Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Chapter 4: Eyelid (3)
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***
“Huff, huff.”
My breathing grew ragged. It was terrifying. The very fact that this was a game had long vanished from my mind. Those eyeballs floating in the glass jar, watching me. The wrists scattered across the desk because there were too many to store. The rusty handsaw that kept highlighting in Mental Fragility no matter where I turned my gaze!
In this empty room, my imagination was torturing me.
‘I have to get out. This isn’t a game character issue. If I stay here any longer, I’ll go insane.’
Thanks to the newly acquired [Extreme Regeneration], my injuries were healing at a monstrous speed. It looked like even the severed parts would fully regrow soon.
‘Once the spine regenerates, all these sensations will crash into me at once. But if I want to escape, I need to move this body first.’
What a horrific setup. To escape, I had to endure physical agony. To avoid that, mental torment. Was this deliberate? If so, why?
‘Why? Because he’s a mage, that’s why!’
Mage. The pinnacle of RPGs, famed for devastating area attacks and mesmerizing spectacles. Yet only 2.5% of players chose it.
No mistake—exactly 2.5%.
Mages were notoriously finicky and temperamental, but in the GG world, they weren’t just picky—they were utterly deranged. Not merely black mages or mad ones; every last mage, even the benevolent ones, was stark raving mad.
Players had sayings like, “Crazy people don’t become mages—mages go crazy,” or “Good mages exist, but sane ones? Never.” Mage madness had that kind of infamy.
And here I was, captured as an “experimental subject” by one of the shadier specimens.
Drip, plop! Craaack—
“Ugh! Ah, ahh! Kkuuuhhh!”
My spine. At last, the spinal nerves kicked in, and with the pain, sensation flooded back through my body.
“Gah, keh! Ahk, aaaaah!”
So, once sensation returned, I’d flee?
A pipe dream. The pain seared every nerve, incinerating my thoughts and paralyzing my body.
[Get....up....]
Clank! Graaawr!
Through the excruciating agony pierced a voice—rough, yet gentle. My shackled arms began yanking at the chains.
[Move....for....Mother....]
Clank, clank!
Craaack!
A sickly sweet aroma coiled softly through my nostrils. Yes. I could move. So I would.
Strength flowed naturally into my limbs. The restraints stretched taut, and half-healed wounds burst open. No idea how, with a shattered spine and no feeling—but whatever. I was moving.
Clank, clank!
The shackles binding my body wouldn’t yield easily, but this frail frame seemed perfectly suited for the task. A little force, and parts just came loose.
Rrrrip, craaack!
Splaaash!
Hot blood sprayed across the floor. My hands were still bound, but now my arms could move. The waist chain had some slack—if I ripped off the remaining hand and ankle, I could grab that handsaw on the desk. Mother, just wait a little longer. This body—for you—
Creeeak!
“Hahk, hahk! Damn! Too late!”
Who...?
No memory of this person in the body’s records. Baggy robes, staff. Snow-white beard. Ah, so this is a mage. What a bizarre body. Information the eyes couldn’t process was being force-fed through screams from every inch of flesh. Those irritating screams blocking Mother’s call—but no issue. The body’s owner was dormant.
‘Bloodstained apron, rusty handsaw in hand, man... elderly man’s voice.’
Him. The mage who did this to me.
“Tch, spine regenerating already? I put real effort into shattering it. And the speed’s accelerating...”
“Mother, I... moved...”
“Already developed enough for independent thought? Perhaps... no time left...”
‘Man’s hand. Water. Water clump. Water spear?’
A watery form hovered above the man’s twitching fingers.
“Sorry, but you’ll have to sleep again, mute.”
Craaack!
With a bone-chilling crack, the intruding consciousness plunged back into darkness.
***
Plip. Plip.
Darkness. So thick I couldn’t tell limb from limb. In this void of sensation, only dripping water droplets affirmed I lived.
‘...Tired?’
A voice. One unheard for ages. Yet with time, it weighed heavier in memory’s corner.
Mother.
A sliver of space cracked open in the nothingness. Professor shoved aside the tenacious darkness clutching his ankles, swimming toward the black surface along the intruding light.
‘I saw you... smile. After so very long...’
Mother. So much to say. Five years since that day, and I’ve... endured so much.
Urgency surged. An inexplicable dread fueled frantic arm strokes. Mom, Mother—why that expression?
