“Because it is my spell formula, one I created myself. Because it is the lighthouse I climbed and descended with my own body, rebuilding it by my own hand.”
……In that instant, everything was dyed in silence.
In the dark office, not a word, not even a breath flowed. Only eyes steeped in silence stared at me. The emotions held in their gazes were obvious. So honest they were almost nauseating.
“Uh…….”
At last, the words they barely managed to squeeze out.
“Why……?”
Why.
A dying cry asking for the reason.
I rose from my chair and said,
“It is the will of the Altar.”
The Altar—Quay’s objective had been the destruction of the continent from the very beginning.
“There is no need to be so surprised. Was this not something you had steeled yourselves for? If you had ever read even once from the scripture of God.”
I asked them.
Quay’s Bible. In those passages where he had personally left his revelations, there must have been countless allegories and metaphors signifying the continent’s destruction.
“You could not have failed to know.”
At that, Lelin’s body flinched. As if some passage had belatedly come to mind, he asked cautiously, stammering.
“Then, the true meaning of the ‘purification of the continent’ that the priests of the Altar speak of is…….”
“The god of the Altar regards us as ‘descendants of the Godslayer.’ Therefore, the purification of the continent means the destruction of the continent. The lighthouse is the means to carry that out.”
At my words, the professors looked at one another. They conversed without words, only through their expressions.
“Do not worry.”
As if to reassure them, I gave a low smile.
“The souls of those of you who cooperated with the Altar will be willingly preserved, and in a new world, in new bodies, you will be born as new lives.”
I repeated to them exactly what Quay had once said to me.
“Being born as new lives…… Then we will…….”
Lelin asked back cautiously.
His face still had not let go of hope.
I lightly severed that thread.
“All of your present memories will disappear, and you will become entirely new humans.”
“T-then is that not the same as death!”
Lelin shouted. He placed both hands on the desk. His boar-like face reddened, and even tears gathered in his pupils.
The line of my mouth twisted as I glared at him.
“That is what the lighthouse is for. That is what the formula is for.”
“…….”
The professors’ faces hardened.
Now and then, spasms born of tension rose like wrinkles, and their breathing was as ragged as that of people betrayed.
“Your lives, of which little now remains.”
The professors, their faces pale blue, their lips only opening and closing. The fitting faces of those who had not even known what path they had chosen, who had merely chased after comfortable fruit.
For them, I smiled.
“Spend them pleasantly.”
* * *
Meanwhile, the interior of the “Painting Prison” was still being maintained.
The population of that place, which had become a world wholly different from the continent, had already exceeded five percent of the continent’s. People whose backgrounds differed—empire, duchy, kingdom, and so on—not to mention the colors of their pupils and skin, were living while cooperating moderately and quarreling moderately.
No, they were being “preserved” by Epherene.
“Can we even get out? I’m starting to have my doubts.”
The official residence of the painting world. Sylvia’s office, beautiful as a painting.
At Al Los’s words, the creator of this place shook her head as if he were pathetic. Paying no attention to a mere puppeteer, she continued the written work of her magic.
“Excuse me?”
“……You always do nothing but doubt. That is why Deculein does not trust you.”
“What are you talking about? Have you forgotten what happened on the Island of Voices? The ones Deculein trusted were me and Idnik—”
The Island of Voices. The memory of that day when Sylvia overcame herself and held Deculein’s love with all her might.
“What nonsense. In the end, it was not you he trusted, but me. He trusted my decision.”
Sylvia’s pride lay there.
The decision to kill the person she loved most, and to destroy with her own hands the fake paradise where she could have been with him forever, was something she took immense pride in.
Therefore, Sylvia would certainly save Deculein.
Just as he had saved her—
“No. More than that, the problem is that many people are satisfied in here. In this fake world, I mean.”
“…….”
Food, clothing, and shelter in this place were all resolved through Sylvia’s magic and mana.
There was no need to hunt. No need to farm. No need to worry about a place to stay.
All thanks to the omnipotent creator named Sylvia.
“More importantly. How are the puppets coming along?”
Sylvia asked Al Los. Al Los straightened his posture again.
“I did manage, barely, to connect to the puppets in the outside world, but the transmission of high-dimensional consciousness is impossible.”
