Which Me Am I?
“Which me am I now.”
The moment Deculein spoke, the island's nature froze.
The wind halted in place, the waves solidified rigidly. The clouds stiffened, and the sun grew hazy.
The birds ceased their wingbeats.
“What does that mean?”
Sylvia's eyes sank cold. Deculein took a step closer and said,
“I am thinking.”
“……What thoughts?”
“You have grown too much, and I am considering that I may no longer be myself.”
“…….”
Sylvia clamped her mouth shut. She glared at Deculein in silence.
He clutched the beach sand in his fist.
“Time on this island flows differently from the outside. The 'Voice' is a demon of that nature from the start.”
Deculein's gaze fell to her high heels.
A gait masterful from their first meeting. Yet Sylvia was surely a girl who favored low shoes.
“Sylvia, you have already spent quite some time here. Three years, four, or perhaps more.”
Sylvia stared at the Deculein who spoke those words.
No—she gazed at the 'painting' modeled after Deculein.
“Five years.”
She corrected softly. He released the sand clutched in one hand.
Shrrr…….
The grains fell in a straight line.
Without scattering in the wind or kicking up dust—perfectly honest.
“As you say, time flows differently within the 'Voice.' During those five years, I painted you.”
“Then, the original me—”
“Is still in the sea. Swimming like a fool.”
The Voice's ocean spread infinitely. The closer one approached, the farther it receded.
Reaching the island had been impossible from the start.
“Thanks to that, I learned something.”
For Sylvia, at least, it was a blessing.
“I can paint Deculein.”
By analyzing the Deculein trapped in the sea, referencing him, she could paint a 'new Deculein.' Now one with the Voice, its ocean was no different from her own limbs.
She could caress him beneath the waves anytime.
“Paint…… you say.”
“Yes. You made me angry. I painted hundreds of Deculeins, but you were the first.”
Sylvia nodded with conviction.
“And you conveyed Deculein's heart perfectly. I don't think the words you spoke to me were some fabricated lie.”
Pitying her, that no paradise of pure happiness existed.
Such words could not come from mere fabrication.
The Deculein she painted was changing.
More real, more perfect.
“……Sylvia. You are mistaken.”
Yet Deculein said. He murmured it was a mistake when it was not.
Sylvia furrowed her brow.
“Mistaken.”
“Indeed. Manifesting me is not achieved by your ability alone. It is not possible with the likes of your power.”
“The likes of me.”
As if he knew when she had been his student, blatant disdain.
Heat rose to Sylvia's forehead once more.
This, too, was a good sign.
“Even a god of the world could not manifest me. My self cannot be contained in such a vessel.”
“……Complete narcissist.”
She recoiled slightly, but this, too, was a good sign. Sylvia quickly countered.
“Deculein can be made. You are the proof.”
“No. The reason I have become myself now is that I have finally 'understood' you—and permitted it.”
Deculein's words were profoundly enigmatic. A hazy question mark floated above Sylvia's crown.
“You even mimic his habit of speaking so obscurely.”
“You will know soon enough. I shall tell you when I arrive.”
“……Deculein cannot come. You will be trapped in that sea forever.”
At that, he smiled. A smile unlike Deculein.
Again, like a professor addressing a mere student.
“We shall see.”
“……Enough.”
Sylvia glared at him.
“You are discarded.”
In that instant, Deculein's feet crumbled away—pat pat. Like oil paint peeling off. The collapse from his soles spread slowly up his legs.
“Sylvia.”
Yet Deculein's smile remained.
“Remember this.”
That leisure unnerved Sylvia slightly.
This was surely erasure of existence.
Even a fake should fear the annihilation of self.
That was normal.
“You did not paint me.”
His lower body gone, only his torso remaining, Deculein intoned.
Yet this, too, was a good sign. The previous Deculein had not been so composed.
“I am coming to find you.”
Sarrr……
He vanished. His chest, his neck, his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his entirety—like paint dissolving…….
In the end, all that remained on the sand was the crystal orb of Deculein she used as catalyst.
“……No.”
Sylvia shook her head firmly.
