Chapter 215
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 215
After finishing his meal, Ju-hyeon sat down to speak with Sankalut.
“...It smells so good...”
“...Do Evil Gods feel hunger, too?”
Sankalut had been summoned by possessing the body of a waterbird. The living water, which should have possessed neither color nor vocal cords, now pulsed with an enchanting crimson light. Fortunately, Ju-hyeon was under Gio’s protection and remained completely unharmed.
Trapped inside the tiny body, Sankalut moped.
“I want to go home.”
“Uh...”
Taken aback by the unexpected response, Ju-hyeon glanced at Gio.
“Help me, please.”
“Ah, may I step in?”
“I feel like... we’re not really communicating.”
“In that case, I should.”
For the record, Yoo Seong-un had already fallen asleep in the second-floor guest room, snuggled under a Golden-Step Sheep wool blanket with a cup of Basram flower tea that Gio had provided. Satisfied with having pleased his friend, Gio took a seat between Ju-hyeon and Sankalut with an air of quiet confidence.
Feeling as though it had been dragged into a miniature courtroom, Sankalut whimpered. Though the waterbird’s form lacked any facial features, divine beings communicated through the soul, not outward appearances.
“You definitely called me here to scold me.”
“My apologies, but I am only here to facilitate a smooth conversation,” Gio said.
“You scolded me last time, too.”
“You deserved it back then.”
“I put so much thought into choosing a body so I wouldn’t be stealing from an adult...”
“And as I believe I explained to you last time, that was not the issue.”
“You always use such difficult words.”
Hearing a manner of speech indistinguishable from a petulant child, Ju-hyeon looked at Gio once more.
“It’s... much more childish than I expected.”
“That’s because its state is currently attuned to the soul of the waterbird it’s possessing.”
“Ah, the waterbird’s soul?”
“To be precise, you could call it a wavelength.”
That was how Sankalut’s possession worked.
“When it takes over another being’s body, it mimics the host. That is why it was able to inhabit and control student Iruda’s young body without any strain last time.”
“So that’s how it worked...?”
Come to think of it, there was no way a wicked divinity could fit so perfectly into a fragile child’s body—unless Sankalut had deliberately accommodated her. Of course, it was likely for its own convenience rather than out of consideration for Iruda, but it was a relief nonetheless.
“Sankalut,” Gio called out.
“Yes?”
“The reason I summoned you today is because Ju-hyeon here requested to speak with you.”
“Hello.”
It was an incredibly innocent greeting for an Evil God, but Ju-hyeon, no longer flustered, responded calmly.
“Hello. My name is Ju-hyeon.”
“Yes, An Ju-hyeon.”
“Uh...”
“Do you not use your discarded name?”
“...I didn’t expect you to strike a sore spot right from the start.”
“But it’s more convenient that way.”
“...”
Ju-hyeon had discarded his surname, ‘An.’ It was the only way he could be admitted to the Gita Orphanage. At one point, he had been consumed by guilt over this, constantly blaming himself. I threw away my family’s name just to survive.
...I suppose an Evil God is still an Evil God.
It struck right at his weakness without hesitation.
“...”
And purely for the sake of convenience.
“...I’m truly glad that the one who spoke to me that day was you, Arjio,” Ju-hyeon muttered.
“I cannot thank you enough for appreciating my excellent discernment,” Gio replied.
As Gio’s hair flushed crimson in an instant, Sankalut’s eyes sparkled.
“What a beautiful color! What a beautiful color! I love that color!”
Sankalut had once been nothing more than a simple gemstone radiating an enchanting light. Humans, captivated by its blood-like hue, began offering sacrifices, and through those bloody rituals, it ascended to godhood. There was no way Sankalut could fail to love the color of Gio’s hair.
“What color is your blood? Show me. I bet it’s beautiful.”
“We really... aren’t on the same page, are we?”
Seeing Ju-hyeon’s exasperation, Gio offered a wry smile.
“It is young, after all.”
“...Childish? A divine being?”
“It does not know how to converse, my friend. It understands human ‘language’ and can organize its own ‘thoughts,’ but it has absolutely no concept of mutual exchange.”
“But Sankalut was once the Evil God of a religion worshiped by humans across an entire dimension.”