Al Los had succeeded in connecting to his puppets scattered throughout the outside of this Painting Prison—in other words, across the continent.
However, precise manipulation by transmitting consciousness itself wholesale was difficult.
“This manual controller is essential.”
Al Los brought out some square machine.
It was an object one might occasionally see in an arcade, a long panel with several sticks attached to it.
“You can move and even converse through this. Is this much enough?”
“…….”
Sylvia stared intently at Al Los and the object. As if gauging the mana and formulas contained within, she slowly examined it, then nodded.
“It is fine. This much will do.”
“Good. ……Ahem.”
Al Los cleared his throat. Watching Sylvia’s mood, she asked cautiously,
“But are you truly thinking of helping Deculein?”
“Why ask such a thing?”
Sylvia quietly asked back. Scratch—scratch—she still scribbled something across the magic paper.
“Deculein does not want your help.”
“…….”
As Al Los said, Deculein did not want help.
Therefore, this was salvation she intended to carry out as she pleased.
“If anything, your goodwill will be an obstacle to his plan.”
Sylvia silently glared at Al Los. Al Los stole a glance at the magic formula placed on Sylvia’s desk.
A formula to save Deculein, to truly make it so that he “would not die.”
“……What exactly is the purpose of that formula?”
Al Los asked. At that, Sylvia let out a small sigh, then said something completely out of the blue.
“I am going to paint his portrait.”
“A portrait?”
“I will preserve him inside it.”
“…….”
And then, seeing her again absorbed in her magic, Al Los felt needlessly puzzled.
She glanced at the crown of Sylvia’s yellow head, then shrugged.
“Fine. Do as you please. I will just control the puppets…….”
* * *
The Lighthouse of Destruction. In that place worshiped by the Altar, Quay was admiring his own paintings. He was watching the countless “canvases” placed in his garden.
Paintings in which numerous sinners of the continent were imprisoned. This canvas, which they called the “Painting Prison,” had another name: “The Outside of the World.”
It was the authority Quay had obtained—no, realized—through ten thousand years of prayer.
“Epherene. I think I understand what you are thinking.”
And yet Epherene, as if trying to turn his authority against him, was instead stepping forward and placing humans inside this canvas.
Her purpose was the preservation of humanity.
Because “The Outside of the World” was a space even Quay could not interfere with, if she intended to escape his grasp, it was meaningful in its own way…… but.
“But escape is impossible.”
Escape was impossible. Because it was a place separated and isolated from the world itself.
No magic could drag the “humans” within it outside. At best, a case like Yulie’s now was the limit. Even that ought to be regarded as a miracle that deviated from providence.
It was merely a miracle brought about by Yulie’s obsession with Deculein.
—Are you looking over your work?
……At that moment, a voice came from behind him.
Quay turned around.
Deculein in the mirror.
“Yes. Even I do not know what they are doing inside. It is a place completely isolated.”
—I see. For a god, you are truly incomplete.
“…….”
Quay gave a low smile.
“I suppose so. How about you? There is little time left now. Can you already see it from the continent?”
Right now, in space, a comet…… no, a meteor on the level of a planet was rushing toward the continent.
The lighthouse that would soon be activated would draw its orbit completely in, and the continent would be utterly destroyed, becoming debris in space. After that destruction, Quay would recreate the continent once more.
—The purpose of the lighthouse has been revealed. Some anonymous mage exposed it.
“Really? Then were you caught as well?”
—I soon will be.
Step.
Deculein took a step forward. From within the mirror, to outside the mirror.
“The lighthouse will be activated starting today.”
He held a cane in one hand, and in the other, a single tome.
“What is that book?”
“A gift to be given to His Highness Creto.”
“A gift?”
He nodded without a word. Seeing him like that, Quay gave a faint laugh.
“Tell me. I will not interfere anyway. I promise. As everything flows.”
“…….”
“As you say, as God says.”
The God Deculein had told him of. If his words were correct, God would arrive together with that planet. Quay was vaguely looking forward to that moment.
Deculein observed Quay’s complexion and said,
“It is the key to the lighthouse.”
“The key?”
“With this one tome, all of the lighthouse can be interpreted. It is the gift I leave to His Highness Creto.”
