A Fitting Deception (1)
Selos’s eyes gleamed with a trace of suspicion, but an even greater wave of hope. "I heard that in a certain country to the east, they use animals to drive away ghosts."
"A country to the east...?" The Eighth Prince frowned as if trying to recall something, then shut his mouth. He must have realized which country I was referring to—the homeland of Ran Abaran's mother, whom he had insulted during their first meeting.
The Eighth Prince glanced at me, likely remembering his atrocious behavior that day. I had no intention of making things comfortable for the uncomfortable brat, so I ignored his gaze and continued.
"Among them, squirrels are said to be particularly small and agile, completely unafraid of things that aren't alive."
"Really?! Is that true?!" the Eighth Prince asked hastily.
I nodded with a serious face. "Yes."
It was a lie. A blatant, bold-faced lie. How on earth would I know how they deal with ghosts in the eastern country? I didn't even know if such a country actually existed. But a brat like the Eighth Prince wouldn't investigate it thoroughly like the First Princess would. Even if he did look into it later and complained that no such thing existed, I could just shrug it off and say it was a story I heard from my mother when I was a child.
Once again, I offered my silent gratitude and apologies to Ran Abaran's mother, wherever she might be.
Even for Selos, my sudden claim that squirrels chase away ghosts must have sounded suspicious. He grimaced and pointed a finger at the squirrel on the desk. "Does a thing like that really chase away ghosts?"
"Yes. It's a tale passed down in the eastern country. Why else would I keep a squirrel in a place like this?"
"I suppose..." My words seemed to convince him slightly, and his expression softened, though a trace of doubt still lingered in his eyes. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, his eyes narrowed into slits, and he snapped at me. "Wait, then why didn't you tell me yesterday?!"
"I didn't know the bastard would go as far as opening your door and walking right in," I replied shamelessly.
Selos’s eyebrows shot up to the heavens at my brazen response, but I ignored it and pressed on.
"With that in mind, I shall send him to you starting tonight. He should be able to drive the ghost away. Who knows? Perhaps this is the very fellow who helped you last night."
"Squeak?! Squeak, squeak!" Whether it understood my words or simply sensed the strange atmosphere, the squirrel began to thrash around in a panic. However, it seemed to look different in the eyes of the Eighth Prince.
"He certainly does look brave."
"Doesn't he?"
"At least, I thought it would have something to do with crows."
The brat had a surprisingly good memory for useless details.
"So, do you need him or not? If you don't, you may leave."
As I made a move to stand up, the Eighth Prince hurriedly held me back.
"No, I need him! Just... send him over tonight without anyone knowing." Having been bitten once before, he requested with a highly reluctant look.
"And your thanks?"
At my demand, he glared at me again, but I merely shrugged. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat out the words.
"Thank... you..."
"And?"
"Brother..."
"Very well. Your dear brother will send someone tonight."
At my response, he leapt to his feet and slammed the door behind him as he stormed out. I smirked at his childish departure.
"Squeak! Squeeeak!" The remaining creature was still wild with rage, clearly furious.
"Don't worry. I'm not sending you."
After all, there was someone else here who could transform into a squirrel.
Jing silenced his footsteps as he descended the stairs. His face, flickering in the candlelight, was grim. He had been keeping a low profile for quite some time to avoid raising the suspicions of the Elder or Ratel, but his bizarre experience from the other day made it impossible not to doubt.
When the Elder had handed him the book, Jing had felt an undeniable pressure. A terror as if his very lifeline were being squeezed, a heart hammering wildly, and a crushing sense of guilt as if he had committed a grave sin. These were sensations he could never forget.
When he had first encountered the mangled corpse of a child on the streets of the Capital, he had suffered from that same uncomfortable sensation for a long time afterward.
The problem was, why on earth did he have to feel the exact same thing in front of a mere paper book? Why did he have to tremble in fear before a bundle of paper, as if the very values of his life were being shaken to their core?
As his doubts mounted, a sense of duty urged him to go there as quickly as possible. Ultimately, Jing had no choice but to act. He had to slip down to the basement in the dead of night like this.
Even as a child, he had never once thought of sneaking out of his bedroom in the middle of the night. Jing let out a dry chuckle at himself, feeling as though he were going through a late rebellious phase, but his steps toward the basement did not falter.
The door he reached was old and dry. A shabby door with no lock to speak of. Its flimsiness seemed to prove that anyone could enter. He clenched and unclenched his fist before turning the doorknob.
"Cough, cough."
Despite his grand entrance, a pathetic cough escaped him. Perhaps from the impact of the door opening, fine dust billowed inside. I thought this last time, but they really don't clean this place at all.
Jing leaned in and looked around. Nothing had changed. It was still a small, messy, and chaotic archive. A library that was beyond ordinary—it was practically wretched. So everything here is a book of Amica.
But the moment he realized what kind of books surrounded him, his heart began to pound wildly again. An alarm blared in his head. His heart beat at a frantic pace.
Reading the books of Amica is betrayal.
Betrayal is treason.
Treason is death.
"Death..." Jing muttered blankly, his hands trembling violently. Ultimately, the tattered book slipped from his grasp and fell. Jing closed his eyes tight.
But the sound of the book hitting the floor never came.
"To come all the way here at this hour, your passion for learning is truly extraordinary."
Not that a sarcastic voice was any better.
