Chapter 94
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The Answerer Ⅷ
Shin Noah
14
Step.
The next footprint was Nodo-ha.
On an island where a single bridge had been built, leaving people no choice but to come and go along that one path, Nodo-ha ran a workshop. I worked there as her assistant.
Nodo-ha hadn't asked for much in life.
Sunlight. Water. A plot of land. Beach sand. Leaves, a little more. Flowers, a little less.
A hammer. A manageable number of other people and a bearable volume of wounds. Warm coffee. The type of beans didn't matter.
Summer, autumn, winter, spring—she had wished for these. She wanted to be awakened not by the sound of human footsteps, but by the sound of rain falling on the garden's stone path.
If she were to die someday, she hoped for neither cremation nor burial, but for the old winds of late summer to give her a sky burial.
In complete contrast to Dang Seo-rin who wanted to leave for anywhere, Nodo-ha wished for no one to visit her anywhere.
Therefore, Nodo-ha must have been the person who desired the most from life.
"Assistant……."
"Yes?"
"Pack my bags for a short business trip. Hmm. There are so many old folks on the mainland who can't even come to the island……."
"Ah, yes. Understood."
As winter ended and the last snow was melting, Nodo-ha left the island. The bridge hadn't been repaired in a long time, and its railings were falling apart in various places.
Sway. The sea breathed playfully.
"Please be careful, Workshop Master. This winter brought a lot of snow, and the bridge has deteriorated significantly. We'll need to fix it after you return."
"……."
"Workshop Master?"
As I walked ahead on the bridge and turned to look back—tap. Nodo-ha's palm pressed against my back.
It was pressure I could have ignored if I wanted to.
I didn't ignore it.
I stopped exactly in the posture of turning around.
"Workshop Master?"
"I don't cling to things……."
"Pardon?"
"Assistant. I have no need for ideals. Utopia. An ideal life. An ideal ending. Hmm. Living with part of my daily life held as collateral for such things is not my way of accepting the world……."
"……."
"I'm not the type to feel pride in denying reality. I graduated from that hobby at age twelve. Assistant. As you know. I hate, truly hate, leaving debts in someone else's hands……."
Lightly.
Nodo-ha gave my back a small push.
That too was a gesture I could have ignored if I wanted to.
I didn't ignore it.
Just then, the loose railing couldn't support my weight and—creak—collapsed.
Right before falling from the bridge, I looked up at Nodo-ha. The sun's shadow covered her face.
Only a shadow-like smile was drawn across it.
"Do get lost……."
Nodo-ha's face rapidly grew distant.
Splash—while hearing the sound of falling into seawater, I couldn't help but think.
From island to mainland. In the middle of crossing from the other shore to this shore, dropping a person.
That was truly a murder characteristic of Nodo-ha.
Blink. Rattle.
The wheel of time moved.
Two steps forward.
15
Step.
The next footprint was the Saintess.
"……."
"……."
Surprisingly, the two of us were sitting on the silver moon. Sitting across from each other on chairs carved from stone, with a table between us.
The world had stopped breathing.
The Earth on the other side of the universe had frozen, and the sun shining on it from behind was also motionless.
White World.
The endpoint of time. No, a pause.
The terminus that an awakened being called the Saintess would inevitably reach when she blossomed her ability to its extreme——.
"Mr. Funeral Director."
Ocean-class, no.
Perhaps another Outer God-class anomaly.
A being who bore the name Saintess as an awakened one, but possessed the title 'Executor' as an anomaly, opened her lips.
"As you already know, Mr. Funeral Director, you could face this kind of ending at any time."
"…Is this eternal rest?"
"Yes. Not the vacation Mr. Funeral Director occasionally takes as if playing a prank… but truly releasing your breath, and therefore—rest. The world has stopped, and people no longer move. No sins occur. No misfortune, no unhappiness either."
As if reciting a small song, the Saintess accompanied her voice with telepathy. That is, with the Constellation's mental transmission.
[Naturally, regression as well.]
"……."
"All existence becomes like inorganic matter. Becoming a speck of dust, merely swimming through moments that are both eternal and fleeting. If this world were to stop someday, there's no reason it shouldn't be today, is there?"
"Saintess. You already know that you cannot persuade me."
"……."
The Saintess drank her coffee.
Coffee with plenty of sugar and cream, no different from convenience store commercial products.
As a barista, there was nothing I could do but cut open Maxim packets and pour them in, then stir. Yet the Saintess evaluated that the coffee I stirred 'tastes different.'
I wonder if the Saintess knows that I secretly add half a spoonful of cinnamon powder.
"Why is that? Do you believe you can escape from eternal return someday?"
"Of course."
"Do you know? That Emmet Schopenhauer, who gave up everything in the 23rd cycle and fled to a world consisting of only himself and his lover, was actually the normal one."
"……."
"Even just the 23rd cycle was already a sufficiently long time and sufficiently much pain. Mr. Funeral Director, your hope is excessively strong."
The Saintess spoke her heart.
"This world is hell."
Since there was no capacity in the universe to accept human breath, that voice and those breaths were entirely a groan produced by the Saintess's transparent and colorless aura.
That was the only noise in this universe.
Therefore, it was the sole scream of the entire universe.
"The world is hell, yet no one takes responsibility. Efforts to change it are nonexistent or too slow."
[If time cannot be rolled back, it must be stopped.]
"Why does a torture chamber exist in some underground corner of the world? Have you ever seen a child not yet ten years old die?"
[A child sold to a 'factory' from a very young age, destined to be tortured to death on their tenth birthday.]
"Why do mine slaves born in rock mines and swamp mines die their entire short lives in narrow crevices without ever knowing a wider world exists?"