All of Deculein’s magical knowledge, his talent called “Comprehension,” had been applied to the lighthouse in its most perfect form.
Even in Quay’s eyes, it was an OOPArt that far surpassed the current continent’s system of magic, a great achievement capable of completely overturning the very framework called magic.
Deculein’s statement that such an achievement could be understood with a mere single book was puzzling even to Quay, but what came next was even stranger.
“Take it.”
Deculein held it out to Quay. Quay’s eyes widened.
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“Deliver it to His Highness Creto.”
“Me?”
Deculein nodded. There was not the slightest hesitation, and rather, his face seemed to ask why Quay would even question it.
“You trust me?”
“Yes. More than the other rotten bastards of this world, I trust you. You are pure faith. Ironically, you are more flawless and clean than anyone.”
Quay looked at the book without saying a word. Then a certain smile flowed low. It was Deculein’s laugh.
“Quay. You said once that I resembled the talent of your old friend.”
“……Yes.”
“That power is called ‘Comprehension.’ Now, it is a power only I can possess.”
“Comprehension.”
A talent Kim Woojin had added to Deculein without much thought.
“When I first came to this world, I knew nothing, so even to ‘comprehend’ the principles of some tiny magic required a great deal of mana.”
Pouring out mana just to learn a single telekinesis, suffering exhaustion just to accept one formula.
Those truly pathetic days were now as distant as memories, but.
“Not anymore, Quay.”
Deculein once again held out his tome to Quay.
Quay accepted the book.
On its cover, written in an exceedingly beautiful and elegant hand, was the title of a single sentence.
“Deculein’s Last Theorem.”
A posthumous work like a will.
“……For some reason, I think I may be able to draw closer than you to the existence called ‘God.’”
It was a rather arrogant statement, yet Quay did not feel angry. He quietly looked up at him.
“With merely the power to comprehend?”
He asked so.
Deculein smiled faintly, as if finding him endearing, and shook his head.
“It is not mere comprehension. More than understanding the world, more than understanding the continent…….”
Deculein, who had paused for a moment, looked into Quay’s eyes.
At that instant, some mana dwelled in his retinas, and Quay realized through it.
“……Understanding existence.”
Deculein’s “Comprehension” had reached a certain crossroads.
A flower bud about to bloom, drenched by falling rain.
In other words, a talent on the verge of full bloom.
“I am ‘comprehending’ you, Quay.”
Quay gave a pleased smile.
“In this very moment, and in each and every moment that will continue from now on.”
As expected, Deculein was the most difficult human to deal with on this continent.
“I will come to know you, and in doing so, I will understand you, and in the end.”
For he possessed the most fundamental and most unique talent on this continent.
“I will come to defeat you.”
Indeed, if it was “the power to understand all existence”—
——If that was not the power of God, then what was?
“……Is that so? Know yourself and your enemy, and you will never be defeated, then.”
Quay muttered so and pointed at Deculein’s book.
“Creto will be pleased. I will deliver it well. I will not even peek.”
Deculein nodded.
“Then I will go up to the lighthouse now.”
And as Deculein walked past him, Quay asked in a mischievous voice,
“Will you wait for Sophien there? Wait for your death? Pray that Sophien will kill you?”
Step—his continuing footsteps stopped.
Quay added one more sentence.
“Was Sophien something you could not ‘comprehend’?”
At that, the corner of Deculein’s mouth twisted faintly.
“……It is not that I could not. I did not.”
“You did not?”
“Yes. As one who has become a vassal, how could I dare to comprehend Her Majesty as I please? I merely trust and wait.”
Quay gazed intently at that Deculein.
His heart was different from that of a believer serving a god. It was also different from that of a human loving a lover.
He was…….
“For that final moment when a blade is driven into my heart. For the moment when the villain created to die meets his death.”
The most perfect vassal.
The villain named Deculein.
“……I see.”
At that moment, Quay faintly came to feel it.
The arrogant words Deculein had once spoken.
Deculein’s words, that “God” had prepared Deculein himself for Quay, that “God” had sent Deculein down for Quay’s sake.
“I am curious about that ending as well.”
The thought that perhaps those words might be correct slowly began to occur to him…….