Chapter 88: Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare 3
Chapter 88: Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare 3
A necktie instead of a handkerchief, was it.
The mind of a straight-laced lady knight in a world with reversed gender roles proved more interesting than I'd expected.
A lance charge by heavily armored cavalry, riding out to protect the artillery. A tide of monsters surging in, and the steel battalion that trampled them underfoot—it carried the kind of romantic image that makes a man's heart ache.
[The Constellation, Martial Epic that Sings of Romance, is deeply moved that you healed their knight.]
[The Constellation, Martial Epic that Sings of Romance, vows to dedicate the glory of the next war to you.]
"How can I ever repay this favor."
The problem was, both the Constellation and the Incarnation had such an overwhelming way of expressing gratitude that my chest swelled with pride only to deflate in an instant. Their speech, their mannerisms, even their gazes all tried to handle me like some noble heiress, and the feeling sat strange. Being treated with the deference due a Constellation was awkward enough; being handled like a delicate young lady went past awkward into outright cringeworthy.
Honestly, I'd take a foul-mouthed woman cursing her head off any day.
Enduring all this soft, feminine speech sometimes made me miss the day-laborer Kims of my past life—the easy camaraderie of calling each other every bastard name under the sun while showing our ugliest sides to one another. Though the moment I remembered the rusty canned goods and the leaves that turned brown from grow-room mistakes we were issued as meals, I immediately reconsidered. Enduring gentle feminine speech was better than that.
I wasn't missing human relationships, just life itself. Not that life.
So thinking, I fled the Incarnation's burdening stares. Both the patients and their caretakers were knights from the Western Continent, all lined up gazing at me with sickening earnestness. No matter how I tried, I couldn't adjust.
"Well then. The rest of the patients are in your hands."
"Yes, Constellation."
Since I was here as a clone, I decided to take the chance to look around the patients' quarters. Various Constellations kept dumping in objects meant to aid the sick, so every visit brought something new. Never mind the points or the efficacy—the enchanted objects were worth gawking at.
Inside one Academy building, there were people whose minds had been healed but whose bodies remained frail and needed convalescence, patients waiting their turn, and their caretakers scattered about. I strolled slowly, observing the hearth fires softly illuminating the interior. Every time my eyes met someone who knew who I was, they ducked their heads in bows, which bothered me—but I'd have to put up with that much.
As I wandered the patients' space like that, I came face to face with a bundle of pure white fur.
"What the— shit."
Whatever world you're in, even one with Constellations and Incarnations, a waist-high bundle of white fluff rolling and bouncing through a patient ward was not something I'd ever anticipated, so a curse slipped right out. Kim Ha-eun had never mentioned anything like this when she briefed me.
Hearing the profanity even I hadn't meant to let out, the white furball jolted to a stop. What did they call these things? Samoyed?
Looking closer, it was a large dog, so thoroughly chubby it had rounded into spheres. It was crouched in a corner of the hallway, as if trying to sneak somewhere unseen.
'It's a patient area, so it must be safe enough.'
Assuming it thought this was a game of hide-and-seek, I laid a hand on the motionless furball. The plush, marshmallow-soft feel that swallowed my hand up to the wrist was deeply satisfying. With nobody else around, I stroked the soft, warm dog skin and its fur that held the temperature so perfectly, muttering quietly at full power.
"Hey, you some kind of divine beast or what?"
The answer came from a place I never expected.
[The Constellation, Loyal Fang, states that this child is also a patient.]
※
A straw bed so big it looked like an expanded hamster nest, the faint scent of dried grass drifting up from the floor. If the Unfading Giant Tree's space was a beautiful botanical garden, this one could be described as a cozy den.
"Well, sit anywhere you like. I've nothing to offer guests—how about a drink at least?"
A massive Furry One, grinning wide.
Right. The thing in front of me was a Beastman.
A werewolf with a white jaw, gray and black fur across its cheeks, forehead, head, and back—not some grotesque movie werewolf, but truly a wolf walking on two legs. This bipedal wolf, smiling with all its white fangs bared, poured a white liquid into a rough-hewn bowl with great sloshing sounds. I couldn't tell if it was a grain liquor like makgeolli or something brewed from animal milk, but a sweet fragrance tickled my nose.
"That one was a messenger I was quite fond of. Grown a bit fat now, but the speed on the creature—you wouldn't believe."
Loyal Fang, having filled his own bowl as well, flopped down onto the floor. He downed his drink without a care for the fur around his mouth getting wet, utterly boisterous. A growling voice, matching behavior—I got the rough sense of him immediately.
"No sooner does he race around delivering messages than he throws his body into it trying to save an Incarnation. Some foul ghost—Specter or Ghost or whatever—grabbed hold of him, and he lost the use of his legs. After that he did nothing but pack on the pounds. Been a great worry."
