Chapter 155
Chapter 155
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: END: The Bearer (3)
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The junk shop owner Malcolm seems to have something he wants to tell you.
1. Talk
2. Trade
?. Bear it
>1. Talk
Malcolm smiles brightly at you.
You feel fatigue even before the conversation begins.
That expression. It's familiar.
Another round of bragging about his cute daughter and sensible son is coming.
Of course, it's not the worst.
At least it's better than commiserating about his wife together.
A middle-aged man saddened by his wife's nagging versus one delighted by his lovable children—which is the better conversation partner?
Moreover, listening to a bit of child-bragging gets you free information, so it's a good deal for you.
You gladly engage in Malcolm's conversation.
Malcolm pulls something out from his bosom.
It's a straw doll.
Clumsily made but full of heartfelt care, it oddly resembles Malcolm. Especially that bald spot on top.
Malcolm excitedly shows off the doll to you.
No doubt, his lovable daughter made it for him with devotion.
Malcolm asks for your opinion, and you respond.
?. Bear it.
2. Hmm. That looks a bit tough.
?. Bear it.
...
...
...
Was it such a difficult question?
As you fall silent, an awkward silence descends.
Malcolm glances at you uncomfortably.
This time, you finally answer.
?. Bear it.
?. Bear it.
3. No, after thinking it over, no means no.
>3. No, after thinking it over, no means no.
Malcolm's expression twists.
He's not just offended—he looks utterly bewildered.
Applying such strict standards to a little girl's work.
A natural question arises: Is it that hard to humor a doting dad's sentiment?
Malcolm spits out the words and casually waves his hand.
That was the information you needed.
It's not too late yet.
Your last chance to offer kind words as an apology to the friendly junk shop owner and his daughter.
?. Bear it.
?. Bear it.
?. Bear it.
>?. Bear it. Bear it. Bear it. Bear it. Bear it. Bear it. Bear it.
The junk shop owner flees inside the store in terror.
Left alone, an ominous voice whispers in your ear.
"I shall bear it... I shall bear it..."
You immediately enter combat stance.
You intend to make whoever dares scheme against you pay the price.
You look around.
"I shall bear it... I shall bear it..."
But something's strange.
No matter where you look, you can't find the source of the voice.
Frustrated, you mutter to yourself.
"I shall bear it... I shall bear it..."
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Something drops onto your shoe.
Oh no. Blood.
You look up at the store in surprise.
Nothing's there.
Just the ceiling of the red wooden building.
You feel a sense of wrongness.
Was the store's wood always that color?
You mutter.
"I shall bear it... I shall bear it..."
This place is off.
Harboring unease, you quickly leave the store.
I shall bear it.
I shall bear it.
I shall bear it.
The only remaining desire and will echoing in your mind.
Contrary to the beliefs of many, it is neither sacrifice nor devotion.
Merely the realization of twisted desire.
One final step.
Now you will completely lose yourself and be reborn as a madman craving only pain.
"O Bearer..."
The zealots praise you in unison.
Your consciousness completely fades.
Losing even yourself amid overflowing pain and twisted ecstasy.
Yet many will remember you in your stead.
People now praise you.
Yet no one will remember you.
For you are a saint.
>END 9: The Bearer.
"Hela. Are you serious?"
The man whose face was marred by countless scars spoke in a stern tone.
The man's name was Gorad.
Bearing the name of a "true bearer," he held the highest status in the group alongside Hela.
His authority stemmed from his faithful execution of the Bearer's will.
In other words, the amount of pain he had borne thus far.
Gorad, who had lived nearly his entire life as a true bearer, had filled countless nuclei of pain.
He was the most respected among the true bearers.
Furthermore, he was evaluated as the one who had come closest to the Bearer in the group's history.
Thus, it was natural for his followers to resent Hela's opinion.
"Impossible! To entrust the heavy role of the Bearer's apostle to an outsider!!!"
One of Gorad's followers shouted.
Others joined in, voicing their discontent.
The saint's apostle.
It was the position that bore the greatest burden even among true bearers.
As such, it was also the most glorious.
For someone other than Gorad to become the saint's apostle.
That alone was hard for the followers to accept.
And an outsider, no less!
"Hela, reconsider! How can an outsider represent the Bearer?! Act in Their will?!"
"This is tyranny!!!"
The protests grew fiercer.
Unable to bear it, Hela's follower Poien shouted.
"Tyranny? Isn't that what you're doing right now!? Ignoring all of Hela's explanations and reasoning so far, coming on so aggressively!!! Do you think Hela is ignorant enough to make this judgment!?"
"Reasoning!? You said reasoning!? Well said! You're telling us to believe that so-called reasoning!? An advanced nucleus of pain! Filled by one person's power!? In such a short time!? That makes no sense...!"
"What do you mean by that?! Are you saying Hela has some impure motive and is deceiving us!?"
"While Gorad is being considered for apostle right now, pushing some unheard-of outsider as the apostle—how are we supposed to take that?!"
"My god! It's true! Treating Hela like some vulgar opportunist! This is an insult!"
The atmosphere turned hostile in an instant, filled with emotional shouting.
"Enough."
A firm word that halted the shouting.
