
The plan we discussed the other day is all set.
I have already fed dozens of phantoms into the vortex that spontaneously formed in the nest. They were all knights loyal to the restoration of the kingdom, their emotions and willpower strong and resolute. Even if fused with the remains of a giant beast and lost consciousness, they will still support us at critical moments.
Recently, the vortex has developed a strong suction force, tearing apart any nearby spirits. This is our only way to hold back His Holiness. If we miss this opportunity, there will be no next time.
The bloodline of our entire royal family depends on you. I wish you a triumphant return.
Fu Island.
The Pope looked toward the direction of the nest, his brows furrowed.
Something there had clearly developed a strong suction force, to the point where the skies in the area were covered by dark clouds.
Patriarch: It's only been a few days, and it's worsened this quickly. Looks like someone's stirring up trouble.
He spoke in a relaxed tone, but at the end, he looked at me.
Usually, I would have already understood his meaning and offered my opinion.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: Your Holiness, please… be careful.
But my dry lips could only manage that sentence.
The Pope seemed slightly surprised and studied my face.
When his gaze moved to my hands, a look of realization dawned on him.
Patriarch: No need to be nervous. If I trust you, shouldn't you trust yourself?
Little Painter: …Yes.
I gripped the sword hilt in my hand, my knuckles stiff.
Soon, we arrived at the outskirts of the nest. This area was filled with ancient castles built by the kingdom's nobility, once used to defend against threats but now dilapidated and desolate after losing their masters.
The Pope casually walked through them, heading for the center of the nest.
There, waiting for him, was a vortex aimed directly at his weakness.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: Your Holiness.
I raised my sword and walked toward the castle gate, and sure enough, the footsteps behind me halted.
Patriarch: Little Painter?
The Pope called out to me, but I didn't turn back.
I pushed open the dust-covered gate and walked inside.
Patriarch: ……
The Pope followed me without much hesitation, his gaze turning cold as he furrowed his brow and surveyed the surroundings.
Patriarch: You think this is the work of those nobles.
It was a question that already had an answer. I nodded while facing away from him.
Patriarch: I think so too, but there's no clue in this room.
Little Painter: ……
I gripped the bone sword tightly, hiding it behind me.
Then I slowly advanced, like a hawk stalking its prey.
Little Painter: Your Holiness, the chain at your feet once carried a spell. You'd best avoid it.
The Pope turned his head in slight surprise, fully exposing his back to me.
Now… this was the moment.
I thrust my sword toward him, the movement clean, precise, and without hesitation.
His combat instincts made him dodge reflexively, but that was exactly what I wanted.
I knew every step he would take, every move he would make.
I struck toward the spot I had predicted, closing my eyes tightly.
The sound of flesh being cut, like water evaporating into steam, filled the air.
Something fell to the ground, kicking up dust before evaporating once more. I heard it all clearly.
I reversed the grip on my sword, picked up the chain from the ground, and skillfully performed a spell I had practiced a thousand times.
Patriarch: You…
My mentor… was thus bound.
Bound by the soul-binding technique that only he could use… only his sword could activate.
He struggled sluggishly for a moment, his movements gradually slowing until he stopped, as if reason or despair had overpowered instinct.
He stared at me blankly, and after a long silence, he finally lowered his head, gazing at the now numb wound.
In his familiar red eyes, I saw black mist reflected, escaping from his right wrist, trying to fill the space where his missing right hand once was.
It was I who had severed it.
...It was I who had cut it off.
Chapter 5 - Hearts at Odds
Ah…
……
That gaze… just like back then.
The child hiding in the wardrobe.
So, was the descent into ruin based on a false assumption from the start?
Patriarch: Are you willing to follow me?
Child Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: Your connection to this world has been severed. It's time to seek new life elsewhere.
Child Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: Are you afraid of me?
Child Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: If you're scared, you can take this sword.
At that moment, I raised my hand and let the spine that connected to me fall to the ground.
I gently pushed it toward the wardrobe,
releasing control of it to ease the child's fear.
It seemed like the first time in my life I had been so patient, waiting for another to reach out and take control.
Perhaps it was because the other was a child... even if they punished me, there was no deterrent, so I dared to do this.
Child Little Painter: ……
At that time, the buried her face, holding herself tightly as if the concept of "hands" could only be used for self-protection.
And I handed her the weapon, allowing this fragile and timid life to be freed into a second possibility.
Child Little Painter: ……
I remember her timidly reaching out and finally gripping the sword's hilt.
At that moment, a current surged through my heart, as if the spine was still within me, and it was being caressed.
I gave life new birth. I awakened a power daring enough to resist fate.
I voluntarily cast off my armor and relinquished power, stepping down from my rigid and solitary position.
I was creating, not destroying.
If the teacher were in heaven — if such a place existed — would she find comfort in witnessing this?
And then? Did I simply leave with her?
Did we return to that empty great hall, to the ruins with only the two of us?
……
It's blurry. I can't remember.
It all feels like a dream,
woven uncontrollably from a single thought, a hope,
into a story unbound by time or space.
The day before yesterday Little Painter: Your Holiness, the suppression of the rioters is complete.
The day before yesterday Little Painter: But this is only what's visible, I suspect there are still those hiding in the shadows.
The day before yesterday Little Painter: I want to find them and root them out completely. It won't take much time...
Patriarch: There's no need.
Patriarch: Your hands are clean, they shouldn't be stained with too much blood. Cherish them.
Patriarch: …So, rise.
Patriarch: When you recite my name, I grant forgiveness…
Death row prisoners: Yes… Your Holiness, Patriarch…
Death row prisoners: Urgh…!
Past Little Painter: Your Holiness?
Patriarch: …You've come?
Patriarch: Didn't I say, don't disturb me when I'm eating?
Past Little Painter: I'm not afraid, Your Holiness.
Patriarch: ……
Past Little Painter: You've expended much strength in the previous repairs. Using the souls of prisoners to compensate is only right.
Past Little Painter: These people should be grateful to witness such a grand spectacle before their deaths.
Patriarch: ……
Patriarch: Little Painter , you make me sound like a good person.
Past Little Painter: Aren't you?
Patriarch: …Forget it.
Patriarch: Next time you find yourself disarmed, try this.
Young Little Painter: Hmm?
Patriarch: You can't rely on weapons. They are merely triggers to summon your courage.
Patriarch: Like this. Practice until you can complete these moves unconsciously, and no one will be able to catch you.
Young Little Painter: Really? No one in the world can catch me?
Patriarch: Of course. Ah… though there are exceptions.
Patriarch: Only you and I, who know this system, can catch you.
Patriarch: Little Painter…
Little Painter gazed coldly at the Patriarch, the sword made from bone creaking in her grip.
It fit seamlessly in her hand, just as he had always hoped.
Yet, this moment seemed to come too soon.
Just like the dream foretelling the fall, Little Painter raised the sword towards the Patriarch, wielding all the knowledge and power he had given her.
Patriarch: Are you betraying me…?
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: …You could have just told me.
Patriarch: Even if you wanted my life, I would have given it to you willingly.
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: Or is it that you want something else, Little Painter?…
The Patriarch gave a bitter smile.
He watched her press the bone sword against her own neck, gazing at him with an almost cold-blooded stare as she paced slowly around him.
Little Painter: Come out.
This call was like a bell, resonating with anger.
Strange rustling sounds echoed from the direction of the nest, flying over trees and through the forest, finally entering through the open doors.
Violet Phantom: …Your Eminence.
The phantom, marked with a violet symbol, bowed before the Little Painter, though its tone was hesitant.
Other phantoms began to flood in from outside, filling the entire room.
Patriarch: You and them…?
Little Painter: Shut up.
The sword edge pressed closer to the Patriarch's neck.
Violet Phantom: Your eminence... no, the new Patriarch, we await your command—
Violet Phantom: Just waiting for you to get rid of him.
The specter raised its "hand," pointing at the bound Patriarch.
Violet Phantom: Actually... you don't need to take such a risk. The nest is set, and with your power, he would have surely died upon entering.
Little Painter: ……
Violet Phantom: Of course, with such powerful spell… even better. I didn't expect Your Eminence already possessed such strength—
Little Painter suddenly lowered her sword, lifting her head high.
She squinted her eyes, casting a chilling gaze at the former imperial prince.
Little Painter: Bring out your body.
Violet Phantom: ... What?
Little Painter: You haven't lost your body at all. This is just a decoy speaking to me, isn't it?