Arms thrust toward the light. Head breaking the surface, I exhaled—and Mother’s darkness-soaked face streamed down my eyes, morphing into another’s. It reached for me.
Grip.
Scalp ripping.
Monster.
A human-shaped abomination clutched my hair, leering. From its foul maw wafted the familiar wasteland stench.
‘Forgetting. Living in oblivion. You always pick the easy road.’
‘......’
‘Happy? Thinking “this is fine”? Or do you truly believe you’ve “forgotten”?’
‘Shut up.’
‘Nostalgic voice... repulsive, isn’t it? If you’d miss it this much, loathe yourself this much—why that choice then?’
‘Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UUUUUP!!!!’
The scream heaved from my lungs’ depths swirled in my throat, dying in my chest.
The monster’s cackling face floated beside Professor’s on the surface.
Tear-streaked monster. Blank-faced Professor.
Only expressions differed between the faces.
The weeping Professor’s visage fixed on the vacant one.
‘Erasing memories doesn’t erase consequences. Remember: every breath proves your guilt.’
From the stoic Professor’s lips spilled the unvoiced scream as words.
‘I just wanted to live. I never dreamed it’d end like that!’
At Professor’s frantic plea, the monster’s grin widened.
Clutching his head, it chewed out each syllable.
‘That ignorance? That’s your sin, fool.’
Splash!
Scarred hand slammed Professor’s head into the dark.
***
Splash!
“Puhaaa! Haa! Hek! Haaa!”
“Oh? Awake already!”
“Hek! Haaa! Kehek!”
“Easy now. Small breaths, many times. In... out. In... out.”
Professor complied, steadying his breath. No body sensation—spine snapped again.
‘Grasp the situation before pain hits.’
Breath evened, he scanned around.
Same nightmare room. Center position unchanged. Restraints identical.
One difference: submerged in a massive wooden tub.
Filled with dark crimson liquid. Red, iron-tanged. No need to inspect.
‘Smart move dropping the broadcast feed early. This airing? Everyone tuning in would bail.’
Viewers sought wasteland-life respite.
Hardcore gore flick for relaxation seekers? Broadcast tanks, community witch hunt.
Odd sensation. Regained wits, checked system, confirmed weird room... then?
‘No memory.’
Blank before blackout. Last recollection...
‘That voice. Sweet whisper, then lights out. Mutant cells... hijacked my body.’
“Hmm. Breath steady—recovery underway. How many fingers?”
The old mage, scribbling furiously at my stirring, waggled fingers before me.
‘Play along for now. He intervened somehow, halted full infection. Feign compliance till I learn his method.’
Professor stared blankly; mage looked flustered.
“Oh my. Not counting yet? Then...”
“Three fingers. Name’s Professor. Silver Roar Mercenaries. Fought in Turan defense. Answers enough?”
Mage grinned at the machine-gun reply.
“Flawless. Barely dominated, and sanity restored.”
“Him...?”
“Mutant cells. Infesting your entire body.”
Professor eyed the rippling blood below his neck. Occasional twitches. Not my body. Surreal.
“Face screams for details, but time’s short. Priorities first, then talk.”
“What... task?”
“Your treatment.”
Old mage grabbed desk handsaw, tsked at rust, drew fresh one from apron.
“Mutant cells are stubborn. Cling to life even on dead metal. Mutant blood corrodes tools fast. Now, I’ll cut your hand—no panicking.”
Uh, where exactly? The cutting? Or announcing it casually to the cuttee?
“W-what? My hand? Cut it?”
“Relax, relax. Prepped fully—no pain. Tub brew looks nasty, costs a fortune. Mutant blood mixed with potent anesthetics and holy water. Upped the numb-juice this time; should stay mellow.”
Splash!
Gloved hand plunged in, fished out Professor’s chained arm.
“...Healed again. This rivals—no, tops—rank 3 variants.”
“Wait, hold on! T-treatment! How’s chopping my hand treatment?!”
Professor spasmed at the closing blade; mage soured.
“Hmm... I’m no multitasker. Cut while explaining?”
“Bullshit!”
“Not bull... Fine. Talk first.”
Pocketed the saw poised to sever, reclaimed his chair.
“Mutant infection mechanics—your knowledge?”
Professor scrambled mentally. Mutant infections. World 3. Definitely...
“Blood, saliva contact starts it. Immediate priest purification needed. Too far gone? Fails. Full takeover: zombie-march north to the queen.”
“Impressive! Way above average! Her choice, as expected?”
