Chapter 107
Chapter 107
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 106
Chapter Title: The Boy Who Couldn't Comfort
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Once Necromancer Deus Verdi began moving in earnest, rumors of his presence in the artists' city of Claren spread like wildfire across the entire Sapsilban Kingdom.
Though some time had passed since the great debate, diluting its buzz compared to before, the fact that this man—still the epitome of controversy—had made his first public appearance since returning to the academy drew intense scrutiny to Claren from many quarters.
Bishops and nobles alike were on high alert, closely watching his every move.
Yet what Deus Verdi actually did in Claren was propose an event for the city's signature festival, Artists' Day.
Some dismissed it as opportunism, accusing him of pretending to be an artist while indulging in self-absorption and artistic pretensions, acting on his own whims.
Others speculated there must be some hidden motive behind his sudden emergence.
But the person most displeased by his casual revelation of his whereabouts was a woman holed up in a loan shark's office.
Dina, the monster surgeon from the secret society Dante—a group of black mages bearing the heavy mission of saving the world—was that protagonist.
From Dina's perspective, the current situation was infuriating beyond measure.
"You bastard! Hiding away like a coward, and now you stick your face out like this?!"
As she smashed the desk with her fist, the loan shark Volfras's face twisted into a grimace on the verge of tears.
Volfras had always been a moneylender. Not quite dominating Claren's underworld, but a decently competitive gangster boss.
That changed when he caught Dante's eye, and his life took a turn.
Claren, where yokai spawned endlessly from artists' delusions, was prime hunting ground for Dante. Establishing a base there allowed them to squeeze funds from the loan sharks as a bonus.
They didn't force everything out of the loan sharks, though.
Dante provided them with power in return—specifically, the method of imprinting borrowers.
Thanks to that, loan sharks could track debtors to the ends of the continent, boosting Volfras's collection rate to 120%.
For reference, the 120% came from cleanly harvesting organs from most fugitives.
Human organs fetched high prices, so they could usually recover more than the principal.
Repay the remainder to the debtor?
With their organs sucked dry and them long dead, what was there to repay?
Even if they could pay with a liver, this place ripped out hearts too.
Anyway.
Dante members visited occasionally, so Volfras just had to humor them now and then—a profitable venture, he thought.
But this time was different.
Ever since learning a necromancer named Deus Verdi was in Claren, Dina had been lingering.
He had no choice but to watch his step around her every day. Especially lately, when her mood was foul.
"Argh! I was hiding it from the others by force, but now everyone knows! I wanted to sneak a taste alone!"
Thud! Thud! Thud!
She pulverized the already split desk with one-sided blows.
"Whew, what was it this time? What did he say? What was he planning again?"
As her crimson eyes glared fiercely at him, Volfras answered swiftly.
"I-I heard it's a mask festival! Artists dress as their own creations and enjoy the festivities!"
Deus's proposal, which they'd expected to flop, was surprisingly well-received.
It was a unique festival unlike any other, letting artists showcase their works without pressure.
With only days left, artists were skipping performances to perfect pieces for the event.
"Sigh, what weird hobbies does he have? Our necromancer."
Muttering that, Dina felt a twinge of suspicion.
"...Is that really why?"
This necromancer—a man with razor-sharp senses, they said—had made his first move since the academy break. Had a great idea for Artists' Day just popped into his head, prompting him to show himself?
"Come to think of it, he's a black mage just like me."
Especially since he was a necromancer with freakish talent, sensing even the tiniest spirits that most black mages missed.
"So he must see all the yokai in this land too?"
Dina could spot a few strong yokai, but not all of them.
That's why they needed that boy whose piano drew them in.
"Heh, hehehe. I don't know the details of what he's planning, but I get the gist."
Gazing out the window, Dina curled her lips into a sly smile.
She didn't know the menu yet, but she could crash the necromancer's table as an uninvited guest.
* * *
"Huff, huff."
Artists' Day approached soon.
Every artist in Claren worked fervently to showcase their creations—and become them.
The constant music echoing through Claren year-round had paused as a result.
Yet Owen steadily made his rounds to the pianos.
No loan sharks had come since that day, and he diligently saved every coin from his performances.
Plus, the inn Leon's landlady, moved by his story, gave him a cheap room, so after selling the burdensome house he'd shared with his grandfather, he finally had some breathing room.
Maybe that's why.
Lately, playing piano felt truly joyful.
He took his place at the central fountain's piano again. Late at night, passersby ignored him, but Owen sat with a pure heart.
He set out sheet music, though he didn't need it—just in case.
"Whew."
He gently closed his eyes and pressed the familiar keys softly.
One note popped out, followed by others, weaving into rhythm that seeped into the city.
And the yokai came pouring in.
Their ragged breaths already surrounded him. They must have been waiting.
Usually, their grotesque forms scared him into playing with eyes shut.
But as his fingers habitually danced over the keys, the necromancer's words flashed in the boy's mind.
"Soon, all yokai will vanish. Do your utmost until then."
"My utmost."
The boy kept striking the keys. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
His shoulders hunched at the bizarre yokai crowding the piano.
But he knew they only approached—no harm to him or the piano.
So.
Owen cautiously turned his head.
The small boy took in the grotesque audience drawn to his music.
Yokai with eyes on hands, ones with oversized teeth they couldn't close, ones with dozens of arms, and more.
Terrifying at a glance, yet Owen forced words out.
"Soon, we'll part ways."
A mutter drowned in the piano, unheard by all.
But the yokai gazed at him as if understanding.
"The necromancer said he'd make it happen somehow."
What emotions did they hold?
They came to hear his playing to fade away willingly.
Why did such profound sadness draw them here?
"Ah."
The answer lay in their eyes. Knowledge in his head merged with the sight, revealing truth.
Despite countless performances, despite their visits.
Only now, as the end neared, did he see what he'd missed.
"You knew you were harming others."
Born from tangled artists' wishes and longings, these strange yokai.
Not by choice, but aware their existence hurt the deceased.
They yearned to vanish.
Through piano music, soothed into natural dissolution.
They wished for suicide.
That realization filled Owen with pity for the yokai around him.
"I'm sorry I couldn't grant your wish."
Emotion flowed into the keys.
"I'm sorry I wasn't enough."
Even now, just a little.
Could he see even one off?
With that prayer, the boy played sincerely.
But soon, the piece ended on the final key, and the yokai nodded as if consoling him in reverse, dispersing.
In the end, to the very last.
He couldn't comfort a single one.
He'd failed to grant even proper death to yokai choosing it for others.
Feeling his inadequacy keenly, Owen lifted his hands from the keys.
"Not at all..."
A bitter taste lingered on his tongue. Before the piano, yokai gone, not a soul left.
Owen spilled his honest heart.
"It's not fun anymore."
For the first time, the piano he'd loved all his life turned loathsome.