“Ju-hyeon, if a pack of adorable puppies rushed up to you, barking and wagging their tails, would you understand what they were trying to say?”
“More or less... wouldn’t I? If they wag their tails, it usually means they’re happy.”
“Exactly. It is entirely one-sided. Just because a dog barks, can you actually comprehend its words?”
“Ah...”
It truly was incapable of genuine communication.
“So it doesn’t understand humans at all.”
“Strictly speaking, it only knows how to use them.”
“Like a tamer training a monster?”
“Precisely.”
“That makes sense, then.”
A heavy weight settled in Ju-hyeon’s chest.
“...”
It was simply devastating.
...My family and friends were killed by an entity as ignorant as a child.
To it, they were nothing. It was no different from a clueless child.
“Sankalut, will you talk with me?”
“Show me blood. Blood. Make a deal with me.”
“Of course an Evil God would immediately demand a deal,” Ju-hyeon let out a hollow laugh. “...Gio, I’m sorry, but do you happen to have something sharp?”
“It might not be the wisest decision to indulge the whims of this childish brat.”
“I know. The more I give in, the more terrifying the price it will demand next time.”
“As long as you’re aware.”
Arjio pulled a pin from his hair and handed it over. It was an ornate golden hairpin studded with jewels, but it felt far sturdier and sharper than it looked.
“You wore something like this in your hair?”
“In my hair, to be precise...”
“...I suppose this doubles as a weapon.”
“It makes for a decent dagger.”
“I see.”
Prick.
Ju-hyeon lightly pricked his fingertip.
“Here.”
“Blood! It’s so much blood!”
“Are you satisfied?”
“I am.”
The waterbird, Sankalut, tilted its head.
“Can I taste it?”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“What a shame.”
Despite its complaints, Sankalut didn’t try to force another bargain, perhaps because of Gio’s watchful gaze. Slumping, it spoke again.
“An Ju-hyeon, you may speak with me. What is it you wish for?”
“I didn’t come here to make a wish.”
“Do you desire paradise?”
“I can build my own paradise.”
“Humans cannot create paradise. How pitiful.”
“It doesn’t have to be paradise.”
“I really did like you, though.”
Sankalut fluttered its wings lightly. It wasn’t a particularly meaningful gesture, looking more like a waterbird adjusting its posture to maintain its liquid form.
“Could you not have become my son?”
“If you had approached me with goodwill, perhaps I might have.”
“‘Goodwill’ is ineffective at motivating humans. Humans are at their fastest and strongest when fueled by anger, hatred, and fear. Do you not want world peace?”
“The peace I want doesn’t require anger, hatred, or fear.”
“I really did like you, though.”
“Is that so?”
“I liked you, An Ju-hyeon. I want to go home.” The little bird tilted its head from side to side. “Do you hate me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you want to kill me? If I let you, will you become my son?”
“Absolutely not.”
“...Everyone only hates me...”
Ju-hyeon looked at Gio once more. Gio chuckled and explained, “It is mimicking my child’s habit of speaking.”
“...Don’t your waterbirds lack vocal cords?”
“A father hears everything.”
“Parenthood truly is a marvel.”
Setting that aside, Ju-hyeon took a deep breath.
“Phew.”
He looked up at the ceiling, then turned his gaze back to Sankalut.
“...Recently, there was a major war. It was instigated by two mermaids, and because of it, the seas off the coast of Korea were thrown into complete chaos. It even began to affect other countries, nearly escalating into a global crisis.”
“I know of them. The strong mermaids. I think we could have been friends.”
“The reason they started that war was ‘to take responsibility.’ Personally, I don’t believe that was the right way to do it. But their regret was ultimately for themselves and Giovanni, not for the victims of their actions. So perhaps that was the best they could manage.”
“Do you not like them?”
“I didn’t. But there was a lesson to be learned. Regardless of one’s sins, dragging things out in the end achieves nothing. I realized my situation is no different.”
“Is that why you are looking at me?”
“Yes. That is why I am looking at you, Sankalut.”
Ju-hyeon harbored no illusions that a mere human like himself could defeat Sankalut. He was weak, possessed no divine authority, and was someone who had already failed time and time again.
