Chapter 391: The Curse(5)
Chapter 391: The Curse(5)
There is a term called "lucid dreaming." It refers to the state of dreaming while being fully aware that you are, in fact, dreaming.
In other words, it means knowing that the situation unfolding before your eyes is a dream and isn't actually happening in reality.
The reason I’m mentioning this is that I was currently having a lucid dream.
Ever since I was reincarnated, I’ve always slept so soundly that I rarely even had regular dreams, let alone lucid ones. Yet, for some reason, a sight I had never seen before was unfolding before me.
The setting was generally dark and resembled a temple. Five stone statues stood positioned as if guarding the center, each uniquely possessing wings and horns.
Wings and horns—features only demons could have. Furthermore, each demon statue had a distinctly different appearance.
Some horns stretched straight upward like Cecile’s, while others were curled like a ram’s, similar to Gartz’s.
The statues represented various genders and were so exquisitely detailed that one might think they were modeled after living beings.
And in the center they guarded sat a statue far more massive than the rest.
Reminiscent of Cthulhu, it had tentacles sprouting from its mouth, and its scale dwarfed the other statues.
Like the others, it possessed a vividness that made it seem as if it might spring to life at any moment. Setting the demons aside, I wondered who this figure was meant to represent.
"Cough! Hack! Urgh..."
While I was blankly observing the lifelike statues, the sound of someone’s ragged coughing reached my ears.
The coughing came from directly below me. I stopped scanning the statues and shifted my gaze downward.
"Oh..."
I couldn't help but stand there, dumbfounded, at the carnage that met my eyes.
A scene of a bloody struggle that reeked of iron. There was no other way to describe it.
Beneath a stone slab that appeared to be an altar, a man lay drenched in blood, gasping for breath.
Whether it was because of the blood or his natural color, the man had long, fiery red hair.
He had a hairstyle reminiscent of a lion and a physique so massive that the word "huge" felt inadequate.
Though his life was flickering out, his eyes—which he could barely open due to the blood—shone with a stubborn light.
Splat!
With a single cough, the red-haired man spat out a mouthful of blood. Judging by the way he was coughing up blood, his condition was critical.
Various weapons, including swords, were skewered through his body like spits, and his right arm was missing entirely.
It wasn't even a clean cut; it looked as though someone had forcibly torn it off. The jagged edges looked like torn paper, and the bone was clearly visible.
Despite this, he still gripped a massive double-edged axe in his left hand. However, even his axe wasn't intact; one of its blades was shattered.
He had sustained injuries so severe it wouldn't be strange if he died right this second. Yet, even as I watched the scene, I did nothing.
No, I couldn't do anything. I was too preoccupied with the devastation surrounding the man.
'My god...'
The scene was enough to make one's jaw drop. There were five corpses—the same number as the statues.
First, there were two demons who had apparently undergone demonization, possessing horns much larger than average and unfurled wings.
One had his head split open by an axe, causing brain matter to ooze out, while the other had been severed at the waist, leaving a grisly display of entrails.
They could be considered the lucky ones. The other three were beyond horrific.
One corpse had all its limbs torn off. Another was split from top to bottom like a piece of firewood.
And the last one... it looked as if they had been beaten to death with bare hands; the face wasn't just crushed, it was caved in like a sinkhole.
Surprisingly, the one with the hollowed-out face was an elf. Its ears had been hacked off and were rolling on the floor, but it was unmistakably an elf.
None of them had died a clean death. It reached a point where the dying man actually looked to be in the best condition.
To put it another way, it meant the man had defeated them all.
"Ugh..."
"Eek?!"
I thought it was dead. I couldn't help but recoil in horror when the elf with the caved-in face let out a groan.
The area above its mouth was a mangled mess, yet it was still conscious. At that level of injury, its brain should have been mush—how was it still aware?
It was a mercy that this was a dream; if I had seen this in reality, I would have vomited everything in my stomach instantly.
"I... don't understand..."
It even spoke. This was the pinnacle of horror.
I stumbled backward as the half-dead elf began to speak. I couldn't fathom what kind of monstrous vitality it possessed.
Meanwhile, the elf squeezed out its remaining strength and spoke in a fading voice.
"Why... why go... this far...?"
Aside from the elf and the red-haired man, no one else was alive. In other words, the question was directed at the man.
"...Why aren't you dead yet?"
