The Assassination War (10)

Freugne’s thought processes unfolded thusly:

‘He’s not dead.’

‘I thought he had perished previously, yet he revived unscathed.’

‘So why should this instance differ? If I feed him diligently, he’ll recover promptly, won’t he?’

Her introspections bordered on self-hypnosis.

All beings inevitably perish. And incidents of the deceased reawakening remain exceedingly rare.

She had heard accounts of comatose patients miraculously regaining consciousness after decades. Incurable afflictions spontaneously remitting despite doctors’ abandonments. Even terminal cancers, while medically inexplicable, had achieved complete remission in isolated cases.

Yet Freugne could not recall a single instance throughout her life of someone surviving near-decapitation.

Not only were such fatalities inherently infrequent, but human physiology differed from assembling model kits – reversing such traumas could not simply resuscitate the deceased.

Nevertheless, Freugne persisted in this self-reassurance for a simple reason:

Failure to do so risked surrendering her dwindling sanity.

“Lady Freugne……”

“I know. So please, allow me this for now.”

The operative supporting Edan’s body emanated palpable concern his furtive gaze could not conceal.

Mingled with apprehension and restlessness, but predominantly anxiety – not for the deceased Edan himself, but rather the organization and her personal wellbeing.

Even without him, numerous scrutinizing eyes remained fixated upon her.

All comprised the organizational核心, precluding her from indulging in unrestrained lamentations lest she forfeit their sympathy alongside any remaining credibility.

Tears could not be afforded. Undoubtedly, more than a few had already harbored doubts regarding the command structure and her leadership credentials.

Yet total collapse had not materialized, preservation remained feasible if she took the reins. And ultimate victory in this war could still be achieved, for the organization’s paramount ‘informational’ assets remained under her purview.

Instead of the operative, Freugne positioned herself beside Edan’s inert form, ruminating inwardly:

‘But would such a hollow victory retain any meaning?’

If she alone remained amidst that desolation.

What impetus drove her to persevere through such tribulations?

Ordinarily, such notions would have been anathema. But bereft of reassuring presences to dissuade her, Freugne perceived no alternatives.

Deluding herself into believing a deceased individual persisted constituted one leadership demerit. Yet that reality held little immediate relevance.

“Um, excuse me…”

“What is it?”

“Now… what should we do?”

Sithe tentatively approached before squatting beside her, having secured the final captive Demon.

Despite her attempted nonchalance, her flickering gaze betrayed inner turmoil, flinching whenever their eyes inadvertently met.

Freugne immediately discerned the words Sithe could not voice:

‘She’s gauging my reaction, attributing blame to herself.’

Yet Freugne harbored no intentions of faulting her for this protective lapse.

Like herself, Sithe had undoubtedly acted optimally within her designated role. Self-recrimination served no constructive purpose.

Had Edan still lived, he too might have discouraged such self-admonishment with characteristic compassion.

No.

That was inaccurate.

‘…No need for such thoughts while he yet breathes!’

How foolish she had been. Scarcely any time had elapsed for anticipation.

Amidst the distant clamor from outside, she persisted in her vigil.

Truthfully, even she harbored skepticism regarding her awaited eventuality.

…

……

The snacks had arrived. He had somehow ingested their granulated remnants.

Whether such forcible nourishment proved beneficial remained uncertain, but she had exhausted all immediate preventative measures.

Time trickled onwards. Edan remained unmoving.

Too brief a duration for resurrection, yet interminably protracted from her perspective.

Freugne had excelled at remodeling futures to her preferences.

Conversely, barring her formative years, she had scarcely experienced pasts defying her predilections.

“Haa…ah…”

“…….”

That profound loss gradually encroached upon her consciousness.

The traumatic anguish of deprivation insidiously resurfaced, yearning for manifestation.

Her breathing grew increasingly ragged. Edan simply had to revive, yet the reasons eluded her comprehension.

No, that too proved inaccurate.

Freugne recognized the viscous emotion as regret.

‘If only I had…’

‘If only I had been granted another opportunity…’

Had she foreseen human mortality’s fragility and the fallibility of even meticulously devised plans, she would not have squandered her time so frivolously.

Instead of delighting in his bemused reactions or savoring his dawning realization of her affections, she should have confessed her feelings directly.

‘If, if I receive one more chance.’

Had she possessed the ability to rewind time, she vowed not to fritter it away fruitlessly this occasion.

Though not a devout believer, Freugne nevertheless fervently entreated any omnipotent entity willing to oblige, regardless of their divine or profane nature.

