Chapter 63: The Homunculus' Dilemma
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 63: The Homunculus' Dilemma
Skin burned and blood boiled. Shei narrowed her eyes, staring at the lightning Tyrkanzyaka had created. As if her small body were a lightning rod, bolts flowing from the storm clouds coursed through her and into the ground. It looked as if she were training under a waterfall.
But the pain she must be enduring could not be compared to a mere waterfall. This torrent of lightning was the kind that flowed not just over the skin, but through the entire body.
Through blood vessels, muscles, flesh, blood, and nerves. It rampaged through her as if they were straight, open roads, destroying everything in its path.
Like being pierced by thousands upon thousands of needles? Even that was no comparison. A single bolt of lightning was faster, finer, and more powerful than any needle.
"Scream if it hurts! If you keep enduring this...!"
Shei predicted that even Tyrkanzyaka, accustomed as she was to pain, wouldn't be able to last long. She gripped Chun-aeng tightly, ready to sever the magic at any moment.
And yet.
"Indeed, I feel the pain."
Tyrkanzyaka was calm.
Her skin burned. Her nerves were seared. The immense electrical energy that originated from Chun-aeng used the vampire's body as a conduit, burrowing into the earth.
"However, it is painful, and nothing more."
But the lightning could not harm the vampire.
Her Bloodcraft, the ability to manipulate blood, had already reached the heavens. It went beyond simply 'moving' it; she could shape her own flesh and regenerate her body with it.
As long as her blood touched her, as long as she still had blood remaining, no one could harm her.
And the ocean of blood she had accumulated over 1200 years was not so trivial as to be damaged by a bit of lightning created from a single cloud.
The lightning ceased. The last remnants sparked intermittently, but Tyrkanzyaka was completely unscathed. There were no lightning-shaped scars that should have formed, no foul stench of scorched flesh, no blackened color from burnt blood.
Because before any of that could happen, Tyrkanzyaka had already dealt with it.
"It is certainly more powerful. But something is lacking."
Tyrkanzyaka coolly assessed the lightning that had flowed through her, as if she were an overseer.
"It doesn't reach my chest, my heart. I feel nothing but a slight pain."
Tyrkanzyaka spoke, her voice full of disappointment. Shei felt a sense of unease.
Was it because the Progenitor had withstood her electric attack? No, that wasn't it. It hadn't been Shei's full power to begin with, and Tyrkanzyaka had taken it without any defense.
The discomfort came from somewhere else.
It was her tone, as if she had been struck by lightning before, her comparative attitude. That was what felt unsettling.
"...Did that man ever do something to you?"
"That man? Ah, you mean the warden."
Tyrkanzyaka spoke with a composure unbelievable for someone who had just been struck by lightning.
"Come to think of it, we don't even know his name. I never bothered to ask since there are so few people in the Abyss, but perhaps it's time we found out...."
"Don't change the subject. Did you ask him to channel electricity into you, too?"
"You are sharp."
Tyrkanzyaka gathered the darkness again to form a parasol, slinging it lightly over her shoulder as she replied.
"Yes. I was in his debt a few times."
"A few times?"
"He was skilled and delicate. Not powerful, but talented. When he touched my heart with his fingers, my heart, which had stopped for a brief moment, would beat again."
"...We're talking about electric shocks, right?"
Shei asked, then, sensing something in Tyrkanzyaka's words, she repeated herself.
"Wait, what? Your heart beat again?"
"Yes. Briefly, but clearly, and for a short enough time that I could not mistake it."
"How did he do it?"
"Hmm. It's a little embarrassing to say, but since I've said this much, there's no point in hiding it further."
Tyrkanzyaka briefly explained what had happened. How she had gone to see the warden after witnessing the Earthener's revival, how she had asked him to channel electricity into her chest. And after that, how she had requested the "massage" several times, wanting to feel the sensation of a beating heart.
Realizing the full story, Shei responded.
"So, all those times you two met alone..."
"It was to ask for a massage. I bothered him quite often."
"Ugh. So that means..."
Shei put a hand to her head.
Where to even begin explaining? She couldn't easily come to a conclusion.
Even for a vampire, to expose her heart to an alchemist and a mage... How could she have so little sense of danger? She could almost understand why the warden had given her a lesson on crisis awareness...
And that warden, too.
To do such a thing, even if asked. Manipulating another's body with magic was a taboo.
So far, it didn't seem like he had done anything malicious. Level 0 spells skirted the edges of such taboos, and it was unlikely that a being as powerful as Tyrkanzyaka could be easily harmed.
But Shei still couldn't fully trust the warden.
Because a certain terrible event, one that was destined to happen in the future, had not yet occurred.
"Tyrkanzyaka. The next time you see the warden, ask him this."
And so, Shei had to test him.
The warden of Tantalus, the one currently closest to the Progenitor's heart.
Whether he had ill intentions, or if it was simple goodwill.