“He cannot come.”
Muttering, she fashioned a telescope.
She peered into the distant sea, far beyond.
“……There he is.”
Deculein.
He was visible.
He was still swimming. Circling the Voice's infinite waves eternally.
—Manifesting me is not achieved by your ability alone. It is not possible with the likes of your power……. Because I permitted it.
Thus, it was foolish words. Absurd.
“Fake as you are.”
Fake as you are, spewing words fit for the real one.
Sylvia set down the telescope. She picked up Deculein's crystal orb left in the sand's midst.
For reference, he had dropped this orb while swimming.
Thanks to it, a useful catalyst.
“Such a slob.”
Sylvia placed Deculein's crystal orb on the sand. She focused her Tri-Color on that 'single point.'
And…… slowly stepped back.
One step, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen steps.
Precisely thirteen steps.
In that moment, a figure rose on the nearby beach.
Deculein, who had traversed the raging mana disaster and finally reached the Voice's island.
He quickly spotted himself. Gazed at himself with a composed face.
“……Sylvia.”
Calling her name, he straightened his attire. Dispersed the water with 'Cleanse,' tidied his hair and tie.
“It has been a while.”
Sylvia faced him, thinking.
This might be obsession. Like her father Gilteon's mad fixation—a love bordering on insanity.
“……Follow me. I have words for you.”
Yet what a mage pursued was ultimately miracle. A miracle harming no one.
Thus, this, too, would be an achievement worth leaving to the world.
“As you wish—”
“No. Do not move yet.”
Sylvia halted Deculein.
He asked in return.
“The reason?”
……One must not move rashly right after being painted. Like any oil painting, it needed 'time for the paint to dry.'
“This is the Voice's island. Full of long-dead people, extinct races. Fanatics of the Voice, too.”
Thus, Sylvia approached first. Steps hesitant yet resolute, laden with complex emotions.
“They will try to kill you if they find you alone.”
The moment she reached him, she extended a finger. Pinched his sleeve cuff with thumb and forefinger.
Carefully, ensuring not a thread crumbled.
“Do not die yet.”
This moment, meeting Deculein anew.
Sylvia felt alive.
“You will not be in danger with me.”
Since Cielia's death, her life had been naught but misfortune.
The first light she encountered in that hell.
No matter how her heart's portrait of him was stained with resentment and hatred.
A man she could never abandon, never release.
“Do not leave my side.”
I, too, want to live now.
With you.
* * *
“……You are not a complete blockhead, after all.”
Julie heard praise for the first time. Thanks to her 68 moves. She felt elated but quickly composed herself. Not a hint of it showed.
“I thank you. However, they say 7-point Go holds no meaning. Win or lose, there is nothing to learn—”
“Enough. Ask one thing.”
“……?”
Julie widened her eyes. Sophien propped her chin. Flashed a bewitching smile.
“It shall be a reward. I will answer the one question you ask.”
“…….”
Then Julie's face grew solemn. She straightened her back. Placed both fists on her kneeling knees.
“Yes, Your Majesty. As a mere knight, may I humbly inquire why Your Majesty investigated the private matters between this knight and the Professor?”
Sophien nodded.
“I seek the Professor's weakness.”
“Weakness…….”
“His power has expanded abnormally. It is natural to have safeguards for checks. Nor is it true investigation. Compile a few Intelligence Agency files, recall one conversation with him, skim the circumstances—and a suitable answer emerges. I confirmed it with you, Julie.”
“…….”
Julie listened to the Emperor's voice in knightly poise.
Sophien continued calmly.
“Rockpell was surely killed by the Professor. Veron was ambiguous, but your reaction confirmed it. You hold evidence the world does not know.”
“……Yes.”
It was true. With Yuseffin's aid, Julie had recovered Veron's remains.
“Yet killing one knight will not topple him.”
“It will be a blow.”
At Julie's reply, Sophien raised one eyebrow.
“A blow? You truly intend to confront Deculein.”
“…….”
“I wonder if you will not regret it.”
“That is…… Sophien Your Majesty.”
