Chapter 112: The One-Man Show Actor |
The rain had stopped, but Samuel's consciousness still enveloped the entire city—though it required a bit more effort now.
Samuel, who had originally been dissolved within the rain, appeared on the rooftop of the building across the way, still dressed in his previous attire.
Both hands resting on his walking stick, eyes lowered, he gazed down at the city below and at Miles, who had just stepped out of his own home's door from within the memory.
Regardless, the objectives of the Sacred Law Knight from before, the Miles in front of him, and the Enforcement Team of Liant Town had all become clear.
According to Miles's explanation, they wanted to guide Wyatt's past self into deviating from his own "Law."
That is, [Pride].
Combined with Miles's current actions, Samuel could also understand that the Bard who had been killed back then was one of the so-called "base points."
From this perspective, the knight back then had actually been quite merciful—at the very least, after failing in his attempt, he directly killed that Bard. Otherwise, what awaited him next would have been even further torture.
Threats and bribes wouldn't work, so after that, they would have resorted to torture.
Now, the only thing Samuel couldn't quite understand was why Wyatt, who clearly knew about their actions, not only didn't stop them but actively helped the Sacred Law Knight enter Liant Town.
Even if he were truly so [Prideful] as to not care about their actions at all, and not worry about being affected himself, there was still no reason to help them.
One could chalk it up to Law tendencies, saying: "His Law tendencies are [Fallacy] and [Absurdity]—he does whatever he wants, and logic doesn't apply."
But Samuel still felt something wasn't right. There had to be something more to it.
Yet the things he knew were too few. He couldn't deduce anything no matter how he tried.
Watching Wyatt close the door to the apartment on the opposite floor behind him, Samuel's figure vanished once again.
Stepping out of "Wu Lang's" room, Miles headed toward the youngest base point.
He once again entered that state of detachment from the memory. As he took a step forward, the surrounding high-rises instantly twisted out of their original shapes. Doors and windows stretched and pulled those buildings toward Miles, layering on top of each other.
Just as Samuel, back in the memory, could influence the presentation of the memory without interfering with the memory itself—like lifting a wall like a curtain—Miles, as a user of the Tear Drop ability, could also accomplish similar things.
A distance that wasn't particularly close was compressed into a single point. With each step forward, Miles passed through several windows and several doors at once, crossing countless rooms.
This greatly shortened the distance between him and his destination.
Halfway there, he suddenly noticed a problem.
The current situation was actually quite different from what it had been in Liant Town.
Liant Town was a ritual created through the cooperation of more than three Law Contemplators, combined with several Law Objects and extensive preparations on the mystical level.
But the current situation was different. This was just his personal endeavor.
The effects would be different. His own weight in this matter was also different, as was his degree of control and ability to intervene.
This led to significant discrepancies between the current situation and what it had been in Liant Town not long ago.
For example, he could now roughly sense the positions, quantities, and strengths of all the base points—something he had been completely unable to do in Liant Town.
Another example was that Liant Town didn't have "Wyatt," but this city should have a "Samuel."
The core of a memory must be the owner of the memory itself. Even in the jointly created Liant Town, when Samuel entered the "memory" inside the town, this rule would be followed.
The fact that there wasn't a real Wyatt in Liant Town was only because the ritual jointly created by the three parties had interfered with each other, causing what was presented to be slightly different.
But just as Samuel could enter Wyatt's own memory through the Bard's memory, there should also be a "Samuel" at the core of this memory.
Not the "Wu Lang" from earlier. Although he was strong—so strong that his mere existence could kill Miles—he truly wasn't.
It had nothing to do with appearance, as there were many abilities that could change one's appearance.
But he indeed wasn't.
After all, Miles was the user of this ability, and he could clearly tell that "Wu Lang" himself wasn't the "Samuel" in this city.
But the problem precisely lay here.
Miles could also be certain that there were only six base points in this city, and he had already identified them all just now.
This was very strange, completely inconsistent with his understanding of his own ability.
But soon, he temporarily set aside this doubt, deciding not to dwell on it for now.
Because he had arrived.
Watching the thoughts constantly emerging from the bubble above Miles's head, Samuel, observing from the sidelines, recalled what he had just seen and carefully examined the city once again.
There truly wasn't a "Samuel" in this city.
No, that wasn't quite right. There was one, after all.
That was himself.
Samuel formed another guess.
Perhaps this memory simply couldn't create a "Samuel."
Even if it were his own memory, it still couldn't replicate him.
As he was thinking, Miles had already arrived in front of the target's door. He raised his hand, curled his fingers, and knocked lightly.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound of knocking rang out.
But no footsteps came from inside the house. The people in this building didn't seem to intend to open the door.
Listening closely, he could hear the sound of conversation from behind the door, but no one came to open it.
After thinking for a moment, Miles glanced at the doorbell next to the door and tentatively pressed it.
The sound of "ding-dong, ding-dong" quickly rang out.
This sparked a slight bit of interest in Miles, who lived in the Kingdom of Liastan.
But only a tiny bit—equivalent to seeing a decent stone by the roadside.
Unless he happened to be collecting penguins, he wouldn't bother to pick up that stone either.
But still, no one came to open the door.
After a two-second pause, Miles raised his left hand and looked down at the watch on his left wrist.
Five thirteen.
This watch couldn't tell time—it didn't display the time. Its speed of regress only showed based on his Spirituality consumption.
However, even though it was a product contaminated by "Wu Lang," he had to admit it was indeed very useful.
