Chapter 114
Chapter 114
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 114
Chapter Title: Unconscious (3)
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“Arthur.”
Towering nearly two meters tall with gray eyes verging on white.
Arthur stood beside us, impeccably groomed without a single hair out of place, just as always.
I hadn’t sensed his presence at all with my back to him, but Theodore must have watched him approach from the front.
I had no idea why he’d just stared at Arthur blankly without acknowledging him.
“I got worried and came to check.”
Theodore stared up at Arthur with a piercing gaze at my words.
Theodore had a habit of becoming extremely quiet in Arthur’s presence.
It wasn’t shyness toward Arthur; it was probably just that he felt more comfortable that way.
“Good timing. Take this troublemaker away.”
“We’re not done talking yet…”
“It’s over. There’s nothing more we can uncover on our end.”
As I stood from my seat, Arthur, who had silently watched our brief back-and-forth, stepped over to Theodore’s side.
“What happened to your eye.”
“Nothing.”
If Theodore was aiming to irk Arthur about his outfit, he’d hit the mark.
Arthur twitched an eyebrow, revealing his discomfort, but otherwise didn’t press Theodore.
“The infirmary?”
“I went.”
“That’s a narrative trick. The one who got treated wasn’t Theodore—it was me.”
Theodore, torn up all over with a fork, hadn’t received any treatment, while I, who’d suddenly started gushing blood from my nose, had.
Thinking back now, it was ridiculous.
Whether my botched treatment even counted, Arthur examined Theodore’s visible wounds and declared it sufficient.
“But why’d you come here?”
“Arma Cruise said something weird.”
“Weird?”
“That conversation’s done. Nothing more to it. Look at that stack of books Theodore brought. We dug through all of them and still came up empty. End of story. I’m the one who had the nosebleed. I need rest.”
Clap, clap, clap.
I clapped to signal we were done and stood.
Theodore pouted his lips.
But I had my reasons for cutting it short.
Because the one who’d come looking for me wasn’t Shirley or Yudit—it was Arthur.
‘This guy’s mind is all over the place too.’
As sorry as I felt, despite Arthur’s efforts, I still couldn’t bring myself to trust him fully.
This wasn’t Arthur’s fault; it was mine, for growing so suspiciously minded lately.
Nothing had been revealed about what incantation I’d uttered in my delirium, but for some reason, I didn’t want to uncover it in front of him.
“It seems more trust is needed after all.”
“Did I just say my thoughts out loud again?”
I hadn’t meant to hide them, but even so, for him to read me this accurately.
The mood had finally shifted toward parting, but at this rate, we’d end up pulling an all-nighter in the Thorn Crown House workshop.
“Arthur, that’s over too. I’m not blaming you anymore. Theodore, put the books back. Let’s go.”
I grabbed a few of the books scattered messily on the desk, and Arthur followed, picking up the rest.
We quickly tidied up and left the workshop.
Rather than being convinced by my words, they’d probably just gone along because I clearly didn’t want to talk more.
I gave a brief goodnight and waved lazily.
Having rushed out in light clothes to such a distant place on impulse, my whole body was shivering by the time I reached my room.
-Shoooo…
As I filled the tub with warm water and sank in, I sorted through the day’s events.
‘It must’ve been a dialect from the Lichten region.’
Truth be told, I’d half-guessed while listening to Theodore.
I didn’t remember exactly what I’d said, but the moment he mentioned it was an untranslatable ancient tongue, likely a dialect…
What flashed through my mind was the ‘Aegis Genesis Myth, Lichten Edition.’
‘Wasn’t I unable to use languages I didn’t know?’
If I’d chanted a spell in the ancient Lichten dialect, what had it said?
The guardian angel had clearly noticed me trying to lower its stature.
The tug-of-war with that ineffable being continued.
After the prolonged tension, the warm bath must’ve done the trick—I fell asleep almost as soon as I lay down.
.
.
.
-Tap, tap.
How much time had passed when someone tapped the back of my hand to wake me?
I rolled my leaden body away from the playful touch.
But the hand persisted stubbornly, now tapping from the direction I’d turned toward.
“What…”
Was my throat scratchy from sleep?
Or had I caught a cold?
Startled by my own voice, higher than expected, I forced my heavy eyelids open.
‘The infirmary again?’
Had someone moved me there while I slept?
No, this wasn’t the infirmary.
It was far too noisy for that.
