The Unclean Existence Finds No Welcome Anywhere
[That stench. That wailing... It can't be a creature of this world.]
[It looks way too creepy to mess with!]
The mystery of the earth and the mystery of the wind whispered as they gazed upon the unclean existence.
Under normal circumstances, they would have fled, leaving the unclean mystery behind. Mysteries were beings with intelligence and emotions, after all, and they could be influenced by impure feelings.
But a mage named Ian was here.
"Wind! Earth!"
[Oh, there's a young human here.]
[Hi! Nice to meet you!]
"Monster, begone! Lend me your aid!"
[Hmm. Wants to get rid of that creepy thing, does he? I like it.]
[Eek! Dangerous! But okay! I'll support from behind!]
As Ian sent his will to the mysteries, they responded gladly.
"Seize the monster!"
No sooner had Ian uttered the words of the Maronius Language than the earth rose up in a hemispherical dome, trapping the unclean mystery within. The wind swirled around it, blocking any outsiders.
Now, inside the dome, there was only Ian, Pyra, and the mysteries. Two of them, to be precise: the unclean mystery and the mystery of darkness.
[Ah... Aaaahhh...!]
The unclean mystery let out a scream of agony. It was a being filled with impure emotions from the start. Writhe in pain, sorrow, and torment—that was only natural for it.
It was an existence that should never set foot in this world. A pitiful thing that ought to slumber eternally in the abyss beyond the mysteries.
[Be careful, Ian. I sense deep sorrow from it.]
[We'll try to comfort it first!]
The mystery of darkness gently enveloped the unclean mystery. Night was a quiet, cozy time. Its embrace wasn't as comforting as the abyss of mysteries, but it was enough to ease the unclean one's pain.
[Shh. Close your eyes, unfortunate child.]
[We'll stay with you.]
But the unclean mystery couldn't easily accept the darkness's comfort. It was wary of strangers, as one might expect. To a mystery with faint notions of light and dark, the material world's darkness felt cozy yet unfamiliar.
[What? What are you trying to do to me?!]
[Don't be scared. We just want to help...]
[Stay away! Just send me back!]
The mystery of darkness let out a small sigh and whispered to Ian.
[Ian. We need your help.]
Mysteries didn't communicate easily with one another. Communication was hard enough to begin with. When it transcended language, race, and the very concept of existence, the difficulty skyrocketed.
"Got it. I'll give it a shot."
But Ian was a mage. A bridge between existences. One who conversed with all things.
Hiding in the shadows, he slowly approached the unclean mystery.
"I am the mage Ian."
[...]
The unclean mystery reacted to the Maronius Language.
[Did you call me?]
"No."
[Then who did? I want to go back. Send me back.]
Ian calmly persuaded the unclean mystery.
"The path is open. You'll be able to return soon."
[Really? I can really go back?]
"Yes. So before you do, let's talk a bit."
Ian beckoned to the mystery of darkness. Like a cozy blanket, the comforting dark drew near.
[Ian...? What's this?]
"Relax. It's my friend. Want to get to know it?"
Ian flaunted the darkness wrapped around him like it was no big deal. Seeing how naturally he did it, the unclean mystery let its guard down and surrendered to the dark.
It had been abruptly dragged into the material world and was exhausted. As the darkness's comfort touched its form, it couldn't resist.
Ian nodded in satisfaction. Humans and mysteries alike couldn't beat the coziness of a blanket. Long live blankets.
[Definitely... feels better.]
Wrapped in darkness like a blanket, the unclean mystery let out a drowsy breath. Pain, sorrow, melancholy—all faded like a lie once sleep took hold. That was one of the mysteries of darkness.
As the unclean mystery calmed a little, Ian began the groundwork to buy time. Start with conversation. If he played the part of a good listener, it wouldn't get bored and act up.
"Alright, how about a little game of introductions?"
Ian spoke to the unclean mystery.
"I'm the mage Ian, and I'm human."
[I am... emotion.]
"Emotion?"
[I am melancholy. I am sorrow. I am torment... Everyone hates me. Everyone despises me. I shouldn't exist in this world...]
Suddenly, visions unfolded before Ian's eyes. He realized instinctively: these were the unclean mystery's memories.
A snow-covered village. A hunchbacked boy was getting his head bashed with a cudgel.
[Get lost, you freak!]
[M-Mom...!]
[Who the hell's your mom, you trash? You're just the bastard I failed to abort!]
Even in the medieval era, disabilities existed. Diseases that modern tech couldn't fully cure were rampant, let alone in a time when even minor illnesses could cripple you.
[Rot and get out! Don't ever show your face again!]
The hunchbacked boy was from the north. In the harsh northlands, anyone who couldn't pull their weight wasn't treated as human. Everywhere he went, he faced abuse and mockery.
[Huh? You still alive? Why haven't you died yet? Haha!]
[Freak thinks his worthless life matters. Ptooey.]
[Good-for-nothing waste.]
[Born wrong from the start.]
No one stood up for the hunchbacked boy. Not even his own mother, who'd abandoned him. Who would protect him?
He became the village scapegoat, enduring jeers and beatings in exchange for food scraps. He slept in icy ravines, and before he turned ten, frostbite claimed five of his fingers.
On a cold, dark night, the boy thought:
[Cold...]
[Hungry...]
[So cold. So hungry.]
[But no one will take me in.]
[...Why was I even born?]
