Ch.153Report on the Downfall of Diligence (18)

The bizarre beast shook its head and retreated backward. The severed horse head on the ground made a gurgling sound, foaming at the mouth before slowly closing its eyes.

The beast stared blankly at the fallen head, then assumed a stance and charged again. Maria snapped her fingers, but once more, instead of holy fire, there was only searing pain.

Only a mushy sensation told her that blisters had formed on her thumb and index finger. In that moment, a flash of sword light gleamed. Maria screamed.

“No! Too fast!”

Though the monster was approaching quite rapidly, it was still far away—more than four or five steps away. Yet Kain, still with his eyes closed, swung his raised sword downward.

“Groo-oo-ooooo!”

The monster retreated backward again. Another horse head fell from its opposite arm, tumbling to the floor.

Blood and shadow gushed from the severed neck, but the horse soon breathed its last with its tongue sticking out.

Maria gritted her teeth and walked forward. Pain like a hammer crushing her left ankle surged through her, but she ignored it.

The feeling of blisters bursting on her fingers and skin peeling away was horrifying, but she intended to summon one last fire even if it meant burning all her fingers.

But she saw them—shadows crawling across the blood-soaked wasteland.

Like a thousand hungry thread snakes, they hissed and then raised their heads toward Kain, attacking with a hissing sound.

Time before her eyes stopped, as if trapped in a painting. Her senses, heightened to their limit, perceived the moment in fragments. It was as if a second had been stretched tenfold.

Despite the shadows surging toward him, Kain still kept his eyes closed. His posture was hunched, his Imperial sword still held in the downward position after striking.

Only his mouth was moving. Kain’s lips were fluttering.

‘Is he talking to himself?’ Maria wondered in the artificially extended time.

It wasn’t self-talk. It was a song. Not a verse from a popular epic, nor a hymn, nor a drunkard’s vulgar song. The melody and verses were unfamiliar.

And yet, they were familiar. The thought that she had heard it somewhere tickled her. The feeling of vague familiarity nagged at her.

“Sunken rain rises through the crown of trees.”

Because of this, Maria noticed a bit late that Kain had taken a step forward. He walked forward as if gently pushing a carriage.

His posture was completely disheveled, likely due to his injuries. That he maintained his balance at all was probably thanks to the rigorous training with Lily.

Yet despite this, Kain still kept his eyes closed.

“The flying spores fall seeking the ground.”

With eyes closed, he muttered and slashed at the air. The monster screamed pitifully and struggled. With each slash, legs, heads, and forcibly attached body parts fell off piece by piece.

From where they fell, writhing blood and shadows flew toward Kain. Yet Kain continued to sing.

“Even water rises from the earth to the sky and returns. Even soil is carried by the wind, broken and clumped, then scattered again.”

Maria blinked. The shadows were clearly flying toward Kain. But they didn’t “devour” him. They swirled around him like a whirlwind.

The whirlwind was only about ankle-high. But sometimes it crawled up Kain’s body. It climbed up his legs, gripped his waist, wrapped around his straight arm, and then flowed along the blade.

Absurdly, Maria recalled a performance she had seen in Magdeburg.

It was a traveler from the far East… He dipped a brush the size of a human head in black ink and splattered it on a huge paper attached to the wall.

The refined people applauded this supposed art, but Maria had secretly jeered.

‘Why am I remembering that now? Why now?’

She searched her memories. She remembered that evening. Her father and uncle were young then, and Maria was a child. The two men, completely drunk, called for Maria.

“Maria, would you come here?”

She couldn’t remember exactly who it was, whether it was her father Heinrich or her uncle Haspel. She only remembered how much she disliked the smell of alcohol.

But as they held Maria, they sang her a song. It was a song she had never heard before. Yet somehow it felt comforting. When she asked, ‘What song is this?’

“A song your mother used to sing.”

She had gotten angry at those words, come down, and slammed the door shut.

‘Mother? The one who made me an outcast to the world as a witch’s daughter?’

After that, neither her father nor her uncle sang that song again.

But Maria knew. Unconsciously, while cleaning, tending the garden, or organizing papers, the two of them would hum that song.

The song of wisdom.

The priests of the Life Tree Order did not leave written records. To them, who believed everything breaks down and is reborn, “writing things down” seemed somewhat ridiculous. Therefore, the priests passed down wisdom orally.

From text to poetry. From poetry to song. The priests left descendants and taught their songs to their children. Kain was singing that song now.

A song she truly hated to hear.

Her mother, closer than anyone else in the world, yet impossible to meet because she dwelled within Maria’s own body.

Her mother, who had irresponsibly died after passing down the bloodline of an inquisitor and a witch. Her mother, who had abandoned even the doctrine of circulation and settled in a room of Maria’s consciousness, occupying it as she pleased.

That song that her mother Elisabet had loved. Maria hated the song that reminded her of her mother.

‘No.’

Maria denied it. Her girlhood days were long gone. She didn’t want to lie when she might die here today.

What she really hated was…

That she remembered all the melodies as soon as she heard them. She was ashamed that she had been glad when told her mother had loved it.