Yet, precisely because of that, he was capable of growth.
“I know you were born to be this way.”
Divinity was fate; it was nature itself. No one could blame nature or fate for its cruelty. It was no different from a planet forged by the cosmos, far beyond the reach of human resentment.
“Therefore, I intend to drag you down from the realm of fate and nature.”
“Can I not go home?”
“No, you cannot.”
“That’s so cruel...! I want to go home! I want to be loved!”
“I will show you a different kind of home, and a different kind of love.” After all, don’t divine beings endure until the very death of a dimension? “Why not think of it as indulging in a new amusement for a short while?”
“Do you mean to die with me?”
“If I can manage it.”
“That is impossible.”
“Yet, the universe is full of impossible things becoming reality.”
“I don’t want to.”
“If you cooperate, I will let you go home eventually.”
Ju-hyeon looked at Gio.
“Will you help me?”
“Of course, my friend.” Arjio smiled with satisfaction. “I respect your judgment.”
“...”
Ju-hyeon felt an overwhelming sense of trust and affection. This was a kindness granted merely because he had received a few unreadable letters. It was a relationship and a span of time that would drift away the moment the portrait was withdrawn. Yet, because he believed in Gio’s humanity, Ju-hyeon did not worry.
For this crimson, wicked god would always render an unfair judgment in his favor. As long as Gio remained a deity destined for rebellion, the biased support and praise Ju-hyeon received was a foregone conclusion.
Within this immense favoritism, Ju-hyeon could always feel Gio’s humanity.
...If I can use it, I must.
“Of course,” Arjio shrugged. “If you are too rigid, you break.”
It was true for all living things.
“Especially those who style themselves as heroes.”
“...Can you please stop with that ‘hero’ nonsense?”
“But I find it quite amusing.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Oh, dear. I suppose I must hold my tongue, then.”
“You always tease me in the strangest ways...”
Glaring at Gio, Ju-hyeon turned his attention back to Sankalut.
Sensing something, the entity no longer fidgeted or chattered. It simply stared at Ju-hyeon in silence, its crimson eyes glowing with a blindingly beautiful light.
“Are you going to make me human?”
“...Yes.”
“That is impossible.”
“That is no reason for me to despair.”
“It seems highly inefficient, Ju-hyeon.”
“You’ve grown rather earnest and polite all of a sudden.”
He knew this authority was merely borrowed from the deity backing him. It was the classic tale of a fox masquerading in a tiger’s skin, but Ju-hyeon was ultimately just an ordinary human. If he failed to utilize the tools at his disposal, he would be the only one to suffer.
“I have already witnessed a precedent in Gio. If even an immense mystery like him can possess humanity, then there is no reason you cannot, Sankalut. That is what I choose to believe.”
“I don’t want to... That path has no blood, and it doesn’t sparkle. I will only grow dull.”
“Is that so? Sounds perfect to me.”
This was the greatest measure of responsibility and revenge Ju-hyeon could exact.
“Gio.”
“Name it.”
“Could you fashion a body for Sankalut?”
“Hmm, a body...” Arjio grinned. “I shall make it a darling little child.”
* * *
Waking from his slumber, Yoo Seong-un blinked at the bright red snake before him.
“...So this is Sankalut?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Of all things, I never thought I’d see a god stuffed into a snake.”
The snake reared up.
“Hello.”
“Oh, it talks.”
“I have no legs, nor do I have arms. A wingless body is highly inefficient.”
“Why does its way of speaking sound so much like Gio?”
“I am following the memories of the vessel.”
“It really does. I couldn’t tell because of the flat tone, but it was actually complaining.”
“Would you like to take a look?”
“If you’ll let me, gladly.”
As a gardener, Yoo Seong-un was highly resilient to such bizarre phenomena, and Sankalut dangled limply from his hand. Leaving the two of them to their own devices, Gio headed back up to the second-floor guest room.
It was the room where Ju-hyeon had previously stayed.
“Ju-hyeon.”
“...”
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed.
“Ju-hyeon, are you tired?”
“...Exhausted.”
“Are you blaming yourself?”