Violet Phantom: ……!
Little Painter let her arm fall, slowly circling the phantom, dragging the sword's edge across the floor with an ear-piercing sound.
Little Painter: You said it yourself — the vortex in the nest can tear apart any undead. If something goes wrong, what would happen to the prince? He'd die. How tragic would that be?
Little Painter: You're too greedy for your own good. Surely, you wouldn't risk any danger yourself. But I'm no saint either, so...
Little Painter: Come on out. Wouldn't it be more interesting to handle this face-to-face?
Violet Phantom: ……
Little Painter: If you don't, I wouldn't mind wiping out your entire clan here. After all, this guy's already at my mercy, and I have to thank you for the trap you set in the nest.
Little Painter raised her chin, directing the phantom's gaze toward the Patriarch.
Her sword now pointed directly at the phantom's "head."
After a long silence, footsteps echoed from outside the castle.
A tall figure entered the hall, adorned with gold and silver jewels, without a speck of dust on him.
Little Painter: What a vain piece of trash.
Little Painter: You sent so many loyal knights to their deaths, yet here you are, living in luxury.
Former Prince: ……
Little Painter: Oh, right. I remember that in the battle with the beast, all the nobles who took part in the forbidden ritual lost their bodies.
Little Painter: Have you been surviving all this time, watching everyone sacrifice themselves while you hide in the shadows, Your Highness?
Sweat dripped from the former prince's handsome, arrogant face.
But he forced a smile, taking tiny steps toward the center of the hall.
Former Prince: Your em… Holiness, wouldn't someone like me be perfect for your use?
Former Prince: Look, I'm all about gold and treasures. You could control me with just a flick of your finger, and I'd grovel at your feet...
Little Painter: True, but aside from treasures, I need something else to control you.
Former Prince: Uh... what do you mean?
Little Painter: You were the one who said you'd make me Patriarch, urging me to eliminate him and take his place—
Little Painter: So, naturally, I'll have to execute the former one in front of your entire clan, right?
Former Prince: This...
Little Painter: How could you know fear unless the blood splashes onto your face? If you can watch this with your eyes open, it'll prove your loyalty more than licking my boots ever could.
Little Painter lowered her sword, smiling, and gestured for him to come closer.
The prince hesitantly complied, laughing nervously as he approached.
Little Painter: Yes, that's it.
Little Painter: By the way, who was that empire ally supporting us? You haven't told me yet.
Former Prince: Your Holiness, we agreed — after everything's done, you'll meet them.
Former Prince: You see, we're just one step away from success. I'm here to watch you execute—
Former Prince: Ugh—!
In an instant, the prince flew backward, leaving a trail of blood in the air.
In an instant, the prince flew backward, leaving a trail of blood in the air.
His nose... broken...
His head... His head...!
Little Painter: Trash.
Little Painter pressed down hard on the sword hilt, stepping on the prince's right hand.
From his weakened grip, some sort of crystal fell, something beyond the technological capabilities of the Fu civilization.
The room filled with the shrieks of the phantoms, who rushed madly toward Little Painter.
But she only raised her hand slightly, not even glancing at them.
Little Painter: Stay still.
She drove the bone sword in further, piercing through the wall.
Red and white liquids dripped from the sword, splattering slightly with each deeper push.
Little Painter: Your Highness, who was that person?
Former Prince: Your... Eminence... I...
Little Painter: It's fine. With your head in this state, the sword can read your thoughts.
Little Painter: Oh, by the way, someone as flattering as you should know better than to misuse titles.
Little Painter: Do you know why you're dying so miserably?
Former Prince: Help... me...
Little Painter: "Your Holiness" is a title you dare to use?
Former Prince: (dies)…
As the prince let out his final scream, the phantoms wailed in unison.
Little Painter swiftly withdrew the bone sword, slicing through four or five specters in one swift motion.
Little Painter: Go to hell!
Little Painter engaged in a bloody battle with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of phantoms, her swordplay like a deadly dance.
The sword in her hand moved like a living thing, free and wild.
Little Painter: Your Holiness...!
In just a moment, Little Painter had slain all the phantoms.
Her gaze flickered as she looked at him amidst the wreckage.
During the fight, she had been cold, indifferent, and composed, but now, when looking back at him, her expression suddenly revealed a hint of fear.
It was as though she had just awakened from a dream of absolute liberation, and she rushed to his side... kneeling.
The chains bound by sorcery clattered to the ground. Little Painter wiped the blood off the bone sword with her robe and presented it to the Patriarch with both hands.
In her open palm, several crystals from the Empire sparkled silently.
Patriarch: …Raise your head. Let me see you.
Little Painter buried her head even deeper.
The Patriarch's gaze wavered slightly. He reached out to her, but then realized his right hand was still missing.
Black mist silently rolled from the wound, brushing past Little Painter's hair, yet unable to lift her face.
Little Painter: Your Holiness, Little Painter begs your forgiveness...
Little Painter: I... it was all my foolish plan. I didn't tell you everything... it's all my fault.
Little Painter: While inspecting Fu Island, I discovered that these phantoms were secretly conspiring with me, intending to harm you.
Little Painter: But I suspected Empire involvement, so I chose to bide my time and play along.
Little Painter: However, things went beyond my expectations. I failed to draw out the Empire's supporter, and they set a trap in the nest targeting your weakness.
Little Painter: I... was torn between missing the chance to catch the Empire's forces or putting you in danger... I didn't know what to do.
Little Painter: So I resorted to this desperate move and ended up hurting you... I...
Patriarch: ...Do I frighten you that much?
In a moment of clarity, time seemed to freeze.
The Patriarch lowered his head and knelt, placing his left hand on Little Painter's shoulder.
He lowered himself, just as he had done when she was a fourteen year old girl, trying to create a height difference that allowed her to look down on him.
Patriarch: Lift your head, Little Painter, and look at me.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter blinked, confused, as she slowly raised her head.
Her expression seemed to say — she couldn't understand why she deserved such attention.
Patriarch: …I was wrong all along.
He pressed down on the hilt of the sword that Little Painter was gripping in reverse — the blade was aimed directly at her own wrist.
He knew she wanted to cut off her own soul, to feed it to him, in order to make up for the strike she had dealt him.
But why would he ever need such a thing?
Patriarch: It's me who's always been holding you back.
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: You aren't... unable to touch others hearts. It's just that, with me here, you...
Patriarch: Could only lock your heart away and show it to me alone.
Little Painter: ……
Suddenly, he pulled Little Painter into his embrace, their hearts separated by the weight of the sword between them.
Patriarch: I've depended on you so much that… I've locked away this heart's freedom.
Patriarch: How foolish… and absurd this is.
Little Painter: …Your Holiness, that's not true.
The Little Painter whispered softly into his ear.
Little Painter: You are the one who has treated me the best in this world. Even if I gave you my very bones and blood, it would be only right.
Little Painter: Everything I have was granted by you… You've always stood behind me, unwilling to let me endure the storms you've faced.
Little Painter: To me… you're like a tree's shade, sheltering me from all wind and rain, but also causing me to grow in the shadow.
Little Painter: And so, I've lived and grown well… And because of that, I long for the sunlight.
Chapter 6 - "Decision"
This time, it feels like I've created something that has never existed before.
But in the end, all of it… all of it will eventually be…
The unconscious hand will always pierce through all lies,
From words, from actions, from dreams.
So, it's time to wake up.
The journey back from Fu Island went smoothly, the Patriarch rested for half a day, reshaped his right hand, and casually sent Little Painter to rest.
He lowered his head to examine the crystal Little Painter had received from the prince, feeling the thoughts of the mastermind absorbed into the sword's blade, and leisurely walked over to the throne.
Everything felt so light, so natural, needing no conscious guidance.
Patriarch: Let me take a look at this crystal…!
He initially just wanted to sit and investigate the identity of the Empire mastermind behind it all.
However, as his hands moved unconsciously, the bone sword touched something.
The pointer named "Existence" swayed from the sword's touch.
His heart suddenly tightened, and a bone-chilling cold spread through his entire body.
I had decided to return to the hall before falling asleep.
From a distance, I saw the lone figure of the Pope,
He always standing beside the throne, and had his sword raised.
He hesitated, frozen in place, growling softly,
As if there was an unbeatable enemy where his sword pointed.
So, I approached, wanting to interrupt his distress.
Little Painter: Your Holiness?