Despite all her hatred and resentment… The longing to see her mother with her own eyes, just once in her lifetime, was stirred up.

It was unbearable.

“The wind is there and then it’s not.”

Ah, her lips moved on their own. The thought that she had done it gave her a strange sense of relief.

Fortunately, Kain continued with the next verse.

“Even the sun, moon, and stars take turns giving up their places.”

“The human heart has nowhere to rest in this vast land.”

“Not even a place to stick a needle, so where should it be placed?”

Shadows drawn to the song leap out from the monster’s body.

As its body is dismembered, heads roll, and even the blackened, sizzling blood crawls toward Kain, dragging itself to reach him.

* * * * *

Though his eyes were closed, he could see clearly. Perhaps it was because his eyes were closed that he could see.

Blind hatred is the same as having your eyes closed even when they’re open, isn’t it?

In the land of shadows, Hans was like a puppeteer. Countless threads emanating from his body forcibly bound Grace and the four horses.

Their eye sockets were empty. Only black smoke flowed and surged.

But Kain also saw the sobbing laments of the horses. Grace’s crying.

They hated. They hated what they had become, they hated Hans who had made them this way, they lamented their condition, and they resented the god who had abandoned them like this. No one anywhere listened to their words and sobs.

Hatred was like pus; if not released, it only accumulated.

Eventually it grew like a boil. With nowhere to burst, it eventually gnawed away at its owner’s soul.

Grace and the four horses didn’t know what to do with their hatred that felt ready to burst.

The puppet strings pointed at Kain. “There. There is your persecutor. He made you like this.”

Whether that was true or not seemed irrelevant. If only they could burst the hatred. The accumulated pus of resentment.

If only they could feel relief. It didn’t matter who it was.

That’s what blindness was. They growled and wailed like dogs tied to a leash, but it was obvious what would happen if Hans released them.

A clear form appeared before Kain’s eyes. It wasn’t a shadow. Nor was it a ghost. It was a memory.

– You have no talent with the sword.

The Grand Executor of the White Blood Knights, Liliana’s aunt. Astrid.

“That’s right,” Kain answered.

– Imperial swordsmanship and Eastern staff techniques both disable opponents. But Imperial swordsmanship kills the opponent, while staff techniques disarm them.

– One kills people, one tries to keep them alive, albeit roughly. Your swordsmanship now is a mix of both. Since you have no talent, you’ll never be able to master both in your lifetime.

Kain opened his mouth.

“That’s right. I have no talent.”

Astrid was silent. She seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“I killed Beatrice with clumsily learned staff techniques. Because I imperfectly learned Imperial swordsmanship, I couldn’t cut down the enemies rushing at Lily and got her hurt. Yes, I can’t do both.”

– Then you must decide. Whether to kill what’s ahead, or save it.

Astrid disappeared. In her place stood Beatrice.

Wearing a dazzling dress, blood flowing from her pierced neck. As she swept her palm toward the shadows on the ground, they became black roses that entangled her. Thorn-like bars pierced her body, and black blood flowed.

But Kairos didn’t look away. He didn’t avert his eyes.

“I lied to you.”

Beatrice looked at him with questioning eyes.

“The reason I took on this task was to find meaning.

What were all those things I did for? Why did you die and I lived, yet the world didn’t change at all and only got worse?

But that itself was a lie. I just needed an excuse to cling to.”

– What are you clinging to?

“An excuse not to let you go.”

Had Beatrice smiled? Or had she smiled sadly? Kairos couldn’t tell.

“An excuse not to forget you. If I say the world hasn’t changed even though you died. If I say I don’t know the meaning of what I’ve done. I must remember you.

At least during this journey, I can freely reminisce about you. That’s my lie, my sin.”

– A sin against me?

“A sin against both you and me. You are not the real Beatrice. You are my guilt.

You are me. I created you.

Because the real Beatrice is already dead. You were born from my sin, and you bounced off me to become a shadow.”

The blind spot. That’s what Elisabet had shown him. What Kairos hadn’t seen. What he hadn’t wanted to see.

“That I stabbed Beatrice to death with my own hands. And that I ran away without even apologizing. Yes, I ran away. That’s why you always told me to run.

I was ashamed and humiliated. Far from punishing me, the Empire gave me a medal and even promoted me. She died, her father took his own life, and the Empire was safe.

So I’m punishing myself. I decided that myself. I thought I should be punished. If I didn’t think that way, the pain would be too unbearable.”

– Then run away.

“I ran away and came here. No matter how much I avoid and flee, no matter how far I try to distance myself, I can’t let go of you, and you can’t let go of me. So.”

Kairos lowered his sword arm. He looked more dull and powerless than a training dummy on the drill field.

“I won’t run away anymore.”

– She told you to run away.

“She didn’t say that. Even that was something I made up. Because it made me feel a little better. What she really said to me was something else.”

Beatrice smiled. Somehow she seemed to have become transparent. The wound on her neck was clean. The roses that had bound her body were as red as sunlight. The thorns remained, but they blended elegantly.

– Tell me.

Kain told her.

“Live.”

The sin approached.