Chapter 47

He opened his eyes.

Within the darkness devouring everything on all sides, he could see a faint light. The old man seemed to be on the rooftop again today.

Quilbion ran his hand across the wall beside the bed.

170 days since arriving at the dormitory.

It probably wasn’t an exact date since he’d marked it every time he woke from sleep, but it couldn’t be too far off either.

So I’ve somehow endured half a year.

He slipped his feet into the shoes lined up neatly. When he shifted his left foot slightly, the string touched his ankle.

Following the string, he came outside. Two steps to the right this time. Now the string touched his right ankle.

After counting the steps in his head, he reached out his hand. He touched a smooth container.

He opened the lid and took out the coffee beans.

A long yawn escaped.

His body had perfectly memorized the entire sequence of actions, so it was fine to move with half his brain switched off.

He poured boiling water and wound the spring clock he’d left on the shelf. Tick-tick-tick, he pricked up his ears at the sound of the spring turning and sniffled.

He put on a glove on his right hand and lifted it gently. Right on cue, a bird flew over and landed on his hand.

“What is it today?”

The bird had brought him a large sweet potato. He placed the bird on his shoulder and extended his right hand behind him.

The string touched the back of his hand. Relying on the string, he went to the storage room, left the sweet potato, then returned to the coffee shelf.

Ting!

The spring clock made a sound.

He removed the cotton cloth hanging on the stick and transferred the coffee into a cup. The beans ‘god’ brought changed each time—today had a strong fresh aroma.

Holding the coffee, he headed for the rooftop.

“Here.”

He held the coffee out toward the cluster of light.

What would today’s evaluation be? The cup and saucer made a clinking sound.

“762nd place.”

“Somehow it’s worse than last time.”

“If it had been a bit hotter, it would’ve been 541st place. Too bad.”

“If you want hotter coffee, come downstairs. Making someone who can’t even see deliver it upstairs every time.”

“It’s bothersome to go down.”

“You can go down just by wiggling your finger, and yet.”

He spread both hands neatly and held them forward. The coffee cup settled into his palms.

“Hey.”

Quilbion opened his mouth. Calling him old man felt awkward, and calling him god was also ambiguous, so somehow his form of address had become ‘hey.’

He never said anything even when called ‘hey’ every time, so the address had stuck.

But today was different.

“Winte.”

“What?”

“Call me Winte. It’s the name I’ll be using for now.”

“…Would’ve been easier if you’d told me earlier.”

“I just thought of it. I don’t normally use names. There’s no need for them.”

“You made up the name just now, which means you need it now?”

Quilbion asked with a smile.

“A promise is a promise.”

The man—no, Winte—mentioned a promise from time to time. When asked who the promise was with or what the content was, he wouldn’t answer.

“Anyway, it seems like a good thing for me.”

“Well. That remains to be seen.”

“Please call me Quilbion too, Winte.”

“No, you can just be ‘this bastard,’ ‘that bastard,’ or ‘that fucker.'”

“If that’s easier for you, go ahead. I’m used to being called that anyway.”

“Tenacious bastard.”

“That’s not bad either.”

It was when he was about to go down while holding the cup.

“What are you going to do?”

Winte’s words grabbed his ankle.

“Me? I have to survive. Fix my eyes, fix my head.”

“After that?”

“I have to get out of here. Because it’s a fucking awful place.”

“After that?”

Quilbion shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know. When I might fail to survive, fail to open my eyes, fail to escape from here and just die…… why would I think about what comes after?”

“Pessimistic bastard.”

“I’m trying to think positively in my own way. I’ve survived this far despite becoming a half-cripple, haven’t I? That’s positive enough.”

“From a Human Tribe standard, it might be.”

“What about you, Winte?”

Quilbion saw the hazy light momentarily become clear.

“Me?”

“Yes, what are you going to do from now on, Winte?”

“I’ll watch how the world breaks, and then how it gets fixed.”

“The world is breaking?”

“The signs appeared long ago and it’s already progressed quite far. Those things you call goblins are the result of errors.”

“You know, Winte, I can’t understand a single word you’re saying.”

“You don’t need to understand. You’re going to die without seeing it anyway. With the Human Tribe’s lifespan, you can’t grasp this event. Only a select few born at the fateful moment when complete destruction or complete independence is achieved will witness the change.”

“That damn fate again.”

Quilbion snorted.

“Can you see fate too, Winte? Some bastards used to say they could see the grand flow.”

“To some extent. But I’m also part of fate, so I can’t escape from it.”

“If you’re close to being a god, just smash that fate thing.”

“Do I need to do it with my own hands? It’s already breaking anyway.”

“What? Then there’s no fate anymore?”

“It still exists. But it’ll disappear someday. Or maybe it’ll keep remaining.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“That’s right. I know that I don’t know.”

It was content that made his head throb.

Quilbion quietly stepped down the stairs. When I can’t even take care of myself, what use is the world or fate?

He washed the cup with the water he’d drawn and sat on the chair he’d left outside the dormitory.

After brewing coffee, there wasn’t much else to do. Sitting in the chair and fiddling with his nark was all.

After losing his sight, he’d persistently tried touching it, but the nark wouldn’t budge. If it had disappeared, he’d give up, but he could feel it remaining inside his body.

It’s there but I can’t use it.

It was frustrating.

“I’m going out.”

A voice came from up above.

“Yes, take care.”

Winte freely came and went from this place. The wall that Lil and Geron had failed to breach even a single hole through despite four years of losing their minds—Winte passed in and out as if entering and leaving his own home without any restrictions.

He’d once asked to be taken out, but the answer that came back was ‘then you’ll die.’