[Why do humans consider it fortunate that people less happy than themselves exist, rather than people more happy than themselves?]
"If they claim that even such crude tendencies aren't their own decision but were forced by their surrounding environment, their world, being that way—"
[Fine.]
"What reason could I possibly have to allow the flow of time so that such a world continues to exist?"
"……."
"They say the depth of hell is twenty thousand yojana below. That can't be."
An exhalation flowed into the universe.
[One layer.]
The starlight of the Constellation flickered.
Pythagoras's shadow Earth escaped from harmony and—creak—created noise.
"Just one layer beneath that planet, it has been made entirely into hell."
"……."
We fell silent.
Not because we had nothing to say to each other. Because what could be said to each other had been determined.
I knew the single phrase that could kill the executor of time, the executioner, the Saintess. And like a murderer with a final conscience, I was slowly bringing down the blade.
"Please help me. Saintess."
"……."
"I want to help others."
"……."
Blood flowed in the universe.
According to Pythagorean tradition, the universe consists of ten celestial bodies, one of which is invisible to human eyes.
Shadow-Earth.
Because it always moves in the same direction as Earth while facing away from the light, Shadow-Earth is constantly submerged in darkness as if eternally in a lunar eclipse.
That shadow-planet made sound as it revolved with the other nine celestial bodies. Like a heartbeat. Like harmony. Therefore, Pythagoreans believed the universe was always filled with the song of celestial bodies.
To them, the world was beautiful.
However, humans have heard the universe's song since birth. That song became too natural a 'background' for us, so humans never hear the music of the universe.
One layer.
That one layer of an eyebrow hides not only hell but also this world's beauty was a fatal curse for the Saintess.
"Mugan……."
The Constellation of Shadow, who was always submerged in shadow and turned her gaze wherever people turned theirs, opened her lips.
"…has descended on Baekhwa Girls' High School, as the Night Parade of Hundred Demons. She exists as the leader commanding ninety-nine ghosts. In other words, Mugan has divided her existence into ninety-nine pieces."
"……."
"Originally, my ability was merely to stop the world. But as my power grew stronger, it became possible to move freely within the stopped world. Just like that…. Cheon Yo-hwa's ability too, can certainly become stronger than it is now."
"What do you mean?"
"Imprinting behavioral principles on humans and controlling them like NPCs. That is Cheon Yo-hwa's awakened ability. But perhaps—if she develops her ability, she might be able to use the same ability not on humans but on anomalies."
"Ah."
My eyes flew open.
"She'll be able to control anomalies at will! Good heavens! Isn't that an tremendously powerful ability!"
"…Yes. At least limited to the anomalies that appeared in Baekhwa Girls' High School, no. In the school ghost stories, control is possible."
The Saintess nodded.
"Cheon Yo-hwa is Mugan's apostle. She'll be able to interfere to some extent with the anomalies Mugan commands. Mr. Funeral Director probably knows better than I do the reason Cheon Yo-hwa was chosen as Mugan's apostle."
"Certainly……."
I could see the strategy.
The Saintess warned me.
"However, Cheon Yo-hwa, having consumed Mugan's Night Parade of Hundred Demons, will become incomparably stronger than she is now. She herself will become no different from an anomaly. …Just like me, whom Mr. Funeral Director is looking at now within this illusion."
"……."
"Just from Mugan alone, this much. As you subjugate anomalies, they increase around Mr. Funeral Director. Dang Seo-rin too, Sim Ah-ryeon too, someday certainly. …I wish it could be simply summarized as fighting poison with poison, but ultimately, you're merely transplanting the world's poison into yourself. If Mr. Funeral Director were to give up…. A backlash incomparably greater than when Schopenhauer gave up would strike. So, please……."
I took the Saintess's hand.
"I know."
The Saintess looked at me.
"Please fall into hell with me."
"……."
Creak—
The circle of the universe, which had been stopped, rattled. The sun, Earth, moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn—clunked and moved. Ten wheels aligned in a straight line.
Grand Alignment. The most majestic constellation the universe could pronounce.
At that final line stood shadow.
"Yes."
The shadow smiled before my eyes.
[To anywhere.]
Blink, the life of one layer closed its eyes.
Rattle, ten Constellations played silent music.
Before we knew it, we were holding hands and flipped upside down, diving from the moon's glassy surface to the ground—to hell.
Endless fall.
We held each other tightly.
The song of the universe was time.
Blink. Rattle—
The wheel of time moved.
From the other shore to this shore. From the nearest other world to the farthest reality.
One step forward.
16
"——Mister! Misterr!"
I think about why humans are born with two eyes.
That is because the world is always composed of two layers. The hell spread beneath that sunlight, and the beauty submerged in shadow.
Blindness and direct sight. Poles. Gap.
Existence as a between-space rather than emptiness.
I slowly opened both eyes.
"Yo-hwa?"
"Yes, mister! Mmmm. So……. Are you really the mister? I mean, do you have the memory of us going around the school ghost stories…?"
I looked around.
Ding—dong—dang—dong.
The bell rang. This was the school ghost stories…. No, Baekhwa Girls' High School. The bell spread not through a red sky but a blue sky.
The appearance of an infinitely normal school.
There was no bizarre birch forest, no flowerbed of spider lilies. Perhaps it was lunchtime now, as students were gathering in twos and threes, crossing the playground.
"…Yeah, I remember. We were walking your four steps to subjugate Mugan. Now only the last step remains."
"Aaah! Right! Um, but why did the mister and I fall into the same illusion this time…?"
"It seems this is the fourth step."
Step.
Cheon Yo-hwa's footsteps and mine overlapped.
A world so peaceful that anomalies, emptiness, and endings had no gaps to intrude.
That was our last station.
A infinite regressor telling his story