At the moment I called out to him, his back tensed sharply.
He wanted to turn around.
But seemed to be held back by something, unable to move his limbs.
Little Painter: Your Holiness…?
I carefully stepped forward.
When I reached his side, I saw the "enemy" he was pointing at.
The pointer of "Existence" was swaying incessantly.
It emitted a faint mechanical sound, rhythmic and steady.
The tip of the Pope's sword trembled as it pressed against its casing.
We stood in silence, waiting in deathly stillness for the beat to stop.
Patriarch: …………
One, two, three, four.
…Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight.
The pointer never stopped.
Little Painter: Your Holiness?
Patriarch: Hah… hahahaha…
The Pope laughed, and every part of his body was shaking.
Invisible black mist floated from his body, beginning to dissolve every part of the hall.
It swept across columns, over sculptures, silently making the whole world disappear.
Patriarch: I never even moved it.
The Patriarch shook his head, burying his face. He seemed to clench his teeth.
Something shimmering at the corners of his eyes flickered and quickly vanished.
Patriarch: I've questioned countless dreams here, seen hell, seen oceans of blood.
Patriarch: But I... Little Painter...
He raised his head. His bloodshot eyes looked at me.
It was as if he were staring into a mirror, at a dream that perfectly catered to his desires.
Patriarch: I never thought you were fake.
Little Painter: What?…
The world around me began to shake.
The black mist that destroyed everything gradually filled my vision. After the intricate carvings and beams vanished, only nothingness remained.
Finally, at the very end, it reached me, dissolving the ground beneath my feet inch by inch, yet never taking the space where I stood.
Little Painter: …I don't understand, Your Holiness.
Little Painter: You say… I'm fake. What does that mean?
Patriarch: ……
Patriarch: Look, the Existence is still moving, it never stopped.
Patriarch: I've been here… for an entire afternoon, through one dusk. It still hasn't stopped.
Little Painter: ……
A certain answer appeared clearly in my mind.
It would take away the very essence of "me," but I felt no fear.
Little Painter: Do you mean…
Little Painter: This is your dream, isn't it?
Patriarch: ……
The Patriarch turned his head, gazing at the surrounding void.
Patriarch: When did I sink into this?
Patriarch: I don't even remember how the dream began. It's been 15 years, yet nothing felt false.
Patriarch: In reality, what are you to me, Little Painter? I don't even know the answer. I'll only understand once I wake up…
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch: But why are you so perfect, Little Painter?
Patriarch: I've never believed anything in this world could be so ideal… but you…
Patriarch: Why are you so perfect, beyond reality, Little Painter?
"Little Painter": …Your Holiness.
I extended my hand, my fingertips beginning to dissolve into nothingness.
Yet, I continued to walk on the pitch-black "void."
Slowly approaching my nurturer… my creator.
Patriarch: Are you real, Little Painter?
"Little Painter": As long as you believe, I am real.
Patriarch: Then, when I wake from this dream and return to that place where a decision must be made—
Patriarch: Where will you be?
I reached out and touched his face.
"Little Painter": I cannot exist with you as an individual in the real world, Your Holiness. Just like… I cannot touch your physical form right now.
"Little Painter": I will eventually dissolve into "nothing" here, because this is but a dream, a whimsical thought.
"Little Painter": This doesn't mean I don't exist. I am your "hope."
"Little Painter": Just as you first taught me. A dream is "nothing" born from "something," with the power to make heavy things light.
Patriarch: ……
"Little Painter": Your Holiness, even when you wake, I will still be with you.
"Little Painter": I will become… part of your heart.
"Little Painter": The part that looks forward to the future.
"Little Painter": I will wait for you in reality… Until the moment you rediscover "me" somewhere else.
"Little Painter": That will be rebirth after the fall.
"We" faded away from the fall. "I" was born from the decision.
At the very end, he held my hand, both smiling and sighing.
Patriarch: Then let's wake up.
In our clasped palms, a long sword appeared.
He closed his eyes, without hesitation, and used my hand to plunge the blade into his heart.
He woke to the sound of bells.
His vision blurred, his mind foggy, as it always was when waking from a dream.
He reached out to the chair beside him and nudged the "Existence."
The faint mechanical sound returned to his ears.
The pointer swayed rhythmically and then, after a moment, slowly came to a stop.
Patriarch: ……
He sighed long and heavily.
All the memories from reality flowed into his mind like water from a breaking dam.
It began with the confrontation in the wind and snow.
A drama for which he would never find an ending.
Suddenly remembering something, he searched for records related to "Fei,"
only to discover she had long since disappeared.
But this dream was too absurd — fifteen whole years.
It seemed something rare was born from the dream, but he still couldn't name it.
Patriarch: I actually sought to rule… how unexpected.
He spoke freely, using outward words to cover up the things he couldn't fathom, standing up.
Thousands of threads, tens of thousands of strands rose to his hand.
He playfully gazed down at all beings, confronting and reconciling with himself.
Patriarch: We'll meet again… it won't be long.
Patriarch: The decision promised in the dream, by then, will be fulfilled.
Once upon a time, there was a tiger who did not know it was born as a tiger.
It first realized its identity because many of its friends had died.
In anger, it bared its claws and fangs at its enemies and soon had a ground full of corpses.
So, this is how I should act—
it thought, looking at its claws, remembering to always keep them sharp.
It used everything it saw to hone its claws and fangs, finding joy every time it pierced its prey.
BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD.
When it came back to its senses,
it was comfortably soaking in a bathtub made of flesh and blood,
enjoying the warm and sticky touch.
It learned to suck, play, and even make handy weapons out of the flesh and blood.
This is how it became a fearless and elegant tiger,
showing a smile to every visitor, openly displaying its sharp fangs.
Ah, but this was not enough.
It reached out, greeting everyone.Its claws had become the sharpest thing in the world, and no barrier could withstand them.
So, it waved its large hand and reached out to its new friends—
Ah.
BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD.
Indeed, this was its only identity.
After the journey concerning the fragments of White City ended, Patriarch invited me to return to his planet with him.
His reason was "to help decipher the information contained in that fragment," though I didn't believe him much when he first spoke.
Even so, I agreed to the request and synchronized with him, lying in the hibernation equipment on his starship.
...To be honest, I don't know why I did it.
He needed hibernation for the round trip because the time on the way couldn't be skipped, but I could have used the Traveler's power to go home and rest for a few weeks.
He obviously thought of this, so when I walked to that empty hibernation pod, he showed a surprised expression.
But he quickly smiled, squinting his red eyes—
As if to say, "Thank you."
…And so, I returned to this great hall.
This was my first-time experiencing hibernation. If not for the unmistakable date on the starship's calendar, I wouldn't have believed I had been traveling in space for over a month.
When I crawled out of the hibernation pod, I was dazed for a while before finally raising my hands to pinch my cheeks.
My body temperature had long returned to normal, so I didn't feel any special sensation…
Instead, I was met by the still half-asleep Patriarch across from me, who openly mocked my cheek-pinching gesture.
But his expression when he first sat up was also very bewildered, wasn't it? I thought to myself.
It felt like I exchanged my embarrassing moment for a chance to peek at his. Even though what I get in exchange is actually completely unpredictable.
…Gambling. This is the only word to describe this journey.
I pushed open the great hall door and stepped into the morning light.
When I turned around, Patriarch was leisurely walking through the door.
He walked forward step by step under my gaze, finally sitting back on his throne filled with swords.
Little Painter: If the Infinite Empire find out you are carrying a Traveler on a starship without reporting, won't they come to investigate?
Patriarch: Why doesn't Miss Traveler mention that the hibernation pod could have directly lock you inside?
Little Painter: Coincidentally, I was just about to ask that in my second sentence.
Little Painter: It shows I'm quite brave, wandering the universe for over a month with a general of opposing stance without reservation.
Patriarch spread his hands, still wearing that smirking expression.
I thought he would bring up the "serious business" to discuss, but instead, he put his arms on the armrests and started tapping his fingers idly.
He tapped while staring at me with interest.
I tilted my head, mimicking his gesture — which signified provocation and disdain — he laughed and began speaking.
Patriarch: Little Painter, I have another request.
Little Painter: What's the reward?
Patriarch: It's gratifying that your first reaction is no longer to refuse.
Little Painter: Given your decent credibility and return rate, I can listen to your terms.
Patriarch: Alright, but I haven't thought of a reward this time… Maybe I'll just have you work for free.