The disabled were wrong from birth. That was the logic of a pre-civilized age.
[I was born a loser.]
[If only I'd been born healthy... If only a great warrior...]
Melancholy. Sorrow. Torment. The emotions pouring from the boy like tears took on substance at some point, becoming a mystery. The birth of the unclean mystery.
Mage...
Ian easily guessed the hunchbacked boy had talent as a mage. Turning emotions into a mystery meant he was exceptionally gifted. With a proper master and training, he could have become a fine mage.
Just like Ian, a serf's son, had grown into a decent one.
[War! The enemy's invading!]
[Grab your weapons! Fight!]
The boy didn't live long. Famine struck, and the northerners turned on each other as they always did. His village lost. The raiders had no obligation to spare him, so they killed him without a second thought.
The unclean mystery absorbed even his final emotions: resentment toward parents who'd birthed and discarded him so wretchedly; envy and jealousy of mighty warriors; hatred and murderous rage toward his killers.
Masterless, it wandered the north, gathering people's sorrows and drinking them deep. And it realized: the world was full of beings like that hunchbacked boy.
[My master was one who shouldn't have been born into this world.]
[So am I.]
[Pain, sorrow, hatred, resentment—all emotions that shouldn't exist here.]
[So send me back. A thing like me shouldn't be seen by human eyes...]
Ian fell silent. Perhaps because the visions were so vivid. Or maybe he'd been infected by the unclean mystery's melancholy, losing his mental fortitude.
But... Ian didn't like this story.
He knew it well: humans were cruel beasts by nature. The further from modernity, the more their cruelty and savagery pierced the heavens.
Countless humans died leaving impure emotions as victims of barbarism and violence—it was almost inevitable.
"Mage! The gate's ready! Bring that monster here quick!"
"..."
"Mage! Damn it! Did you lose your mind already?!"
Pyra's voice rang out. But Ian ignored it. Instead, he drew even closer to the unclean mystery.
The startled phoenix chirped worriedly.
[Dangerous! Get too close, and your mind might break!]
Ian stroked Pyra's head.
"I know. But if I go mad, that just means my will only goes that far."
[Ian...]
"Just one word, then I'll come back."
Ian approached the unclean mystery. It waited silently for the moment it could return home, maintaining an unpleasant hush.
A horrific, spine-chilling existence. Any ordinary medieval folk couldn't even look at it, much less approach.
But Ian remembered his modern life. His aversion to gruesome memories wasn't much different from a medievaler's senses.
Yet Ian had sympathy and understanding. "Don't hate humans." A sentiment any modern person could relate to.
So the unclean mystery didn't feel like just a loathsome horror to him. It was a byproduct of violence, a sacrifice to suffering.
[Are you sending me back?]
The unclean mystery looked at Ian with melancholic eyes.
Ian smiled and replied.
"Yes. Time to go home."
[Finally...]
"But before that, can I say one thing?"
[What is it?]
Ian spoke calmly.
"Do you know the difference between civilized people and barbarians?"
[Civilized... and barbarians...?]
The unclean mystery shook its head.
Ian explained.
"Civilized people know how to care for others. Barbarians don't."
[...]
"Some anthropologist said the hallmark of civilization is a healed, broken leg bone. Saving a comrade on the brink of death built the world of future civilizations."
[...Helping a comrade?]
"Yes. No matter how useless or lacking, they help each other. That's what civilized people do."
[But... my master was... worthless, so...]
"Judging humans by utility is barbarian logic. Civilized people help because they're human, period."
[...]
"You were just born in barbaric lands and sacrificed."
Ian directed the mystery of darkness to embrace the unclean one.
"Your master wasn't someone who shouldn't have been born."
Ian's words were concepts hard for medieval folk to grasp. In an age scarce on resources and manpower, treating all humans equally was too idealistic.
But Ian remembered modern society. That's why he could offer the unclean mystery sincere comfort.
The unclean mystery gazed at him in surprise. It was an ugly, repulsive thing. Weakness, pain, torment—instincts that made any human turn away.
But Ian saw the suffering beyond those impure emotions and extended a hand first.
It was a truly novel sensation.
[If...]
The unclean mystery spoke slowly.
[If my master had lived and met you... would I be different?]
"Maybe."
Ian smiled. The unclean mystery smiled too.
Melancholy often fades greatly just from someone listening and empathizing. Thanks to Ian, the unclean mystery's gloom had noticeably lifted.
The mystery and the mage strongly recognized each other's existence.
At that moment—
Summoning – Summon the Horrific
Requests aid from an ugly, horrific existence. It mirrors your emotions: it sorrows with you in sadness, rages with you in anger. But never summon it if you can't control your feelings!
Ian glanced at the skill description. Summon the Horrific, huh... Messing that up would spell disaster. Definitely not an easy skill to use.
"Now, let's go home."
[Yeah...]
Ian handed the unclean mystery to Pyra. It vanished through the summoning gate she'd opened.
The earthen mound collapsed, and brilliant sunlight bathed Ian.
"It's over...?"
"Yeah. Looks like it."
In the distance, Kira and Belenca came running.
Ian took a deep breath of the fresh outdoor air, then swung his staff and flicked Pyra on the forehead.
Thwack!
"Ow!"
"What the hell were you thinking, summoning that? Huh?"
"..."
Pyra had no words, even if she had ten mouths.
"S-Sorry..."