“Did I make the wrong choice?” As if confessing his sins to a priest, Ju-hyeon spoke. “I didn’t know what the right choice was. But you have always been so kind to me, Gio, and I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip away. I really am a selfish person.”
“That is called being wise. You weren’t merely seizing an opportunity; you were trying to take responsibility. You simply chose the path that seemed most effective and reasonable.”
“I’m still not sure if I did the right thing. But I pushed forward anyway, because a miracle like this might never happen to me again. I knew it was madness, but...” The hands covering his face trembled slightly before slowly dropping. “Will my family hate me for this?”
He was weeping.
“Will my friends resent me?”
“You have already seen for yourself that they won’t, Ju-hyeon.”
“I couldn’t even bring myself to say harsh words to Sankalut, my sworn enemy. I couldn’t resolve to make him suffer. All I could do was drag him down to the human world... that this was the absolute limit of what I could do...”
“How is that ‘all’?” Gio respected Ju-hyeon. “I thought you were truly magnificent.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I mean it. Anyone can lash out in anger and place blame. But to pick oneself up after collapsing and look forward—not everyone is capable of that.”
“This is just a desperate struggle. I’m only borrowing your power because I don’t want to carry this heavy burden myself. It is incredibly... selfish... and arrogant.”
“It is only right to use the resources at your disposal.”
“But I don’t ‘have’ you, Gio. I refuse to delude myself into thinking your generosity belongs to me. That would be pathetic. Besides, I can’t even repay what you’ve already given me.”
“Do friends need to keep score?”
“...” Ju-hyeon already knew the answer. “...No.”
The friendship he knew, and that Gio understood, was not a transactional arrangement. Ju-hyeon knew all too well that the gifts Gio bestowed were offered as casually as a passing joke.
Overwhelmed by emotion, his innermost thoughts slipped past his lips.
“I am afraid that one day, I will come to revere you.”
“Even then, we will still be friends.”
“...”
“Listen.” Gio spoke with absolute certainty. “I respect how you remain vigilant and cleverly seize opportunities. I am grateful to you for respecting my humanity even while fearing me. And I draw great strength from your consideration—how you accept my gifts with a casual air despite the burden you feel.”
That was precisely why they could be friends.
“I don’t think you would easily succumb to it, but if it ever becomes too overwhelming, you may revere me. It is not something that would hurt or offend me.”
“Then what does hurt you, Gio?”
“I am hurt when I cannot do what I want.”
“...Isn’t that just throwing a tantrum?”
“It is quite similar,” Gio declared. “I am far simpler than you think.”
I just want him to hang out with me. This is why overthinkers are so exhausting.
“I am grateful to have a friend who is both calculating and altruistic.”
“...I’m glad you don’t find me tedious or annoying.” Ju-hyeon’s voice gradually steadied. “Am I really not heading down the wrong path?”
“Only you can decide that.”
“True. Even on the same path, right and wrong differ from person to person.”
“Ponder it deeply, and walk the path you desire.”
For Ju-hyeon, that was more than enough.
“And make sure to eat the meals I provide.”
“...Why does food always come up whenever we meet?”
Not that he minded, of course.
“...”
Gio was special. He was truly an extraordinary person.
He possessed a vast, merciful heart, readily offering goodwill and affection without reservation. He never regretted his choices, nor did he ever break, making him stronger than anyone else. It was only natural that anyone would want to lean on him.
Just as I am doing right now.
And so, Ju-hyeon dared to pity him.
...The time I spend in your long, eternal life will be nothing but a fleeting moment.
He feared that even during this brief window, he might fail to treat this pitiful friend as a fellow human. He was afraid that by relying on Gio’s extraordinary nature, he would eventually forget that Gio was simply a childish person who enjoyed silly jokes and exchanging letters. He was terrified that he would lose sight of the friend before him and end up worshiping his omnipotence instead.
Because he was merely an ordinary, insignificant human...
“...Don’t be too kind to me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I worry it will only make you lonely, Gio.”
“Everyone goes through periods like that.” His voice was perfectly calm. “In the end, I will simply make new friends again.”
“...”
Ju-hyeon felt a bitter ache in his chest.
...If those words sound like resignation to me, it must be because I am only an ordinary human.
Even so, he was truly a pitiful soul.