C181: Despair
“Despair?”
Inside the mindscape, Izzy tapped her chin rhythmically, sinking deep into thought.
'That is certainly not the book I originally conceived it to be.'
Although the narrative bore undeniable similarities, it clearly did not correspond to that famous classical work which had once created a massive wave throughout the Eastern Republic in her original world.
This manner of revision stood far apart from any normal adaptation she might have expected.
‘But it’s still something I should investigate thoroughly.'
A few similarities were already enough to make it worth looking into.
'Heaven did not exist, and what they found at journey's end was Despair.'
Moreover, Davis seemed like he did not even understand the concept of ‘Heaven.’
‘Do people in this world even know what Heaven means in the first place?’
If they did not, then how did this book come to exist and employ such terminology?
In Izzy’s original world, almost everyone knew about Heaven. It was merely a figment of humanity's imagination, an idealized afterlife that did not exist in any verifiable form.
Because she could vividly imagine every aspect of it. Her original world had already been Hell in practical terms, with its endless warfare, disappearances, anomalies, and violence.
Izzy's suspicion regarding the potential existence of another transmigrator deepened considerably.
She controlled Arnold and asked again.
“After they found Despair, what happened next?”
Davis's eyes filled with skepticism and regret.
“My apologies, junior. But that’s the last volume I managed to acquire. No matter how many merchants have passed through this village, I cannot discover any trace whatsoever of the next volume.”
"The final published volume already?" Izzy did not think too much about it. Serialization gaps were common in any era.
“What about the author of that book?”
"The author...?" Davis's eyes gazed upward toward the starless night sky, trying to drag the memory out of his head. "I recall that the pen name contained only a single character within it."
He scratched his head absently, then raised his hand to trace the letter's shape with one calloused finger.
“It’s “C.””
Arnold slipped his hand back into the pocket of his coat.
‘There’s a chance it might be related to the Golden Land's hierarchy of single-letter designations. But since the name is “C.” and not the formal “Mr. C”, and Davis doesn’t seem to associate the name with them, I can set that suspicion aside for now.’
The night wind had picked up once again, whistling through the branches as the group walked together toward the cemetery grounds.
Izzy had a bad feeling about tonight, but she could not permit herself to halt here. This was likely the last time she would have a chance to acquire corpses from the village.
The road in the night was quiet, the various households having long since surrendered to sleep. Their lamp lights flickered weakly through curtained windows before extinguishing one by one, descending the village into darkness, broken only by the sliver of moonlight.
They had deliberately selected the most quiet and isolated road available, in hopes that not many villagers would encounter a group of thugs marching through the night. It would probably give anyone quite a fright if they happened to stumble upon them at an hour like this.
“Just a single character…? Aren’t they afraid someone might claim to be the book’s author?”
"That is a valid question, junior." Davis whispered, glancing about the darkened road. "Rumor has it that whoever dared claim authorship of that book, they all either fell into a sudden accident or vanished by the following days."
'So there really is some extraordinary involvement at work here.'
“Do you know a book called *Sherlock Holmes*?”
"Hmm?" Davis stroked his chin in recollection. "Ah, yes, I remember that title distinctly. I once found Victor reading that book."
"If my memory serves me correctly, the author who wrote that book... is also C.?"
"Excuse me?"
"As I said before, C.'s work is exceptionally popular. It wouldn’t be strange for a popular author to have produced another celebrated hit, would it?"
‘That is the most suspicious excuse I have ever heard!’
The two books stood in complete opposition to one another in origin and character. One came from the East, the other from the West.
Izzy seriously doubted there existed a single person capable of producing two such culturally distinct masterworks simultaneously.
‘This transmigrator!’
If the original authors from her world ever learned about this blatant literary theft, they would surely cough up blood!
Unaware of Izzy’s internal turmoil, Davis continued excitedly discoursing about the various other books that he personally treasured.
"There are also books originating from the royal family's private collections, quite ancient volumes, but I somehow managed to obtain them from Victor!"
The man related this with breathless enthusiasm. "Some merchants from outside also recommend good reading material to me on occasion." He dropped his voice to a reverent whisper. "Sometimes, I even study the law regarding how to properly draft a contract!"
Meanwhile, Izzy was still hung up on the plot of the book Davis had read.
'Journey to the West.'
'Heaven.'
'Despair.'
'C.'
There was still too little context surrounding Heaven, Despair, or even C., so Izzy could not deduce much from those clues alone.
Besides, it might be nothing more than a bizarre coincidence that such similar works existed in this world.
Once she managed to escape from this forest, she should find a way to contact the author directly.
Izzy suspected that this author possessed some connection with her original world.
—
Besides Arnold, Davis gradually calmed himself from his earlier excitement.
He found Arnold's serious, focused expression strangely endearing. No one else in the village had ever heard him discussing books with such intense gravity before.
Of course, he had no idea that Arnold’s mind was focused on an entirely different matter.
Although he felt happy to have discovered another person sharing the same hobby as himself, and delighted to have someone listen to him ramble about books, he knew he should not be enjoying himself this much.
After all, their boss had just been killed, and the majority of their men had been captured. Under normal circumstances, he should still be consumed by fury, formulating plans to retaliate against the Trader.
