༺ 𓆩 Chapter 51 — Nightmare (4) 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
I didn't know their names.
I didn't know where they lived.
I didn't know where they met the priest.
"If only I had asked yesterday... would things be different?"
I despised myself.
I denied myself.
Because I tried to abandon who I was, the [Clown] trait slowly consumed me.
Tap—, Tap—, Tap—, Tap—, Tap—, Tap—
For someone who didn't even know their names, I had only one way to find the children —
– search the entire back alley.
Alone, the task was impossible—the area was too vast. So I interrogated everyone I found.
"Do you know where the little children are?"
Though my words were polite and courteous,
My actions were not.
I grabbed passersby, pinned them against walls, and demanded answers. Yet no one knew. To those struggling daily, caring for others was a luxury.
Tap - tap - tap tap tap
"Haa... haa..."
My running speed slowed.
My breathing grew ragged.
Hours had passed since I began searching. Still, my body refused to stop.
Then I heard a voice behind me.
"Masked... brother..."
A familiar voice.
The voice that always thanked me with a bright smile.
I turned toward the sound.
There stood the girl, stumbling toward me with a massive hole in her chest.
My body immediately ran to her and embraced her cold form.
Just as I was about to ask what had happened—
"Uuuurrrgh."
A guttural groan echoed. The stench of blood flooded my nostrils as I drew my sword.
Shing—
"N-no..."
The girl blocked my sword with her entire body.
I couldn't understand why, but—
"Uuuurrrgh."
When I saw the thing making those strange noises, I understood.
Clank—
The sword fell pathetically to the ground.
"Ah..."
A boy shuffled forward, eyes vacant. The blade he always carried—meant to protect her—was slick with her blood.
No life pulsed within him. He was already dead.
In this world, there existed people who could make the dead move.
Necromancers.
Usually, the corpses controlled by Necromancers were made of bones.
It was easier to control them that way.
But the boy was different.
He looked almost alive.
Not a skeleton, but a corpse with flesh still attached.
And there was only one Necromancer who used such techniques.
"MORDOR!!"
My body screamed the name of the Necromancer who had done this to the boy.
A Necromancer's criteria for choosing corpses was simple.
Stronger corpses.
Because stronger corpses yielded greater power.
But Mordor had deliberately chosen the weak bodies of children.
Purely for entertainment.
With trembling hands, my body embraced the girl's form.
That calculating bastard wouldn't have let the girl escape by accident.
For fun.
He had deliberately let her go just to watch a brother kill his sister; the girl's lips parted as she watched me trembling, powerless to do anything.
"Masked brother, please... kill us..."
"What...?"
"If things stay like this, history will say I died by my brother's hands."
"...Why should you die..."
The girl's body grew colder by the moment.
If there were a priest nearby, I could save her.
But this was the back alley.
If I had a potion, I could save her.
But I had none.
"You pretended not to have a dream, but I actually knew. You wanted to become a knight who protects countless people."
Blood spurted from her mouth with every word.
"If you leave brother like this, he'll surely end up killing others."
I could barely feel any warmth from her body now.
"If I die like this, brother will surely think he killed me and be sad in heaven."
Then, mustering all her remaining strength, she uttered her final words.
"So please, masked brother, I beg you. Please kill us."
In my hand was the dagger I had bought as a gift for the boy.
The child's breathing grew increasingly shallow.
As if urging me to make a quick decision.
My body pulled out a cloak from [Subspace], spread it on the ground, and carefully laid the child upon it.
Tremble—
With shaking hands, my body pressed the dagger against the child's heart.
Squelch—
The dagger pierced the child's chest.
Though my mind told me I needed to kill her quickly to ease her suffering, my emotions screamed not to kill her.
"...Kuhek."
Flinch—
Hearing the child's pain, my body drove the dagger deep into her heart.
"I promise... I will definitely kill the bastard who did this to you."
"............"
However, no response came.
With trembling hands, my body raised the sword and looked at the boy walking toward us.
"Haa... haa..."
I watched myself descend further into despair.
Even knowing I couldn't escape this nightmare, I still tried desperately to break free.
But of course, I couldn't escape the nightmare.
I was powerless. Utterly powerless.
Both my dream-self and real-self were equally powerless.
After that day, I had the same nightmare every night.
At first, I thought I might be cursed.
But Duke Adellion said there was no curse on me.
I was so powerless that I used drugs to avoid the nightmares.
I was so weak that I used Yerika's voice to ignore them.
'I don't know what your trauma is. I know you don't want to talk about it. But drugs will never make it better. To escape the nightmare, you must ultimately accept it yourself.'
Duke Adellion had said that my subconscious was creating these nightmares.
He had said that most people who have such dreams are trying to change reality, even if only in their dreams.
'Then why can't I do anything?'
If these dreams were meant to change reality, even in sleep,
Why was I forced to watch, unable to move or speak?
'Ah.'
I finally realized why I could do nothing in the nightmare.
This wasn't a dream meant to change reality.
'This is punishment I'm inflicting on myself.'
A punishment my subconscious imposed on my worthless self who could do nothing.
And there was only one way to escape this punishment.
Accept reality.
If I accepted reality, perhaps the nightmares would stop.
'Accept reality?'
Accept that the children died because of my foolishness, and that I killed them with my own hands?
Never.
I will never accept it.
No, I refuse to accept it.
I will never acknowledge the children's deaths.
Children who had dreams.
I cannot accept the death of children whose dreams were for others.
Even if I use drugs to avoid the nightmares.
Even if I use Yerika's voice to ignore them.
Even if I have to face these nightmares again without either.
I will never accept this reality.
.
.
.
.
Johanna continued pursuing Loki.
Running across rooftops made the chase easier.
Bang—!
Loki entered some kind of shop.
Seeing this, Johanna descended from the roof and followed him inside.
The stench of alcohol hit her; though crowded, the bar was eerily quiet.
‘Where is he—?’
She tried to locate him, which proved easy — everyone in the shop was staring at him.
"Information Guild. Hand over what you know."
Loki had someone by the collar.
The mercenary-looking patrons trembled at the killing intent radiating from him.
‘The Information Guild? Here?’'
She knew about the Information Guild.
A guild that supposedly possessed all kinds of information.
But nobody knew who its members were.
Nobody knew where to find them.
"Sir, this is just a regular tavern, not the Information Gui-"
"If you don’t talk now," Loki interrupted, "I’ll expose every Guild hideout across the empire. No—the entire continent."
Thump—, Thump—
"That's enough."
An old man walked over from a corner of the tavern.
"I am the 33rd Eye. I don't know what information you seek, but this reckless approach-"
"Garam, that's your name. I'll keep this brief. Give me the information now."
Bang—
Loki slammed a pouch of gold coins onto the table.
The old man flinched — first at hearing his true name, then at the fortune before him.
"Hmm, for this much money..."
But he tried not to show it.
Seeing how easily the money was offered, he thought he might get more.
"Don't push it."
"............!"
When the man before him spoke, that thought vanished.
Since entering the shop, the man had been emanating killing intent; that killing intent had made even the guild's combat personnel tremble.
The old man had thought the man was deliberately releasing his killing intent since entering.
No, he had been mistaken.
The killing intent they'd felt until now was merely what the man naturally emitted.
For just that moment, the man had directed real killing intent at him.
This man could kill him right now.
The only reason he hadn't was that he needed information.
Cold sweat dripped down the old man’s neck.
"What… information do you seek?"
He bowed his head.
END of CHAPTER
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