Chapter 36: 23:59:45 (2)
Chapter 36: 23:59:45 (2)
The smell of blood.
It was the first sensation that greeted me as I regained consciousness.
Slowly pulling myself back to reality, I tried to piece together my last memories. A purple syringe being jammed into my head, and the realization that the "drug" being injected all this time was actually just plain water.
Was it a sedative?
I didn't know how plain water could function as a drug, but for her, I suppose that was only natural. Even if someone asked me how I could punch holes in dimensions with nothing but pure strength, I wouldn't have much to say other than "I just do it."
Whether they were Otherworldly beings or Heroes, everyone was like that to begin with. What was the point of trying to apply logic now?
As I dwelled on that for a moment, my sense of panic vanished completely. So what if it was just water? It worked better on me than any actual medicine.
Well then, time to open my eyes. I needed to find the source of that bloody stench.
When I opened my eyes, I saw a white ceiling. A familiar sight—a standard Management Bureau dormitory. I hadn't been moved anywhere.
My body was still strapped down with belts, but they didn't hinder my movement much, so I pushed my upper body up. The room looked exactly as I had last seen it.
The only difference was the dried bloodstains scattered everywhere and the sight of my disciples, filthy and drenched in gore.
"Ah. You're awake?"
Oxymoron stood in the middle of The Sea of Blood, turning her head toward me.
"What the hell is this mess?"
"I was doing some special training—slicing off bits of flesh here and there."
I turned my gaze toward my disciples. Their faces were weary, deep in the sleep of exhaustion. Worried they might be injured, I scanned their bodies, but it seemed Oxymoron was the only one who had been shedding blood; there wasn't a single scratch on the disciples' skin.
So it was all Oxymoron’s blood. Then there was no need to worry. If anything, her blood was probably like medicine to them.
"How is their progress?"
"The one in white has improved quite a bit. She hasn't quite cast aside her common sense yet, but her healing efficiency is at least at a level where she can use it in actual combat."
The one in white. She must mean Han A-bin. Though her white clothes were now stained a deep crimson.
"What about Baek Si-hyun? She should have recovery magic too."
"Oh, her? She's a lost cause."
"A lost cause?"
That was an unexpected answer. If Han A-bin was deemed useful, but Baek Si-hyun was a lost cause...
"Is there a problem?"
"How should I put this..."
Oxymoron sat on the edge of the bed, looking like she had a lot to say.
"Her talent for healing is extraordinary. If she trained for about ten years, she might even surpass me."
Ten years. A long time, yet short in the grand scheme of things.
"However, she has a fatal flaw as a medical practitioner."
"A flaw?"
For Oxymoron—who clearly treated the Hippocratic Oath like a scrap of waste paper—to say someone had a flaw, what could it possibly be?
"It seems she can't imagine a person in a 'whole' state. She can heal herself or wounds inflicted right in front of her eyes, but if she doesn't personally witness the moment the injury happens, she can't restore it."
"What are you talking about? Speak so I can understand."
"She has to know how the person ended up that way to treat them. It's not so much a limitation of her power as it is... a personality trait?"
"Useless."
So, outside of very specific circumstances, her healing was limited to herself. Another case of that damn broken genius. What was wrong with that kid?
"Fortunately, it's not that she can't heal others at all."
Oxymoron said this as she thrust both her hands in front of my face.
"This is the hand she treated. Do you notice anything strange?"
At a glance, it looked normal. She didn't have an extra finger, her skin was clear, and no weird tentacles or scales had sprouted.
"I don't see anything."
"Hmm. That's a shame. Both of my hands are currently right hands."
"Isn't it interesting?"
Hearing that, I looked at her hands more closely. Indeed, the shape of both hands was identical. It was the most fundamental error, one I had missed because I was looking for something more obviously grotesque.
"She probably looked at my other hand and copied it exactly. Since she's A-Rank, she's capable of regenerating missing parts."
"The Bureau told us not to use ranks for Heroes."
"But there's no term more intuitive, is there? We use them for the enemies easily enough."