The red-haired man replied curtly. His voice was devoid of life, as if he too sensed his impending end.
It was a voice that carried a strange mix of emptiness and a sense of relief.
"Even if you do this... no one... will remember you..."
"..."
"It was only... delayed... since you are gone too... it is our... victory... Hehehe..."
It was my first time seeing someone whose mouth literally tore from ear to ear. Seeing it let out a grotesque laugh even in that state sent chills down my spine, dream or not.
The red-haired man pondered those words for a moment before slowly raising his head.
Leaning against the altar, all he could see was a single lantern hanging from the ceiling.
That lantern was also maintained by magic, so it was destined to go out eventually.
"I know."
The man answered the elf's question calmly. Then, he continued wistfully, as if reminiscing about the past.
"As you said... Cough!"
The man vomited another handful of blood. Seeing his eyes gradually grow dim, it was clear he didn't have much time left.
"...We lost. Probably almost no one knows of your existence, and even if they did, they wouldn't speak of it. Because they saw our defeat with their own eyes."
"Then why... surely, your descendant..."
"No. That child knows nothing. Because I didn't tell him. Starting with him, they will rise into the light."
The "child" the red-haired man mentioned. For some reason, my father came to mind. Looking closely now, the man shared many similarities with my father.
The thick build, the fiery red hair, and finally, the golden eyes.
Just as I was tilting my head, trying to place his familiar appearance, the man took a deep breath and exhaled.
It was a breath of profound relief, as if he had finally brought a long task to a close. He slowly closed his eyes and whispered softly.
"Our 'duty' ends here as well."
"A hero... at a miserable end... whom no one... will acknowledge... and no one... will seek..."
The elf's voice grew fainter as it neared its final breath. Squeezing out the last of its strength, the elf barely finished its question.
"To think... even you... will fade away... without knowing the truth... how lamentable..."
"..."
"Father of All Things... I shall join you... soon... Gurgle."
The elf breathed its last, leaving behind only cryptic words. The man watched the elf die before shifting his gaze back to the ceiling.
A serene silence that contrasted with the brutal carnage. Sorrowful eyes that contrasted with his powerful physique.
The man stared at the ceiling for a long time before slowly closing his eyes. Then, he murmured softly, like a child falling asleep.
"To the nameless soul who has come to this place..."
"..."
"I am sorry I could not stop it."
A heroic spirit that sacrificed itself for others until the very end, and honored those who were sacrificed.
But all of it would likely scatter and vanish in the wind. For no one would remember.
"O God. Please..."
"..."
"Look upon that soul with kindness..."
With those words...
Flash!
An intense light erupted, filling the surroundings with a brilliant white glow.
"..."
Waking up, I blinked and stared at the dark ceiling. I had just woken up, yet my mind was clear, without a hint of grogginess.
Furthermore, that dream I just had. What exactly was it?
Usually, the details of a dream fade as soon as you wake up, but not this one. Instead, it was vividly etched into my mind.
Rustle—
Dumbfounded, I carefully sat up. As I did, I felt a presence beside me.
Looking over, I saw Ariel fast asleep, clutching my arm tightly.
Unless I was spending the night with the other women, she usually slept in my bed. Tonight was one of those nights.
But unlike other times, I had a lucid dream. And it was a dream that seemed related to the end of my grandfather, Clark.
In terms of timing, it was likely around the moment my soul had first crossed over to this world. Racking my brain, that seemed the most plausible.
'A hero whom no one remembers...'
It was a fitting epithet. I think I finally understand why a red-haired hero never appeared in history.
Yet, ironically, the glory of the Maishal family began when Clark gave up being a hero.
Furthermore, Clark had ruined the summoning ritual just in case and slaughtered all the high-ranking officials.
Perhaps because the dream was so impactful, I reached for the bedside drawer. I always kept a notebook and a magic pen there.
Scratch, scratch—
I jotted down a brief note in the notebook. The content wasn't much, honestly. It was an idea for a side story.
In my previous life, it would have been a common cliché, but it was closely linked to the dream I just had.
'The title... The Passing Hero. Let's go with that.'
This should do. I closed the notebook and looked out the window.
The sky, embroidered with stars, was more than beautiful.
'Should I make the descendant of the side story's protagonist Xenon?'
That sounds good.
After that, morning arrived...
"Where are you going?"
"To the temple. Lord Luminous told me to go there..."
Kate had come to find me, saying she was heading to the temple.