Chapter 74 |
[A Card of Boundaries Broken by Trust]
[Memory of Repose: A Luncheon of Light Slumber]
"It's the last one."
[Registering a new recipe to the Archive.]
[Yes/No]
"What a shame...."
[Yes]
"We'll see each other again, won't we?"
He didn't bother to deny it.
I know.
"......"
"......"
"...Ah...."
At the break of dawn, the White Crow cried.
"It really is a shame."
***
Tear down superstition.
Reject the irrational.
Let us respect reason and, guided by philosophy, dream of rational governance and social reform. Valor and honor belong to warriors of history—look upon the world once more.
Is there truly glory in chivalry? Is there value in indiscriminate military heroism? Only the virtues of rationality and restraint will mark you as true nobility.
"On the foundation of reason."
The teacher would say.
"Restrain yourself."
"Define your dignity."
"The world has changed."
Since violence without cause no longer carried weight.
"Do not think you can go on living as before."
"...Why...."
It was a light question. The sort of lament anyone might make, directed at a changing world.
"Why is that, Teacher?"
"Because time passes."
"Is that all?"
"Do humans not change?"
"Nothing is eternal, then."
"As with all things."
"If one were perfect."
It was a shame. So deeply a shame.
"If one became a perfect being, could one remain unchanging?"
Restraining body and emotion and maintaining dignity in one's way of life. That had now become the hallmark of the civilized aristocratic class. The formless ideal raced ahead on swift feet, devouring the connected earth.
The teacher described that day thus.
"People are waking from the dream."
"And another reason?"
"The desire to escape criticism."
"You mean that the old way of life failed to contribute to society?"
"Not only failed to contribute, but wasted resources, they say."
"Since the wind has blown, I suppose we must ride atop it."
"Set your body and mind in order. Prepare to build a new castle."
"I am confident I will not be swayed by the tongues of many."
Now he had to prove it. Why they were nobility.
Within this critical public opinion, the man—the one who had been boy and then young man—prepared. To prove that they were educational and cultural paragons, the moral leadership.
Because only then could he remain a nobleman worthy of the name.
If, befitting his arrogant nature, the method of displaying his own superiority as a nobleman to the world had changed—then he would comply.
"But I do worry."
"About what?"
"You were born arrogant. Your mistakes will be frequent."
"I will prove otherwise."
"Better that you make mistakes. You must fall countless times."
"I'm not inclined to."
"You are not a person who can be perfect."
"Time will resolve it."
"Your arrogance will be your undoing."
He said.
"The mistakes you've painstakingly hidden will pile up, and one day they'll sit before you as a great trap."
But after that day, he never raised the subject again. The man believed it was because he had been sufficiently noble.
He was a ruler who made excellent judgments, who served as a model to society through discipline, and who proved that as the leadership class, he remained necessary. He cultivated learning and etiquette, making himself noble through his own efforts.
For reason and restraint were the hallmarks of nobility.
"Your reputation is good, I hear."
"Is it?"
The man became an artist.
"Set yourself in order."
He followed those words faithfully.
An enlightened mind that distinguished him from the ignorant masses. Extensive knowledge and refined manners. The capacity to govern all passions with reason. Thus he pursued the ideal of rationalism and restraint.
And yet, watching a wild beast thrash about, the thought would come.
"......"
"Exercise restraint."
"I know."
That he wanted to see its blood.
'Ah.'
How exhilarating would it be? How liberating?
If he seized a blade and drove it into that throat. If he could lose this insufferable reason and run wild. No—if he could cross blades not with a beast but with a person, this damned headache might ease a little.
The world had already passed the age of the hunt. The days of long tables and revelry would not come.
"......"
Would they truly never come?
"Won't they return?"
"That would be difficult."
"Why?"
"Because the world does not change in an instant."
"And why is that?"
"Because human collectives are always thus."
Their numbers vast, and fickle besides.
"It takes a very long time for everyone to affirm the wind that would change the world."
"It won't change within my lifetime, then."
"How many points must one pass to circle a great pillar and return to the start?"
"Your words are true."
But the man was arrogant, and wished to give up nothing.
"Is it truly impossible for me to become perfect?"
"......"
A world where nothing was eternal. Yet even if things changed a little, they ultimately returned to the starting point. The world flowed in that fashion, so he would stand atop it. He would use that current.
"Surely I have the qualification."
"...Arrogant one."
"As much as you, a sinner?"
"I will not stop you from walking that path."
"Is there a reason for that as well?"
"Because it keeps me alive."
"I see."
And so he laid hands on Blood Magic.
"You'll regret it."
"Not as much as you."
"It will be very painful."
"I can endure it."
"You are mistaken."
"I am a nobleman."
A nobleman who would be noble forevermore.
"Make me into a Velmareth, Teacher."
"Gladly."
He answered.
"I will do so."
"......"
"As the prisoner of your castle."
"......"
"...As a servant of blood."
And so he thought he could become perfect.
Not knowing how flimsy a thing an arrogant man's reason truly was.
A life that was itself one long mistake ultimately became a trap.
"......"
"......"
"......"
Inside the castle, emptied of every last drop of blood, the monster laughed.
"May I eat?"
If only he'd left even one thing behind. A single corpse. Even just one—flesh, blood, or emotion.
"May I eat?"
That would have been nice.
Ah, he was thirsty.
***
He drifted across countless eras and lands.
