Chapter 73

Each piece of furniture placed in the reception room was luxurious. Were all those gleaming dishes on the shelf gold?

He swallowed dry saliva and clasped his hands together.

His mind was completely absent. He already couldn’t sleep so his memories were patchy, and now to meet an unexpected person and come to such a place.

He glanced up slightly and looked at the door.

Through the slightly open doorway, he could see people wearing silver armor.

Those who serve the Designer and carry out the Designer’s will.

The armored figures stood in a line to one side. Soon the door opened wide.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“N-not at all.”

Quilbion sprang up from his seat and answered. He didn’t dare meet her face, and instead fixed his gaze on the hem of the pure white robe.

“You haven’t had tea?”

“I’ll drink it now.”

Feeling as if she was pressing him about why he hadn’t drunk it, he quickly drank. His palate felt like it was burning, but it didn’t matter.

“You’d be uncomfortable no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Not at all, absolutely not.”

At the gesture to sit, he seated himself quickly like a trained soldier. He waited for the words to follow while looking only at the prophet’s feet.

“I don’t like having a conversation looking only at the crown of your head.”

“Ah, yes.”

He raised his head.

The prophet, who was hard to see even from a distance and who even kings found difficult to meet, was smiling right before his eyes.

It was a comfortable smile, but Quilbion was only worried.

Why was he called to this place?

Why was she treating him kindly?

More than anything.

Why had she said she’d been waiting for him?

“Did you sleep?”

They were eyes that seemed to see through everything. Quilbion gently shook his head.

“You know everything.”

“I saw. Things about you.”

“I……”

“Shall we eat first? I’m hungry.”

His mind was absent and his appetite was even more absent, but how could he refuse?

Quilbion answered yes while holding onto his fading consciousness.

Food was laid out on the reception room table.

They were foods he’d never heard of or seen. On one side, fruit was piled like a mountain, and expensive fruit that required spending a week’s wages for a handful was laid at the bottom.

Then how much were those yellow and red fruits placed on top?

“It’s called Gilia—have you tried it?”

Perhaps noticing his gaze, the prophet personally put fruit on a plate for him.

“No. I’m seeing it for the first time.”

“Try it, it’s a delicacy.”

He picked up the silver fork, speared a piece of fruit, and brought it to his mouth. It seemed to have various flavors, but his tongue wasn’t working properly.

Was it because his tension had relaxed slightly?

His vision dimmed again and his head creaked like an under-oiled spring.

“You must be very tired.”

“N-not at all.”

The words came out sluggishly.

“Lie down.”

“Pardon?”

“You have a talent for making me repeat myself.”

The prophet smiled while pointing at the floor.

Talking back was unimaginable.

He immediately lay on the floor. The floor covered with wool was warm.

“Close your eyes.”

He lowered his eyelids.

“Breathe slowly.”

His body crying out to rest finally and his still-clear consciousness collided.

“You’ll be fine. Don’t worry about anything and just rest.”

The voice seemed to carry a sweet fragrance.

His body grew languid. The sleep he’d desperately prayed for seemed to gradually arrive.

“Let everything go. Whatever it is, you’re free now.”

Free. A strange sense of liberation was felt. Quilbion breathed slowly while savoring the darkness.

It felt like his body was melting. Becoming liquid and scattering. It was indescribable pleasure.

Peace.

The sleep he’d so desired.

“Forget everything. You’re allowed to.”

Even the prophet’s voice faded.

His senses were dulling and he was on the verge of forgetting even where he was.

Something crunched between his molars. It was a foreign sensation that strangely grated on his nerves.

He tried to ignore it and sleep, but he absolutely couldn’t.

He opened his eyes with tremendous difficulty. The prophet was looking down at him from beside him, having approached at some point.

Their gazes overlapped. The prophet’s face viewed directly was extremely familiar. It was strange. Why did the face of this great person he was seeing for the first time feel so familiar?

“Why did you open your eyes?”

The prophet’s hand touched his forehead.

It was a touch that reminded him of his mother. On a cold winter day, his mother who’d embraced him with heated stones and soothed him that he’d be fine soon.

Right, he should sleep.

His eyes closed smoothly, but at the rough texture felt in his mouth again, he eventually sat up.

“Can’t you sleep?”

“No, I was just about to fall asleep.”

“Then why……”

“Something seems to have gotten in my mouth. It bothered me so much I couldn’t sleep.”

“I see.”

The prophet smiled. He thought her eye-smile was truly beautiful.

“Rinse your mouth and lie down again.”

“Yes.”

He gulped down water and swallowed. Even so, the foreign sensation remained. He turned his head slightly and put his finger in his mouth.

He swept between his molars with his hand and pulled it out.

What was stuck to his fingertip was:

Gray sand.

When had he swallowed something like this? Had it gotten in his mouth when he fell?

It was when he was staring blankly at the sand.

A pure white towel approached and wiped his hand.

“You should be fine now.”

The prophet personally wiped his hand. Not knowing what to do with himself, he bowed his head.

“Thank you so much.”

“I’ll receive your thanks again after you sleep and wake up, when your mind is clear.”

What a grateful person.

He lay down with a much lighter heart. He had the conviction that he could fall asleep after a few breaths.

Before closing his eyes, he secretly stole another glance at the prophet’s face. Could he see a more beautiful face than this in the rest of his life?

I’m a lucky bastard.

Probably no one would believe him if he told others.

The prophet personally entertained him and even cured his mental illness?

It would seem more realistic to say he’d slain a legendary dragon.

Dragon.

He recalled that word while closing his eyes.

