Chapter 630: Last Will (4)
Chapter 630: Last Will (4)
“To use a metaphor, it is similar to a game of Jenga.”
Archbishop Aindel began his explanation, responding to my demand for more detail.
Before him sat several rectangular wooden blocks. He began stacking them one by one until they formed a tower—a common game played across the Continent.
The rules were simple: players take turns removing blocks until the tower finally collapses. The one who makes it fall loses.
It was a simple game, but knowing it was being used to illustrate the state of my life made my blood run cold.
“Now, a tower filled with all its blocks is incredibly stable. Removing a few won't significantly threaten that stability.”
Of course, there were exceptions.
I didn't bother asking what he meant by that. If you pulled a block from the very bottom, the balance would shatter instantly.
Regardless, that wasn't relevant right now.
Archbishop Aindel didn't seem inclined to waste time on the basics either. With calm, steady movements, he began sliding blocks out of the tower one by one.
“All power comes with a price. Especially techniques like ‘Secret Arts,’ which are essentially the essence of a person’s life. Naturally, to master them, one must give up a portion of their Mental Imagery.”
“And those ‘portions’ are the wooden blocks?”
“Is the metaphor too cheap? Well, there happened to be a Jenga set here, so I used it, but there are plenty of other examples. For instance, an alchemist’s cauldron into which powerful ingredients have been thrown haphazardly…”
“Could you please get to the point?”
At my request, the old priest nodded compliantly. He was a priest, after all; he must have watched the reactions of terminally ill patients countless times.
The old man delivered the plain facts without a single word of complaint.
“Sir Ian, your Mental Imagery already contains too many Secret Arts. To put it in terms of the tower, most of the blocks have been removed, leaving only a hollow shape barely holding its form.”
“But there haven't been any problems until now…”
“No one knows how a tower will fall. Not until the moment it actually collapses.”
Clatter.
The tower, which had been stripped of its blocks one by one, finally gave way and crumbled. Watching the scattered pieces of wood, I felt an indescribable sensation.
Was it a chill? Or a dull ache?
Archbishop Aindel continued in a solemn voice.
“Those who reach the level of High Expert or Archmage are strongly influenced by their Mental Imagery. It is similar to how a Master’s physical body becomes one with their Mental Image. Therefore, if your Mental Imagery collapses, your body collapses with it. You will cough up blood and wither away.”
“Is this the price for reaching High Expert?”
“To be more precise, it is the result of learning too many Secret Arts. Though, without them, you wouldn't have reached the level of High Expert in the first place.”
I suppose that was true.
There had never been a case of someone growing as powerful as I had in such a short time. It was all thanks to borrowing so much power from the ‘me’ who came from the future.
Now, it was simply time to pay the price.
As I swallowed a groan and leaned back against my chair, Archbishop Aindel added a further explanation.
“That is why, no matter how much you are treated, your body has no choice but to break down again.”
“If I receive constant treatment, wouldn't it be possible to at least prolong my life?”
“It is impossible. It is too late.”
With that, Archbishop Aindel began stacking the wooden blocks again with his wrinkled hands.
Unlike the first time, he stacked them clumsily, leaving gaps as he went.
The end was obvious.
Clatter. Another collapse.
“The collapse of a tower that has already begun to wobble is inevitable. No matter how many times you are treated, once the Mental Imagery completely disintegrates and the body reaches the point of death, no one can help you.”
“And the time I have left is roughly…”
“About a month. Looking at your body now, that is the limit.”
The old priest’s tone as he spoke of my death was utterly calm.
So much so that I couldn't feel even a shred of hope.
I let out a sigh and covered my face with both hands. If I said I wasn't afraid of death, I would be lying.
But more than that, I was terrified of what would happen after I was gone.
Who on earth could stop the Dark Cult?
Even I, with my knowledge of the future, had to make countless sacrifices to hold them back. A world without the variable known as ‘me’ could never stop the Dark Cult.
The result would be the very scenes I had seen in my dreams.
A land choked with blood and corpses, a world where monsters feasted on human flesh and all law and morality had vanished.
Suddenly, the images of bleeding women flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning.
