Ian possessed two grimoires. The Touch of Re-creation and the Records of the Deep Sea.
Neither of the two was an ordinary grimoire.
The Touch of Re-creation was written by an outer god bearing the name the Reconstruction of All Things.
The Records of the Deep Sea was written by an outer god bearing the name the Master of the Outer Sea.
The first one he had met was The Touch of Re-creation. As it was the grimoire that had led him to become a mage, Ian personally tended to hold greater affection for The Touch of Re-creation. It was not that he disliked the Records of the Deep Sea; rather, if forced to choose which he preferred, that was simply the one.
In fact, it was only natural if one thought about it logically.
Between The Touch of Re-creation, which exerted no influence whatsoever on its owner, and the Records of the Deep Sea, which threatened to devour him alive if it grew hungry—who in their right mind would side with the latter?
Of course, re-creation magic was not entirely without side effects. Prolonged use brought headaches, accompanied by nausea and dizziness.
But those felt no worse than the threat of death.
Naturally, an ailment that subsided with a few pills was vastly preferable to deep-sea monsters threatening to swallow him whole.
And yet, the reason Ian had chosen the Records of the Deep Sea rather than The Touch of Re-creation was that only the former had faintly revealed the form of its outer god.
'That figure reflected in the Watcher.'
Ian still remembered the black-haired girl reflected in the single eye of the Watcher he had summoned while escaping from Yohan General Hospital.
Recalling her exact appearance was impossible. Not only had her face not been fully revealed, but everything below her neck had been nothing but pitch-black shadow.
Only her small shoulders and long hair, along with the pronoun 'she' written in the grimoire, had let Ian know that the Master of the Outer Sea was female; without that, he could not have known her gender for certain.
As for the Reconstruction of All Things, on the other hand?
The name of the Reconstruction of All Things written in The Touch of Re-creation used 'she,' just as in the Records of the Deep Sea. Thus, it was certain that the Reconstruction was also female.
But he did not know her most important feature—her appearance. He knew not even the smallest trace.
Eyes? Nose? Mouth? Did she even possess them in the first place? What color was her hair? What about her eyes? Did she have a form resembling that of a human?
"……."
He knew none of these things. In such a state, he could not possibly ask for the Reconstruction of All Things to be made out of nowhere.
How could one create something when they did not even know what it looked like? No matter how great a sculptor Pygmalion was, he could not carve a being he knew nothing about. Even if something were forcibly made, how would that be any different from calling a watermelon an apple?
Thus, it was an unavoidable choice.
…So Ian placated The Touch of Re-creation. Inside his bag, The Touch of Re-creation whimpered softly as he stroked it.
[Mnngh.]
A tremor that seemed to say, 'Just this once.'
For some reason, it gave off the feeling of a virtuous wife putting up with a cheating husband, but Ian forced the thought away.
'I should take good care of The Touch of Re-creation for the time being, too.'
Just as he was thinking this, tapping his leg, Pygmalion set down his hammer and chisel with a satisfied smile.
"Finished, mage."
"Already? That was fast."
He had commissioned the sculpture a mere five minutes ago; to have it completed in such a short time…
As expected of a master artisan, his hands were remarkably swift. Or perhaps he had used some mysterious power to accelerate the work.
Regardless, it was not of great importance. Ian closed and tidied his bag, then rose from his seat to check the time.
'Roughly three minutes left?'
That was not much time, but it was enough to inspect the statue. Rotating his wrist, stiff from continuously petting the grimoire, Ian stared behind Pygmalion.
Behind Pygmalion's grey body.
On a small display stand sat the sculpture of a girl.
Her expression was blank, her long hair cascading in black waves. Her red pupils glinted ominously, like pools of stagnant blood. Her pale skin shimmered even more wanly under the ceiling light.
"……Hah."
It looked more like a living creature than a statue. All that was present were the tops of her thighs, her pelvis, her upper body, arms, and head—yet even so, the sculpture possessed vitality, breathing as if alive. The slight rise and fall of her chest was proof of breath.
"I've carved all the internal organs, nerves, blood vessels, and tendons—everything a human needs. It's a shame I couldn't make the legs, but well, it is the client's request, so I must oblige."
Pygmalion spoke. He stepped aside, turned to Ian, and grinned.
"Go on, take a look. She is your wife now."
"……."
He had no intention of taking a figurine or statue as a wife, but rather than retort, Ian slowly approached the sculpture.
Examined up close, the statue differed from a real person in no way whatsoever. Even pores and fine hairs had been meticulously realized.
"I didn't know you had a taste for disabled women without legs… but well, there is beauty in that too, in its own way. I respect that."
