1. Patron Anais (8)
1. Patron Anais (8)
It hurt.
Fuck... it hurt like hell!
From the moment the bullet tore through me, a searing agony—like being roasted alive over an open fire—was unrelenting.
I wanted to scream right then and there, to sob uncontrollably.
Back in the orphanage.
There was a time the wardens beat me half to death with a club.
This was just as bad.
I was amazed that a tiny pellet no bigger than a bean could deliver such a shock.
"Heh heh."
But laughter was the only thing that could escape my lips.
Because I constantly maintained a mask of absolute composure, even a reflexive curse or shriek was simply denied.
If I wanted to swear, I had to assemble it in my head like a structured conversation, neat and orderly.
Naturally, that kind of cursing did nothing to vent the agony and fury.
The household staff who had burst into the viscountess's room.
They dragged Ella and me out and separated us.
I was thrown into the underground dungeon; Ella was locked up somewhere on the floor above.
There was no emergency first aid for a criminal.
In the eyes of the household, I was a shameless villain who had tried to assault their master.
They left me sprawled on the stone floor, to live or die on my own.
I had no room for excuses.
They had seen me with their own eyes tearing open the viscountess's clothes and laying hands on her body.
The only reason they didn't string me up right then was that tending to their master was more urgent.
The floor was slick with my own blood.
Submerged in a pool of it, I drifted at the crossroads of life and death.
What had possessed me to take a bullet for her?
It was an utterly reckless act.
In a game, you could be down to one hit point, and as long as you cleared the quest, you'd won. You could retreat to a safe house or speak to a healer, and your health would be restored.
But this was reality.
Having one hit point left meant you'd been beaten to the brink of death.
In a corner of the manor's dungeon, I had to wrestle with oncoming death. I had to cling to my fading consciousness and endure.
I'd seen it in a movie.
In moments like this, if you fall asleep, you die. Simple as that. Your body's metabolism slows, and your vital functions simply shut down.
No matter how hard it was, how much it hurt, I had to hold on.
'You stupid bastard.'
I cursed myself.
I already knew this was real. I could feel it. And yet I'd acted sloppily, as if I were still just playing a game.
-The manor from the prologue of TT3. A familiar place.
-Viscountess Anais Bergson? I know exactly who you are.
-I know exactly what's going to happen here tonight, too.
-So I just have to save her, right? Easy enough.
If I truly wanted patronage from a noble, I should have approached her with much more caution, with deference.
If I'd accepted my life was truly on the line, I should have burst through the door and launched an assault immediately, shattering Pierre's limbs before he could react.
But I hadn't done that.
I underestimated the person I needed to persuade and belittled the one who was a threat.
I knew exactly what had lowered my guard so thoroughly.
It wasn't simply the arrogance of a streamer with a million subscribers.
'The Smiling Man.'
This goddamn innate trait.
The Smiling Man kept my composure steady in any situation.
Thanks to this trait, I'd been able to think of curing the viscountess's illness even with six holes punched through my body.
But The Smiling Man had its downside.
When I smiled, my wariness thinned. A reckless confidence took root.
In short, a loss of tension.
Doesn't laughter release dopamine?
Thinking of it that way, The Smiling Man was a terrifying trait.
Dopamine is called the most powerful narcotic painkiller.
I was, for all intents and purposes, high around the clock.
Drunk on the role of Wonderstein,
I spoke as if in a dream, acted on pure impulse.
Looking back now, everything I'd done over the past four days was somehow off. The events at the campground, what happened after arriving at the manor—all of it unfolded while I was half out of my mind.
I'd been thrown into a completely different world. Shouldn't the normal reaction have been to panic like I'd been knocked unconscious, to be terrified out of my mind?
Even if my life had been far from ordinary, I was still just a regular modern person, at the end of the day.
Yet I had accepted this situation so casually.
A game where my life was the wager, inside a game world.
It was an insane situation.
Only now, at death's door, did I fully grasp that.
The Smiling Man.
This thing had been sabotaging my rational thought.
It always preserves my composure?
Forcing me to laugh and enjoy myself in situations where I should be tense and on guard—that was nothing short of a curse.
It kept me calm in the middle of a fire.
So far, so good.
But it also made me feel nothing about leaping straight into the flames.
That was the problem.
The Smiling Man was a double-edged sword.
If I got drunk on my role like I had these past few days, events would spiral completely beyond my control.
Like I was just watching a variety show on TV.
I'd be charging toward my own death, grinning like an idiot all the while.
If I didn't get my head on straight, next time I'd really die.
Huh... next time...
Would there even be a 'next time' for me?
Thanks to The Smiling Man, I barely felt the pain, but that didn't mean my wounds were healing.
My body was shutting down fast.
Trait: Rapid Rigidity
Applied to: Blood vessels
Effect: Upon bleeding, the tissue surrounding the blood vessel stiffens, delaying blood loss.
