A Story That Becomes Someone's Nightmare -8-
The rain that seemed like it would pour all night had finally stopped. The lightning that hurled questions at Mikhail's nightmare vanished, and the relentless downpour that screamed at the resurfacing past horrors fell silent. The arrival of one man had shifted the entire tide.
The man who had toyed with Mikhail using words sharp as needles, and the heretic priests who had blocked Hanna's path—they all froze in place at the sight of the man in the black mask, unable to move.
"Hmm."
I gazed at the man before me and murmured softly.
"Aren't you going?"
My voice, carrying through the fading raindrops, wasn't directed at him alone. It reached the heretic followers facing off against Hanna, Mikhail gripping his sword, and even Yuria, who was healing him with protective magic. It was a message to everyone here.
The man stood awkwardly, dagger in hand. One swift slash, and he could end Mikhail's life for certain. He trusted his own skills, and I knew his abilities from the novel, so I understood his hesitation. The archbishop before me wielded power that couldn't be dismissed lightly.
He gripped the dagger, standing still. Mikhail did the same, regaining his strength, readjusting his sword and channeling a hazy aura into the blade.
Irritated by this standoff that showed no sign of ending, I let annoyance seep into my voice.
"This is getting troublesome if you keep this up."
I walked slowly between them.
"Don't you need to clock out?"
I moved like a lion stalking a buffalo, silently, senses on high alert, ready to tear into flesh at the slightest twitch. Slowly, I stepped between the heretic and Mikhail.
The heretic wouldn't remember me. No one would testify to my existence or voice. The mask I wore was one of the heretics' relics, designed to plant fragments in memory.
It didn't distort memories through trickery. My mask simply exploited the fundamental issue of perception. Memory manipulation was the black magic wielded by the archbishop standing before me.
Still, this mask alone was enough to conceal my presence, so it sufficed.
Without hesitation, I addressed the man directly.
Want to die?
"If you want to leave with all your limbs intact, turn back now."
The man let out a hollow chuckle and shook his head.
"Yeah, I probably should if I want to live... but if not today, I won't get another shot at killing that guy."
"There are ways to avoid killing."
"Doubt he'll let me walk away."
The man glanced at Mikhail, who was building resolve with his hazy aura, like the eye of a storm. He clicked his tongue at how monstrously Mikhail had grown in that brief moment.
"He's already this strong. Think he'll spare me next time?"
I nodded, flashing an intrigued smile at Mikhail's eyes, blazing with imminent explosion as he clutched his sword.
"Fair point."
"Exactly. If I don't kill him today, he'll kill me..."
"Then you'll die to me."
The man muttered to himself, 'That's what drives me insane,' and roughly raked his hair.
"Can't you just let it slide?"
"Don't act like we're buddies. We just met."
"..."
"What? Do you know me?"
"...Kids these days have no manners."
I beamed at him.
"Sue me."
Personally, I hoped this would put an end to these two's twisted connection. The man and I shared an ugly history.
-Brat, you swing that sword like it's a killing machine. Who taught you?
-Your runaway mom. Jealous?
-Hah... you little shit.
His black magic dealt with memories, and by the novel's later arcs, his power rivaled a pseudo-apostle—making him a major pain. I couldn't just kill him off.
Mikhail's Guardian
The sudden quest meant I couldn't kill him anyway. The upcoming story demanded it, the rewards were huge, and though the novel didn't detail their exact relationship, this man was key to Mikhail's growth.
A brief silence fell. The archbishop and Mikhail stared at me. Their rare attention made my face heat up—I half-joked to myself that I might dream of becoming an idol, a job that didn't exist here.
I opened my mouth slowly.
"Shouldn't you get going?"
"Why? Even if you're strong, I could kill him and escape before you react."
"Wanna test that?"
"..."
I shrugged at his taunt.
"Go ahead. Sounds fun."
If he could, he would've already. In the novel, Mikhail only took a mortal wound and survived—no real fear there. With a top healer nearby, and me preventing worse, it was fine.
The man stared down at his dagger, lost in thought for a long while.
"Scary bastard."
He shook off the heavy killing intent pressing on his shoulders with a snort.
"Where do freaks like you even come from?"
"From home. Clocked in."
"Right. Where's home?"
"Sunny spot."
I brushed off his probing question—likely for revenge—with a hollow laugh.
After a moment's deliberation, he shook his head, pocketed the dagger, and jerked his thumb back.
"Let's go."
His quiet words to the heretics facing Hanna.
"The longer we stay, the worse it gets for us."
"Wise choice."
"Imperial Knights... you called them?"
"Obviously? After the academy incident, the knight commander seems dying to see some heretics."
"Histania...?"
The man shuddered with a hollow laugh. He knew the Histania family head didn't negotiate.
*Thud.*
*Thud.*
*Thud.*
He paused mid-step, flashing a grin.
"Still, leaving empty-handed feels like a waste, right?"
He whipped his sword at Mikhail in a blur. Mikhail's eyes widened in shock, frozen; Yuria screamed, "Mikhail!" and threw up a barrier, but it wasn't enough against the man's strike.
The sharp blade thrust toward Mikhail's chest.
"Perfect," the man laughed in ecstasy, but a cold voice whispered chillingly in his ear.
"Want to die?"
"...Whoa."
The man gaped at his vanished right hand, vomiting disgust.
"You're insane."
The heretic followers shielded the archbishop, blocking my path. Flashes of blade dance mingled with thuds of collapsing bodies in his ears.
I flicked the blood from my sword with a small smile. He stared at the blood splatter on his face, chuckling hollowly.
"Haha, what the fuck..."
I advanced slowly, radiating killing intent toward the man, who grinned awkwardly over his fallen subordinates.
"Told you to go. Why don't you listen?"
"Didn't expect this."
Black smoke began rising from his body like haze. I nodded, quietly observing his magic.
"Oh ho..."
The man's name was Yung, holding the heretic title of Archbishop of Oblivion. Fittingly, he wielded black magic to edit and manipulate memories, a top heretic executive. He could implant nightmares or euphoric highs—mere editing of existing memories, but with devastating ripple effects.
Too lazy for complexity, he stuck to erasing his own presence or that of benefactors, but his ultimate trump card reset an opponent's memories to the beginning. He'd tried it on me before, foiled by my insurance relic. Possessors always carried bodyguards. Now, with resistance, it wouldn't pierce.
No worry needed.
He smiled at me. Tendrils of mana extended from him, slowly enveloping everyone in the forest to erase his existence.
I blankly accepted the incoming cloud of mana.
"Air quality's shit today."
A small cough amid the spreading smoke, and I watched him flee.
'That's enough for today.'
Ding!
*
In the forest of Hamel after the man departed, a heavy mood lingered.
I began removing my mask. Women's gazes drawn to my sweat-matted hair dramatically falling—
"...Nah."
They eyed my dramatic entrance suspiciously, as always.
I shrugged.
"Thoughts on the world's coolest butler's mad movie?"
Their faces said it all. Hanna fidgeted like she wanted to hug me; Yuria blinked with flushed eyes. And Mikhail?
"Don't show off."
He hated me, same as always.