Gorad.
He spoke with his eyes closed.
"Everyone, stop. I hear Their voice now. I want to focus on it."
"...!"
At Gorad's words, the debating zealots—and even Hela—looked at him in surprise.
"Gorad... You hear Their voice?"
"Yes. Lately... I've been hearing Their voice intermittently."
"My god... What do They say...?"
I shall bear it.
I shall bear it.
Gorad murmured softly.
"They desire more burdens."
"...They directly demanded burdens? Have you experienced this before? Like now, demanding burdens from you?"
"...No."
Gorad said gravely after focusing.
"Nothing like this. Never have They demanded burdens so intensely."
"...O Bearer."
His followers closed their eyes and murmured softly at his testimony.
Their faces filled with awe.
The devout experience Gorad described was one even most true bearers had never had.
One known only to a tiny few throughout history.
Only the Bearer's apostle.
"They cry out. Like thrashing about. Like screaming."
Gorad said with a resolute face.
"They hope for more burdens from us."
"Ah..."
Gorad's followers groaned.
They felt ecstasy sharing that religious experience through him.
Soon, they looked at Hela's group.
At this point, there should be no room for disagreement.
The one to be elevated as the Bearer's apostle was none other than Gorad.
"..."
At that moment.
Confusion appeared on Gorad and his followers' faces.
Hela's group reaction was ambiguous.
Even now, they pondered where to place their faith.
'When we should be gathering faith to fulfill Their will—what is this—'
Hoo.
Gorad sighed in frustration.
He finally said to Hela.
"Let's go meet him."
The next morning.
"Ugh..."
The true bearers, prepared to visit the hero's mansion.
Gorad groaned in agony among them.
"Gorad, what's wrong?"
Hela asked cautiously.
Then came a soft murmur.
I shall bear it.
I shall bear it.
"Gorad...?"
Regaining his senses, he said.
"Hela. We need to resolve this quickly. Something's not right. It feels like They are trying to convey some will to us."
"..."
Gorad's followers shot dissatisfied glances at Hela's group.
Even at such a crucial time.
Still clinging to that opinion?
Truly believing an outsider should be the apostle?
Their gazes seemed to interrogate.
"...Let's depart."
Hela turned away from them and took the lead.
The zealot horde followed behind her, harboring discontent.
'What is it. Seems like there are more of them.'
Five days after the ritual called "group frenzy."
Rishir was finally greeting the zealots who arrived at the hero's mansion.
Finally, the time had come to wrap up the incident involving Dwain and them, and breathe a sigh of relief.
"You said you'd come the next day, but you're late? Was there a problem?"
Rishir asked Hela.
She smiled gently and replied.
"Sorry for worrying you. It was a grave matter I couldn't decide alone."
"A grave matter?"
"Yes. One we pondered deeply before deciding. Rishir, I earnestly ask you. Please consider becoming the Bearer's apostle."
"...The Bearer's apostle?"
Rishir was taken aback by the sudden request.
And Gorad's followers were equally flustered.
In the end.
As true bearers, they bowed their heads to an outsider.
Subtle hostility mixed into the resentment they felt toward Hela.
The true bearers.
The group was on the verge of splitting into two.
It was then.
"Ooooh...!!!"
Exclamations burst from Gorad's followers.
O Bearer.
They knelt toward Gorad in awe.
"...Gorad?"
Hela confirmed his appearance and murmured blankly.
"I shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear itI shall bear it..."
Over the scarred man's face overlapped another's image.
Marred by countless pains.
It was clear.
It was the form of the Bearer.
Gorad.
He had become the saint's apostle.
"My god..."
Even Hela's gentle expression filled with awe.
Her followers were already kneeling toward Gorad.
It was then.
"Rishir!?"
Dwain and the hero's party shouted at Rishir.
He had suddenly bolted from his seat into the mansion.
The true bearers were confused by Rishir's sudden action—but
Only for a moment.
Now that the Bearer's apostle was born.
They had no more business with him.
Right.
So for now—
"O Bearer..."
As Hela was about to kneel toward Gorad too.
"Everyone, sorry!"
Rishir returned to the scene, holding something in one hand like a cat's scruff.
"This guy's the reason he suddenly acted like that."
Rishir's voice drew the attention of the true bearers, who had all focused on Gorad.
They looked at Rishir while kneeling.
Then their expressions filled with another kind of awe.
"...O Bearer?"
It was a prayer in a completely different tone from before.
Like a cat caught red-handed stealing snacks, grabbed by the scruff.
Rishir.
In his hand, the saint's spirit was held in its most pathetic form.
Thwack!
Rishir gripped his holy sword and smashed the spirit's head with the hilt.
A scream erupted from that mouth, which had only spat blood and groans.
"Aaaah!!! It hurts!!!"
The saint who gladly bore others' pain.
However, a madman gripped by madness beyond measure.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
"Stop, stop...!!! It hurts! I'm hurting!!!"
It cried out in pain.
"Bear... Huh?"
Gorad's mind returned.
"...?"
The true bearers' minds returned.
The hero's party watched the scene unfold.
"...Is that...?"
The current situation.
They were confused if they understood it correctly.
>END 9: The Bearer.