Chapter 263
Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 263
Chapter Title: Part 2 Chapter 24: Garmon (1)
"Master! I tried making a sandwich today!"
"......"
Jamie eyed the sandwich(?) that Bena had brought out early in the morning.
She had clearly tried to remove the burnt parts, leaving bite marks all over the bread.
Even so, in the process of scraping off the char, she hadn't cleaned properly, so dark smudges clung stubbornly to it.
The fillings seemed like an attempt at something pretty, but the sauce was slathered on messily, giving it the look of a toy a child had played with.
The smell was bizarre too—no clue what ingredients she'd thrown into that sauce.
Mixed with the burnt stench, it made his face scrunch up involuntarily.
She had obviously put in effort to make it right.
Yes, the effort was obvious... but even empty flattery couldn't call it a success.
"I failed a few times, but this one turned out pretty good!"
But with her holding out the plate with such an innocent smile, he couldn't just brush it aside.
Jamie took the plate wordlessly and stared at the sandwich(?).
He'd reached the pinnacle of 9th class and even become a Sword Master, but how was he supposed to describe this?
'One bite and I'd be laid up for days.'
It probably wouldn't actually make him sick, but people could get ill just from the mood sometimes.
"Did you give any to Behemoth? Feed him first."
"He ate all the failed ones."
"That pig in cow's clothing."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing."
By now, Behemoth was probably sprawled out somewhere, belly rumbling contentedly.
Anyway.
The important part was there was no Behemoth here to eat this in his place—he'd have to do it himself.
His head spun.
He'd definitely told her never to cook again, but with that bright, sunny face, he couldn't bring himself to scold her.
"I'm full."
"You haven't eaten a single bite yet."
Bena said with a chilly smile.
She'd clearly caught on that he was stalling.
Jamie cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling embarrassed.
He was debating forcing down one bite when—
"Lord! Gong! Ju! Nim!"
"Eek! P-Piyon! Tell her I didn't come here, Master!"
Bena freaked at the voice from outside and bolted into the inner room to hide.
Moments later, someone flung the door open and barged in.
It was a beauty with an orange bob that suited her perfectly.
He'd seen her once before when he first arrived—the Valkyrie named Piyon, who stayed in Frontier as her tribe's representative.
Apparently, she was currently in charge of Bena's education here.
"Oh, having breakfast? Sorry, sorry. Is our princess here by any chance?"
Piyon strode right into the house without even asking permission.
Jamie silently watched her head toward where Bena was hiding.
He glanced at the sandwich(?) in his hand and let out a small sigh.
"One of them, then the other."
"What'd you say?"
Piyon turned at Jamie's mutter and asked.
"Both of you, in my house..."
Jamie rose slowly from his seat, face full of annoyance and irritation, and bellowed.
"Get out!!"
With that, Piyon vanished into thin air.
And it wasn't just her.
Bena, huddled in the corner, got the boot too.
Finally, with the house quiet, Jamie clicked his tongue and took a bite of Bena's sandwich.
"Damn. Tastes like crap."
He resolved never to eat it again.
Jamie finished his meal (he tossed the sandwich) and left the lodging.
Today, there was something important he needed to look into.
Last time, he'd been caught off guard by unexpected info and hadn't asked, but now he had the time to talk.
Jamie walked slowly along the path Isis had shown him on the first day.
The sky was clear, the weather fine, and a cool breeze rustled the grass, making it sway and whisper softly.
He arrived at a wide clearing.
This was where the old god who called himself Osiris was sealed.
Osiris—trapped here for an unimaginably long time, perhaps even longer than Jamie's days as Diablo Volpir—might know about Garmon.
Isis had opened the door to Osiris with some spell.
But Jamie now could open it without knowing the spell.
"This the place?"
He reached out, and concentric ripples spread through the air.
Thrusting his hand in, his body was naturally pulled inside.
A gaunt old man hung limply before him, limbs bound by thick iron chains.
Osiris.
As Jamie approached, Osiris slowly lifted his head at the footsteps.
"Who're you?"
Even though it'd only been a few days since their last meeting, Osiris didn't remember Jamie.
Not surprising—Jamie knew his mind wasn't all there.
Jamie approached and placed a hand on his head.
Osiris just looked at the hand with innocent eyes.
"What're you doing?"
"It'll be temporary, but you'll feel better."
Jamie was skilled in mental magic too.
He could analyze brain structure to treat most mental illnesses, and while full cures for severe cases like dementia were tough, he could restore normalcy temporarily.
If someone completely forgot their own existence, even that might be hard—but Osiris occasionally regained his senses.
Black mana seeped slowly into his head.
"Uh-uh?"
Osiris straightened like he'd been struck by lightning, eyes widening.
Focus gradually returned to his gaze.
Jamie withdrew his hand and stepped back.
Osiris blinked dazedly at the air, then shifted his gaze to Jamie.
