EP.63 The Homunculus's Dilemma
Skin burns and blood boils. Shea frowned as she watched the lightning she had created. Tirkanjaka's small body acted like a lightning rod, the lightning flowing from the dark clouds coursed through her body and seeped into the ground. It looked as if she was cultivating under a waterfall.
However, the pain beneath that could not even be compared to a waterfall. The torrent of that lightning was the kind that flowed down not just the skin, but the entire body.
Blood vessels, muscles, skin, blood, nerves. It rushed violently, tearing through them as if they were a straight road.
Piercing the whole body with tens of thousands of needles? Even that was impossible to compare. A single bolt of lightning was faster, finer, and more powerful than a needle.
"If it hurts, scream! If you keep enduring it...!"
Even Tirkanjaka, who was accustomed to pain, wouldn't last long. Sensing this, Shea gripped Cheonaeng tightly, ready to sever the magic at any moment.
But.
"Certainly, I can feel the pain."
Tirkanjaka was indifferent.
The skin burns. The nerves scorch. The immense lightning aura that originated from Cheonaeng used the vampire's body as a needle, burrowing into the ground.
"However, it only hurts."
But the lightning did not harm the vampire.
Blood Control Art, the ability to manipulate blood, had already reached the end of the heavens. Beyond simply 'moving' it, she could mold flesh and regenerate her body with it.
As long as blood was connected, as long as blood remained. No one could harm her.
And the Sea of Blood accumulated over 1,200 years was not so trivial as to be damaged by lightning created by a mere patch of clouds.
The lightning ended. The remaining fragments of the poured lightning intermittently sparked. But Tirkanjaka didn't suffer a single wound. The lightning-shaped scars that should have appeared, the unpleasant smell of scorched skin, the crimson color created by burning blood—none of them appeared.
That was because Tirkanjaka had gathered it all before it could happen.
"It is certainly more powerful. But something is lacking."
Tirkanjaka coldly evaluated the lightning that had coursed through her. As if she were an examiner.
"It does not reach my chest, my heart. I only feel a slight pain."
Tirkanjaka said, full of regret. Shea felt a sense of discomfort.
The Progenitor withstood her lightning? No, that wasn't it. It wasn't Shea's full power to begin with, and Tirkanjaka was in a state without any defense either.
That discomfort came from somewhere else.
Her tone as if she had been struck by lightning before, her attitude of comparing it. She pointed out something suspicious in that regard.
"...Did that man perhaps do something to you?"
"That man? Ah, you mean the Instructor."
Tirkanjaka spoke with an attitude so intact that one couldn't believe she had been struck by lightning.
"Come to think of it, we don't even know his name. Since there are few people in the Abyss, I didn't bother to ask, but it might be better to slowly find out..."
"Don't change the subject. Did you perhaps ask him to run electricity through you too?"
"How sharp."
Tirkanjaka gathered the darkness again to form a parasol, resting it lightly on her shoulder as she answered.
"That's right. I received his help a few times."
"How many times?"
"He was skillful and delicate. Not strong, but highly skilled. When he touched my heart with his finger, my stopped heart beat again for a very brief moment."
"...We're talking about lightning, right?"
Shea, who was about to retort, sensed something in Tirkanjaka's words and asked back.
"Wait, what? Your heart beat again?"
"Yes. Briefly but clearly, and short enough that it couldn't be mistaken."
"What did he do?"
"Hmm. It's a bit embarrassing to say, but since I've already said this much, there's no point in hiding it any further."
Tirkanjaka briefly explained what had happened. Going to the Instructor after seeing Toin's resurrection, asking him to run electricity through her chest. After that, wanting to feel the sensation of her heart beating again, she demanded a massage several times.
Shea, realizing the whole story, retorted.
"Then, the times you two met alone until now..."
"Were to ask for a massage. I made a nuisance of myself often."
"Ugh. If that's the case..."
Shea held her head.
Where on earth should she start explaining? She couldn't easily reach a conclusion.
No matter how much of a vampire she was, exposing her heart to someone who was also an alchemist and a mage. How lacking in a sense of crisis could she be? It made sense why the Instructor gave her a lesson on a sense of crisis...
And that Instructor too.
No matter how much she asked, to do such a thing. Controlling another person's body with magic was a taboo.
Until now, he didn't seem to have committed any particularly evil deeds. Level 0 magic was also precariously free from such taboos, and a powerful being like Tirkanjaka wouldn't easily fall victim to it.
However, Shea still couldn't perfectly trust the Instructor.
Because some terrible event that would surely have come in the future had not yet occurred.
"Tirkanjaka. If you meet the Instructor next time, ask him this."
That was why Shea had to test him.
The one currently closest to the Progenitor's heart, the Instructor of Tantalus.
Whether he had ill intentions, or if it was simply goodwill.
"The Homunculus's Dilemma. Whether he knows of it."
If he tells you that willingly, it's safe to think he has at least a minimum level of awareness.
*****
"...You came suddenly. What? The Homunculus's Dilemma?"