I shifted my weight, remaining silent.
Patriarch snapped his fingers, and a red velvet chair appeared behind me, suspended by thousands of thin threads.
Little Painter: What for?
Patriarch: Sit down.
I observed the chair for a while and then sat on it.
In the blink of an eye, I was transported to the highest step.
Little Painter: …?
Now I sat directly opposite him, less than a meter away.
I instinctively blinked, watching this smiling tiger cross his legs.
Patriarch: I want to try sleeping.
Little Painter: Huh?
I stared at him, his expression unwavering, seemingly unaware of any ambiguity in his words.
Patriarch: The most primitive kind of sleep, without dreaming or consciously staying awake.
When he added this, I understood what he meant.
This man — previously on that snowy night around the fire — had mentioned to me that "he could never let himself lose consciousness."
Perhaps because he treated dreams, which ordinary people use to relax, as a weapon.
He never sleeps without purpose, sleep equals hunting.
And now, he said he wanted to try "the most primitive sleep."
Little Painter: You pulled me this close to supervise your sleep?
He nodded generously — but if there was any generosity in this act, it couldn't be that he generously offered his sleeping face?
I suddenly realized the absurdity of my thoughts and shook my head to dispel them.
As a result, he frowned, looking aggrieved.
Patriarch: You don't want to?
Little Painter: …No.
I subconsciously cleared my throat.
Little Painter: I was just thinking… I don't understand the rules of your ability, how can I tell if something is wrong?
I could roughly guess that the sleep problem he needed “supervision” for wasn't something ordinary people could think of.
Any weapon is like a double-edged sword, he had to avoid situations where it might harm himself.
Patriarch: This chair is designed to suppress anomalies, so your supervision is just a double assurance.
He reached out and knocked on the swords behind him. Indeed, from the first time I saw them, they had all been pierced into the throne from the outside.
Patriarch: Most likely, nothing will happen, but if it does, I'll react faster than you. I've been manipulating dreams for hundreds of years, and my sensitivity to anomalies is sufficient.
Little Painter: Is this why you never sleep anywhere else?
Little Painter: Every time I woke up, I saw you sitting by the bed, and the moment I moved, you acted as if you hadn't slept at all.
Little Painter: Actually, it's me waking up that alerted you, you needed this immediate reaction vigilance, right?
Patriarch didn't speak, just collapsed into his chair.
The throne, up close, indeed looked very comfortable, perhaps it was his "bed."
Patriarch: So, Miss Traveler, will you help me this time?
Little Painter: What if I don't?
Patriarch: Then I won't sleep.
I sighed inwardly.
How should I put it, I could already guess this response completely.
I stood up, walked to him, and for the first time looked down at him from this angle.
He curled up in his soft red "mattress," tilting his head like a cat.
I bent down, lifted his shoulders, and pressed them properly against the chair back.
Little Painter: Sleep.
Patriarch: ?
Little Painter: You sleep, but with a proper posture to prevent nightmares effectively.
He smiled and straightened his head back.
So, I sat opposite the throne, waiting for his sleep.
He silently watched me for a long time, this time there wasn't any intimidating sharpness in his gaze, so I just propped my chin and stared back in silence.
At some point, he seemed to have finally had enough or was satisfied, grinned at me, and closed his eyes.
For some reason, this expression always reminded me of a tiger in the zoo—
Showing a thin smile in a life of captivity, yet its essence was intimidating.
After all, when visitors see a tiger smile, it is always in a cage.
If the cage were unlocked, no one knows what would happen.
The tiger in the cage fell asleep.
I kept my attention, yet at some moment,unconsciously, I lost awareness.
Threads crisscrossed around, dense like iron bars.
The threads rose simultaneously, making a clicking sound as if a cell door opened.
I realized, to my horror, that I was lying on an altar, my left hand pulled up by the figure in front.
Patriarch?: Come now, return to your rightful place—
Patriarch?: O sacrifice of joy and peace.
Chapter 2 - The Cross
In just a moment, I was hoisted into the air, my limbs bound backward to something.
It's not that I lacked acuity, but when I instinctively tried to use my traveler ability, nothing happened.
The person holding me looked up at me, his lips curling into a smile, one hand still gripping my wrist.
He rubbed the spot over my pulse a few times, then let go, seemingly regretful.
Little Painter: Wait—
The last part of my body not bound by the threads was pulled completely back as he released his grip.
Only then did I see clearly that what was behind me was a… hanging cross.
The places where it touched my skin felt sticky, and a faint smell of blood filled my nostrils.
Blood…
This realization sent a shiver down my spine.
I immediately started struggling, and the person below me smiled as he spoke.
Patriarch?: This is a dream.
Patriarch?: Don't forget, you were already contaminated before you met me for the first time, completely unguarded from the start.
He folded his arms and took a step towards me.
His expression was one of complete mockery, combined with a chilling composure.
Little Painter: Who are you?
Patriarch?: I'm someone you know.
Little Painter: The person I know won't do this… He would either not limit my abilities to make it a fair fight, or they would limit them but not take advantage of me.
Travelling, illustra, bone sword, or any ability I knew, none worked here. I'd already tried.
This limitation I had known about since the first time I met Patriarch… in that story about enslavement, I had always been in such a passive state.
Patriarch?: Fairness? As expected, those who were enslaved never feel they're being enslaved.
Patriarch?: Even with their lives in the hands of others, they lack the awareness to escape. A moth to the flame is just a conditioned reflex, but you seek to deceive yourself with some lofty value.
I didn't fully understand what he was saying.
I kept struggling, trying to intimidate him with my gaze.
Yet, all my actions seemed worthless to him. He shook his head in disappointment, stepped closer, and placed the sword he was holding against my neck.
The sword was still sheathed, so I wasn't afraid.
And so, the next second was utterly terrifying.
A sensation of something piercing through the palm of my left hand.
It was quick, as simple as scissors cutting paper.
I looked there in shock.
The sword had instantly unsheathed and pierced my palm, nailing it to the wood of the cross.
Little Painter: ——!!
Blood, drop by drop, seeped from the wound.
I opened my mouth wide but found I couldn't even scream.
That was my hand, my bones, and my joints,
I belatedly struggled, but even my senses felt disconnected.
I watched my fingers tremble like a spectator, my brain frantically trying to block out the pain by deceiving itself.
Patriarch?: No sound. Are you brave or just too scared?
Patriarch?: Come on, tell me, do you still think this is fair?
Little Painter: I… don't know what you… mean…
Patriarch?: Still deceiving yourself, unwilling to cry out even after suffering so much.
A sword identical to the first materialized out of thin air.
He brought his fingers together, mockingly placed the tips to his lips.
He rotated his palm down, and the sword flew towards me.
This time it was the same side's forearm. I didn't know if it cut through the bone.
Little Painter: ————!!
Patriarch?: Oh, it seems you are quite brave. Though the belief you hold may be foolish, you are still a unyielding seeker of the truth.
Patriarch?: Alright, I'll reward you with three questions. I will answer them all, as you said, I am very "fair."
Who are you?
Patriarch?: Didn't you ask that already? Wasting a question, still foolish.
Patriarch?: But fine, I'll elaborate a bit more. I am the… bad side of someone you know. Although that's not entirely accurate, let's call it that for now.
Patriarch?: I recall someone once said, I am neither good nor bad. Hmm, now I agree with that, because who says being a sadist is bad and obedience is good?
Little Painter: ……
Why?
Patriarch?: "Why," you ask? Because the controlled version of me in reality is completely relaxed and asleep right now?
Patriarch?: He hasn't slept for a very long time, so he forgot what happened last time he fell asleep… oh no, he remembers, but he thinks he's perfectly integrated now without any cracks.
Little Painter: Last time… what happened?
Patriarch?: Still worried about me? Dear Traveler, should I call you selfless or foolish? At this point, are you not thinking about self-preservation, eager to feed yourself to the beasts?
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: Why… me?
The pain started to break through my brain's barrier. My jaw was already numb from clenching, and I knew I couldn't hold out much longer.
The person scrutinizing me, until now, never showed any expression I was familiar with.
He just smiled cruelly and mockingly. I couldn't believe it, but it was true.
Patriarch?: Because you're a "good person."
That sentence shattered my last bit of sanity.
Patriarch?: You are too good, and you should be punished for it.
Chapter 3 - Jealousy
After he said those two sentences, he began circling around me.