Oxymoron let out a bitter chuckle behind her Gas Mask. Right before my eyes, she sliced off her left 'right hand' and reattached her original hand that had been lying on the floor.
"Hmm. It's been off for a while, but there are no problems. I'm glad it didn't rot."
"..."
It was best not to pay too much attention to whatever Oxymoron was doing.
"It feels a bit awkward. Maybe having two right hands wasn't so bad?"
She was saying something strange again. I ignored her. If I engaged, I'd lose.
"Anyway, they're both at a usable level now, right?"
"Fundamentally, there was nothing wrong with their abilities. They just hadn't found a good master to draw out their strength."
Was she calling herself a good master? I let that slide. Despite a few hiccups, it seemed both had improved their skills.
"Thank you, Oxymoron."
"No need for thanks. They're cute juniors. Of course I should teach them."
Oxymoron’s eyes crinkled as she laughed playfully. I returned the gesture with a smile of my own.
Two Heroes smiling in a room thick with the scent of blood. That was the nature of our relationship.
"Oh, right. But there was one exception."
Oxymoron suddenly wiped the smile from her face and spoke.
"That gray-haired boy. I said he couldn't heal anyone but himself, but there was one exception."
"An exception?"
"Your right eye. You can see fine, right? He's the one who restored it."
My right eye?
Hearing that, I blinked a few times and felt its presence. Indeed, an eyeball now sat in the socket that had been empty before I fell asleep. It had been restored so naturally that the healing was perfect enough to make me forget I had ever lost it.
"This isn't a left eye too, is it?"
"I checked that myself. The connection to the optic nerve was a bit sloppy, so I finished it up, but other than that, it was perfect healing."
He can basically only heal himself, but I'm the exception. Is it because he's a fan of mine?
It was a question with no clear answer, so I dropped it. Well, Hero powers weren't standardized anyway; there were all sorts of abilities out there. After all, there was even a quack right here whose plain water worked as medicine.
"Is that why he's passed out like that?"
"Yes. It seems he exhausted all his mana. Regenerating a lost part is quite taxing."
"And A-bin?"
"She's just exhausted."
A bitter smile touched my lips. An A-Rank Hero passing out from mana depletion... quite the unexpected gift.
With that, it seemed the business regarding the disciples was concluded. Now, I had to prepare for the next battle.
"How much time is left?"
I asked Oxymoron while looking at Un-ho, who was snoring beside me. This guy was heading out to the field for the first time in a long while too. A White Fur Ball who had been idling at home because the story had stopped for ten years. It looked like he'd finally be earning his keep again.
"One day left."
"And my left arm?"
"It should still be in cultivation."
"I see."
I lowered my upper body and buried myself back into the soft bed.
The footsteps of war were drawing closer, step by step. How many would die, and how many would survive? The atmosphere in the briefing room had been excited, with everyone eager for a chance to show off their skills after so long, but I knew that was just an act to hide their fear.
The Awakened of the old era had erased themselves from history for the sake of a new age and thrown themselves into the fray for the greater cause. Not just me, but everyone lived like that. Hiding fear, camouflaging their hearts, and flaunting vanity.
I didn't think I would die in this war either. But how many people would die? How many civilians would be sacrificed?
That was what I feared.
No one would blame me now, knowing that the Story was a disaster akin to a natural calamity, but it was still undeniably a war being fought in my name.
Perhaps it was because of that fear and the smell of blood lingering in the room. I felt as if I had returned to the battlefields of old, and I spoke my honest thoughts.
"Al’liv. What do you think of the kids these days?"
It had been fifteen years since the Management Bureau was established. The actions we took to advance the rights of the Awakened had given birth to the Heroes of today. I wondered what my comrades thought.
"I don't really like that name."
"I'm being serious."
"Then I suppose I have no choice."
Oxymoron took off her Gas Mask and lay down beside me. Her skin was a light, sandy brown, and her features were reminiscent of someone from the Middle East.
Her face emerged from the mask. Long black hair, freed from its confinement, spread wide across the white blanket. For someone who hated external contact as much as she did, showing her face to another was a rare occurrence indeed.
"If there's one thing different from our time... they're all so bright, aren't they?"
