Chapter 287
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 287
Chapter Title: In the End, Someday.
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"Cough."
He was dying.
Whether it was because the poison had seeped into his very bones...
Or because his insides had been crushed...
He couldn't tell.
In truth, there was no reason to discern it.
He was going to die right here anyway, and he had accepted that fact with calm resignation.
"What a sorry sight you make, Mr. Sculptor."
That was why.
The reason he didn't flinch even upon hearing that familiar yet chillingly cold voice.
"A fitting end for an ungrateful traitor."
Leaning his back against a single young tree that had just sprouted.
He slowly raised his head.
And looking at the man standing before him like the grim reaper, he managed a faint smile.
"Don't you think so too, Rimon?"
The young man with a violin case on his back.
Rimon gazed steadily at Hermann, whose left side was mangled beyond recognition.
In fact, it was the natural outcome.
It had only been a few days since he'd become a Player.
Even with Diego's help to level up as much as possible, reaching beyond level 30 would have been lucky.
On top of that, over a thousand giants had rampaged and been shattered, and then Maia had dragonized, spreading poison while clashing fiercely with Rimon.
It was a total disaster that even high-level Players would have died from just the aftermath.
There was no way Hermann, who had only just become a Player, could have survived unscathed.
The mere fact that he was still clinging to life was nothing short of a miracle.
For a moment, Rimon gazed at Hermann, whose thread of life was barely held together by the psionic life force flowing through the entire jungle.
Then, he spoke up abruptly.
"There's one last thing I want to ask."
"I've already told you why I betrayed you."
"No, not that. I just can't understand why you gave up."
"...You're curious about that?"
"Yes."
Rimon nodded readily once.
Then, with eyes sunk deep in shadow, he looked at Hermann.
"If I were in your shoes, I never would have given up."
The only difference was between sword and sculpture—Rimon, like Hermann, had reached the pinnacle in his own field.
That was why he could understand.
The near-mad obsession with sculpture.
But he couldn't understand.
Why that obsession had been abandoned midway.
If Rimon had been in Hermann's position, he never would have borrowed the power of a constellation, no matter what.
No matter if it took years.
Decades.
Even if it meant failing in his lifetime.
He would have striven for perfection with his own hands, his own abilities.
Yet why had he so easily given up and leaned on a constellation's power?
Seeing Rimon ask that question, Hermann gave a bitter smile.
"It's because of you, Rimon."
"What did I do wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong. Your talent just made me feel pathetic."
When he first taught sculpture.
Hermann had been genuinely delighted.
That he could repay the favor owed to Rimon.
And that the art of sculpture, which he thought would die with him, could be passed to a genius like Rimon.
He saw it all as good fortune.
But after Rimon mastered sculpture in mere days...
Joy gave way to anxiety.
Rimon's dazzling talent.
His skills improving day by day.
All of it made him frantic to create a perfect sculpture before Rimon did.
"...So you did all this out of jealousy toward me?"
"Something like that."
Rimon asked with furrowed brows, incredulous.
Hermann let out a hollow laugh as he looked at him.
"I've always dismissed the empty title of world's greatest sculptor, but I couldn't bear the thought that I couldn't create that perfect piece."
Looking back, there had been signs.
Even before teaching sculpture.
Hermann had felt the same as Salieri, who marveled at Mozart's genius.
A genius himself, yet doomed to second place for living in Mozart's era—the feelings of that unfortunate runner-up.
In other words, deep down, he'd seen Rimon not as a benefactor or disciple, but as a rival from the start.
He'd just pretended otherwise.
But in the end, he couldn't overcome his sculptor's greed.
"So I betrayed you and contracted with the constellation. To create a perfect sculpture, even if it meant borrowing skill power."
"A perfect sculpture..."
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
With a flat expression, Rimon quietly echoed the words once.
Then he asked abruptly.
"So, are you satisfied with the results of your betrayal?"
Hermann answered without hesitation.
"No. It was the worst mistake of my life."
Not because Diego had been defeated.
Not because he himself was dying.
Not out of despair at this end.
From the moment he became a Player, Hermann had already regretted that choice.
"I only realized it after using the constellation's skill to sculpt. That power wasn't free."
The constellation's power was astonishing.
Just activating the skill...
And his hands moved on their own, achieving the perfect sculpture he'd failed at despite endless effort.
But that's precisely why Hermann despaired.
"It was undoubtedly a sculpture I made, but it wasn't my sculpture."
If he'd been a mediocre sculptor.
Or even just ordinary...
He might have deluded himself that his skills had grown and found some satisfaction amid the guilt of the contract.
But he was the world's greatest sculptor, who had devoted his life to the art.
So he knew.
Just as the sculptor ultimately creates the work, no matter the tool—chisel, knife, or hammer.
From the moment he relied on the skill, it was the constellation's creation, and he was merely the tool.