I couldn't tell if he was observing or waiting. Perhaps I had gradually lost the ability to process my surroundings as time passed.
The pain and the feeling of blood dripping were nauseating, and every blood vessel in my head pounded like noise.
I had no choice but to grit my teeth and close my eyes to focus my attention.
I needed to leave here. This was the only thought I could hold onto.
No matter what means, without delving into what exactly had happened, I needed to protect myself first. Only after that could I think about anything else.
I endured the pain, trying to grasp some clue from my memories.
The only thing I was certain of was that this was a dream. Regardless of how I entered it this time, his abilities and rules wouldn't fundamentally change.
Little Painter: Ugh—!!
My forehead can only feel cold. My hair must be stuck to it by sweat, but I couldn't sense any perception of details.
I coughed up blood, and then my lungs started heaving. This wound was on my chest, another piercing but not fatal.
My vision went blank for a long time before clearing again.
He was still smiling. Not even with much pleasure, just smiling purely.
He reached out and cupped my cheek, doing nothing more but staring sharply, as if to imprint every detail into his mind.
No empathy, no pain, no pride, no enjoyment.
I let myself go limp, resigned. Whether it was giving up or whatever else, I could finally stare at him mechanically, just as he did at me, without any emotional response.
Patriarch?: Good, you've learned to strip away emotions. Even if you eventually escape, I have accomplished something.
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch?: Your instincts are teaching you to protect yourself, to stop thinking, to stop asking, to stop expecting anything from the outside world.
Patriarch?: Now, your consciousness contains only yourself—this is the state closest to the essence of life. Learn this, and you can always survive.
Little Painter: ……
I stopped speaking entirely.
Finally, he fell silent, takes a few steps back, and snapped his fingers, causing the ground to rise into layered steps.
These steps formed a seat for him, merged into the ground, and then extended back to my feet in reverse.
He sat down, legs spread, fingers crossed, with a curious expression.
Time seemed to freeze like that, with only the still-uncoagulated blood dripping off the blade.
Little Painter: …How long do you plan to keep me here?
I finally asked. He lifted his head with a surprised expression on his face.
But he said nothing, only tilted his head, one hand slowly twirling nearby as if to show he was thinking hard about something.
Then he spread his hands, ending the exaggerated gesture in silence.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: You want me to guess.
He loudly affirmed with a "Hmm."
Little Painter: You enjoy… manipulating others… you like seeing them fear you.
His smile grew brighter.
Little Painter: That's pathetic.
Patriarch?: Hmm? What did you say?
He stood up, making a show of effort.
…It's all just a facade, I understand that.
Little Painter: Curling into yourself… only daring to intimidate, not to trust... that's what's truly pitiable.
Patriarch?: …Oh?
Little Painter: Do you want to repeat the process on me? In cruelty, to survive… abandoning trust… believing in violence.
Little Painter: But there are so many people in the world… if you don't cooperate with others, they will cooperate with each other… you'll lose the part of the world that can be used for yourself.
Little Painter: Violence can protect you… but it can't help you grow.
His expression froze for a moment. There was still no… part that I was familiar about it, and I admitted to myself that I couldn't give him a clear definition now.
After a moment, he turned, walking up the steps on the opposite side, hands clasped behind his back, and chuckled.
Patriarch?: Is that why you feed yourself to danger?
Patriarch?: Still foolish, but not too hard to understand. I look down on it, but I can take it seriously.
Patriarch?: But I must say, you're still thinking of changing me, still seeing me as that… person you like to be.
Little Painter: ……!
Patriarch?: How foolish is that? Why not discard these thoughts to avoid such confusion?
He turned back, this time with a malicious expression.
He took one step at a time down the stairs, approaching me.
On the highest step, one step away from me, he lowered his gaze, and enveloped me in his shadow.
I was extremely terrified and confused…
This difference in height and the distance of our conversation were no different from usual,
Yet he finally crossed these interactions and leaned in close.
…He was kissing me.
It was horrifying, especially as he pressed down on my pierced hand.
I fought with all my strength, even though my limbs were barely able to move.
So I finally headbutted him, the sound so loud it stunned me.
He looked at me unexpectedly, only a little surprised, but it finally showed.
He withdrew his hand, thought for a moment, and placed his hand on the hilt of the sword in front of me, the one that had pierced my chest.
Quickly, he pulled it out.
Blood spurted out, darkness covered my vision, and I almost saw death.
Patriarch?: What will it take for you to admit you're wrong or beg me for mercy?
Patriarch?: Many prisoners have been nailed to this cross. I interrogated them like this, but of course, never so intimately as with you.
Patriarch?: No one can escape this dream. They either use intelligence to survive, or wake up in the real world with their limbs intact but their spirits forever damaged.
Patriarch?: Saying this makes me doubt myself… What intelligence could you possibly have that would warrant such an elaborate effort?
Little Painter: If you want me to admit I'm wrong and beg for mercy… it means you don't believe you're right…
Patriarch?: …
Little Painter: I have never… thought I was absolutely right…
Little Painter: When have I ever denied you when we talked?
Little Painter: When have I… ever sincerely said you were wrong… Which time in our exchanges wasn't… me confirming you?
…No, I seem to be too… too irrational.
I felt something rolling from my eyes, which shouldn't be happening.
Maybe physiologically, I was at the limit of my collapse, and I almost couldn't control my reactions anymore.
If considering past bonds in the face of danger is foolish and confusing…
How could I not be confused after so much interaction and trust?
I am just a human made of flesh and blood, my brain not precisely controlled like a machine.
…I started crying. The tears blurred everything.
Even though he grabbed my chin, it seemed insignificant at this moment.
He lifted it, staring directly into my eyes, this time without a smile.
Patriarch?: You begged for mercy.
Little Painter: ……
Patriarch?: But begging for mercy is no different from dying. You are strong, why not hold back your tears?
Little Painter: …At least I'm not dead now.
I struggled to control the physiological reaction of crying, staring into his eyes.
Little Painter: Even if I truly died… dying here would be a relief…wouldn't it?
He was stunned.
Little Painter: Every time I die in a dream… I wake up in reality.
Little Painter: As long as I wake up, there is still a future…
Little Painter: But if I die here, you will have nothing left.
Patriarch?: ……!
Little Painter: Whether it's a victim to torment or an outlet for venting. So many questions, so much harm... you'll lose your subject.
Little Painter: If you remain asleep under his "control"… when was the last time you woke up?
Little Painter: Only when you harm others can you feel alive… it's sad
Little Painter: Then come harm me. I still have a path, while you have nothing but this.
Patriarch?: …Ha, still playing the saint?
Patriarch?: Self-sacrifice is the most foolish thing in the world, you're only alive now by sheer luck!
Little Painter: This is not self-sacrifice. I am not someone who doesn't know how to retaliate after being hurt.
Little Painter: Ah… yes, I understand. You might have seen too many people like that… As you said, those enslaved people…
I felt like I was facing death without fear, slowly pulling up a smile.
Little Painter: So, you think that goodwill in the world only appears when the benefactor is enslaved… And that enslaving other is a despicable act, even worse than straightforward violence, right?
Little Painter: But whether I approach you or reject you, it's not because of enslavement… It's my choice, a risky investment, because I can afford to win or lose.
Little Painter: But you seem… to have no choice.
Little Painter: Is it you who repeatedly enslaves others with violence in dreams, or are you the slave… who can't see a future and can only throw yourself into a cycle of three hundred years of hard labor?
Little Painter: I suddenly think you're quite pitiful… Lord Patriarch.
My voice suddenly choked.
This person, at the end of my words, grabbed my neck directly.
First with one hand, then with clenched teeth and burning eyes, the other hand trembled towards me.
Little Painter: I'm too kind to you, so you want to kill me…
I looked into his eyes, my tears rolling down again.
Little Painter: It can't be just for such a simple reason, right?
That suspended hand finally pressed down too, the doubled force bringing a burning pain.
Little Painter: You're so fragile, asking me to hate you…
His fingers trembled, his eyes widening almost to the point of splitting.
I couldn't make a sound anymore, but I still used my last strength to move my lips.
Little Painter: But I… will really… hate you…
Little Painter: When I truly can't bear it… and hate you… everything will be… too late.
Crack. My neck was snapped.
The world turned into a void, and my consciousness gained a freedom more painful than enslavement.
I felt as if I had died, wanting to linger in a world pretending nothing ever happened.
But no, the stabbing pain rising from deep inside my viscera woke me up, forcing me back into my senses.