Ian ignored the nonsense Pygmalion was spouting beside him.
Standing before the statue face-on, Ian met her red pupils and gulped.
'……So this is the Master of the Outer Sea.'
He knew it was incomplete. He was well aware that it differed greatly from her true form.
But her appearance reflected in the Watcher and the form of the statue before him now were not so different. If one compared only their outward appearances, they could be considered identical.
'That overwhelming pressure I felt then is absent, but that's unavoidable.'
Back then, the Master of the Outer Sea had briefly revealed her true form by borrowing the Watcher's eye.
Now, however, it was merely a simple statue. Though it had been granted life and its outward appearance was identical, its essence was ultimately inorganic matter. There was no way it could produce phenomena like an outer god.
Still, it was enough to properly confirm her appearance. He could roughly keep this image in mind moving forward.
"Mmm?"
Tilting his head, Ian met the gaze of the statue, which tilted its own head in turn, and nodded.
At that moment, the grimoire in Ian's hand vibrated briefly.
[Mnngh.]
Before Ian could react, the grimoire moved on its own, flying above the statue's head.
There was no time to respond. The moment Ian's eyes went wide and Pygmalion raised his eyebrows at the unexpected situation—
Thud!
—the grimoire plunged straight into the statue's chest, shattering the ivory.
"……!"
"What the fuck!"
Ian was shocked, and Pygmalion spat out a curse. Paying them no mind, the grimoire crushed the ivory, driving its body deep into where the heart had been.
As it completely replaced the heart's position, black seawater began trickling out through the grimoire's cover.
Gurgle……!
Ian's face hardened at the familiar sea of the outer universe, and Pygmalion's movements froze from instinctive terror.
"……."
"……Uuh. Ah, uuuhaah…."
The three minutes of spare time had long since passed. Yet Pygmalion did not harm Ian in the slightest; instead, his teeth chattered as his entire body trembled. As if he had witnessed something against which resistance was futile.
Ian, on the contrary, was perfectly fine. Without any mental confusion or physical trembling, he gazed at the statue engulfed in the black Outer Sea.
A sudden, unexpected situation. Black seawater overflowing despite no magic being cast. The fearful reactions of the others, particularly the mysterious being's terrified response, excluding Ian.
A familiar sense of déjà vu washed over him. Surely, it had been like this when the Master of the Outer Sea had first revealed a fragment of herself at the hospital—
"Ahaha."
The instant the thought formed, a clear laugh rang out from the direction of the statue. Ian reflexively whipped his head around, and a small outstretched hand lightly pressed against both his cheeks. His cheeks caved in of their own accord from the force, his lips jutting out in a pout.
A comical sight. Yet the situation was anything but funny.
"Uuwp?!"
Ian panicked, rolling his eyes to look at the owner of the hand. The statue—its chest pierced by the grimoire—was staring at him with a gaze brimming with mischief and affection.
"My beloved."
Its mouth slowly opened. A red tongue was visible between red lips, and as if speaking a single word were too overwhelming, its torso began slowly crumbling from the bottom up.
But the statue—no, whatever had borrowed the statue's vessel—paid it no heed and smiled brightly.
"This vessel is far too lowly to sustain me."
"……."
"I've imbued it with merely a fingernail's worth of consciousness by human standards. This is hardly usable."
She exhaled upon Ian's face, then pressed a kiss to the bridge of his nose. Then she smiled shyly.
"But there is little reason to waste this opportunity, is there?"
"……You."
"My husband. Consort of the Outer Sea. My first love."
'She' smiled sweetly and forcibly opened Ian's mouth with her thumb. Then she caught his tongue with her fingers and pulled it out.
"I've been waiting for you."
"Uuup……!"
"But I am not particularly patient. And if there is a rival, even less so."
She smiled softly and bit down hard on Ian's captured tongue with her teeth. Blood trickled slightly from the wound, and she drank it, smiling innocently.
"I want to covet you. To carve marks declaring you mine in every corner, every inch."
"……."
"But I shall endure. Because you would dislike it. For now, this much is enough."
"……Ugh."
"Take care. I am always watching."
She sucked the droplet of blood from the tip of Ian's tongue and smiled slyly.
The next moment, the statue completely collapsed, and the grimoire fell to the floor.
[…….]
The grimoire lay limp as a corpse, utterly unresponsive. Judging by how the title on its cover had faded, it had clearly overexerted itself somewhat. Perhaps it would be unable to use magic for the time being.
"……."
It was a serious matter, but he was not so at leisure as to worry about such things right now. Ian wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, picked up the grimoire, and slumped heavily to the floor.
'……Love is heavy.'
Ridiculously enough, that was the entirety of his first thought.