Chapter 46

He turned his head with his hand pressed against his eye. The light he’d seen faintly grew distant.

It was certain.

He was sensing that man over there through this ‘eye.’

“I, I can see!”

“Of course you can.”

“Did you help me?”

“Me? Why?”

“Then why did this suddenly…”

While examining his surroundings, Quilbion realized one more thing. The man appeared as a faint light, but other objects still couldn’t be distinguished.

“Aren’t you going to brew the coffee?”

“I’ll bring it.”

“Can’t tell if you’re rebellious or obedient.”

“I do what needs to be done. You’ve become someone I need right now.”

“What if I’m preparing to eat you?”

Quilbion grinned.

“Then I’ll have to die.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Can you see my heart?”

“The Human Tribe are all similar. Their appearances, their actions. They can’t escape the category.”

Quilbion walked toward the cluster of light.

“You keep saying Human Tribe, Human Tribe—what are you then? You don’t seem like a person, but you don’t seem like a goblin either.”

“A god.”

“What?”

“To borrow your kind’s expression, yes. God would be most fitting.”

“You? A god?”

A laugh escaped.

“Why can’t a god even brew coffee?”

“Too bothersome. And I like coffee brewed by another individual. Call it taste.”

“The more you talk, the less I understand. What you are, what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t need to understand. You just need to brew the coffee and bring it. I don’t want anything else from you besides that.”

He nodded. What else could he do besides brewing coffee, just like this man of unknown identity said?

He felt along the wall and stepped on the stairs. Carefully, one at a time, one at a time.

“Hope, future. Did you hold onto those kinds of things? No, right? Quil, you’re not such a stupid bastard.”

Twella’s fantasy chattered above his head.

When he descended the stairs without responding, the fantasy wavered before his eyes.

The illusion his brain drew was so vivid, yet Quilbion frowned and gripped the railing.

“That’s a goblin! Not just any goblin but an extremely cruel Will-o’-the-Wisp! A Jack-o’-Lantern! It’ll pretend to open a path for you, then push you over the edge of despair.”

“If it goes that far to help a blind cripple, I deserve what I get. Isn’t that right, Twella?”

“What are you talking about? Quil, Quil! Please come to your senses. You’re clever, smart. You can’t be fooled this stupidly!”

“No, Twella. I’m an idiot. I’m stupid. That’s why I’m just going to brew coffee.”

He looked at the fantasy while giggling. Twella spoke with a face gone cold.

“You’ll regret this.”

“I already have.”

“It’ll be irreversible.”

“I’m already at rock bottom.”

“I love you!”

At those words, Quilbion stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

Other words were fine. Whether it mocked, ridiculed, or twisted his insides, it was bullshit so he could ignore it.

But the words ‘I love you’ were ones he couldn’t let pass.

“Fuck off.”

He passed through Twella blocking his way.

He grabbed the string installed on the wall and came outside the building. The embers of the campfire were still alive.

He tossed some firewood from the pile on one side and sat down to grind the coffee beans.

It was work he’d repeated many times, so his hands were quite practiced.

After wrapping the finely ground beans in cloth, he raised his head and looked toward the rooftop.

There was a faint light there.

The only light his eyes, which had plunged into darkness unable to distinguish a single thing, had found after several months.

“I don’t really know what you look like or what you are, but… you’re definitely my only hope.”

It was while he was murmuring and searching for the cup. Along with the sound of flapping wings, a bird landed on his thigh.

Something hard tapped his chest a couple times—when he raised his hand to feel it, it was a cup. The bird had been holding it.

“Sorry. It’s not the only one. You’re here too.”

After receiving the cup, he stroked the bird’s head.

“But who the hell raised you? I thought the self-proclaimed god lunatic was your owner.”

The bird was wearing a necklace.

It was clearly an owned bird, and a well-trained one at that.

Could it be a bird that goblins raised?

Then what was the reason for faithfully throwing food?

It was simply curious.

“I don’t know who it is, but I’ll definitely find your owner for you. If I survive, that is.”

Screeee, the bird gave a thin cry and slipped out of his embrace.

Quilbion carefully prepared the coffee. He burned his hands several times in the process but didn’t let out a single groan.

The hope that his sight might return suppressed all the pain.

He headed to the rooftop holding the cup filled with coffee. He was careful not to spill it, yet hurried so it wouldn’t cool.

“Here.”

The cup left his hand. He felt it floating gently toward the man far away.

He pricked up his ears. The sound of drinking tea came faintly.

“Still terrible.”

“But you drank it this time, right?”

“Your ears work fine.”

“My eyes will be fine soon too.”

“Pointlessly hopeful Human Tribe usually collapse exhausted by their own power.”

“I have good stamina. Even when beaten, I’d get up the next day and work. Collapsing? That’s fine. I can just stand up again.”

Slurp.

The sound of drinking coffee came again.

“It’ll get better next time, right?”

“Yes.”

“You answer well.”

“Now tell me. Who you are, why you came here, why you’re helping me…”

“I am a god.”

“That ridiculous talk again?”

“I’ll correct it to say I’m one of the conceptual gods. There’s a Designer separately, after all.”

To call him a lunatic lost in delusion, he’d shown too much power.

“The power you have—is it sorcery? Or magic?”