I instinctively stood up from my seat, the world shaking as if about to collapse.
A stomach-turning pain came from my gut, and my eyes couldn't see anything, so I clutched my abdomen and knelt.
I collapsed onto a blood-red carpet, my body light as paper.
So cold, so cold.
In my last conscious moments, a back of someone's hand felt the hot temperature on my forehead.
Someone stood up in front of me, but I didn't want to think about anything anymore.
I felt like I had truly died once, whether in body or mind.
So for now… let me sleep.
Chapter 4 - The Lonely One
It seems I am dreaming.
Many shadows, representing nightmares floating around, but they are separated from me by a sheer curtain.
I am at the center of total darkness, unable to make a sound, yet feels extremely safe.
The shadows have ghostly forms, lunging at me with claws and fangs each time, but they all dissipate upon touching the sheer curtain surrounding me.
I do not need to be tense, and lost all my vitality…
I eventually sat down, hugging my knees, realizing where the sheer curtain came from.
In the end, I still woke up.
I don’t know why I chose to wake up, as my body and mind were too weak to move.
But after seeing the first thing before me, I seemed to understand my subconscious.
It was a pair of female hands, gently changing the wet cloth on my forehead under soft lighting.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: Your hands… feel comfortable.
My voice was so hoarse that even I didn't recognize it. My throat was so swollen it felt like two lumps of coal were stuck in it.
Blindfolded Nun: You're awake.
The hands, which had accidentally touched my forehead, stopped as soon as I spoke.
It seemed to be a young face, though her eyes were covered, it didn’t hinder her awareness.
She gazed at me, hesitated for a moment, then gently placed her hands on my forehead.
Her hands were cool enough to disperse the heat, and I quickly understood her identity.
Blindfolded Nun: You've had a high fever for three days. Now it's the period of temperature fluctuation, so we need to avoid cooling too much to prevent catching a cold.
Blindfolded Nun: But don't worry, your body is strong, and with the medicines here, you just need to rest.
Little Painter: ……
I nodded with difficulty.
Each time in my dreams, when I felt I was burning up to the point of death, it was these hands that brought a cooling sensation.
She was a revived corpse, devoid of a living person's warmth.
Such a thing that could bring the dead back to life… only that person could do it.
Blindfolded Nun: Shall I give you some water to drink?
I responded with my eyes but did not get up, simply letting myself lie in bed.
After my temperature was measured, I listened to her footsteps slowly fade and the door close. Finally, I turned my head to stare at the ceiling.
The chandelier emitted a soft glow, enveloping me like a gentle stream.
The glass lampshade was engraved with a silver and black pattern, depicting a scene reminiscent of the son of god's suffering in human texts.
I suddenly turned away, clutching my stomach and dry-heaving.
In my mind appeared an identical pattern, imprinted on a red velvet background.
It was that person's… hat.
…So that's what it meant.
After that, time became fragmented and flowed by like water.
I didn't ask where I was, nor did I ask about the origin of the medicines and food. I just quietly waited for the nun to knock and enter at mealtime, and quickly fell asleep when the moonlight framed by the window pane turned into a watercolor painting.
That person did not appear, and I didn't want him to, because even I didn't know how I would react if I saw that face again.
Do I hate him? At least up to this point, my physiological reactions have become deeply ingrained.
It's not like a machine that can be changed at will but a wound that requires effort to numb, cut open, disinfect, and heal.
Do I despise him? I don't know. I still can't determine how to reconcile the image from the dream with the real person.
Does he want me to hate him? …I don't know the answer to that either.
Do I love him?
…
I leaned against the headboard, drawing one knee up and resting my head on it, closing my eyes in thought.
I can't say I don't love him, at least before this incident, I couldn't deny it.
We’ve been through so much, so many things, that if the answer was no, I would have turned away at any crossroads long ago.
“Feeding oneself to the beast” — this saying is inappropriate, yet it holds some absurd truth.
If I hadn't always been gambling and wading through this sea of fire, everything from the past would have ceased to exist.
This person is an enemy.
Without a doubt, whether judged by his alignment or the events at our first meeting, this conclusion is 100% certain.
My initial entanglement with him was because of—
The Dream House Incident
It was the Dream House on Earth. At that time, he was clearly the mastermind behind many tragedies.
Being captured by the Dream Realm during a spirit wandering
During one of my spirit wanderings, I was captured by the Dream Realm because of my identity as a traveler, unable to shake off the unknown source of pollution.
However, after that, through various twists and turns, I began to pay attention to him, even becoming more and more concerned as our contact increased.
Why is this? What is so striking in my eyes?
…I don't know. I don't know.
The only somewhat clear thought is that in front of this person, even if I am pretending, I can still be myself.
I can shout and place all my anger and beliefs into the blade of my sword.
Even if it means confronting him with a sword, he can straightforwardly grasp it and thrust it into his own body.
Even questioning his words, breaking his defenses, never met with rejection or arrogance, and even reaching out to embrace him, he didn't know how to refuse.
As for this most recent journey…
When he silently gazes at the night moon.
I see a solitude vast enough to contain everything.
…I am attracted to this solitude.
I know only a dangerous environment can nurture it, shaped from both inside and out, deep and bottomless, it can be a vessel or devour souls.
And he is strong, mentally strong, knowing how to navigate the mix of black and white, how to let a damaged depression gather clear water and become a mirror reflecting all things.
But in that dream, the gray and white turned to pitch black.
I was indeed frightened by this pitch black…
And I don't know how it will change in the future.
Another many days passed, and the physiological reactions of the usual time gradually weakened.
I felt my nightly dreams becoming clearer, the sheer curtains enveloping me thinning bit by bit, slowly letting me touch reality as time passed.
The content of the nightmares was, of course, that bloody cross…
The pain from that time replayed, still startling me awake in the middle of the night.
In reality, I panted to calm down, using real senses to prove I couldn't die in that nightmare, I could still survive the wounds.
The isolated memories and senses wouldn't disappear, they were just buried.
And the person perhaps separated from me by a wall was trying, when I wanted, to help me dig them out as safely as possible.
…Then, one day, the nun knocked and entered as usual.
Under her gaze, I ate half of my breakfast, ensuring my stomach wouldn't react too badly.
When she picked up the tray and turned, I spoke.
Little Painter: Call your master. Right now.
Chapter 5 – The Young Tiger
I waited in the room alone, my heart racing.
It was fear and anxiety, I knew, and I kept taking deep breaths, trying to contain them.
After what felt like a long time…
There was a knock on the door. I opened my mouth.
Little Painter: …Come in.
I could barely make a sound, but the other person heard me.
Seeing this person again, I was much calmer than I had imagined.
He walked in with his head slightly lowered, his gaze fixed on the floor.
After the door was carefully placed against the wall, he had to turn around and look up.
This time, there was no evasion in his gaze, his expression was as calm as mine, but I could see the tension.
Little Painter: Why didn't you come these days?
Patriarch: ……
Little Painter: If you don't answer, I'll assume your nun is also a part of you, and you're just staring at me ambiguously.
Patriarch: No.
He shook his head suddenly, as usual, answering quickly only to this kind of question.
Patriarch: The attendants here are all dead. They have their origins and pasts, I just… fulfill their wish to continue existing.
Patriarch: I don't control them.
Little Painter: Okay.
I nodded, gradually getting used to the feeling of my blood rushing due to nervousness.
Little Painter: So, why didn't you come yourself?
Patriarch: …I was afraid of scaring you. I should only come when you need me.
Patriarch: Such wounds… can't be healed by mere apologies or seeking forgiveness. A little stimulation can tear them open again. My presence would destroy your efforts.
Little Painter: …You seem to understand these things well.
Patriarch: ……
Little Painter: You seem to have gone through a lot, there's no need to be humble about it.
I said, my gaze subconsciously shifting to the side.
Little Painter: You know how deeply I'm hurt. You might even know how painful and hard it is to heal these wounds.
Little Painter: I know you wouldn't tear open someone's wounds in reality. But in that dream… you have a tendency to make others experience the same pain as you.
It was difficult to say, but I made myself turn my head to face him.
Patriarch opened his mouth wide, his gaze trembling slightly.
Little Painter: I don't think you're a "bad person." I said, simple good and bad are too narrow.
Little Painter: But after this incident… how can I trust you?
I looked into his eyes.
Little Painter: How do you want me to trust you?
Patriarch: …I don't know.