This guy came from a world similar to mine, I realized. A man's world.
He'd sent his messenger to me for healing, so he'd hardly give me poison. And this was a clone—if there existed a poison so potent it could kill a Constellation through a clone's drink, the Academy would have stopped it. With those thoughts in mind, I downed the white liquor in one go.
A sweet, creamy milk-like flavor filled my mouth, chased by a punch of alcohol.
'What is this—tastes like milk caramel.'
It tasted exactly like those milk caramels I'd eaten until I was sick of them trying to stay awake in the military. I drank bowl after bowl and wiped my mouth. For a drink served by a werewolf nearly two meters tall, I'd anticipated something brutally strong and bitter, but this was sweet enough to go down without any snacks.
"You drink with spirit. I have a request to make—call your price."
"A request?"
"Heh." The beast's distinctive smile, fangs exposed, spread across his face as he spoke.
"This world is a strange one. They exalt a sinner who used loyalty as an excuse to be the last one standing, just because he feared death. You've females lecturing males on how they should be meek and modest. And plenty more who prattle about honor and pride like it means something."
A chill ran down my spine at that low, rumbling voice.
The same sensation I'd felt facing a creature in a dark tunnel. That primal feeling—not civilization, but savagery—threatening my life.
"You're a shaman who handles dreams, I've heard. If that's so—can you make me dream the dream I want?"
The moment he made that request, the world spun.
The same phenomenon as when I'd glimpsed the memories of the Incinerating Tyrant or the Unfading Giant Tree: being swept away by another's magic. My ability to handle magic power had grown considerably—was it because my reserves were still lacking? Or was it the drink I'd kept pouring down because it agreed with my palate?
"Mm, so you'll indulge me? Good. Put two males together in one place, there's no helping a fight for the pecking order. You smell of blood. I take it you're no sheltered young master with no sense of the world."
The feeling of grass tickling my bare feet, an enormous moon filling the dark night sky. Beneath a white full moon—maybe even a supermoon—that overwhelmed my vision, the werewolf, fur bristling stiff, bared its teeth at me.
Before I could grasp the situation, my vision spun.
Not from moving into a dream—from a heavy impact to my jaw. The werewolf had kicked off the earth and thrown a punch straight into my chin. What kind of dogshit behavior was this between Constellations? Before the question could fully form, irritation surged from deep in my chest.
'Since when did I ever resolve things by talking, you fuck.'
A clone that feels no pain, in a subconscious world with restricted abilities—I'd just been socked in the chin, so what reason was there to call for dialogue and call off the fight? I grabbed the foot driving toward my stomach with both hands and twisted it like I was wringing it out.
Cold reason whispered I should calm down—it was the magic flowing from that full moon. But the head that had taken that hit and gone blank was now fully armed with the resolve to teach this bastard a lesson. Given all his barking about females and males and wars and honor—if I beat him like a dog, he wouldn't go spreading rumors about it.
There was nothing dazzling in our technique, no refined artistry.
"You goddamn son of a bitch, for real!"
I felt no pain, but the thudding blows still sent my vision spinning and my head reeling, so blood rushed to my brain. As a fist came plunging down aimed at my face, I rammed my forehead into it. In the midst of my spinning vision, I seized the retreating wrist and bit straight into it.
Beating a two-meter mass of muscle to death barehanded seemed unlikely—
"Kreuk—! You're truly insane! All my years I never thought I'd be bitten by a hume!"
With a crack from my cheeks and around my ears, my mouth was forced open.
The thought of why are we even fighting briefly raised its head, but the thought of you hit me first so why wouldn't I fight instantly crushed the dissenting faction in my heart.
Take a hit, give one back. Take one, bite back.
I tasted a fishy metallic tang in my mouth. I spat with a sharp sound, and dog fur came out mixed with bloody saliva. I felt no pain, so I kept charging in, but the fur had patched-over bare spots now, the pelt soaked in blood—and still the bastard cackled like he was having the time of his life.
The cool wind sweeping across the field passed between us during a brief lull, and only then, at that cold sensation, did my head cool by a fraction. Like with the Incinerating Tyrant, I kept getting swept up in others' magic—maybe it was a trait unique to Dream Demons.
"Hoo, this was my request—"
"Who said you get to decide when this ends?"
I took one step forward, and again a thud sent my vision spinning. Past the spinning view I saw droplets of blood scattering across the grassland. I could also feel reason finally departing my reeling head entirely.
'What the hell. We were drinking so nicely—what kind of stupid shit is this.'
My mind fogged over, my body heated up. Words my head didn't mean slipped out of my mouth on their own, and I could feel my magic power moving at an abnormal speed, coiling around my whole body. As if I were sinking into sleep, my mind dimmed.