From the Ashes Heap
The next morning. Deculein and Idnik walk side by side through the forest of the leaf-strewn island.
"Even for me, fighting for over twelve hours is dangerous."
The limit of erosion is twelve hours. Exposed to the Voice that long, memories slowly fade. For Idnik or anyone else.
He added one more thing.
"If possible, you should move with us too. Who knows what might happen."
"How long did the previous me last?"
"Created at four in the afternoon, gone by six in the morning. Exactly fourteen hours."
To be precise, Sylvia had discarded it, but Idnik didn't mention that.
Deculein nodded faintly.
"Very well. In enemy territory, subtlety like a sand dune is best."
"What... sand dune?"
"Like the dunes of the desert, shifting unseen."
"Don't pretend to know shit."
Deculein walks on in silence. His steps and stride embody perfect noble grace. Watching him, Idnik suddenly feels a surge of curiosity.
"Can I ask one thing?"
"Proceed."
"...Don't you need to meet your former fiancée?"
A small breeze stirs then. The branches in the forest sway.
Deculein shakes his head.
"I must."
"Oh ho. And when you do—"
"I shall kill her."
"..."
The forest whips in a stronger gust. Fallen leaves rain down like a shower.
Idnik scratches the back of her neck awkwardly.
"You think it'll be that easy?"
Deculein merely nods.
"She is a fake, after all. No different from slaying a demon."
"...Even if she's identical to the one you loved?"
"Precisely because I loved her."
Idnik's eyes widen at that. Deculein brushes a leaf from his shoulder. Then he turns to her.
"She is the one my soul loved most."
"..."
One word.
Just one word, and Idnik understands his love. A vast emotion beyond comprehension.
"Yet a demon apes her."
Blue eyes laced with killing intent.
"How could I not kill it?"
A voice truly enraged, shaking the forest. An echo rippling outward.
Idnik's face turns grave. She jerks her chin.
"...Then follow me. To Jaken."
"Jaken. That cur still lingers here?"
"Yeah. Poor bastard's trapped. You met Jaken before?"
"Frequently. I even took commissions from him."
Jaken, leader of the Six Clans and a pillar of the underworld.
The one who first tasked me with killing Cielia and Yuarra.
—...She is the one my soul loved most.
In the island's center stands a long house, like a lighthouse surveilling all directions.
Deculein's words, carried by the spell Wind, seep into Sylvia's ears.
She closes her eyes and murmurs softly.
"She is the one my soul loved most."
I wish it were me.
I truly wish it were me.
Thus Sylvia yearns desperately. To perfectly embody Deculein, grow this island into something real, and live anew.
With Deculein, sharing love with him...
"Sylvia!"
Cielia taps her shoulder. Sylvia startles.
"What're you thinking~?"
"Nothing at all."
Cielia beams and offers a snack.
An apple carved like a rabbit. A warm smile graces Sylvia's lips.
"Thank you. I'll enjoy it."
"Good. Study hard now."
Ciel leaves, and Sylvia eyes the grimoire on her desk. With a slightly sulky face, she picks up her pen.
She wants to see Deculein longer, but she still needs to study. To perfect this island and craft a flawless new Deculein, she requires firmer magic and theory.
The current Deculein will dissolve soon anyway.
Scribble-scribble—
As she traces complex incantations on blank magical paper, happiness swells in a corner of her heart.
Deculein is here.
Ciel too.
The two she loves are here.
That fact alone fills her chest to overflowing...
"A shantytown."
I said. The perfect word for this scene.
"Right? Told ya. No one lives as rough as me."
Idnik chimes in.
This is the island's outskirts. Where the surviving adventurers cluster.
Makeshift shacks cling haphazardly, asserting themselves wildly. Streets of mere planks, most adventurers sprawled on the bare ground like the homeless.
"Still, no erosion here. The dirt and planks are real. ...Hey, Jaken."
Idnik nudges a shape among the sprawled sleepers with her foot. He rolls over sluggishly, looking up at us.
"What now..."
A sleepy-faced Jaken.
I remember him as handsome, but now he's a sight. Unkempt beard, face caked in grime and sweat.
"...Deculein?!"
He shouts my name in shock, drawing glances... or not. Most adventurers have given up on life—sleeping or idling.
"How... Ah. Fake, right?"
Jaken glances at Idnik. No answer, but he prattles on.
"Figures. Heard that lighthouse psycho's skills are improving daily. Crazy bitch finally drew a Deculein this perfect..."
Idnik jabs at his eyes scanning me up and down.
"Gah!"
Jaken clutches his eyes, trembling comically.
"You fuck, what the hell! It hurts like hell!"
"This one's no fake. He's real."
"What the fuck suddenly shows up..."
Jaken's words cut off. Eyes bloodshot, he digs in his ear and asks again.
"...What? Which one? Fake or real?"
"Real. This Deculein."
"..."
Gulp. Jaken swallows. He glances around furtively, then whispers to me.
—The real real one?
"Believe as you will. Clean that filthy mug first. It's torment just to look."
"He's real!"
Jaken's hair stands on end.
"Then you're here to make a way out—"
"Precisely."
"...Kuh!"
He clenches his fists. Bows his head, spins in a bizarre dance.
What an odd gesture.
"Knew sunshine would come someday. Thought I'd escape this horror island."
"I require usable hands. Know any?"
"Hell yeah! Follow me. Got a guild room!"
Jaken bounds ahead with a bright face. I watch his back; Idnik shrugs.