And if not…

Then she would erect towering pyres from severed Demon craniums to ensure his path into the hereafter remained unsullied by solitude.

‘No, no. That’s not right.’

‘Such thoughts can wait for later–’

…

……

At this juncture, Freugne had essentially dissociated halfway.

Her placid demeanor and expressions belied her departure from sincerely anticipating Edan’s reawakening.

Her mind overflowed with contingencies upon his revival.

Should she confess immediately? No, perhaps spirit him away for intimate overtures first? And if he objected, adopt alternative approaches?

But gradually, even her patience began waning.

Perceiving these signs, Sithe inhaled deeply before resolutely speaking:

“Lady Freugne.”

“…….”

“Perhaps, it is time you arose.”

“…Why?”

“That is, um.”

“Uncle has yet to awaken.”

Then, pausing briefly with a grave expression:

“Lord Edan has… passed away.”

“…….”

“I’m so sorry. But… this is the reality we face.”

“…No, look. He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

“Lady Freugne. It is time to accept the truth… The living breathe.”

“Huu…haah.”

“Their hearts beat, their bodies move.”

“Nngh…ugh, throat. Ggrgrgrgk.”

“And if we create such commotion beside them, they would awa– hm?”

Sithe’s voice, mustering the courage to impart this discomfiting truth, faltered as Edan stirred.

“Ah.”

“……?”

The observing operatives fell silent.

Sithe trailed off mid-persuasion, at a loss for words, while Freugne – the one who had desired this outcome more than anyone – belatedly registered the situation, mouth agape.

---

So then.

The situation had unfolded approximately thus:

I had whispered my plan to Sithe in hushed tones.

Fidgeting anxiously, she scanned our surroundings before responding in equally muted volumes.

‘Isn’t this too perilous?’

‘But we lack viable alternatives. That Demon stated he might kill Freugne if we so much as twitched suspiciously.’

‘But you, Lord Edan? In the worst case, you both could perish. And even if successful, evacuating unharmed remains unguaranteed.’

‘It’ll be fine, I won’t die.’

‘With such a half-baked scheme, are you certain…?’

I had remained confident until initiation.

Yet as is often the case with human endeavors, plans seldom unfurl as originally envisioned.

A premonition of impending failure had surfaced the instant that Demon seized my throat. But by then, my neck had likely already snapped.

Unable to utter even a truncated final utterance, my dimming vision spun as a wordless epitaph comprised my sole requiem.

‘Wh-What is this…?’

‘Where is the one I had captured previously…?’

The Demon’s murmurs in his native tongue receded into the distance.

The agony had been instantaneous. Followed by a prolonged, enveloping silence.

A sensation I had experienced once before – a long-suppressed memory finally resurfacing in this pivotal moment.

The lights extinguish first. Then the acrid stench of smoke dissipates beyond perception.

The surrounding cacophony gradually muffles, as if water flooding one’s ears, until quite literally every constituent element of existence fades into oblivion.

‘So this is the end.’

Instinctively reaching this realization, I embraced total demise.

The sensation of being entombed within a lightless, utterly soundproofed casket. Strangely, no hints of claustrophobic panic manifested amidst this state.

Whether I represented an anomalous case or the afterlife simply unfolded thus remained uncertain. But if the latter proved accurate, the realm beyond appeared poised to become excruciatingly tedious.

For a fleeting eternity within that tranquil stillness.

My senses gradually reinstated themselves in reverse order: audition, gustation, olfaction… until brilliant luminance finally assaulted my vision, prompting an instinctive wince at its intensity.

Though separated for mere minutes at most, the sojourn had seemed an eons-long odyssey.

Disoriented by mundane existence’s vividity upon my forcible reincarnation, I momentarily paused to inhale deeply, recomposing myself.

“Kkhuelk…Kkha…Kkhuek…”

“…….”

“Ah, ah. Um. Voice is working fine too.”

“…….”

Finally adjusting to the ambient brightness, I surveyed my surroundings – an unfamiliar spectacle filled my vision.

The venue I had previously occupied retained partial semblances amidst its dilapidated state, walls crumbling into gaping breaches beckoning wintry gusts.

One corner harbored azure bloodstains and individuals undergoing rudimentary treatment for apparent injuries, groaning faintly. And this entire site lay thickly blanketed by ash and dust.

And ultimately, Sithe gaping down at me with saucered eyes, alongside Freugne cradling my head with an expression scarcely divergent from Sithe’s stupefaction.

“Ahah, ha.”

“……?”

And then Freugne…

Began regarding me with an utterly inscrutable gaze.