Chapter 282
Chapter 282
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Warehouse
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In the room, there were two identical-looking women.
Shring.
Shring.
They drew their swords in unison.
Stab.
Stab.
And thrust the tips of those swords into each other's bodies simultaneously.
It was a bizarre sight, as if they were killing their own reflections in a mirror.
Were they sharing the same thought?
A thick self-mockery surfaced on both women's faces.
As expected, in perfect unison.
"Suddenly, I'm wondering... Does all this hell 'we're' going through... really mean anything?"
"Suddenly, I'm wondering... Does all this hell 'we're' going through... really mean anything?"
Us.
The women had deliberately used that word, half-hoping.
But nothing changed.
It offered no response to her words.
"What idiots..."
"What idiots..."
It was only natural.
A mirror merely mimicked the actions before it.
Amid profound loneliness, the woman's consciousness gradually faded.
"Lord Bolton, are you in your right mind!?"
That was the Scabbard's reaction after hearing the full story from Bolton.
"Even if it's Lord Rishir—no way! Entrusting the warehouse to an outsider!?"
No one in the Scabbard doubted Rishir's exceptional nature anymore.
Still, they couldn't help reacting strongly to Bolton's decision.
The Popendal Scabbard had managed the 0th Abominations for ages.
Even to them, the 0th Abominations remained enigmas whose full nature and power eluded definition.
"Lord Rishir doesn't even know the protocols!"
They fretted anxiously that their benefactor might face peril.
"No, the protocols aren't the issue—"
Then Delron spoke up gravely.
"Everyone knows protocols aren't foolproof. Some are beyond unhelpful—they're outright irresponsible. 'No answer? Just don't encounter it.' You can guess which ones I mean."
"...Ah, no!!!"
At that moment.
One Scabbard member shouted.
He'd checked the abomination Rishir last moved and his eyes widened.
"Lord Rishir is finishing up the 2nd floor now. Or maybe already done!"
"What are you getting at?"
"He might head to the 3rd floor! With the holy sword at his waist!"
"...!"
An absolute taboo in their group.
Entering the 3rd floor with a 'mirror'.
Leading straight to Room 8-8, epitome of 'no-answer' abominations.
The protocol's sole advice: avoid encounter. Its danger topped the warehouse's horrors.
"What if Lord Rishir entered Room 8-8!?"
They'd eyed the piled abominations hopefully, thinking 'maybe he could?' But this talk flipped their views.
Impossible after all.
Cleaning the warehouse was sheer recklessness.
Just as the Popendal Scabbard moved to stop Rishir now—
Perfectly timed.
Rishir emerged from the warehouse.
No.
Rishirs emerged.
The Confronting Mirror Odx of Room 8-8.
True to its name, it faced Rishir directly before him.
"Ah, aah..."
The Scabbard's worst fear seemed reality.
"...Huh?"
But the current actions of the Rishirs—
"Good, set it down there."
"Good, set it down there."
Rishir directed 'Rishir'.
No delay, perfect symmetry in action and voice.
Unmistakably under Room 8-8's influence.
Yet why?
"Slowly, slowly—good."
"Slowly, slowly—good."
Rishir looked utterly natural, like collaborating with a partner.
The reason was simple.
He truly was working with another self—
Thud.
The two Rishirs carefully lowered their shared load to the ground.
"Lord Rishir, that's—"
The Scabbard's gazes locked on it.
A thick pole-like object, meticulously wrapped in red cloth.
Yet they intuited its contents.
Rishir, doubled like a mirror reflection.
The signs pointed plainly to truth.
Rishir gently unwrapped the red cloth.
His touch reverent, beyond mere handling.
Finally, the cloth revealed—
"Huh?"
"Huh?"
The cloth was empty.
"Damn—"
"Damn—"
Rishir glared at the cloth.
He draped and lifted it again, unveiling contents at last.
Popendal Scabbard.
A woman proudly bearing their insignia on her chest.
"N-No way—"
Someone muttered in shock.
Long ago.
The unidentified figure who sealed that abomination in Room 3-3 with herself.
Her identity revealed.
She too was Scabbard.
Another abomination mystery?
After ages where bones should've rotted, the hero retained her form.
Scabbard insignia bold on her chest.
Her face: deep solitude, fear, resolve to overcome.
"Ah, aah..."
Bolton, Delron, and the Scabbard felt something surge fiercely in their chests.
Soon.
They bowed respectfully to her.
They murmured her name from the plaque tenderly.
"Scabbard sister. We all remember your sacrifice."
Afterward.
The Scabbard's attitude toward Rishir's 'cleaning' shifted dramatically.
It was no longer needless risk.
Starting with the hero's corpse lonely in Room 8-8, traces of past heroes surfaced everywhere.
Thus, they recorded faces and names of the rightfully remembered but forgotten.
