Chapter 75

Chapter 75 : Forgotten Being (2)

After driving out all the noisy bastards and emptying about half the bottle of liquor I had extorted from Pan, my reason returned.

The traces Sek had left behind two hundred years ago shook me.

The distrust that something I had never even thought to question—whether I was “real”—might actually be false made me feel as though all the blood was draining from my body.

I denied reality, thinking that if Sek was me, he would never have left behind a picture like that, but if I thought about it for even a moment, it was impossible for him not to be me.

The fact that he knew that face meant it could not be established as merely peeking into the future through Original Work Viewing and stealing a look at my memories.

Sek knew Danhye.

Sek might be my past. No, he is my past.

Sek predicted that I would fall into the Black Forest and wander at this point, and he left Danhye’s portrait for me.

“……To make me come to my senses.”

Because I would surely be satisfied with a moderate amount of kindness, settling in without even thinking about when it might end.

Because if it were me, who had been shut up in my room, tormented by trauma, caught in auditory and visual hallucinations, and muttering nonsense, I would treat this place as an escape into daily life.

Sek knew that all too well.

“The back of my head is tingling.”

It was a perfect yet bastard-like arrangement, down to the fact that I would only turn my eyes if he hit me that hard.

I only knew part of Sek’s past, but Sek knew everything about me. Of course he did! Because that bastard was me!

I rubbed my face dry and let out a deep breath.

Then I spread my palm wide and shook it before my eyes. The damned hand, even down to the trembling fingertips, was mine.

Setting aside these mismatched odd eyes that did not suit me, the rest was clearly me when I had been Iwon, but I could not be certain of it.

To begin with, it made no sense that I had entered the Original Work in my own body, become the Former Underworld Lord, and lived from two hundred years ago—far earlier than that, even.

“Lost Data.”

The fact that Sek’s data was not in my memories meant it was right to assume I had been manipulated.

Do not trust my memories.

Trust records and traces.

So Original Work Loading had been a supplementary device for my memories, and a kind of safety device that brought me closer to the past Sek.

“Is the Deleted Original Work the Original Work that progressed before the Branching Point?”

Or is it Sek’s memory?

Whatever it was, it required something called a Soul Fragment of a Forgotten Being, and I knew similar words.

Black Mist. Forgotten Being. Sovereign. And so on.

I propped my chin on my hand and looked half-lidded at Fluffnix, who was sleeping far away in his home.

He had once swallowed a large amount of Black Mist while repairing the clocktower in Mist’s Domain. And Woldeer had an inventory ability to spit back out what he had eaten.

I tapped the table with my finger and then downed the remaining liquor.

First of all, I did not think I could make it through today while sane.

The shadow clinging to the edge of my consciousness was unpleasant, and I shook my head. More precisely, it was fear.

The enormous curtain of shadow that had swallowed me, the heavy shackle that dragged me into the darkness.

The sweet sharpness of the fruit wine lingered in my mouth.

Only then did I realize I had been pouring liquor into an empty stomach. Thinking this had all happened because Pan had come by in the morning and bothered me only irritated me more.

“Fluffnix.”

At my call, the creature opened his eyes slightly, shook his head a few times, and closed them again.

My hand, which had been propping up my chin, slipped. I raised one eyebrow and swallowed a breath.

“Woldeer?”

When I called him again, the creature opened his eyes once more, fluttered his wing feathers a few times, and spoke.

[“It is time to sleep, Master.”]

“It is not as though I do not know you spend all day doing nothing but eating and sleeping.”

[“Why are you like this? You smell of alcohol.”]

If I had known he could avoid things this brazenly when we first met, I would have felt less wronged.

“Spit out what you ate.”

[“Which thing do you mean? The flower that is the framework of the production method is possible, but if I take it out, it will shatter immediately.”]

Ah, right. There was that too.

“Not that. The Black Mist you swallowed at the clocktower…….”

[“I have not finished digesting that. If I spit it back out, you will be engulfed in Black Mist.”]

“Like back then?”

I had meant to ask whether it was the Black Mist that had affected the clocktower, but the creature seemed to recall something from long ago and answered one beat late.

[“Once digestion is complete, I can spit it out as a crystal.”]

“So it is impossible right now.”

[“The Forgotten Being is too enormous in invisible size to spit out in this form.”]

“Is it the same issue as when you transformed into Woldeer to swallow it?”

[“Correct. If you do not want to collapse, either improve your skill or wait. Master is weak.”]

I am so sorry about that.

Either way, it meant I needed to raise my abilities…… I checked the Quest list again, now empty except for one ending Quest.

‘It has not given me Quests lately.’

Judging by the fact that my grade had risen, it was not completely broken. Had it been quiet since the clocktower because these were peaceful daily events?

As for items, grades, or Skills, there was nothing easier to obtain than through Quests.

Feeling needlessly regretful, I called the system, but it did not answer.

Even if I wanted to ask about the Deleted Original Work or the past Sek, what could I do when it had to react first?

I propped my chin on my hand again and quietly rummaged through my memories, then turned over the day Woldeer had first returned.

“You said there were two more production methods?”

[“Do you feel like working, Master?”]

“I have always been working.”

[“Brazen.”]

If it were the usual system, it should have produced a Quest when it heard about the production methods. Something like, There are two more production methods left by the Sovereign, so find them.

Even if it was not something I could carry out right away, it could have displayed it as an Epic.

Why was the system, which had faithfully carried out Sek’s intentions all this time, so quiet?

‘Hey, give me a Quest or something. I think my passion has come back. Throw me anything.’

As expected, it was silent.