The academy infirmary, with its private rooms, rarely felt this alive with presences.
This felt more like—
“A sanatorium?”
A fresh breeze carrying the scent of trees, not salt, blew through the open window.
Sunlight poured unabashedly between the crisp linen curtains.
“No way.”
My neck tensed so sharply I could almost hear it creak.
I forced my head down to look at my hand.
‘Small.’
It was slender and frail, two knuckles shorter than my real hand.
My skin was pallid, without a hint of red.
I froze the moment I registered the small figure tapping my hand to wake me.
“Young master—”
How long had it been since I’d heard that voice?
I kept clenching and unclenching my hand uselessly, unable to look at the voice’s owner, head bowed low.
“Young master—”
A healthy, tanned boy reached out and wiggled his hand in my line of sight where my head hung.
I stared endlessly at that bronze palm and swallowed dryly.
“Logan?”
“Yes—young master.”
It was definitely Logan.
My soul brother, drained of blood under the pretext of new drug development, dead at twelve.
Not the pitiful test subject who’d died of infection from that barbaric blood transfusion experiment back then, but living, breathing Logan.
A flood of thoughts raced through in an instant.
Logan, run—don’t take that shot. It’s a failed experiment. No, not an experiment—a delusional maniac with twisted beliefs will torture you. I could save you now…
I don’t want you to die, please, Logan.
Don’t just smile…
…Thoughts like that…
Now Logan climbed onto the bed, onto my lap, readying to pull my upper body up.
I yielded to his welcome touch for a brief moment.
Everything matched my memory.
The sanatorium smelling of alcohol and wood, my body improving enough not to sweat, the thin mattress, the boy attendant hired by a merchant’s son.
Before the attendant boy Logan could speak, I reached out to him first.
‘Don’t die—no, you have to run—no, please just kill me…’
Which to say first?
Overwhelming my longing was the pain of an irretrievable past.
I gripped Logan’s arm, then slowly lifted my head, preparing to meet his eyes.
“Ma—master missed you so much.”
“…”
“Young master said to keep waiting, so I stayed here. I don’t hate you, young master.”
“You.”
I placed weight on the hand on his shoulder as he muttered sly words.
I wanted to throttle him, but against a being wearing Logan’s face, this was the best I could do.
“How dare you.”
Force entered the hand on his shoulder.
So this was… a trap from that cunning ‘thing.’
Burrowing into my memories, brazenly encroaching on my most dangerous and vulnerable part to devour my soul.
“I’ll never forgive you.”
Even sunk low, it was a child’s voice.
Even now, I couldn’t fully vent my rage.
At my words, Logan twisted his neck nearly ninety degrees.
I could tell from the jutting chin even with his head bowed.
“—No? This? This? Ah, no?”
Now Logan spoke exactly like ‘it.’
My head throbbed with nowhere-to-go rage.
“How dare you taint a memory so painful I can’t even recall it, with your pathetic apologies.”
My body heated with fury, trembling all over.
I could only bury my forehead into the little Logan’s chest and stew in my anger endlessly.
Sparks flew before my eyes; my deceitful heart began pounding.
“Logan died in my place. You shouldn’t have died there—I killed you. And you dare prettify that memory?”
This rage was hypocrisy.
Guilt I couldn’t repay even with death, warped into sediment.
“You! I’ll never forget today!! No matter what you are!! This time, I’ll definitely!!”
“Arma!!”
-Slap.
Ah, again.
Was I losing my mind bit by bit?
Shirley said I’d been screaming in the middle of the night.
I hadn’t realized then, but now I knew.
“Haa, haa…”
While my sleeping self watched this nightmare or hallucination, I’d screamed again.
I must’ve shouted things too vile to laugh off, oblivious.
I looked up at the one who’d grabbed my shoulders and pulled me upright.
It was Yudit.
The open window, the locked door—and beyond it, someone’s hesitant presence.
Someone must’ve heard the noise from my room and fetched Yudit.
“Yudit…”
Still held by my shoulders, I bowed my head again.
So this memory is my shame.
Back then, I hadn’t wanted to live another day.
All I’d learned in that agonizing childhood—constantly surviving the brink of life and death, dreading each dawn and awakening—was resignation and rage.
The regret of daring to think life and death alike had tainted my entire short life, leaving me—still alive.
What terrified me most was realizing I hadn’t changed a bit since that day.