Cost: [Devolut 2]
I was barely clinging to life thanks to a stopgap ability, but the rest of my specs were still baseline human. I couldn't guarantee survival without proper medical treatment.
And even if, by some miracle, I pulled through—
what if the viscountess died?
Then it was all over.
The quest wouldn't even matter. The household staff would never let me walk away.
*Original Quest — Patron
Completion Condition
: Secure patronage from Viscountess Bergson.
Success Reward
: [Devolut +5]
Failure Penalty
: None.
The quest hadn't triggered a failure yet, which meant the viscountess was still breathing.
But judging by the grim mood of the soldiers, she hadn't regained consciousness.
Perhaps she never would.
Maybe the treatment had simply come too late.
If the viscountess died, how could I ever prove that I'd been trying to cure her?
"Hurry, move faster!"
I could hear shouting from the floor above.
What was happening?
The noise grew closer. A group of people was descending into the underground dungeon.
I grabbed the bed and forced myself upright.
I wasn't about to just die passively.
If I was going down, I'd go down struggling at least.
But my body refused to cooperate.
My hand slipped on the wall, and I collapsed with a wet smack onto the blood-soaked floor.
At that moment, the dungeon door burst open with a crash.
"Heh heh heh..."
Surrounded by those who'd come for me, I blacked out.
In my dreams, I saw the ending of the Prologue Stage from TT3: Viscountess Bergson's manor.
***
"Why did I try to kill my niece? Because... I received an offer I couldn't refuse."
"What kind of offer...?"
Instead of answering, Pierre opened a locket.
Inside was a photo of a young girl.
A child with brown hair and eyes like his own.
"They told me they could bring my dead daughter back."
"Mr. Maupassant..."
The knight let out a pained groan.
The thief looked at him with a pitying expression.
In all their travels, they had never seen an offer like that lead to anything good.
The self-deprecating smile that curled Pierre's lips told them their guess was right.
"I embezzled the company's funds to support them for that. I helped them build it—the Altar of Resurrection."
"And what happened...?"
"After I failed to kill Anais, I went to them. I said things would be exposed if we didn't do something, that we needed a contingency. But they told me not to worry. They said they and Wonderstein were very well acquainted. That if Wonderstein had gotten his hands on the viscountess, there was no chance he'd get in their way. And they were right."
Pierre exhaled a long breath.
Decades of regret were buried in that sigh.
"For me, it ended with my resignation from the board. No censure, no interrogation. That child's body and mind were already in Wonderstein's grasp by then. Or perhaps... my betrayal only drove her deeper into the Black Magician's arms."
Pierre looked down at his dead niece's body and lamented.
"What happened to... your daughter?"
"They kept their promise. About a year later, they sent her to me. But that thing... it wore my daughter's face, but it was not my daughter... Every night, livestock went missing from the village, and people were attacked under mysterious circumstances... Ahh, I was a fool. I turned a blind eye to the end... My mind knew the truth, but... I couldn't bring myself to deny that my daughter had come back alive..."
Pierre wiped his tears.
The knight shook with rage at the wickedness; the soft-hearted thief's eyes glistened at the tragedy. Only the cool-headed mage merely frowned slightly.
Pierre collected himself and spoke with composed resolve.
"Recently, my niece included—people all over the world who have received 'help' from Wonderstein are transforming into monsters."
"Yes. We've heard similar reports and are in the process of investigating."
"Do you know why?"
"Not yet, but...?"
"Those friends of Wonderstein I mentioned. The Altar of Resurrection... I've received word that the island where they reside is seeing renewed activity."
"Resurrecting the dead... you don't mean?"
"I do. It's likely... the Black Magician has returned, or is in the process of returning."
The thief gritted her teeth at his words.
"That relentless bastard!"
"Go to Florand. You'll hear more detailed rumors there."
"Thank you for the information, Mr. Maupassant."
"In return..."
Pierre hesitated for a moment before steeling himself to speak.
"I have one request."
"A request?"
"I have a villa northwest of Florand. In its basement, a monster... wearing my daughter's form... is locked away. Please... kill her."
The last words scraped out of his throat, raw and ragged.
Though it was only a beast disguised as his daughter, the heroes could scarcely imagine the anguish of a father begging for its death.
"Understood..."
[Sub Quest 'Resurrected Daughter' has been activated.]
"Now, go."
"Mr. Maupassant, the manor can't be considered fully secure yet. Why don't you come with us..."
Click.
Pierre pulled a revolver from his coat.
"I always carry this for self-defense. Please, don't worry and just go."
Faced with his absolute refusal, the heroes could no longer press him and withdrew from the manor.
They had come simply to exterminate monsters, but received far more crucial information than expected.
The Altar of Resurrection.
And the revival of Wonderstein.
"We must go to Florand."
"If it's true that Wonderstein has been resurrected..."
"It will be our job to eliminate him."
The heroes departed the manor.
Long after they had completely left.
A gunshot rang out from the direction of the estate.
Bang—
A single shot.
And then, the manor fell silent once more.