Had the error from last time affected it? Was it under repair because I told it to cough up useless Fame? Or was it because Sek’s Lost Data had been shared?

I let the questions that surfaced in my head drift away and pitied my own state, drinking in the middle of the day.

Fine, I admit it.

My mental state is on the verge of exploding right now.

“Woldeer.”

[“It frightens me whenever you call me that, Master.”]

“I will not eat you.”

[“Speak.”]

“If there are two production methods, do you know where they are?”

[“Of course I know. Master was the one who dropped me in the Black Forest.”]

The past me chose you through Guiding, right?

I opened the hand propping up my chin and rubbed my temple.

Karon was after the production methods, and for me to raise my grade, intervening in the Original Work was the fastest way.

To recover my completely lost memories and gain power, I had to find the production methods after all.

“Where are they?”

At my words, the creature stared into empty air for a moment as though searching through information, then preened his wing feathers and opened his mouth.

[“In the Desert’s Domain and the Underworld.”]

Waaah― can we not balance the difficulty?

“By the desert, do you mean the source of the metal Underfolk hate so much?”

[“Correct. But that cannot be the problem, so why are you concerned about the easy one first, Master?”]

“The Underworld has Karon, so it is not something I can deal with right now.”

[“It was taken. Karon found the production method. Originally, it was in Spring’s Domain―.”]

“―Do not tell me, Ariti?”

[“If that refers to the Ruler of the Spring, then yes. The production method was passed down to the Ruler of the Spring.”]

“Why are you only telling me that now?”

The creature scolded me with a pathetic look—his expression did not change, but that was how it felt.

[“Did Master not throw the work aside?”]

Mm. Yes. I have nothing to say.

Was that the trigger for why Karon wanted Ariti?

I pulled up the corner of my mouth while recalling the episodes between those two, the ones I had not bothered to keep in my memory.

Because I could roughly infer what form that production method took.

It was a form that could not be helped even if one knew it, and would be useless even if one possessed it.

---

I stepped into the night market to find the merchant said to have traded the Desert Dagger, and it was absolutely not because Murel had awakened to the joy of night-market sightseeing.

“Lord Iwon probably will not understand.”

“Why?”

“Strictly speaking, Lord Iwon is Underfolk, but not Underfolk.”

“Was I mixed-blood? Is that why my eyes are mismatched?”

“I am the mixed-blood one. I mean your inside is different from your outside.”

“Inside?”

“Your mind.”

I closed my mouth because that struck a nerve. I claimed it was memory loss, but even I found my current state difficult to define.

If the question was about the contents inside me, I was in no position to argue.

The title “Sovereign” was not simply a title that came from having once held the lord’s seat.

Murel was talking about that part, and I grew bitter again over memories I could not recall.

Unlike the lively atmosphere of the night market.

“Ahem, Lord Iwon, may we eat that before we go?”

Murel pointed at one food alley on the side of the night market, eyes shining.

“Have you forgotten our purpose?”

“Quiro should be carrying out that purpose well, so can we not wait leisurely?”

“I want to find it before Quiro recognizes it first and has a fit.”

It was a metal that made Underfolk uneasy.

Quiro already looked stiff to begin with, and wearing glasses would not make their impression soften. If they reacted instinctively, another commotion would―.

―Kyaaaak!

I pressed a hand to my forehead.

Murel, whose eyes had gone wild at the street food, lowered them coldly and reacted, leaping out in an instant.

A red afterimage stretched long, and the Red Mist that had exploded from the place where the scream rang out shrank down in an instant.

Relief came with a sigh, and my head ached over the problem of cleaning this up.

I had these hanger-ons with me as a defense against Karon, but before that, they were making a mess from the inside.

“Haa, did they find it at least?”

I scratched the back of my neck and approached the crowded place.

Perhaps because of whatever measure Murel had taken, Quiro was lying face-down in the corner, sniffling, while Murel held something in his hand with a frown.

It was not a weapon like the Desert Dagger. It was rounder and shinier…….

“A mirror?”

“Ah, Lord Iwon.”

Unlike Quiro, Murel seemed to have stopped at a frown even while holding it barehanded. Though it was a metal that supposedly made Underfolk feel uneasy, the fact that he only reacted that much seemed to be because Murel was mixed-blood.

I smiled at each and every person gathered around us, quickly paid for the mirror, and dragged the collapsed Quiro away from the area.

Quiro was being dragged along limply while pouring out tears, but there was no way to know whether that was the metal’s effect.

I felt truly fortunate that the office was near the night market and flung the door open.

“Riwin? You even brought baggage.”

Had I not locked the door?

While Quiro, slung over my shoulder, crumpled onto the floor, and Murel, who had followed behind, tripped over them and fell forward, my gaze was fixed on Pering, who was looking at us indifferently. I stood frozen at the entrance, mouth set.

I was in the position of being caught doing something bad, and the visitor was unexpected.

“Instead of waiting in an office with no owner, you could have contacted me.”

You were quite good at contacting me with those strange woody vines.

Adding those words, I roughly threw the still-crying Quiro onto the sofa, then entrusted Fluffnix to Murel, who was sprawled on the floor cursing up a storm, and sent him out to the terrace.

“He has been contaminated by desert metal.”

Pering recognized it as he looked at the sniffling Quiro.

“Was that mirror the cause?”

I shoved the mirror in my hand roughly into my pocket and sighed.

If Pering might be the source of the Desert Dagger, then I had openly gone around digging for that source.

Sure enough, Pering pulled over any chair and sat down, then calmly stated his reason for coming.

“I heard you called me a traitor.”