Something about not being able to overcome the load when crossing the surface realm.

It was complicated talk, but he didn’t ask for an explanation. He’d end up suffering terrible pain like last time.

He grabbed the string crossing the clearing and jogged slowly. Keep not moving your body and you’ll die of sickness—it was one of the pieces of knowledge Quilbion had acquired through experience.

After running enough to break a sweat, it was when he was sitting in the chair catching his breath.

After a long time, a really long time, an ominous premonition struck him.

He turned his head toward where the disgusting energy was wafting from. He couldn’t see, but there was something there.

And that something was very likely a goblin.

He grabbed the string and quickly went into his room. Leaning his body against the wall, he held his breath.

If the other side saw me, all of this becomes meaningless action, but if they didn’t see me, there’s a chance to survive.

Scrape, scrape. Something heavy was scratching the floor as it approached.

It came inside the dormitory and was walking down the corridor. Quilbion gripped the sharp stone he always kept by his pillow.

Please don’t open it, please.

Even as he wished that, he raised the stone.

He’d never been lucky even once. Quilbion sensed it. The door would open and the uninvited guest would discover him.

This stone probably won’t help.

Unable to even resist, I’ll become one meal.

Even so.

It was when he heard the squeak of the door opening.

Screee!

The bird’s sharp cry burst out from outside. The uninvited guest let go of the doorknob. The ominous energy that had been flickering before the door gradually grew distant.

“Come…… here…… I’ll……”

It was a voice like scraping metal.

Quilbion slowly released the breath he’d been holding.

His heart was pounding wildly. Without the bird, he surely would have died.

Come to think of it, was the bird okay?

It was a friend as good as his life. Not in an abstract sense—without the bird, getting food ingredients would become difficult.

He felt along the window frame and stood up. Sounds kept coming from outside.

It ran away, right? Since it has wings, it flew up high and is safe, right?

Just then, a sound came that crushed his expectations.

Thud, along with a sound, something struck the dormitory wall. The sound of fragile wings flapping. Followed by a weak cry.

No.

He couldn’t see, but it was easy to imagine what had happened.

The uninvited guest’s footsteps drew closer.

Between those moments, the bird’s cry grew even fainter.

If I just hide here, there’s a chance to survive. Getting an opportunity through the bird’s death.

Everyone lives like that.

Drich did, and Twella did.

In the end, what matters is my own life.

“Fuck, you should’ve just abandoned me and run.”

Why didn’t that bird do that?

When even humans abandon other humans, why did a beast protect a human?

Before his thoughts could finish, Quilbion opened the window and threw his body outside.

He couldn’t see, so his landing was a mess. He scraped the ground with his face. But it didn’t matter.

If I draw the goblin’s attention, that’s enough.

He stood up while pressing his hands against the ground. Fortunately, he hadn’t let go of the sharp stone in his left hand.

“You’re all really fucking shitty bastards. Can’t you just leave me alone? Huh? I’m already struggling to death as it is!”

He shouted while roughly swinging the hand gripping the stone.

“And you too! Just throw down food and that’s it, why try to do something? Huh? You’re just a bird. I might be a cripple with blind eyes, but I fight better than you!”

He babbled whatever came to mind.

All while anxiously waiting for when it would attack.

Scrape, the unpleasant sound came again.

It’s coming.

But from which direction?

Thwack!

His body floated up and flew. He could only stop after rolling across the ground several times.

He’d been hit in the side. Fortunately, although the impact was enough to send his body flying, only his flesh stung—his bones hadn’t broken.

Had he become trained from getting beaten so much?

Or had his head broken to the point where he couldn’t properly distinguish pain?

It seemed more like the latter than the former.

Since it was a head that heard hallucinations every day and saw fantasies. Even Winte often called him a ‘crazy bastard.’

“There’s one good thing about being crazy.”

Urgh, even if the bones seemed fine, pain was still pain. He stood up while clutching his side.

If it had been a goblin like Geron, it would have killed me in one hit.

Wait a minute.

Its speech was clumsy, and even using its strength was somewhat awkward. Is the one in front of me a goblin that hasn’t even become a Yellow Form?

The feeder eating garbage at the cafeteria came to mind.

Ones without intelligence.

A fishy taste flowed into his mouth. It was blood. Damn, did my head crack?

He raised his hand and wiped his forehead.

It was slippery. Blood seemed to be flowing quite a bit.

Scrape, scrape.

The goblin was approaching from far away.

If only I could see, I’d struggle at least once.

If only I could see!

Suddenly, words Winte had said came to mind. Sight doesn’t perfectly correspond to the concept of ‘seeing.’

His eyes were blind, but Winte appeared as a faint light.

That wasn’t the work of his eyeballs. It was the result of something other than eyeballs working.

What am I seeing through, what am I looking at?

The ominous premonition he often felt. It was strange that he could know the direction clearly when it was just a premonition.

And the ‘sixth sense’ Lil had mentioned.

She’d said good sixth sense makes learning sorcery easier.

Which meant he had a sixth sense too, right?

A sense completely different from sight or hearing, or anything like that. A sense felt through something other than the body.

Nark.

At that moment, embers appeared before his eyes.

Embers so small they seemed like they’d vanish with a puff of breath.

The embers were slowly approaching.

Quilbion realized it was the goblin.

The single ember multiplied in an instant. Hundreds, thousands of red dots embedded themselves on a black canvas, forming a certain shape.

It was a snail-like creature.

Multiple feeders were clumped together in one mass.

Quilbion smiled brightly.

I can see it.

That damn thing.

Gripping the sharp stone in a reverse hold, he threw his body forward.