As it all wrapped up.
The Scabbard eyed the 'Rishirs' once more.
"That's it? Everything out?"
"That's it? Everything out?"
Rishir shoved the holy sword into the red cloth like rummaging a pocket.
The cloth's hem fluttered wildly.
As if nodding desperately.
A late realization: his cleaning cloth was the 'Beast's Maw'.
A horrific 0th Abomination devouring and digesting protocol violators.
Rishir used it as a bottomless handy pouch.
"Tch. If it didn't get stomach acid on stuff, it'd be useful—"
"Tch. If it didn't get stomach acid on stuff, it'd be useful—"
Even the mirror image from Room 8-8 had become his soul buddy.
He leveraged its mimicry for double efficiency miracle.
"Anyway— that's everything?"
"Anyway— that's everything?"
The Rishirs nodded at the piled abominations in the yard.
Then eyed each other.
"Good work. Head on back now."
"Good work. Head on back now."
"L-Lord Rishir—"
Scabbard aiding the expedition in sorting eyed him worriedly.
The Room 8-8 mimic.
Indistinguishable from original, thus uneradicable.
Couldn't discard like a convenient clone.
Proving it, the two Rishirs stared silently.
Then.
The 'Rishirs' murmured lowly.
"Know what happened to those friends who tried copying me?"
"Know what happened to those friends who tried copying me, kno—"
Sudden mishap.
Rishir voiced genuine concern recalling past victims.
The perfectly synced voices cracked unnaturally.
Suddenly, a wall mirror stood opposite Rishir.
Thud.
Rishir flicked it with a finger, toppling onto the abomination pile.
No.
Onto the junk pile.
Processed through Rishir's hands, they'd lost abomination nature, becoming mere objects.
Of Rishir's two paths offered, they'd chosen thus.
"Everyone, shall we begin?"
At Rishir's signal, they gathered the junk.
Chair. Armor. Frame. Bow. Stuffed deer head.
Oil poured over former 0th Abominations.
"..."
Gulp.
Bolton and Delron swallowed dryly, torches in hand.
0th Abominations.
Impossible to destroy.
Phenomena in object form.
Could you burn conversation with fire?
Or laughter?
Same principle.
Yet Rishir tossed the torch without hesitation.
Others followed.
Whoosh!
The blaze roared fiercely, then died absurdly quick.
No ash remained.
"...Ha—"
Bolton's leaked chuckle voiced the Scabbard's hearts.
Popendal Scabbard fulfilled its mission.
"Rishir!!!"
As things wrapped.
Allenza charged Rishir excitedly.
"I got it right!?"
"Pardon? Got what right?"
"Which of the two Rishirs was real just now!"
"Oh."
Then.
Latsil snorted pettily from behind.
"Big deal."
"That elf boasted all pumped up, missed, now sour grapes!"
"Ooh... Latsil. So mature. Allenza'll learn much."
"Unfair!!! Rishir, you weren't left-handed!? Why act right-handed suddenly!?"
"Pardon? Uh—"
Rishir startled, looked at his hands.
In retrospect.
Working with it, he'd been unaware of his dominant hand.
"Heh..."
A trance-like feeling.
0th Abominations.
Rishir anew felt their danger—not objects, but phenomena.
Why he'd craved yet ultimately forsaken their inscrutable power.
Of course.
He'd pocketed a few anyway.
Nod.
Nod.
Rishir exchanged meaningful glances with his inner world's spirit(?).
The next day.
The expedition finished maintenance, prepping to leave Tormun.
Warehouse gone too.
Bolton and Scabbard prepared to see them off lightheartedly.
Then Rishir dropped a bombshell.
"Y-You took extra 0th Abominations...!?"
The gathered expedition and Scabbard reeled in shock.
Even he couldn't resist their allure?
No.
His control over them likely drew him more.
'Coveting such dangerous power...'
An unexpected side of Rishir.
Disappointment hit, but they shook it off quick.
He's human after all, right?
'Yes. Human in end. Young noble too...'
A mere mortal unable to refuse power's temptation.
They tried embracing this facet positively.
It went smoothly.
Seeing his greed as 'human side' made Rishir feel closer.
Though pure awe and reverence faded inevitably.
"S-So—which abominations did you take?"
Bolton broached cautiously.
Some might require blocking export.
They prayed fervently.
May Rishir's choices lack foul intent!
"Ah, well—not by any objective standard."
"Pardon?"
Bolton and Delron sensed belated unease.
Come to think.
Rishir never asked about abominations.
How'd a novice pick them? By what criterion?
"Picked 'em as snacks for my kids."
"Haha, Lord Rishir. Jokes aren't your forte."
"Pardon? A joke?"
"?"
What looked tasty to baby spirit vision.
Rishir's selection criterion.
"Ah."
Their feelings toward Rishir restored.
Along with the distance.