Once he realized that...
Hermann tried desperately to sculpt without the skill.
But it was impossible.
The moment he conceived a piece, the skill 『Star Sculptor』 activated, showing a list of creatable sculptures.
Even holding the chisel without using the skill felt awkward; he couldn't sculpt properly.
"That's when I knew. In exchange for the contract, I'd lost everything I'd built over a lifetime."
The honed techniques.
The endless well of inspiration.
Or whatever one might call his talent.
Sacrificing it all, he realized he'd become not a sculptor, but a sculpture Player.
Hermann despaired.
And even then, he could only pass Stage 2.
He couldn't even attempt Stage 3.
"Diego told me not to despair. That if I leveled up and the skill evolved, I'd pass Stage 3 easily."
"Well, that's the standard Player mindset."
"But to me, it sounded like bullshit."
Hermann laughed self-mockingly.
Level up and get stronger?
That meant his sculpting would never improve without grinding levels.
Plus, levels capped at 100.
In other words, becoming a Player meant he'd lost all room for further growth or potential.
Of course, for most people, that might be a blessing.
Without special effort.
Regardless of talent or circumstance.
Just dungeon grinding for easy power, skills, wealth, and glory.
To the talentless and poor, it would seem perfectly fair—a utopia where success was guaranteed for all.
But was it really?
If contracts with constellations were truly fair, why did constellations have ranks?
And why did most Players struggle at low levels while some got unique skills and soared to high levels?
No, even if it was fair, he didn't care.
Hermann had never wanted this kind of fairness.
"What's the point of gaining wealth and fame through puppets and sculptures made by others?"
Sculpture as mere means.
If the goal was just wealth and fame...
Stealing or copying wouldn't matter.
But for him, who loved and obsessed over sculpture enough to betray his benefactor, it was unbearable.
"So that's why you didn't run? Suicidal urge?"
"No. I just saw no reason to keep living."
Even as Rimon and Diego fought.
Even after Maia dragonized.
Hermann had chosen to watch.
He smiled.
Even now, the desire to immortalize that battle and performance in sculpture.
And the bitterness of countless example sculptures floating in his mind unbidden.
All of it left him with a hollow smile facing death, rather than fear.
"Finally, if it's not too shameless, one last request?"
"No. Don't."
"..."
"I'm not kind enough to grant a traitor's wish."
Rimon cut him off sharply.
Then added flatly.
"Still, I'll make good use of your sculpting skills."
The person was wrong.
The skill was blameless.
So for his own goals, he'd continue using Hermann's techniques.
Staring blankly at the cold words, Hermann let out a hollow chuckle before murmuring softly.
"Be careful."
Too shameless for an apology.
Too scant for repayment.
Yet it was all he could do now.
"Diego said the Liberation Brigade has monsters on a whole other level from him."
Was it because he wielded a Seven Arc?
Or the price of betrayal?
Only after contracting with the constellation did Diego let slip this fact.
A critical Liberation Brigade secret that shocked even him, mired in regret.
Hermann squeezed it out.
"Two monarchs who contain enemies within the Liberation Brigade..."
It was a coincidence.
Even as a Seven Arc wielder, he wasn't a high-level Player, let alone a wraith.
And mere days had passed.
The minimal gag order on executives like him now allowed this confession.
"And as they collect the Seven Arcs, they multiply exponentially... and grow stronger..."
Could he not defy the gag order fully?
Or had he reached his limit?
Feeling his life flicker out with each word.
Squeezing out his final voice.
"The Seven Arcs they've already secured... two... the hammer, and..."
Thud.
Hermann dropped his head.
As if he'd clung to life solely to reveal this.
Gazing at the departed Hermann for a moment.
Rimon picked up the platinum carving knife still clutched in his hand.
And muttered.
"You should have raised a disciple sooner, you fool."
Of course, it wouldn't have been easy.
He himself had many disciples.
Yet only seven became Sword Masters.
Half felled by his own hand, the rest dying before him.
Despite his supreme skill.
Like Hermann, he couldn't pass it on.
That shared plight was why Rimon had given Hermann chances and learned his art.
But in the end, Hermann squandered them.
He wasn't disappointed.
Humans change.
And endless change inevitably crosses forbidden lines someday.
For Hermann, meeting Rimon was that trigger.
Thus, the inevitable question arose.
How long can I remain unchanged?
The Sword Demon, who dreamed of a perfect world yet massacred a tenth of humanity.
The Sword Sage, who loved peace but ignited history's worst war.
The Sword Flower, patriotic and kind, yet who slaughtered Britons and killed the Sword King for her nation.
The Sword Ghost, who turned to black magic unable to bear his wife and children aging to death.
Recalling those once-revered seniors or cherished disciples who fell to corruption, slain by his hand.
The Sword Master, who had lived long ages, whispered inwardly.
Or have I already changed?