He suddenly turned his face away, his gaze falling to the void again.
Patriarch: I am bad… Of course, a part of me is bad. You don't need to make excuses for me.
Little Painter: …That's not what I mean.
Patriarch: I've always measured myself this way, I've long been accustomed to it, using it as a weapon.
He swallowed and looked at me again, this time with a look of aggression in his eyes.
Patriarch: I won't change, and I can't change. It's my foundation, even if it hurts more people, it's still my backbone.
Patriarch: This is me. I'm sorry I hurt you, you can take any revenge you want, but I—
Little Painter: I don't want you to change yourself.
I stood up.
He was stunned, as if a hundred sentences were stuck in his dry mouth.
Little Painter: No, the word change is too broad. If you want to change something for me, I'd be happy.
Little Painter: What I mean is… I don't want you to break yourself to prove you didn't mean to hurt me.
Patriarch: ……
Little Painter: In that dream… you did intend to hurt me. That's a fact, clearer to me than anyone.
Patriarch: ……!
Little Painter: Nothing you do can cover up this fact. How you prove it doesn't matter.
Little Painter: I accept this. In fact, the harm has already been done. If I didn't accept it, I'd be deceiving myself—
Little Painter: What I want to ask you now is, will it happen again in the future?
Patriarch: No.
He enunciated heavily, still in that urgent mode of wanting to prove something.
Little Painter: Okay, then if it happens again, I will use my strength to pierce your heart.
Little Painter: I believe I will survive, and when that time comes, I will not hesitate to exact revenge.
Little Painter: I said in the dream, by then, everything will be too late. You won't be able to call me back, I will truly hate you.
Patriarch: …Okay.
He drew his gaze close, as if still unable to digest these words.
But eventually, he responded, completely affirmatively,
I could sense sincerity in that expression.
My racing heart gradually calmed down. A great deal of pressure was gradually dissipating, leaving behind a feeling of fatigue and relief.
I took a deep breath, and in the end, I even… subconsciously smiled a little.
Little Painter: Do you really understand what I'm saying?
He was genuinely puzzled. It was still his usual look.
Little Painter: I said, by then you won't be able to call me back.
He remained dazed, finally giving a look that said, "Of course I heard."
Little Painter: …You should go now. We still have a lot to talk about later.
Patriarch: ……
Little Painter: I haven't forgiven you. I accept you, and I reserve the right to fair revenge, understand?
He finally left in a daze, stopping just outside the doorframe, unable to suppress the urge to look back.
Little Painter: You came back even without me calling you.
Little Painter: If you didn't want to stay, there wouldn't be any talk of calling back.
I walked to the door and looked at him,
one hand on the door frame, the other on the door handle.
He looked at me, his lips slightly parted, but in the end, he said nothing.
Little Painter: We'll talk next time.
I heard my heartbeat return to normal and gently closed the door.
That night, patriarch had a dream.
In my sleep, I sensed it. It appeared through the sheer curtain in the form of wind, perhaps a subconscious opening from him to me.
I didn't suppress my curiosity and walked towards it with my old wounds not yet scabbed over.
I started gambling again…
Like being drawn to deep water, the deeper the water pressure, the more I could see the wonders of the seabed.
This dream realm was an endless battlefield.
Countless skeletons piled up on the ruins, lingering lives whispering among the broken limbs.
The cotton-like armor they wore flickered into the uniform of the Infinite Empire when I touched them.
This burning ancient battlefield was a dreamscape transformed by the subconscious…
To cover up a once real scene, so that when it appears, it is no longer so cruel and bloody.
But, in the real past, did the Empire's army lose the battle?
Or is this not a defeat but a pure sacrifice for building success?
"Were we… abandoned…?"
"The test of the new weapons… turns out we were all data…"
"If we were stronger, more cunning, maybe we wouldn't have died so foolishly…"
"Major… I'm sorry…"
I reached down. The soldier, whose flesh was a bloody mess, lost his breath before I could touch him.
His pale gaze futilely cast towards the western horizon.
I paused there, for a long time, before rising to walk towards what he was looking at.
And then I discovered that the yellow earth beneath my feet was made of bodies, the hands reaching upwards spilling blood, like sculptures fixing my ankles in place.
Little Painter: ……
Little Painter: Where… are you all looking?
I straightened up and looked west from this hill of bones.
Another hill of corpses rose from the horizon, and a figure appeared there.
Crows mourned. Flags drooped.
That person sat at the top of the bones and blood, laughing and surveying everything around.
His lips, tongue, hands, and feet were all bloodstained, his chest split layer upon layer as if hellfire was about to break out, sacrificing the original lamb and turning it into a demon born into the world.
He savored this perversion, seeing it as the only pleasure.
BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD.
That young tiger extended its claws, mourning its friends by devouring
It got used to swallowing, used to eating,
Used to stuffing everything into its broken body.
If it were stronger, more cunning,
With violence as its bones, making everyone submit beneath it,
Would its friends, its comrades,
Escape the misfortunes of this wretched world?
If not domination, then submission
Is there another way? No other way
I don't see the resting place of countless bones in this world.
Better to bury this erroneous cycle in fire with my own body,
To revel in absurdity and pleasure with it.
Chapter 6 - Trembling
After that time, I still lived on Patriarch's planet.
If one must say this was my subconscious trying to rebuild our relationship…
I admit it, and there's nothing wrong with admitting it.
The day after that conversation, I asked him to practice swordsmanship with me every day until I fully recovered.
Little Painter: You're not allowed to fight back, not allowed to use anything other than a wooden sword, and you can't complain when I hit you. Can you do that?
Patriarch: Yes.
So, my daily routine became breakfast—beat him—lunch break—beat him—dinner—beat him—sleep, with occasional breaks for studying and painting.
I enjoyed it so much that I even found myself childish.
He didn't fight back or complain, even when I accidentally cut him one day, leaving a small wound—
I was stunned. He merely touched the wound with his hand, observed the blood bead, and then licked it off his finger.
…At that moment, his tongue looked beautiful.
I couldn't understand why someone's first reaction would be that, but I didn't bother to think about it.
But what troubled me was that since that accidental dream, he had become increasingly silent.
I always had to keep asking him questions to get him to speak, especially on topics where he felt the need to prove he still had some semblance of kindness. Otherwise, he would only respond with single words like “mm” or “ah.”
I didn't like this state. Or rather, I didn't want to stay in this state.
I could feel the joy rising in my heart each time I attacked him, wanting to exchange emotions with him, and he would occasionally smile during intense fights.
That smile was genuine, and I believed he also found some comfort in our swordplay, but outside of that context, he wouldn't speak.
He still avoided direct confrontation with me, and on this monotonous and dull planet, it was extremely frustrating.
So that night, after washing up, I fell silent while looking at my nightgown.
I walked from the bedroom to the outer hall.
The nun's sewn nightgown was solemn and long, making me feel like I wasn't lounging at home but preaching among pews, exuding authority and sanctity.
The long hem made noise as I moved, so when I appeared at the corner connecting the hall and the corridor, Patriarch looked up.
He spent most nights sitting on that throne, sometimes dealing with rare matters, sometimes just staring blankly.
Now, he was sitting with legs crossed, one hand supporting his chin, and a book perhaps from some civilization resting on his lap, looking at me in surprise.
I didn't speak.
I traced his figure with my eyes again, although we had faced each other countless times day and night, it still felt fresh.
As long as he wore his usual mask,
As long as he maintained that silent, apologetic yet evasive defense…
No one could truly touch him, and every interaction would slip away like water on ice.
So who could say this didn't make him intriguing?
I climbed a step and suddenly remembered the last similar scene when I first hugged him.
Since then, an embrace like that was impossible.
So tonight—
I stopped at the highest step.
He remained seated, with the high walls behind him confining him to this narrow space.
Patriarch: …Is there something you need?
He looked up, still in that guarded, infallible tone.
I made a final judgment in my mind, and then—
Crossed the last step between us.
I approached him, my knees touching the front edge of his seat.
The chair's width allowed me to squeeze into the space beside his legs.
His eyes widened in surprise, and he leaned back.
He wanted to pull away but ended up sinking completely into the red surroundings.
I leaned down and gently touched his cheek.
The wound I once inflicted had healed, leaving a very faint scar.
This was real flesh, different from what I saw in the dreams, a tangible body that could get hurt and feel pleasure—
I almost lost control of my actions, watching his eyes dumbfoundedly, rubbing the scar with my thumb.