“Her?”
“Lady Agate. Charlotte de Agate—that iron lady—hauled you to the temple.”
Right—favor message matched. Post-battle, she’d relocated me.
“So... temple?”
“Blasphemy! Only evil gods’ temples look thus. My home. Lab, precisely.”
‘So what kind of freak decorates home like a demon shrine?!’
Doubts swelled: black mage?
“Temple balked, but her request... gave it a shot. Dumped holy power. Slowed it slightly—no real dent.”
Logical. Purification expunges malignants harming the body.
Mutant cells outnumbering normals? Excision wrecks host. Sects vary, but standard spells spare the person—effect scattered.
“You were corpse-bound. Minutes more, brainfall, then temple knights “mercifully” end you.”
“...You pulled me out.”
“Precisely! Research stop in Turan, passed temple, old ties to Lady Agate—voilà, my studies snag me your “treatment” gig.”
“Treatment... Magic med’s not my field, but “treatment” now covers this?”
Chin-jutted at specimen clutter; old mage wry smile.
“Prickly in crisis—you’ve got spine. Unbelievable? It is treatment.
Mutant factor hallmarks: erosion, regeneration.
Erode target, sync it, puppet it like own flesh. I targeted that. Notorious mutants have limits—experiments proved. Mana-rich knights? Impenetrable. Mana-poor but honed bodies? Resist easy spread.”
Gestured at Professor’s scar-riddled form.
“So, exhaust that power...?”
“Exactly. Mutants treasure hosts like self-flesh. Constant deep wounds force all regen-focus? Voilà!”
“Ugh!”
Slaash!
Distracted blink—he’d conjured a water blade, lopped the wrist.
“Damn you...”
“Eyes here! Cut surface!”
Hoisted the freed stump. Clean sever sprayed, sealed to fleshy orb instantly.
“Color...!”
“See it! Unlike dark-red infection, regen’s true flesh tone!”
Unbelievably, excised zone reverted to original hue. Mutants retreating?
“Month-long vigil like this. Regen? Slash. Repeat.
Kingdom brass clocked anomaly; spotlight on my work.
Four months back: moat-fire barbecue. Now? Solo city-sacks, routs Lordric’s First Knight? Royal decree weeks ago: fund me, decode mutants fully—bonus, weaponize infection for soldier buffs.”
Plop.
Wiped stump, bottled. Awkward grin.
“Hence this. Dozens of royal mages in my estate, your body our lab rat. Win-win: you stall infection via wounds; we harvest prime samples.”
Professor’s head spun at the scale. Lab rat. Limbs fruiting for mage orchards.
Guts roiled, but hold—now wasn’t time.
‘...Steady. Madman matchup. Cool head, milk all intel...’
“Your body? Personal marvel. Blood-fueled infinite yield, type-irrelevant. Surprisingly soft for trained frame—easy mods. Hyper-metabolism accelerates results. Research perfection! Born for it!”
...Intel... intel...
Screeech—
“Hm, prime sample.”
Professor sensed it. Not human to them. Savable? Still wouldn’t.
Crack.
Then—Professor’s fraying reason snapped.
“Aaaaaah!! I’ll kill you! KILL YOUUUU!!!”
“Hohoho. Pissed? Fair. But researcher’s advice: simmer down.”
“Fuck off! Free me, and your rotten skull—urk!”
Thoom—
Eerie cranial toll. Then, breath-borne, sweetness flooded sinuses.
“Told ya—calm. You’re doomed. Brain’s crawling. Rage invites mutant mind-dive, total swallow.”
“Ugh, uuuuuh!!!”
“Shh, ease the mind. Your mental resistance’s freakishly high—months more viable. Prime samples galore.”
“Yoooou, yoooooouuu!!!”
“I’ll assist. Endure mightily, please.”
Click, crack, click—
“Sleep.”
Joint-pop mudra unleashed tidal drowsiness.
“N-name... Name...”
“Oh? Right—manners! Forgot intros!”
Staff-forgotten casualness, serene to seething Professor.
“Leadflow School, Sixth Hierarchy: Isaac Mandalius. Humbly, this research earned my countship.”
“Isaac... Mandalius...”
“Ah, yours I know, Professor. Lady Agate’s hearty endorsement.”
“Isaac... Isaac...”
Fading awareness mulled the name.
‘Kill. Whatever it takes—kill that bastard.’
Till sleep claimed him, Professor chanted it without cease.
***