This regressing watch could clearly show him how much time he had left, which was far more convenient than estimating time by sensing his internal Spirituality consumption.
Because it was useful, he hadn't thrown it away.
Nor was he worried that "Wu Lang" would use this contamination to do something to him.
After all, it was because of his own initiative in reminding and releasing him that Miles had been able to leave.
He didn't understand why he would tolerate his own enemy, but since he had done so, Miles wasn't inclined to dig deeper.
As for this point, Samuel himself, observing from the sidelines, could explain it.
He simply treated his own experiences as an incredibly obscure, old anime and shared it with Miles.
He had finally managed to recommend this show to someone, so how could he let that person die halfway through?
If he was going to die, he'd better write a million-word review first before dying.
After waiting a few seconds, he knocked twice more, but there was still no response from inside the room.
No longer waiting, Miles walked straight through the door and entered.
It was a bit rude, but since the people inside wouldn't open the door, he had no choice.
Passing through the door, he could see a living room that was almost identical in layout to "Wu Lang's" home.
The only difference was that it was a bit messier—there was a toppled chair, paper cups and plates scattered on the floor, and a half-eaten birthday cake that had fallen to the ground.
Miles looked up.
Oh, there was also an extra chandelier overhead—something "Wu Lang's" home didn't have.
The living room was full of people, but the target boy was nowhere to be seen.
The people were male and female, old and young—adults as well as half-grown teenagers.
Their faces all wore polite smiles. Some were cleaning things up, some were holding brooms trying to sweep up the scattered cake, some were righting the chair that had just fallen over...
Based on their behavior, there was nothing unusual.
If you ignored their identical smiles.
As Miles passed through the room, they all simultaneously turned their gazes toward him, smiling and nodding, looking as if they were all very easy to deal with.
"Are you also here for Little Lang's birthday party?" A middle-aged woman put down the broom in her hand and walked up to Miles. "That child suddenly started throwing a tantrum for some reason and is hiding in his room, refusing to come out."
The woman was probably "Little Lang's" mother. She wore a smile on her face and had a gentle tone.
But Miles had absolutely no interest in these fake people. Just like he had passed through the door, he walked straight through the woman's body and headed toward a room at the back of the living room.
The woman slowly turned around, still smiling at Miles, saying nothing.
Everyone in the living room was watching Miles.
They smiled, they stared, they watched as Miles arrived in front of "Little Lang's" room. Without knocking, he walked straight through the door.
They continued to say nothing, continued to not move, continued to watch, continued to smile.
Passing through the wall and entering the room, Miles saw "Little Lang" lying on the bed.
"Little Lang" had his back to him, facing the wall, covered with a blanket.
He wasn't crying, nor was he trembling in fear—he looked like he was simply sleeping.
Because Miles hadn't come in through the door, his arrival was silent, and "Little Lang," with his back to him, was completely unaware.
Surveying the room, it had only a desk and chair, a bed, and a wardrobe—nothing else.
Miles walked over to the desk against the wall, pulled out the chair, and sat down.
As he pulled the chair, it made a slight sound.
This sound finally caught "Little Lang's" attention.
"Little Lang" slowly turned over, pushed aside the blanket, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at Miles, who was sitting down not far in front of him.
It seemed he hadn't actually been asleep.
Seeing that Miles's face didn't bear that smile, "Little Lang" blinked.
While he was observing Miles, Miles was also observing him.
An Eastern face was "foreign" to Miles, and he had a bit of face blindness regarding them. He hadn't really noticed earlier that the "Little Lang" in front of him actually looked very much like "Wu Lang."
Now, after having some time of contact with "Wu Lang," he finally realized that this boy was essentially a younger version of "Wu Lang."
The boy looked to be about eleven or twelve, still a bit childish.
In theory, Samuel at this time was actually already eighteen years old, and what he was experiencing now was his eighteenth birthday.
But for Samuel's life, which could be considered quite long, an eighteen-year-old could indeed be called "young."
As such, in this spiritual world, the "Little Lang" shaped by Samuel's subconscious appeared as this roughly eleven or twelve-year-old boy.
Seeing that "Little Lang" had no intention of speaking at all, Miles spoke first.
"Are you very scared?" Miles asked.
But "Little Lang" just looked at him, various emotions swirling in his eyes.
Yet his expression was somewhat calm.
It seemed he had been too stimulated, causing his brain to activate a self-protective mechanism that made him ignore the pain, ignore the despair, leaving him completely unable to feel any emotions right now.
He was in great pain, but he felt calm himself.
This was completely different from the Samuel and "Wu Lang" that Miles had seen before.
This was a good sign.
The corners of Miles's mouth curled up slightly as he continued:
"I came here once before just now. I don't know if you noticed."
"Little Lang" shook his head, indicating he hadn't noticed.
Miles glanced at the watch on his wrist again.
Five twelve.
Earlier, when he was with "Wu Lang" for a few minutes, the time had quickly regressed from "five fifty" to "five thirteen."
And now, after coming into contact with "Little Lang," although the contact time was equally short, he had at least exchanged some words, and he had also been in close contact with the people outside.
But this had only regressed from "five thirteen" to "five twelve."
Good. This level of Spirituality consumption was much more acceptable to him.
"I think you've probably noticed already, haven't you?" Miles asked in a calm, unhurried tone. "Those people outside."
"Your family, your friends, and everything around you..."
"Little Lang" was silent for a moment. A few seconds later, he nodded.
"Who... are you, exactly?"
"Little Lang" finally opened his mouth and spoke the first words since Miles had entered the room.