For some reason, he was irritated. It was a word he had no occasion to use normally, yet it was strangely familiar on his lips.

It was when the thread of thought starting from the word dragon was gradually extending.

A hand touched his forehead again.

“Let go of stray thoughts. They’re bad thoughts that gnaw at you.”

“I see.”

He let go of all thoughts.

He focused only on the beautiful prophet’s voice.

Pleasant sleep was coming.

Once he woke up, his body that felt like it was carrying lead weights, his dim vision, his stuffy chest—everything would be resolved.

Let go of stray thoughts and sleep.

Forget everything.

Right, everything……

Crunch.

Gray sand crunched between his teeth.

Quilbion tried to open his mouth and put his hand inside with his eyes closed. Soft hands stopped Quilbion’s hands.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Don’t need to worry.

Quilbion lifted his eyelids.

He could see pink lips wearing a faint smile.

A familiar face.

“Prophet.”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell me your name?”

“Are you curious about my name?”

“Yes. It’s a lifelong wish.”

“Since it’s a wish, I should tell you. However, once you hear my name, you must sleep comfortably now.”

“I will.”

The pink lips moved.

“My name is Twella.”

Quilbion wore a satisfied smile.

And.

He stretched out his right hand and gripped the prophet’s throat.

“Twella isn’t this pretty.”

“Gak, gakk.”

The prophet stretched out both hands and struggled. Quilbion sat up while pressing the prophet down with his weight.

The fallen prophet twisted her body.

“Fuck, why are you here? What the hell are you?”

The prophet who’d been gasping in agony suddenly stopped all movement and raised the corners of her mouth.

“I told you to just sleep. Why won’t you listen?”

“You don’t seem to know, but I have terrible insomnia. I haven’t slept for over 100 years.”

“That’s why you should sleep now. Sleep is precious to humans. You know that, right?”

“I know. I’m human, so I know well. But how do you know? You damned goblin.”

The prophet—no, the woman of unknown identity wearing ‘that woman’s’ face grinned.

“Such a waste. You were almost there.”

“How are you here?”

“You’re funny. Then how are you here?”

“Fuck, don’t deflect.”

He put pressure with the momentum to break her neck. The prophet’s face that had been leisurely gradually turned pale.

“So this is what dying feels like. I learned something.”

“It doesn’t seem like we met by chance—did you chase me?”

“No. How could I chase you? This isn’t a world where such things work. But…… when you open your eyes, I can open my eyes too. Thanks to you. Ah, thanks to that child too.”

That child. She must be talking about Twella.

He relaxed the pressure in his hand slightly. There were things he needed to know before killing her.

“To think such a world exists. We still have much to learn.”

“We?”

“You’re with Teacher, right? Right?”

“Are you talking about Winte?”

“Aah, so he uses that name now. It suits him. It’s a good name.”

“Winte said he only threw you lot a few cookies.”

“That’s right. They were very delicious cookies. Tantalizing knowledge. He taught us the method. We also learned through him how to satisfy our cravings.”

“Absolutely fucking crazy together.”

That damned dragon.

If asked to name the single biggest threat to human society, Quilbion would unhesitatingly choose Winte.

“What were you planning to do with me?”

“You looked distressed, so I tried to let you sleep. That’s all.”

“Seeing that you pulled tricks instead of killing me right away means you have something to gain from me, but I can’t figure out what.”

“Should I tell you?”

The woman’s eyes curved. It was a smile believable as the incarnation of beauty.

Of course, Quilbion viewing it only felt disgusted.

“I wanted to steal Winte’s, no, Teacher’s toy. We want to see Winte suffer.”

“Sorry, but that monster won’t be sad even if I die.”

“Right. But he’d be disappointed for just a moment. Keeping you by his side and letting you live means you’re worth observing. That degree of disappointment when losing a toy—I want to taste that.”

“Crazy bitch.”

“By any chance, are you good at making coffee? If it’s something like that, Winte might feel quite regretful.”

“I make coffee amazingly well. Come find me, I’ll make you a cup.”

“I want to come find you too, but if I go now, Winte will kill me. I need to avoid confrontation for now. But I’ll come find you someday. His flesh, blood, hair, fingernails. I’ll eat every single bit without leaving anything.”

They were eyes filled with madness.

He couldn’t tell at all whether it was affection or hatred.

“Winte said. We’re existences born outside the Designer’s sight. So there’s nothing we can call a parent. That’s why we think of Winte as our parent. He’s someone we’re grateful to. So grateful to the point of madness that we want to eat him without leaving anything.”

The woman clacked her neat teeth together.

“How about you lot just devour each other and end it? Leave me out. I’ve got something I need to do anyway.”

“You’re talking about that child, right? I caught a glimpse too. She remained there. Aah, I’m curious about that child’s taste too. Winte can be eaten together with the others without complaint, but not her. She’s mine. My very own……”

The door burst open.

Those wearing silver armor rushed in. Quilbion quickly grabbed the fork and brought it to the woman’s throat.

“You bastard!”

“Don’t move and wait just a moment. I’m leaving now. After that, you lot figure it out among yourselves.”

He stopped breathing.

It was time to return.

The moment his breathing reached its limit and his consciousness grew hazy, Quilbion stabbed the woman’s throat with the fork.

He saw blood spray.

The woman spoke with a deep smile.

“Sheryl. That’s my name. Let’s meet again.”

Whatever.

The moment he drew the stabbed fork diagonally:

“……Ha.”

Quilbion opened his eyes.

“You were gone a long time this time.”

Winte, who he was sick of seeing, waved his hand and spoke.