Julie murmured the Emperor's name in a low voice. Sophien silently took a white stone.
“The time left in my life is not much.”
At that, the Emperor's hand paused briefly.
“Of course, I strive to live, to not die. As a knight fulfilling my duty, I exert myself to survive. However, it is right to accept facts as facts.”
Julie placed a hand on her chest.
A heart bound by curse. Though she had overcome that grievous wound said to have no cure or hope of survival, she knew the truth.
Longest: ten years.
Shortest: tomorrow.
“In this life, many comrades have gone before me. Many died unjustly. Not just Rockpell and Veron. I wish to avenge them.”
“……I see.”
Sophien glanced at the documents Julie had submitted.
Murdering instructors during Academy days, inciting suicides, systematic bullying.
Plagiarized theses in university, blackmailing Ruina MacQueen, countless magic secrets stolen from great mages through schemes and ploys.
Families bankrupted unable to repay debts to Deculein, forcibly acquired companies and caravans—too many to list.
“Yet Deculein still seeks to commit crimes. Likely in earnest after returning from the 'Voice.' Everyone knows it.”
“Do you wish to stop him?”
“Yes.”
“Revealing a weakness that could see you exiled from the palace—is that also with Deculein in mind?”
“……Yes. I will not let him exploit my injury.”
Hmm. Sophien let out a sigh, gazing at Julie. With a reverent face, Julie said,
“Moreover, Your Majesty. We have a lead on the attempted poisoning.”
“Is that so.”
“Yes. I shall not disappoint Your Majesty's expectations.”
“Hmm. Indeed, knights please me more than professors.”
“……I am honored, Your Majesty.”
Julie's face softened. Sophien, smiling faintly, placed her next great move. Julie focused swiftly.
And for some reason, a sinister smile curled on Sophien's lips.
Using humans was this easy. Though they seemed like complex creatures of the world, their principles of action and mechanisms were no different from dogs or pigs.
Humanity's boast, 'intelligence,' only made them stupider.
Perhaps it began the moment she assigned Julie the task.
The moment she granted her Intelligence Agency access.
As Julie pursued the 'Sophien poisoning attempt' mastermind with agency aid, while digging into Deculein's truths—the one watching silently was Sophien.
No, not 'silently.'
Sophien had subtly tampered with Julie's evidence.
Allowing her to approach just enough, but never reaching truth. Simultaneously fostering boundless hatred for Deculein. A slow, gradual ruin.
This was called sowing discord.
Of course, Sophien's ploy could not simply be called 'clever.'
Though she hated to admit it, her heart was already leaning.
—Still, I do wish to see him once more.
The Professor's words still lingered in her ears.
She had repeated endlessly that soliloquy he left behind. Night and day, as stars and moon circled sun and clouds, every day.
Thus, she finally acknowledged her feelings.
“…….”
Sophien placed a white stone, staring at Julie's face.
Julie.
She wanted this woman's bond with Deculein shattered.
Shattered to pieces, smashed and scattered.
So Julie could not even become the Professor's longing.
“Place your stone.”
Sophien leaned back in her chair, gazed at the snow globe on the table, recalled a certain Kairon.
In her heart, she spoke to him.
—……Merely as time passes naturally, without the Professor adding any words or sentiments, I come to disbelieve even Rohakan's prophecy. I murmur there is no fate.
—…….
Kairon nods silently.
—Moreover, I am rationalizing now.
—What rationalization?
—The house that sought to poison me is Phairden, is it not? That the continent lives right only if I die.
Sophien stares at Julie's face beyond the Go board, as if tearing at her features.
—Thus, the offspring of such traitors has no qualification to hold the Professor's longing, no right to his heart…… Such rationalization.
—Rationalization premised on collective punishment.
Collective punishment as premise.
What a damnedly correct statement.
—Yet is such punishment not fitting? For a house that killed me hundreds of times, is it not too harsh to steal even my sole possibility?
—Is Your Majesty's sole possibility Professor Deculein?
Kairon's question.
The Emperor smiled faintly.
—For now, he is the most likely. No other possibilities even come to mind…….