"Yes."
The Homunculus's Dilemma, that was a story similar to a sort of warning.
Why did the regressor tell me to listen to that story?
The fact that she could have said it herself but deliberately told me to listen to it meant one of two things.
Either she lacked confidence in making the story interesting and passed it to me.
Or it was a warning sent to me.
Hmm. In the past, I would have definitely thought it was a warning to me and held back, but lately, I feel a little more weight on the former. She really must be terrible at talking.
That's why impressions are important for people. Yep.
"It's not a very pleasant story. It's even like a ghost story with uncertain origins. Do you still want to hear it?"
"Should a listener discriminate the content of a story?"
"If that's the case. Alright. Then I'll tell you."
I threw the disc far away and began my explanation.
There was a father with a sick child.
The father wandered the city looking for a famous doctor, but no one could accurately pinpoint the child's illness. It was what people commonly call a rare disease. At the time, it was also called a curse.
If there was a difference between the two, it would be whether the doctors were troubled or terrified. Even renowned doctors slammed the door in his face, and every time that happened, the father's head dropped powerlessly.
The child's symptoms grew increasingly severe as they grew. Unable to bear seeing the child sobbing in pain every night, the father shook off everyone's dissuasion and went to find a mage deep in the forest.
The road to the mage was long and rough. The trees and bushes, which would take root in any empty space they could find, felt more like a dense wall than plants, and every time he pushed through them to take a step forward, his whole body was scratched. The father struck the branches with an axe, holding a small lamp, continuously advancing toward the direction the smoke drifted.
He did so for several hours. Beyond the dense forest, a small cabin appeared. Having found the mage's dwelling, the father pounded on the door.
The mage listened to the father's desperate story and fell silent. When he finally opened his mouth, he told him in an ominous voice to bring the child.
Was it because it was the last remaining straw? At the words that he would return a healthy child, the father nodded quickly without any doubt.
Returning home, the father carried the sick child on his back and went back the way he came. That long and rough road not twice, but once more, and with a child groaning with a hot body on his back. It was a forced march that would make anyone collapse from exhaustion, but even amidst the exhaustion, what came to the father's mind was the thought that it was fortunate he had passed this road once before.
If he hadn't cleared the branches while going back and forth twice, the scratches on his body would have been entirely on the child instead.
Carrying the child, he arrived at the mage's dwelling. In the dark night, the mage laid the child on the bed. Then, leaving the words to come back in three days, he closed the door. The father led his exhausted and tired body back home.
While clearing the remaining branches.
As promised, the father visited the mage's dwelling after three days. The moment he took a step inside the cabin, he witnessed an unbelievable sight.
The child jumped into the father's arms with a lovely smile. There was no longer any trace of illness or a face distorted by pain. Seeing the child's innocent smile, the father was happier than ever. The father paid with the money he had raised by selling his entire fortune, and walked back holding the hand of his healthy child.
And one day, a year later, looking at the healthy child, the father decided to visit the mage once again. He wanted to tell him that the child he cured had grown like this, and that they were all grateful to him. He visited the mage's dwelling holding the child's hand just like before.
It was a road that hadn't been traveled in a year. The branches had grown thick again, as if mocking his past efforts. But the father wasn't worried. Unlike back then, the child was healthy enough to easily endure a few scratches.
Perhaps because the father took the lead. The child didn't suffer even a speck of a scratch while passing through the thicket.
The mage happened to be away. The father, who had been waiting, grew anxious as the sun set behind the western mountains. The child was still hale and hearty, but worried that the child might get tired, the father committed a breach of etiquette and opened the door to the dwelling and went in.
At that moment, the father heard a faint groan. The father, wondering if there was another patient, stiffened his face at a sudden ominous premonition.
Sadly, premonitions of doom tend to be shockingly accurate. Perhaps because life is inherently more sensitive to crises.
That groan was too similar to the sound of his child sobbing in pain, which he had only heard a year ago. The only difference was that it was weaker and more painful.
As if possessed, the father sought out the sound and opened a thick iron door in the basement. And he saw.
A child hanging by a few threads, trembling in pain without even the strength to scream.
The child the father loved so dearly was messily dismembered with saws and knives, as if parts had been taken off and used somewhere...
"...is the kind of story that sounds like an ordinary ghost story. Later, mages who liked naming things gave it a grandiose nickname, claiming it contained the truth of magic."
Aji came back holding the disc in its mouth. Calmly taking the disc, I threw it far away again and continued my explanation.
"Magic is the manifestation of will. Unfolding one's own world, one's own logic into the world. Because of that, it can only be extremely personal."
I can read minds, but the magic I can use is only Level 0 formulaic magic allowed to everyone. Magic achieved through personal experience couldn't be reproduced with telepathy.
"That is why one cannot fix another person's body with magic. If one were to fix it, it would be no different from discarding the original body and creating a new homunculus, like in the old story... With that meaning in mind, I teach the grand principle called the Homunculus's Dilemma."