"KYAAAAH!!!"
"A—a monster, that monster—!"
"Catch it, quickly!!"
His body was incomplete, his reason twisted, and his senses had been cruelly unified into one.
The sensation on his tongue that he had loved most was gone. What remained in its place was only the stench of blood. That was all he could taste. That wretched flavor of iron.
"......"
Because he couldn't endure it like this. Because he couldn't remain as only this.
"May I eat?"
He devoured them, one by one.
Starting with joy, hope, and trust. Then despair, rage, and jealousy. In the end, the bodies stripped of everything and left as empty husks just like himself. And sometimes he swallowed entire souls and mixed them with his own.
In that way, he lost the boundary between self and other.
"The rain won't come."
On some days, he carried the despair of farmers on his back.
"I smell blood."
On other days, he held the rage of soldiers in his chest.
He was no longer a nobleman, nor human. Only a grotesque collection of emotions wrought from blood. Only a monster, forcibly stitched together from countless souls, remained where he stood.
He had not lived a human life for hundreds of years.
"......"
Absorbing.
"......"
Blending.
"......"
Drifting.
Within him, countless voices wailed. But that weeping always vanished alongside the smell of blood. He knew. He had dreamed of eternal nobility, but only eternal deprivation would accompany him.
And so he stood before a certain castle.
"...Blood...."
A wanderer's refuge, drenched in blood.
***
And so he was curious.
"Cough, gkh."
"......"
"Ugh... uwegh...."
"......"
"Haah...."
What makes you and me different?
"Ah...."
"...May I eat?"
"My luck couldn't be worse."
The man gazed at the young lord seated across from him. He spoke.
"Three penalties in a row."
His words were right.
"......"
He had truly evaded the man with veteran skill.
Setting foot in darkened corridors. Hiding his body behind pipes and pillars. Checking record files while evading the Watchers' eyes. He'd even thrown his body into tanks or torn off pieces of himself as decoys.
Diligently and earnestly. He was preparing something the man could not comprehend.
"......"
If he didn't know what it was by now, that would be a disgrace as a vampire.
"......"
"...Ha ha!"
And yet the question persisted.
"Let's try again."
Why was it possible?
The man opened his mouth.
"Originally...."
"I'm listening."
"I was going to be angry."
"You may."
"This is the last time, because I do find it distasteful."
"Because I deceived you?"
"The acting was superb."
"I think so too."
"Have you been crying?"
He was curious.
"Were you frightened?"
Even granting it was an act, he judged that the fear, the wariness, the despair were not lies.
How many people swamped in negative emotions had he seen over the years? Those bruised, tear-sodden eyes and that gaze that looked ready to die of exhaustion couldn't all have been fabricated. He knew, because he was a vampire who consumed humans.
And so he continued.
"One by one, they were torn away from me...."
Until I couldn't even tell what kind of person I'd been.
"Too broken to piece back together."
Overwhelmed, not knowing where to even begin.
"You must have been frightened?"
"I am frightened."
"Then why do you smile?"
"Mercifully, you couldn't take my reason as well."
"Do you consider that fortunate?"
"There's no reason not to."
"You're afraid because there's still somewhere to fall."
"I'm aware of that as well."
"......"
"...I see...."
Yeon-woo curved his eyes in a smile.
"You're strong, pleasant to look at, and possess formidable abilities."
"This time, I won."
"I acknowledge that as well."
"I'll win next time too."
"And do you think, with that, you can obtain what you want?"
In those eyes, something strange was visible.
"Go ahead and try."
It was as resolute as stating the direction of the wind.
"If I seemed like such a lightweight, that's hurtful."
And it was brimming with the certainty that he was the natural order of the world.
"......"
...The man—The Guest Without Taste—was strong.
Strong, as the young lord had said. However incomplete and grotesque, there were centuries lived behind him. He had clung on, devouring everything from ecstasy to screaming. He was strong, and his opponent was weak.
And precisely because of that, the man could not understand why Yeon-woo was able to do what he did.
"You're eating slowly—not in the mood to enjoy your meal, I take it?"
"Yes."
"Even if I say I'll serve you myself?"
"Yes."
"Liar."
He said so.
"When you have no intention of running away."
"......"
"...What a terrible person...."
Then he laughed.
A young spirit who hadn't lived even a quarter of his years. A god cobbled together by vulgar hands. Still considering himself human, and yet—how could he smile like that?
Ah, The Guest Without Taste understood what that smile meant.
Compassion, satisfaction, and a strong....
"......"
"......"
Desire for control.
"The rest of your meal will be attended to by our staff."
"......"
"Until next time."
He'd wondered why the man wouldn't crumble. Beneath a single layer of goodwill, that was the face hiding underneath.
'...An instinct that cherishes what is broken most.'
How strange.
'And how unpleasant.'
Between blood mages, predation was ultimately a battle won by the one with the more swollen ego. To dare consume the master of this vast system, following its rules was the path that most reliably secured one's chances of success.
But following that sequence faithfully took far too long.
'So I pressured and frightened this young one, ate away at his positivity to break him down, and tried to destabilize his sense of self to accelerate the predation even slightly.'
And as a result, far from crumbling, he was trying to inject humanity into me.
'Was I shaken?'
'I was shaken. There won't be a second time.'
'This is the last.'
The last chance.
Being deceived still makes me angry, after all.