A pair of golden eyes gleamed in the darkness of the archive.
"I believe I told you that entering the archive requires the Elder's permission," Ratel said, looking down at Jing, who was still panting too hard to lift his head. His words were stiff, but his tone was not accusatory.
"What... what on earth is this? Is there some kind of strange device on it that drives the reader mad? Does everyone who reads it..."
"How was it?"
From the shadow cast by the bookshelf next to the door, another pair of golden eyes watched Jing intently.
When did he get in? Even if he had lost his senses, Jing was shocked that he hadn't noticed a priest approaching so close. While he stood frozen in surprise, the Elder slowly approached, his long beard fluttering. He took the book from Ratel and flipped it open.
"How did it feel? Did it feel as though you were violating the laws of the world?"
The sound of the yellowed pages turning sounded like clashing blades. Jing knew he looked ridiculous, but he couldn't stop himself from flinching. At that sight, the old man smiled, his beard curling upward.
"Still, you did well to find the courage to come all this way. It would have been even better if you had the courage to open it."
But I couldn't open it.
"What did you do to me?"
Even before Jing's fierce glare, the old man remained perfectly composed, as if watching a kitten trying to act tough. On the other hand, Jing's breath was growing shorter, to the point where it was hard to tell if he was unable to control his rapidly beating heart or his rising agitation.
"Rather than us doing something to you, we merely triggered a reaction to what has already been done to you."
"I've wanted to cure you of that habit of speaking in riddles for a long time now."
As Jing stepped forward threateningly, Ratel grabbed his arm.
"You seem far too agitated. For today, you should—"
Ratel could not finish his sentence.
Thud! With a sound like a cracking skull, he collapsed onto the floor.
"...I did not know your leg had fully healed."
"There are probably many things you don't know."
The Elder stared with slightly surprised eyes at Ratel, who had been instantly brought down by Jing, and at Jing's right leg, which had been Ratel's target. His right ankle, moving without any trouble, was pinning down the right leg of the unconscious youth.
"Since when were you acting?"
"That shouldn't be very important."
Shring.
"And I've been asking why I'm reacting like this."
Seeing Jing draw the sword from Ratel's waist and point it at the boy's throat, the Elder raised both hands in surrender.
"You are not sick. And we did nothing to you." The Elder spoke calmly, but Jing glared at him with eyes full of suspicion. "You are simply... possessed."
"I believe I just said this. If speaking in riddles is a habit of yours, I am more than willing to cure you of it, regardless of your age."
The old man hummed, looking back and forth between Jing and Ratel, before finally letting out a sigh and speaking.
"Have you ever experienced your world turning upside down, Jing?"
"What kind of nonsense is that now?"
"The sensation that everything you believed in has been overturned in an instant. The experience where what was common sense yesterday is no longer common sense today."
"I've never..." Jing, who had been scowling at the philosopher-like speech, slowly trailed off.
"It seems you have something in mind."
Even though the confident voice was annoying enough to make him want to deny it, a memory suddenly flashed through Jing's mind. The anxiety he felt when opening the book in the study, his wildly pounding heart. And the blood-stained face of a child that flashed in his mind.
"That... that was a completely different matter. That was just..." Jing stammered, looking highly unstable. In truth, his mind was a battleground between his rising past and his ego screaming that he must not delve any deeper. His head and chest felt as if they were boiling.
The Elder kept his eyes fixed on him and slowly lowered his hands.
"Jing, this is still too early for you. You need time to accept it."
At the mention of needing time, Jing's lowered head flinched. One thought rose clearly through his chaotic mind.
"I really am a fool." Jing lifted his head with a self-deprecating laugh. His eyes were bloodshot, but they were no longer unfocused. "Let me out of here. Right now."
From the very beginning, he had only one goal. To escape this place and return to Flynn and Tollin. Whatever these people were trying to do, that was the only thing that mattered to him.
As his loose grip tightened, the sword pointed threateningly at Ratel's throat once more.
"You are far more extreme than you look, Jing. As the messenger of God, I have a responsibility to test you."
At the Elder's sighing response, Jing let out a cold laugh.
"I've met those who call themselves gods in the Empire, and frankly, they don't need any messengers. They don't give a damn about us anyway."
He thought his cynical reply would provoke the Elder, who served as the representative of Amica. He was right—though it seemed to provoke him in a completely different way than Jing had anticipated.
The old man smiled brighter than ever. It was a refreshing, hearty laugh, entirely different from his usual gentle smiles.
"That attitude might actually do."
Jing was utterly dumbfounded. "What?"
"It means I'll be leaving that child in your care from now on."
What on earth does that...
Before the bewildered Jing could even open his mouth, a light as bright as the sun erupted from the Elder, even though he hadn't moved a single finger. The shroud of light enveloped both Jing and Ratel.
"Son of a bitch."
Through Jing's blurring vision as he cursed, he could see the Elder's mouth still stretched into a wide grin.
"The boy's name is Ratel. Ratel Loera. He eats whatever you give him, so don't worry too much!"
"Are you out of your mind?!!"
"How cold-hearted."
Jing screamed at the top of his lungs at the Elder, who was still spouting nonsense even in this situation, but his voice likely didn't reach him. Even though he knew the old man wouldn't listen to a word, Jing could not stop shouting out of sheer frustration. I'm worried to death about how my own son is doing, and you want me to take care of some random kid?