I believe this is enough explanation. Because the vampire isn't a fool.
Wait, is she a fool? Who asks to be struck by lightning on their own body? A thunderbolt struck out of nowhere and I reflexively ducked in surprise, you know.
I concluded my words, looking at the disc returning again.
"You have a good disciple. They're clearly worried about Trainee Tirkanjaka."
"...Yes."
The vampire acknowledged it and withdrew without another word. I watched her back, and because Aji was whining, I had to throw the disc again.
Hmm, strange. Is it really good to use a disc? It just seems to increase my work hours and nothing has particularly improved?
"Woof!"
Right, if I build up favorability like this now, a day might come when I can use it. Let's endure a little for the sake of that time. This is a savings account.
Though I'm not sure if the maturity date will ever come.
"Oh, come to think of it, she didn't ask for a massage today of all days?"
Did a wind blow? She seemed a bit sulky after yesterday's lesson, so I was going to cheer her up before she got completely cold.
I hope she isn't alone in her room falling into strange thoughts.
It'll be fine, right? No matter how much of a fool she is, she wouldn't do anything stupider than getting struck by lightning, right?
The disc came back again. I quietly looked down at the disc, and then just rolled it on the ground.
Aji barked in dissatisfaction.
*****
"I have made my decision, Finlay."
"Progenitor..."
A voice full of emotion came from the darkness. Finlay let out a tearful exclamation. Had he not been a vampire who could not cry, tears would have already fallen in drops.
The Progenitor Tirkanjaka sat quietly and watched that sight. Stern words flowed from her bloodless lips.
"The two could not show the way. They only said it was impossible. In the end, it is clear they cannot achieve it."
"That is because they are not nobles of the night. What would commoners bound by life know?"
"I don't believe it either. How can one who has died once reclaim a beating heart of its own accord? That is why I am also half-doubting your claim that there is a way among my subordinates. How can you, who move by my power, revive me?"
It was a valid point.
Facing the Progenitor's doubt, Finlay bowed his head once again.
"Progenitor, time has passed. The world has moved on, and everyone has found their own ways. Blood magic has become more powerful than at any other time in the world. Unlike ordinary magic, it is a spell crafted with life and blood. With that, with something the ignorant commoners cannot know and should not know, we will be able to revive the Progenitor's heart."
It was a lie.
A lie that was never permitted to a subordinate, Finlay told without changing a single expression.
There was no tension or excitement. That was because he, too, was a vampire with a stopped heart. Of course, there was a sense of guilt for deceiving the Progenitor, but that could be paid back with death later.
And Finlay was certain. With this lie, he could lure the Progenitor to the outside.
Also, who knows? The Elder and Ain of the Mist Duchy, if it's those powerful and wise vampires, they might be able to find a way to reclaim the Progenitor's heart.
Could a commoner dare to know the profound secrets of the Blood Control Art? They know nothing. Going outside and being with the vampires would be a hundred times better than staying here with them.
That is why this was loyalty. Even though Finlay deceived the Progenitor, he was still loyal to the Progenitor.
That was how he could deceive himself.
The Progenitor, who had been quietly looking down at Finlay, opened her mouth a beat late.
"I will believe you once. With that method, return my heart."
"I understand! If only you go up to the surface! I will take responsibility and..."
"Now."
"...What?"
Finlay asked back dumbly.
"Use that method you know. It's fine if you fail. I am the root of you all, and my power is stronger than all of them combined. If the blood magic you use is valid, I will be able to recognize that possibility."
This was bad.
If Finlay could sweat, his entire body would be drenched right now.
Right now? To reenact it?
It was impossible. Because that was a hastily made-up lie.
A flimsy lie was about to reveal its cheap nakedness before the eyes of verification.
Finlay bowed his head even more and pleaded.
"But, Progenitor. I have no particular expertise in blood magic. I am afraid my inept magic might hurt the Progenitor."
"It doesn't matter. Didn't I say I would only look at the possibility? If you have seen that magic, you must be able to at least imitate it."
The Progenitor's command was absolute. Finlay had to obey. However, because he had told a lie, Finlay lacked the ability to carry it out.
What should he do? Should he confess that he lied right now and pay for the sin of deception?
No, if he had thought of doing that, he shouldn't have lied in the first place.
Riding a tiger, it's hard to dismount. He had already mounted the tiger's back. All that was left was to charge, no matter where it ended.
In the darkness, murky eyes flashed.
"I will obey. Progenitor. However, because my power is meager, if the Progenitor's power still remains, I will not be able to exert any strength. Therefore..."
In truth, Finlay had deep expertise in blood magic. His specialty was domination magic. It was the power to engrave a brand of fresh blood and control something with his blood.
Although it was only a petty Yeirling, if. If the Progenitor would allow even a little opening.
"Please lay down all your powers for a moment, and expose your heart before me."
It may be disrespectful, but it was not impossible.
The Progenitor would have a heart that beats as she wished, one that did not follow her will but beat on its own.
It will clearly not beat according to the Progenitor's will.