Chapter 241
Chapter 241
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 241
Chapter Title: Even If I Fall Into a Ghost Story, I Have to Go to Work
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Eyes opened.
But nothing was visible.
I tried to move my hand.
But nothing moved.
I was fixed in place, unable to do anything.
And so I realized.
Why the countless intelligent beings trapped inside this Garden Chanter's box—devoid of any abilities or possessions from their living days—were helplessly tortured for decades until death.
'Swallowed.'
No actions were possible.
My body was gripped tight and sealed by something.
For the sake of contemplation.
Digestive juices secreted.
-It's hell, hell, hell. How can it hurt this much? I've realized the horror of primal pain. Descriptions like reliving the saddest memories or triggering deep trauma are lukewarm and convoluted—mere comfortable exhibitions for those at ease. True pain comes from the flesh, this torment that breaks the mind.
-This pain scraping my pericardium and nerves layer by layer like with a needle! Pain across my entire body! My internal organs, their twisted skins burning somewhere I can't pinpoint. Like being trapped in an endlessly burning hell. My mouth—they're prying open my mouth and pouring digestive juices in? No! Good thing I have no esophagus, no, it feels like it's piercing through...
Sounds echoing in my head.
The voices of the contemplators reciting verbatim the pain I felt, their anguish, analysis, pleas, and screams.
And...
-[Don't wanna die don't wanna die don't wanna die please stop stop stop why why did this happen it hurts hurts hurts hurts!! Name I did valuable work it hurts!! I did valuable work save me kill me save me kill me]
-Breath catching. Can't endure the pain. Instinct tells me I can't last decades like this. I think it's fortunate that I'm the one trapped here, but even predicting how long this thought will hold is chilling—this pain won't even let my mind blur. This supernatural disaster...
The voices of the other two intelligent beings.
The voices of those being tortured resounded right beside me, displayed to one another—this was the completion of the "Contemplator in the Box."
In this state, we would be linked helplessly as parts of the contemplator within the digestive juices, enduring decades of torment amid the maddening whispers born of each other's pain.
The digestive juices acted as a preservative, keeping us from death while forcing clear-minded agony.
Madness, terror.
But this insane pain wouldn't even let us escape into madness!
'Happy Maker...!'
I desperately missed that item no longer in my grasp, but I, I...
'Endure.'
I tried to produce smoke.
No, I transformed entirely into smoke.
Smoke was one of my components, so it was possible without movement. The smoke filled the contemplator's nursery pouch that had sealed me airtight.
Even as smoke, the pain didn't fade; every surface, every point of contact screamed in death throes.
But there was one crucial difference.
'Smoke is a gas.'
From within the smoke, at the very core, I rematerialized just one part.
A horn.
And barely shook it.
The clear chime of the bell attached to the horn rang out.
'...Ha!'
The pain didn't vanish. But my reasoning and willpower recovered.
'Do... something.'
There was something I could do!
I knew there was another human beside this pouch that had me bound immobile.
'...Slo...wly.'
For the first time, I was grateful I couldn't find my vocal cords to wail.
'This time...'
I extended a single point of bare skin from within the uniform to the outermost layer of the smoke.
My tattoo.
'Inventory...!'
The tattoo touched the bizarre membrane sealing me, and I tried to pull the membrane itself inside it.
But it didn't work properly.
'...!'
Every attempt to store it only tightened the pouch further. Its volume shrank by exactly what entered the tattoo. Even my smoke-form body overloaded.
'Doesn't work.'
And like secreting lubricant, only more digestive juices were produced!
-Pain! Pain! Even turning into black smoke doesn't erase the pain. It only intensifies.
All physical resistance failed. Victims inside the box were mere accessories in the contemplator's stomach—they couldn't harm the contemplator!
Yet I suffered the physical pain in full. What an irrational, hellish ghost story.
-No, stop, the digestive juices, going to die, no, pain like dying, never felt this insane agony even in Daydream or the exploration trains—
At that moment.
-Grape Agent?
......
...!
-No way. Why? Why Grape Agent and not some villain? I guessed it was resentment toward the Disaster Management Bureau for shoving me aside, no, pain makes reasons irrelevant now. No.
-Endure decades of this pain here? That guy too?
The contemplator displayed mental torment as well.
The Bronze Agent's mental torment.
And mine too.
-I'm used to pain, I can endure. I'm used to pain, taking other forms makes it a bit better. Shaking a bell inside smoke, no, it hurts! Pain! No, I can endure...
In that instant.
-Got it! Thoughts linked to pain are heard by the others. Pain-related, pain and...
The Bronze Agent realized.
And the contemplator's whispers, which had been displaying the pain, shifted.
Quicker and more unstable, reflecting the subject's state.
-I'm in pain. So if I can partially turn into smoke and gain even a little freedom of movement within it, I'd immediately use the pentachrome shoelaces to escape this agony.
...!!
-Right now. Can't bear this pain anymore. Tie the shoelaces and walk. Just the act of walking is enough! Hurry!
......
And I recalled.
'The Bronze Agent can't escape even with shoelaces.'
Just as he couldn't use the pentachrome shoelaces back at Lucky Mart after losing both legs, the man sealed now couldn't leave.
Only I could get out.
So if I escaped.
The remaining two would continue to be displayed and tormented here, where no one else could leave.
Together with whatever new victim the box swallowed in my place.
......
......
-No sound from the Grape Agent. Did he escape? Am I the only one suffering? Hopeful, but this vicious pain might just lead to cursing him for leaving me alone...
I shaped a portion of the smoke into a hand.
Exposing bare skin,
and touched the membrane.
The "Contemplator in the Box."