"Means he wants out bad."
Five minutes later.
We reach the guild room. Another shack. Like Korea's poorest days post-war.
"Hey! Real Deculein's here! Magic professor! Genius rune interpreter! Yukline spear against demons!"
Three people in the guild room's parlor. I assess them.
One catches my eye.
Too distinctive. Too questionable.
I tilt my head at her face.
"...Professor Deculein! This is Al Ross. Different from the one you knew, but real. Introduce yourselves."
Al Ross, alias for Cynthia.
Her true form.
"Hey everyone! Worship Deculein!"
Al Ross's trait—jewel-like beauty—is perfect by my aesthetic sense. Radiant. Beautiful.
My gaze drifts there; she meets it.
But her face hardens terrifyingly. She grits her teeth, shakes her head furiously. Then speaks.
"You fucking idiot. What, bring a fake here? Fucking bullshit, you fuck. Should've gutted your worthless ass, ripped your insides—fuck—"
"..."
I frown at the profanity-laced tirade. Jaken hushes nervously—
"Whoa whoa? Back off, you fuck, who do you think you're—"
"Silence. Your temper's ruined from five years here, fine."
I shake my head, cutting him off.
"But that mouth."
"...What."
"Another disguise?"
Al Ross's expression freezes. She glances between Idnik and me; Jaken fiddles with his earlobe.
"...He's real. Real Deculein. Crossed the sea from the continent. To kill the Voice."
"Real Deculein?"
"Yes. This one's real."
Idnik's affirmation.
Yet Al Ross's face shakes harder.
"Then he can't stay here. Run—"
The moment Al Ross shouts to flee.
Kwajijik—!
My head flies first.
Roll roll...
Spinning vision. Upside-down faces.
In that brief gap, I spot a man's face.
And smile faintly.
Gerek.
One of the world's strongest candidates, whose village Deculein drowned entirely. Pitiful soul.
Our reunion after so long ends in an instant.
"So that's what happened."
...That was how I became the third Deculein.
After the second died, furious Idnik trashed the guild room and properly explained "me."
"Ah... And no more lies. Sorry, I fibbed. You're not even third."
I frown at Idnik's words.
"Pardon?"
"Fifth. Gerek killed two more. Tried to stop him, but he couldn't hold back."
"...Where is that beast now."
Anger surges unbidden.
Three times? Crossed the line proper.
Al Ross says,
"Locked Gerek up."
"But you don't care if fakes die, right? You're a fake who accepts fakes."
I nod at Jaken.
"Real or fake, I have work. To shatter this place, even you lot are needed."
I lay a map on the table. Through third, fourth, fifth Deculeins, the magic circle's ten percent done.
"Draw this magic circle underground."
"Underground? How?"
To Jaken's question, I explain simply.
"Like moles digging tunnels."
"Tunnels... Easier than thought. Patrols don't go underground."
"And Idnik, surveil Sylvia."
Idnik shrugs.
"That one's fine whatever we do. Long as you finish."
"Ah~ Real psycho bitch. Why's a crazy stalker obsessed with a guy like that?"
Idnik scowls at Jaken's outburst.
I ignore their bickering—Don't badmouth my disciple when you like men— But she's crazy for real— and look to Al Ross.
"Al Ross."
"...Hey. Long time."
"Seeing you here feels novel."
"Ha. Driving me nuts, you fuck. Voice hunts the real me regardless of puppets. My natural enemy. Came once, trapped five years."
Al Ross shakes her head.
"You and Gerek meeting here is lucky."
"...True enough. Outside, you'd be diced by Gerek already. Anyway, my role?"
"Simple. Escort me."
"...Escort?"
"Yes. You're my guard."
I remove my glove, extend my bare hand. Offering a shake.
Al Ross eyes it dubiously.
"Why not Idnik?"
"The reason and full mission? The next me will explain. No reason that me couldn't think it. No handshake?"
"...Pass."
Al Ross goes expressionless. I smile at her face. She flinches back.
I relax into softness.
"Professor, why smile?"
"...Who knows."
My voice lowers naturally. My eyes don't leave her.
"Creepy. Move."
"..."
Now, Deculein's temperament activates.
Like a switch flipped out of nowhere.
This damn trait working positively on relations—a rare case of Deculein liking someone—manifests before me.
"Al Ross."
"...What."
Al Ross's true form matches her design perfectly.
More mature with time, even more flawless now.
"Is this the first time I behold your true visage so clearly, so closely? Or the first meeting itself?"
"...We've brushed past a few times."
Sylvia and Julie are beauties too, but not about ranking. I'm no fool to judge by looks.
Simply, some in this world possess truly artistic exteriors.
"I fundamentally adore and cherish art. My sense of beauty surpasses any noble or royal."
"...What're you on about?"
I extend a finger, brush her hair. Her body stiffens—not resistance, but surprise.
"...Flawless."
The silken strands gleam unnaturally clean.
Her trait, no doubt. Always perfect, unwashed.
Al Ross exclusive.
"Uh..."
Her mouth half-opens. Eyes unblinking, as if unimaginable.
"I, who love and patronize art above all, declare."
Her system-recorded trait—Human Resembling Art.
"Al Ross."
Not the world's most beautiful. No love-at-first-sight cliché.
Simply, like the most noble, mysterious portrait amid countless—surreal visage.
"If this world holds the noblest, most beautiful artwork, you surpass it ever so slightly."
Her literally artistic exterior stimulates Deculein's Aesthetic Sense more than any other...