My precious people would die like that, too. I simply could not accept such a future.
My grip tightened as I rubbed my face, as if I were trying to leave claw marks on my own skin.
Unable to let go of the last vestige of hope, my lips moved of their own accord.
“Still, if we look for a way…”
“It is impossible. Did I not tell you that your body will crumble no matter how much you are treated? Furthermore, was it not Saint Lucia herself who treated you previously?”
He was right. Before Archbishop Aindel, the person who had personally treated my tattered body was the Saintess.
The woman I had pledged my life to before the Heavenly God.
Naturally, she would have put her heart and soul into healing me. And yet, my body was breaking down again.
A brutally clear conclusion pierced my mind.
“If you truly doubt me, you could send word to Saint Lucia…”
“That’s enough.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I held up a hand and rejected Aindel’s suggestion.
The old priest hummed softly, narrowing his eyes and falling silent, as if yielding the floor to me.
“How many people know about this?”
“First, I have sent word to the Imperial Household. The leadership of each nation will also know soon. Your existence is just that special.”
It was a reasonable argument. A special existence required a special death.
To prepare for the ripples it would cause across the Continent, the leaders of each nation needed to know of my passing. Based on Archbishop Aindel’s reaction, it seemed he hadn't informed the Saintess yet.
My mind became a chaotic mess.
What if this became public knowledge?
I couldn't even begin to guess what kind of chaos would erupt. Especially if my lovers heard this news…
My fragmented thoughts ended there. Worrying about it wouldn't provide an answer.
Instead, I thought about Archbishop Aindel.
He was one of the most suspicious figures I knew. Leoric’s last words had even been a warning to be wary of him, so it was only right to maintain my guard.
However, it didn't seem like he was lying right now.
He was a seasoned politician who had spent decades in the political trenches of the Holy Kingdom. Logically, he wouldn't tell a lie that would be exposed so easily.
The Imperial Household would surely try to verify the facts immediately.
Agony, conflict, turmoil.
My brain overheated instantly, and a faint headache set in. No matter how much I agonized over it, I couldn't find an exit.
For now, I stood up.
I had to go somewhere. Perhaps a path would reveal itself along the way.
Just as it always had.
It was just as I turned my back with that faint hope.
“…Are you sure you don't want to tell them?”
At the old priest’s question, which caught me once again, I glanced back over my shoulder.
The old man was looking at me with deep, sunken blue eyes. Even though there was no image reflected in those retinas.
That strange gaze felt as if it were peering into my innermost thoughts, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling.
“Death is not an event one can handle alone. Naturally, those around you will be swept up in it. Shouldn't you share your burdens with them and organize your remaining time?”
He was right.
There was no room for argument. At the very least, the old man had spent much more time than I had contemplating how to face death.
Rationally, his words made sense. And yet, for some reason, my lips only trembled repeatedly.
In the end, I turned away coldly.
“I’ll handle it myself.”
Chuckles.
That was when the old priest let out a laugh for the first time. My mind was already a mess, and in a fit of pique, I turned my head back toward him.
I saw a cold flame. Whether it was passion or life force, something had settled in the old man’s pupils.
“Ian Percus, you…”
The corners of the old priest’s mouth curled upward.
A gentle smile had returned to his face, as if the expression I had seen just a moment ago had been a lie.
“You are arrogant.”
Arrogant?
It wasn't even worth responding to. I turned my head and began to walk away. I didn't know where I was going, but I would go wherever my feet took me.
For now, yes.
It was time to find Celine.
* * *
And so, I found myself standing before a one-eyed woman who had lost an arm and a leg.
In a temporary office, the woman looking over documents let out a hollow, bewildered laugh. The young lady of the Alphenhauser family, with her silver hair and silver eyes, questioned me again with pure disbelief.
“What did you say?”
“I asked you to be the bait, Senior Sienne.”
At my blunt answer, Sienne was silent for a long time.
She placed her quill back in its stand, crossed her arms, and stared at me for a good while with a look that said she couldn't comprehend a single word I’d said.
Finally, she uttered a single, plain sentence.
“You crazy bastard.”
It had been a very long time since I’d heard that particular insult.