Patriarch: You…
I slowly sat on his lap.
He was clearly shocked, but as I touched him more, he didn't move.
If that's the case… Can I assume he also desires this contact?
Just like I used to suppress such thoughts deep in my heart, urging myself every night not to fantasize.
I placed one hand on his waist and leaned forward slightly.
We were so close that I could clearly feel each other's breaths.
Following my heart, I tilted my head and gave a light kiss.
The thin lips trembled upon contact, almost stopping his breath.
Patriarch: …Are you still sober?
When we parted, he asked this.
He finally placed a hand on my shoulder, and the resistance in his legs caused the book on his lap to fall to the ground.
His eyes were filled with something blurry, but he remained alert, just like he did during every brief rest.
Little Painter: I'm very sober. I just want to know… Are you sober?
Little Painter: Are you sober enough to give me a clear answer? Or will you continue to avoid all my questions, pretending to be asleep?
Patriarch: ……
Patriarch: I don't think you'll be happy. This kind of thing… shouldn't involve me, I'll only disappoint you.
Little Painter: How do you know without trying?
Little Painter: Besides, how can you be sure that just being with you wouldn't make me happy?
He was stunned.
His breath slowed, as if time had stopped.
The hand on my shoulder weakened, and a light touch changed its shape.
I stared at his face for a long time, long enough to believe this was the answer.
I shifted my weight onto his legs, holding his face, and resumed the kiss.
This time, his stubbornness finally lessened.
His neck slowly relaxed, his head resting lightly on the cushion of the chair.
I gave him a kiss as light as a dragonfly touching the water, and he responded clumsily and slowly.
His hand slid from my shoulder to my back, cautiously mimicking an embrace, then climbed to the back of my head.
…This scene was so beautiful, so beautiful.
So much so that when I remembered the thin swords at my waist, for a moment, I almost gave up my revenge.
Little Painter: Huff…
I broke off the deepening kiss, unable to suppress a breath.
He slowly opened his eyes, the watery lake in them, still patiently watching my movements.
I reached to my waist for the three thin swords, each as thick as a finger but sharp enough.
When I held the first sword in front of his palm, his pupils contracted slightly, then… he seemed to sigh at the absurdity.
Patriarch: Go ahead.
He looked at me as if this was what he expected all along.
I removed his glove, aimed the sword tip at his palm, feeling a twinge in my heart but still delivered the strike accurately.
He groaned, the smell of blood filling the air, his fingers trembled, then relaxed like shedding armor.
I stared at his face. He only felt the pain for a moment before looking back at me with a smile as if he had finally been forgiven.
Patriarch: Continue.
I felt my eyelids tremble. I closed my eyes, swallowed hard, and reached for his collar, removing the metal.
This military uniform had too many decorations. I almost grew impatient, so he extended another hand to help.
Such compliance was… strangely satisfying.
I pulled down his collar, revealing the skin underneath, then leaned down to kiss it.
Patriarch: ……
I touched the spot where the sword would pierce with my fingers and lips.
I couldn't bear it anymore, it was completely different from the suppressed anger and frustration I felt while planning.
At that time, I thought my anger was just… truly furious about that dream.
But now, I realized what angered me was the chasm between our hearts, so close yet so distant, sharing the same longing but separated by a vast abyss.
…But if this is what he needs to forgive himself, then let's do it.
I placed the thin sword against his skin and used half my strength to pierce it.
He took a deep breath, his brows furrowing.
His adam's apple moved up and down, finally making a sound.
Patriarch: I've never been so afraid of pain.
Patriarch: I'd rather strip away my senses… but then I wouldn't feel you.
A seed of longing in my heart swelled instantly with his words.
That strange feeling spread through my veins, bringing heat and joy.
Little Painter: …Should we continue? I don't want to…
Patriarch: You said you wanted revenge, my traveler.
Patriarch: Just a little more, and we'll be even.
Patriarch: This is my first time… being even with someone.
Little Painter: ……
I gritted my teeth and plunged the third sword into his forearm.
The blood pooled on the seat, deeper and more beautiful than the original red.
Little Painter: Can you still move like this? How will you heal…
Little Painter: —Don't tell me it's an excuse to make me stay another month or something.
I changed my posture. He chuckled.
Patriarch: Such minor wounds won't immobilize me, what do you take me for?
I was silent, looking at the skin under the clothes.
Unfastening the inner shirt, I saw layers of scars.
This person could operate purely in a spiritual state.
But sometimes he returned to this body, and now I might understand why.
This irreparably damaged flesh bore his wounds and past.
I remembered him once saying, "Because life is associated with fragility."
Little Painter: Alright, I suppose such an injury is nothing to you…
After thinking for a long time, I still said this.
If this indeed meant nothing to him, then instead of indulging in self-pitying sympathy, I should follow along with his proud demeanor.
I lifted his chin again, bringing my face closer to his.
Little Painter: Then can I continue?
He was silent for three seconds, averting his eyes.
Little Painter: If you continue to be silent and passive, I'll take it as your real consent.
The person in front of me did not move, so I slid my hand inside his shirt from the edge.
Those smooth, hard lines, stacked with scars.
I finally touched that part of him, feeling his whole body tense for a moment.
He groaned, furrowing his brows and looking at me, his lips parted, revealing breaths he couldn't conceal.
Entwining, approaching, merging.
Two hearts with no boundaries, conveying messages through swords and scars.
Neither owed anything, neither forgave, thus they could be free and unrestrained.
It was a faster and increasingly vigorous surge, like the explosive signals sent from the universe.
His mind gradually drifted, for some reason recalling a scene from years ago.
He had lost his past, joined the empire, learned to fake smiles, thinking he had integrated into the order.
However, his soldiers all perished in a concealed experimental battle, shattering his mind and body, transforming him from a lamb to a shepherd in an instant.
He fought, consumed, ascended, continuously growing stronger.
To the point where he could raise a toast amidst the stench of charred flesh and fat, jokingly celebrating with new soldiers who feared him as he wished.
…However, such days abruptly ended one day.
He woke from a normal sleep, finding himself unable to move.
This body rejected all his will, or perhaps, it was the mind itself rejecting everything he forced himself to do.
He struggled to report to the higher-ups through the system, claiming his body was broken and needed repair.
The person “repaired” by drugs boarded a new mission's starship.
Imperial Ayn: ……
He looked around the universe in confusion, suddenly feeling everything becoming black and white, drifting away from him.
Why is he here, what is he doing?
Flipping between black and white, turning between compliance and violence, stumbling back and forth, where would he finally belong?
He felt his lips stiffen, wanting to call out his name, but couldn't make a sound.
Just then, a violently expanding ripple appeared on the screen.
The waveform was so large that he couldn't ignore this content unrelated to the mission.
He activated the starship's visual system, looking in that direction.
A planet was shattering—
No, a planet was healing itself in an incomprehensible way.
Starship AI: Detected intense emotional energy fluctuation, this waveform indicates death emotions.
Starship AI: The magnitude matches the life response on the planet, speculated to be due to imperial harvesting activities.
Empire Ayn: Harvest? …No one is harvesting there.
Starship AI: This inference is based on the fact that all life on the planet died at the same time.
Starship AI: Detected an unrecorded reaction pattern… preparing to record and report to the central hub.
Empire Ayn: …Stop.
Empire Ayn: I need to review and confirm the data before reporting.
Starship AI: Understood.
He hesitated, trembling, walking towards the empty edge of the bridge, gazing into the vast universe.
The planet emitted a dazzling light, he knew light also needed time to travel, the life afterglow he saw had already perished in the other's reality.
But what a strange, miraculous sight this was.
He stared dumbfounded at this incomprehensible scene, making the first decision of his life that deviated from orders.
Empire Ayn: Change the navigation target, head towards the detected planet at full speed.
Starship AI: This planet is unrelated to the current mission, changing course will be reported, do you wish to proceed?
Empire Ayn: …I want to go. I must go now!
Starship AI: Understood.
The starship slowly changed speed, drawing an unknown arc in the vast universe, like the trajectory of his soul.
He stood on the transparent bridge, inexplicably, reaching out towards the slowly expanding bright light—
Reaching out—
Until enveloped in this bridge of death and rebirth—
Seeing the white flowers blooming at the peak of life—
Patriarch: ……
In reality, he reached out, this time he indeed touched something.
It was her face, her eyes, containing an entire universe.
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