"The Homunculus' Dilemma. Ask him if he knows of it."
If he explained it without hesitation, she could assume he had at least a minimal level of awareness.
*
"...You show up all of a sudden and ask... what? The Homunculus' Dilemma?"
"Yes."
The Homunculus' Dilemma. It was a kind of cautionary tale.
Why did the Regressor tell me to tell her that story?
The fact that she made me tell it when she could have done it herself meant one of two things.
Either she wasn't confident in her storytelling skills and passed it off to me.
Or it was a warning meant for me.
Hmm. In the past, I would have definitely assumed it was a warning and been on my guard, but lately, the former seems just as likely. She's just that bad at talking.
This is why first impressions are so important. Yep.
"It's not a very pleasant story. It's more of a ghost story with no clear origin. Are you still sure you want to hear it?"
"A listener should not be picky about the contents of a story."
"If you say so. Alright. I'll tell you."
I threw the disc far into the distance and began my explanation.
There once was a father with a sick child.
The father searched the city for a renowned doctor, but no one could accurately diagnose the child's illness. It was what one would call a rare disease. In those days, some even called it a curse.
The only difference between the two was whether the physicians were troubled or terrified. Even the most renowned physicians slammed the door in his face, and each time, the father's head would droop helplessly.
The child's symptoms worsened with age. Unable to bear watching his child sob in pain every night, the father, ignoring everyone's pleas, went to see a mage deep in the forest.
The path to the mage was long and arduous. The trees and bushes grew so thick they seemed more like a porous wall than plants, and with every step he took through them, his whole body was covered in scratches. The father chopped at the branches with an axe, holding a small lamp and following the trail of smoke.
After several hours, a small cabin appeared beyond the dense woods. Having found the mage's dwelling, the father immediately knocked on the door.
The mage listened to the father's desperate story in silence. When he finally spoke, he told the father in an ominous voice to bring the child to him.
Perhaps because it was his last hope, the father nodded eagerly without a shred of doubt when the mage promised to return his child to health.
The father returned home, put his sick child on his back, and retraced his steps. He traveled that long, harsh path not just twice, but a third time, carrying his child who was groaning with a burning fever. It was a grueling march that should have left him exhausted, but even in his fatigue, the father was glad he had cleared the path once before.
If he hadn't cleared the branches on his first two trips, the scratches on his body would have been on his child's.
He arrived at the mage's dwelling with the child. In the dark of night, the mage laid the child on a bed. He then told the father to return in three days and closed the door. The father, weary and exhausted, dragged his body home.
Clearing the remaining branches as he went.
As promised, the father visited the mage's home three days later. The moment he stepped inside the cabin, he witnessed an unbelievable sight.
His child ran into his arms with a lovely smile. The sickly pallor and the face contorted in pain were gone. Seeing his child's innocent smile, the father was happier than he had ever been. He paid the mage with the money he had raised by selling all his possessions, and holding his healthy child's hand, he walked home.
One year later, seeing his healthy child, the father decided to visit the mage again. He wanted to show him how the child he had cured had grown, and to tell him how grateful they all were. He took his child's hand and visited the mage's dwelling just as before.
A year had passed. The branches had grown back thick and wild, as if mocking his past efforts. But the father wasn't worried. Unlike before, his child was now healthy enough to endure a few scratches.
Perhaps because the father led the way, the child passed through the thicket without a single scratch.
The mage happened to be out. After waiting for a while, the father grew anxious as the sun began to set. The child was still full of energy, but the father, worried his child might be tired, decided to risk the impoliteness and opened the door to the dwelling.
That's when the father heard a faint moan. Wondering if there was another patient, his face hardened as a sudden, ominous premonition washed over him.
Unfortunately, premonitions of ruin have a nasty habit of coming true. Perhaps it is because life is inherently more sensitive to crisis.
The moan was too similar to the sound of his child sobbing in pain, a sound he had only heard a year ago. The only difference was that this one was weaker, more agonized.
As if possessed, the father followed the sound and opened a thick iron door in the basement. And he saw it.
His child, suspended by a few threads, trembling in pain without even the strength to scream.
The child he loved so dearly was messily dismembered with saws and knives, as if its parts had been harvested for use somewhere else...
"...and that's the story. A common ghost tale. Later, mages who love to name things gave it a grand title, claiming it held a great truth of magic."
Azzy returned with the disc in her mouth. I calmly took it from her and, throwing it far away again, continued my explanation.
"Magic is the manifestation of one's will. It's about releasing your own world, your own principles, into the world. That's why it's an extremely personal thing."
I could read minds, but the only magic I could use was the Level 0 standard magic permitted to everyone. Magic born from personal experience couldn't be replicated, even with mind-reading.
"That's why you can't heal another's body with magic. If you do, it's no different from the old tale—discarding the original body and creating a new homunculus... To impart that meaning, they teach the grand principle of the Homunculus' Dilemma."