"Bright, huh."
That was a good thing. Hadn't we created the Bureau specifically so we wouldn't pass our darkness down to them? However...
"But they've all grown weak. I wonder if they'll all make it back alive."
Because they hadn't faced true hardship, their quality had dropped, and their hearts had softened. And now, an enemy had appeared in a peaceful world where even such weak Heroes were enough.
"Let those who have not faced hardship not call themselves Heroes. Let a Hero prove their own justice."
Unexpected words reached my ears.
"That's what that Black Marauder who looks just like you said, right? Honestly, it sounds like something you'd say."
She let out a small giggle. Her smiling face, no longer hidden by the mask, came into view.
"Isn't this a good opportunity? They will face hardship now, and they will be judged on their worthiness as Heroes."
Her narrowed eyes looked at me. In her deep gaze, I saw a flickering, hazy emotion I couldn't quite identify.
"...What do you think about the kids these days being called Heroes?"
I had crossed a dangerous line. These were words the usual me would never say. But this might be the last time I saw her. That was why I wanted to ask. What did she really think of the children of today?
Anyone sharp enough would be able to figure everything out from that one sentence.
"Personally, I'm dissatisfied."
Al’liv's face contorted. It was a face full of wrinkles and frowns, as if she were recalling a loathsome memory.
"The reason we used the word 'Hero' instead of 'Awakened' was as a small reward for the children who overcame adversity and wandered the battlefields."
Yes. So they could find a small bit of comfort in the battles to come. So they wouldn't be discriminated against and could be treated as human beings.
"So, I hate that kids who know nothing and do nothing but smile are called Heroes."
She began to undo her belts one by one, revealing the scars etched into her body. A large laceration across her back. Numerous marks from surgical sutures. Discolored skin on her upper abdomen. A metal stud embedded in her neck. Traces of wounds she couldn't completely erase because her power had been weaker in the past.
Her hand reached out toward my face.
"Uncle."
"What is it?"
It was a title I hadn't heard in a long time.
"You're the Black Marauder, aren't you, Uncle?"
I quickly expanded my five senses. Heartbeats, breathing, presence, any possible mechanical sounds. I scanned the surroundings, but there was no special reaction. The disciples and Un-ho had regular breathing and heartbeats, and there were no mechanical noises.
"Were you worried someone would hear? It's fine. I stuck a sedative in everyone's neck."
Al’liv confessed her actions with pride. It wasn't a probe or a trick. She was as calm as if she were stating the obvious.
"Didn't you see the Bureau’s official records? The Black Marauder is my Clone Monster."
"Is that so? The way those limbs were shattered looked exactly like your hammer work, Uncle."
She continued to giggle playfully, echoing her earlier words. Her hand pinched my cheek, and she continued.
"I've seen it countless times while working at the Bureau. The state of the people broken by you. There's no way I wouldn't know."
Was it because we had been close for decades? She had identified me using seemingly impossible information. Then what about the other participants in the meeting? What about the Lord of Infinite Castles, who had met me directly?
The situation was more dangerous than I thought.
"...Are you going to hand that information over to the Bureau?"
Reason told me I should pull out my hammer and silence her immediately. But my heart asked if I could really swing my hammer at a comrade. So, I asked what might be my final question.
"I'm not going to do anything. I like both sides, after all."
"What do you mean?"
"I hope this war makes the kids think about what it means to be a Hero again."
She gave an eccentric answer. A meaningless response, as if she were trying to evade something. Her warmth enveloped my body. Long arms and legs. A warm body temperature.
Once, I had been the one to hold her, but now I was the one being held in her arms. Even The Child Al’liv, who used to play with syringes, had grown up to become the adult Oxymoron.
She rested her neck against my head and spoke.
"Please don't take everything upon yourself and die like the Heavenly Demon Sword God geezer."
The vibration from her throat was transmitted to me. Shared emotions, the same years, a connected fate, the incidents we faced together. A vibration that contained all of that.
"I won't."
Time flows on. The Management Bureau, the new Heroes, Linshua, the people. And yet, why am I still like this?
Exactly the same as I was thirty years ago.