"You're the one from before..."
His mind cleared, he recognized Jamie.
Then he looked around and muttered.
"What year is it? Where's Isis?"
"No idea on the year. Isis is at her own place."
"You came alone?"
"Got some questions."
"Thought I told you everything last time."
"Different topic. I heard from Isis that this place is called Garmon."
"It was called that once. Not anymore. I told Isis that since I had no better explanation, but the name doesn't exist now."
"I see. Then, a question."
Jamie held up one finger.
"I heard that during the time this place was called Garmon, someone—or some group—stayed here. Who were they?"
According to Gannon's diary, Diablo Volpir had inscribed "Garmon" under the monument right before his final battle.
That meant someone had guided him here based on the monument's contents.
"I see. So you tracked their traces here?"
"Less tracking, more stumbling into it. Got lucky."
"Fate's pull, perhaps."
"What do you mean?"
"I barely remember them. My memory's spotty, as you know. Wasn't much different then. But one thing sticks out."
Osiris dredged up a hazy memory of one from the group that had lingered here long ago.
No name, but uniquely memorable even among them.
"He always said this to me."
"
This world is ugly. An irrational one flailing in the schemes of the 12 Gods. If he hadn't failed, if he'd driven out the 12 Gods, the world would be different.
But he failed, and now we don't even know if he's dead or alive. Probably dead. Even if he barely survived the 12 Gods, he's human—he'd die eventually. He failed. A bone-deep failure. He blew the one chance to oust the 12 Gods. Careless. If he hadn't been alone. I saw the words he left on the monument before his final war. Mostly vowing certain victory, but he lost anyway. Pathetic, in my view, but his way was right in the end. I'll follow his path and fix his shortcomings. No matter how long it takes.
I'll be the one to topple the 12 Gods. Definitely.
"
Jamie fell silent for a long time.
It hit too close to home.
He'd had the power to defeat the 12 Gods but, worn down by comrades' deaths and betrayals, chose to go it alone.
And in the process, lost his heart too.
Back then, it felt like the right call. Now, he saw it differently.
If he'd gathered his remaining comrades, fought to the end with his familiars...
The outcome might've changed.
As Jamie sank deep into thought, Osiris spoke.
"But they didn't stay long either."
"What do you mean?"
"A plague spread. Memories fuzzy, but most died here. Only him and a few survived. They fled Garmon like cowards, and this place lingered under an unknown plague virus for ages. Then time passed, and Abracax was built here."
Considering Abracax predated the world reset, the group that inscribed Garmon on his monument dated back at least 20,000 years.
One thing was clear: they knew Diablo Volpir intimately, and one aimed to become him.
Since the 12 Gods still stood, their plan failed—but if not...
'Some might've survived, biding their time.'
If alive, what were they up to now?
'They wouldn't waste 20,000 years.'
They were surely doing something.
But corruption was possible too.
Humans were like that.
-I... hate you.
-Filthy bastard. Filthy bastard...!
-How... how could you do this to us?
-I'll pray to the gods for your agonizing death.
The boy opened his eyes.
His face was drenched in cold sweat.
He swept back his black hair.
It was soaked through.
He sat up in bed.
His back was damp too—the sheets must be a mess.
The boy blinked his purple eyes and rubbed his dry face.
"Why dream of that day..."
He couldn't even recall how many years ago it was.
That much time had passed.
The boy rose and walked to the window.
The Milky Way stretched across the night sky, ready to pour down.
He raised his right hand.
Fingers trembling, he gripped it tight with his left.
'Still haunted by that nightmare.'
He gritted his teeth.
He had to overcome it eventually.
He started back to bed but shook his head.
No sleep in this state.
Resigned, he opened the door and stepped into the hall, where Jörmungandr leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her black dress hugging her voluptuous figure.
The boy said, slightly startled.
"You scared me. What're you doing here?"
"Nightmare again?"
"......Just thirsty. Woke up for water."
He rubbed his neck awkwardly.
Jörmungandr told him.
"Even if that day's karma terrifies you, even if it's hard to overcome, you must move forward."
"......"
"That's what the contract was for."
"I know."
"Prometheus. If you want to give humanity a true spark, stop hesitating. For me, and for my master."
The boy—Prometheus—rolled his eyes sideways and replied.
"Don't worry. That's the contract."
"Good boy."
Jörmungandr stroked his head gently, like a well-behaved child.
Prometheus felt her touch, his eyes gleaming coldly.
'It's almost time.'
Prometheus recalled.
The events of 20,000 years ago.
The tragedy in Garmon.
The past where he'd massacred his comrades with his own hands.
So he moved forward.
'Pass a new spark to humanity. That's what I and my comrades wished for.'
To do that, just one thing remained.
'I won't yield it to anyone. I'm the one who kills the 12 Gods.'
That was for the comrades he'd slain with these hands.