I believe that was a sufficient explanation. The vampire isn't an idiot.
Well, maybe she is an idiot? Who asks someone to shoot lightning at their own body? The thunderclap was so sudden it startled me and I instinctively ducked.
I finished my words as I watched the disc fly back towards me.
"You have a good disciple. She was clearly worried about you, Trainee Tyrkanzyaka."
"...Yes."
The vampire acknowledged this and left without another word. I watched her go, then had to throw the disc again as Azzy whined impatiently.
Hmm, this is strange. Is using the disc really a good thing? It feels like my work hours have just increased without any real benefit.
"Woof!"
Right, well, if I build up goodwill like this now, it might come in handy someday. I should endure it for that day. This is an investment.
Though I have no idea if it will ever mature.
"Huh, now that I think about it, she didn't ask for a massage today."
What's gotten into her? I thought she was a little miffed after yesterday's class, so I was planning to smooth things over before she started sulking.
I hope she doesn't hole up in her room and get any strange ideas.
She'll be fine, right? No matter how much of an idiot she is, she wouldn't do anything dumber than letting herself get struck by lightning, would she?
The disc returned again. I stared down at it for a moment, then just rolled it across the ground.
Azzy barked in protest.
*
"I have made my decision, Finlay."
"O, Progenitor..."
A voice filled with emotion echoed from the darkness. Finlay let out a sob-like gasp of awe. If he weren't a vampire who could not cry, tears would have already been streaming down his face.
Progenitor Tyrkanzyaka sat still, watching him. Stern words flowed from her bloodless lips.
"Those two could not show me the way. They only said it was impossible. It is clear that it cannot be achieved through them."
"That is because they are not nobles of the night, Progenitor. What would commoners bound to life know?"
"I do not believe it either. How can one who has died regain a heart that beats of its own accord? That is why I am half in doubt of your words, which claim my Kindred have a way. How can you, who move by my power, revive me?"
It was a valid point.
Faced with the Progenitor's question, Finlay bowed his head once more.
"O, Progenitor, time has passed. The world flows on, and everyone has found their own way. Blood magic is stronger now than at any other time in the world. Unlike ordinary magic, it is a sorcery woven from life and blood. With that—with that which the ignorant commoners cannot and should not know—we will be able to revive the Progenitor's heart."
It was a lie.
A lie never permitted to a Kindred, yet Finlay spoke it without a change in his expression.
There was no tension or excitement. He, too, was a vampire with a stilled heart. Of course, there was the guilt of deceiving his Progenitor, but that was a debt he could repay with his death later.
And Finlay was certain. With this lie, he could lure the Progenitor outside.
Besides, who knew? Perhaps the Elders and the Ain of the Duchy of Mist, those powerful and wise vampires, might be able to find a way to restore the Progenitor's heart.
Could commoners possibly know the secrets of Bloodcraft? They knew nothing. It would be a hundred times better to go outside and be with other vampires than to stay here with them.
Therefore, this was loyalty. Though Finlay deceived his Progenitor, he was still loyal to her.
That was how he could fool himself.
The Progenitor, who had been looking down at Finlay, spoke after a slight pause.
"I will trust you this once. With that method, restore my heart."
"I understand! If you would only ascend to the surface! I will take responsibility and..."
"Now."
"...Pardon?"
Finlay asked dumbly.
"Use the method you know. It is fine if you fail. I am your root, and my power is stronger than all of theirs combined. If the blood magic you use is valid, I will be able to recognize its potential."
This was bad.
If Finlay could sweat, his entire body would be drenched right now.
Right now? Reenact it?
Impossible. It was a lie he had hastily concocted.
His flimsy falsehood was about to expose its vulgar, naked form before the eyes of verification.
Finlay bowed his head even lower and pleaded.
"But, O, Progenitor. I have little expertise in blood magic. I fear my humble magic may harm you."
"It matters not. Did I not say I would only look for the potential? If you have seen the magic, you should surely be able to imitate it."
The Progenitor's command was absolute. Finlay had to obey. But because he had lied, he lacked the ability to carry it out.
What should he do? Should he confess his lie now and pay for his deceit?
No, if he had intended to do that, he shouldn't have lied in the first place.
He was already riding the tiger. There was no getting off. All that was left was to gallop to the end, wherever that may be.
In the darkness, his murky eyes flashed.
"I will obey, O, Progenitor. However, as my power is meager, it will have no effect if the Progenitor's power remains as it is. Therefore."
In truth, Finlay was well-versed in blood magic. His specialty was domination. The power to engrave the Sanguine Mark and control things with his blood.
Though she was a mere Yeiling, if... if the Progenitor would allow him a small opening.
"For a moment, relinquish all your power and reveal your heart to me."
It was blasphemy, but not impossible.
The Progenitor would get what she wished for: a heart that beat on its own, not according to her will.
It certainly would not beat as the Progenitor willed.