How could he possibly be enjoying himself at a time like this?
'My apologies, boss.'
His eyes trembled slightly with suppressed grief, his hand fidgeting restlessly inside the pocket of his trousers.
Steeling his resolve firmly, he exhaled nce, then spoke again in a serious manner.
“Junior, there’s something I haven’t told ya.”
"?"
The lad tilted his head in confusion.
Davis withdrew a crude metal badge from his pocket, shaped like an irregular face and poorly polished by unskilled hands. Etched upon its rough surface was a single simple symbol: a small teardrop.
"Ya still hold this badge, I believe?"
Arnold stared down at the proffered badge, then nodded.
"I still carry it."
This was the badge that Danz had given Arnold when he joined the thug group.
"We actually lied to ya. Merely holding this does not mean ya have officially joined our group. There’s one additional thing that must be done before the process completes."
"?"
"Ya press this badge against yar bare skin. After a while, it will leave a permanent mark upon the flesh and then disappear forever. Only then is the process properly completed."
"..."
Davis sighed. "We fully intended to tell ya this after we confirmed ya held no malicious intent toward us. We had to make certain we were inviting the correct sort of person into our brotherhood. Who could possibly know whether ya might harm us directly, or damage our reputation?"
Arnold nodded. “I understand.”
"My thanks for yar understanding, junior. Once ya bear that mark, the other branches across the region will recognize ya as one of our own, and extend corresponding treatment and protection. Now, ya only need to—"
Before Davis could complete his sentence, Arnold abruptly halted his forward pace.
He raised one hand in a commanding gesture, signaling the entire group to stop their advance.
Behind them, the thugs exchanged confused glances at one another, peering ahead into the darkness, while the little girl upon the cart attempted to console their unease with soft words and gentle smiles.
Arnold turned to face Davis, speaking with a serious tone.
"Senior Davis. Regarding your [Distraction] ability."
"?"
Davis felt immediately that something was wrong with the lad's demeanor. After everything that had happened earlier, hearing Arnold call him ‘Senior’ now actually gave him a fright.
Furthermore, Arnold had become so abruptly serious that Davis suddenly became acutely aware of the cold night air pricking against his skin.
“Instead of distracting your enemy, can you use it on your allies? Create a diversion that draws other people’s attention away from your party?”
Davis considered the question carefully, then answered with equal seriousness.
"I can accomplish that, but it proves exceptionally difficult. I can at most attempt to conceal one or perhaps two people, but that’s my limit. Concealing any greater number would be within the domain of the Foundation Stage.”
"What if you possessed sufficient spirituality?"
"Then I could certainly manage that much, but—" Davis hesitated, concern creasing his features. "What is happening, junior? Why are ya suddenly so—"
Before he could complete his worried inquiry, Arnold abruptly turned his head toward the side, his eyes locking onto something within the darkness. His voice dropped into an urgent whisper.
“Then do it. Hurry!”
Simultaneously, Arnold plunged his hand hastily into his coat pocket, retrieved five Alan coins infused with crimson aura, and threw them directly at Davis.
Davis, still failing to comprehend the developing situation, reluctantly caught the coins and channeled their spirituality into activating his ability.
"[Distraction]."
At the very same moment, from the rear of the column, Florence lunged forward, while Arriet produced the blue vial and smashed it against the ground!
*Crash!*
Blue liquid splattered across the dirt. A blue haze erupted outward, spreading through the street like cold smoke.
For the briefest instant, the surrounding buildings, fences, trees, and even the people themselves seemed to distort, as though the entire street had been reflected upon disturbed water.
Then everything returned to normal.
In the middle of the empty street, the ground stood still and undisturbed.
The whole night suddenly descended into profound silence, as everyone present involuntarily held their breath.
Most of the thugs had no idea what was happening, but the urgency in Arnold’s actions was enough to make them obey without question. The laughter and whispered conversations from only moments ago vanished completely. Even the horse seemed to sense the change, its hooves shifting uneasily against the road as a low snort escaped its nostrils.
The wind picked up.
All the remaining household lights in the distance flickered and extinguished, plunging the village into absolute darkness.
Darkness swallowed the street.
Then—
All around them, something lit up.
On the branches of the trees. Along the rooftops. Between the wooden rafters. Within narrow alleyways. High above them in the night sky.
Countless violet-colored orbs suddenly kindled to life, appearing one after another. Dozens of them emerged from the darkness like stars opening their eyes.
Their violet glow surrounded the group from every direction.
Arnold swallowed his saliva.
Davis’s face was drained of color. The thugs behind him also stopped breathing.
Even the little girl in the cart went completely still.
"Florence. You have finally arrived."
A hoarse, arrogant voice rang out through the darkness.
The words were not particularly loud, yet they seemed to come from everywhere at once, carrying clearly through the dead-silent street.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
*Tap.*
*Tap.*
*Tap.*
A figure slowly emerged from the darkness ahead, his form materializing step by step.
A man with pale skin and glowing violet eyes stepped into the faint moonlight. His expression carried a leisurely arrogance, as though the dozen people before him were nothing more than insects that had wandered into his path.
His blood-red coat fluttered in the billowing wind, snapping about his frame like a living flame.