“Neither. Sorcery is the power of the residents here, and magic is the power of the residents there, including the Human Tribe. If I had to choose, it’s closer to magic, but magic is a lower concept so it’s not exact.”

“What are you talking about? Speak simply.”

“This is simple.”

Quilbion scratched around his eyes and spoke.

“The employer said this. Words should be brief.”

“This is me simplifying the concept so you can understand. If I spoke of the essence itself—”

Something flowed from the man’s mouth.

It was words, yet at the same time it wasn’t words.

The moment he heard it, Quilbion lost not only the faint light he’d been seeing, but also his hearing, touch, and even his sense of self.

Everything disappeared.

He even forgot that things had existed.

Meaning itself evaporated that way.

“Get up.”

The man said.

It was human speech.

Quilbion came to his senses while shuddering. Flames blazed across his entire body. No, it felt like he was trapped in ice.

He kept rolling on the ground from agony that couldn’t be contained in screams. His head turned pure white, yet strangely, he thought of pigs.

When pigs arrived at the slaughterhouse, they’d first stick a chisel into the space between their eyes. That way the pig would go limp without thrashing about, but occasionally the chisel would miss.

Whether to call it good or bad luck.

Unable to reach death, the pig would roll on the ground while wailing loud enough to shake the slaughterhouse. That crying resembled humans, so sometimes people would gather.

When that happened, Quilbion would take a noose and snatch the pig’s legs, dragging it along with other slaves.

Once the pig tired, they’d take the chisel again and drive it into its head.

Only then would a peaceful death arrive.

“Aaaaaaaah!”

The pain changed to a degree where he could scream. Quilbion curled up his body then stretched it taut. Water flowed endlessly through his eyes and mouth.

There was no way to know if it was blood, or tears and saliva.

His mind snapped to attention from the pain then fainted several times.

Finally, the pain left his body.

Quilbion trembled with his forehead pressed against the rooftop floor. It was pain he’d experienced for the first time, and never wanted to experience again.

“Not going crazy because you’re already crazy, I suppose. Either way, you’re fine so you can brew coffee. When you get up, brew coffee and bring it. My mouth is bored.”

“Wh-what the hell are you?”

“Isn’t this the third time you’re asking?”

“Are you really a god?”

“If you’re going to use informal speech, use informal speech. If you’ll use honorifics, use honorifics. Flip-flopping is annoying.”

“…Are you really a god?”

“How persistent. You’re the most insane bastard I’ve seen among the Human Tribe, and also the most tenacious. I’ll acknowledge that one thing.”

The light drew closer.

Quilbion looked up at the man while holding two emotions that were similar yet different—fear and anticipation.

“As I said at first, I introduced myself that way for convenience since you people called me a god.”

“So you’re not a god, right?”

“Not necessarily. You could say I’m close to being a god.”

Don’t tell me not to flip-flop when you’re doing it yourself—Quilbion squinted. The pain that had been lingering faintly disappeared completely at last.

“Can you fix me?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“…I’ll make you delicious coffee.”

“Hmm, delicious coffee is good.”

“Then!”

“But I can’t do anything about those eyes. Forcibly tearing off what’s attached would be easy, but then they’d lose their function completely.”

His hand went to his eyes at the mention of tearing off. It couldn’t mean gouging out his eyeballs.

Can’t see, meaning something is covering them, and the man was saying he’d tear that off.

“Is there something attached to my eyes? I can’t feel anything though.”

He fumbled around his eyes as he spoke.

“It doesn’t have a physical form. Tenacious nark is just wrapped around your eyes.”

“Nark?”

He couldn’t feel anything though?

Could it be related to the nark dwelling inside his body not moving?

“Your guess is correct.”

The man said.

This conversation made it certain. That man ahead could read people’s inner thoughts.

“It’s not so much reading as inferring. I’ve observed the Human Tribe to the point of exhaustion, after all.”

“That’s scary.”

“That’s why most individuals go insane just from facing me.”

“I’ll be in danger too once my eyes open, right?”

“No. You’re already insane so you’re fine. That mental world of yours will collapse and disappear before you see me.”

“I don’t die that easily.”

The moment he said those words, his shoulders burned. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew.

Both arms had separated from his body.

“…Ah.”

And below his thighs, his legs disappeared.

His torso pitched forward.

He felt blood pumped from his heart flowing out through the four severed parts.

His body grew cold.

Frighteningly fast.

And.

“You don’t die?”

Quilbion coughed and clutched his chest with both hands.

Hands are there?

He quickly felt his legs. His legs were attached too.

The sensation remained vividly. Just moments ago, his limbs had been severed. That was an undeniable reality.

It had been reality, yet…

“Will you really not die?”

“No, I’ll die.”

He answered quickly.

Quilbion understood his situation perfectly.

As perfectly as when he’d stood before the employer, as perfectly as when he’d received a request from the employer’s daughter.

An insect.

No, less than that.

The man before him was something that couldn’t be measured by standards like human or goblin.

He might truly be a god.

Thinking that made his whole body tremble.

At the same time, he felt insanely joyful.

“You’re laughing.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Well, because you’re so scary I could die. Because you could kill someone like me with one finger.”

“Then you should cry, not laugh.”

“No, I should laugh. Because.”

Quilbion looked at the man with tears and snot running down his face.

“You might fix me.”