Memory (3)
"A deal?"
Shirone's gaze followed the chip Fermi had tossed.
A depreciation trade.
He'd been tied up by Valhalla Action's debt back then, but he'd heard of Fermi's ability.
"What kind of deal?"
Fermi rose from his chair and stood before the full-length window, looking down at the city.
"I brought tea." A secretary came in, set a teacup on the table, and left the office without a sound.
"As you know, I sell drugs. The demonkin trampled the Central Continent, but I control all seven kingdoms of the Southern Continent. Even the royals are hooked on my product."
"You call that bragging? None of my classmates are as broken as you."
Fermi tugged a corner of his mouth into a smile.
"Did you manage the funeral properly?" "It was Pisho's dying wish. He wouldn't have told me anyway. But it doesn't matter—I can guess what it said." Shirone didn't believe him.
"What did it say?"
"Some bio-program called Argones. Probably something about a singularity that's going to strike this world soon."
Fermi turned and smiled.
"Don't think I'm just a drug dealer. I fight for the world in my own way."
"Under Code."
Fermi picked up a bottle from the desk.
"Dream Star. Heard of it? Information discarded from reality piles up in the Dearbis."
"And that means what?"
Fermi took a sip from the teacup, then hurled it at the window.
The cup shattered with a crystalline crash; shards flew everywhere.
"What do you think?"
Shirone watched in silence.
"The moment I threw the teacup, the future was already decided—into how many shards and what shapes they'd be. So what about me?"
Fermi tapped his chest.
"Was me taking a sip an act of will, or just matter acting? If you'd rolled back time, would I have not drunk it?" If humans were free from the flow of time, then whenever time rippled there should be different outcomes.
"But everything's already set. My future, your future. The world of the Dearbis isn't mere trash. It's precious information that's passed through every filter of the future."
"I get it."
If Fermi's method worked, he could predict this world's future to some degree.
"So the world could end soon. But what does that have to do with you selling drugs?"
"Hm. Do you know how much I make?"
"No."
"It's astronomical. You can't imagine it. And that money is the very fuel for my Outside-Regulation System."
Fermi flicked another chip into the air, caught it, and smiled.
"A little insurance is sensible, isn't it?"
Shirone understood.
"You want to buy my magic."
"In depreciation trades, the value of magic is based on the rationality I set. Yahweh's magic. You can't pawn a kingdom just to borrow that for a while—it's too expensive."
Fermi went on.
"But I've collected enough."
Enough to build several kingdoms, even.
"Of course, all within the rules of the Outside-Regulation System. I can only buy magic with money earned through transactions."
If Fermi spoke the truth, that would make two people capable of using Yahweh's magic.
"How about entrusting it to me? You look like you're struggling. I'll save the world for you."
He could hand every burden over to Fermi.
A flood of solitary suffering Shirone had borne flashed through his mind.
'Fermi is…'
He hated to admit it, but Fermi was strong.
In every measure—completion of the Outside-Regulation System, judgement, reasoning, knowledge, psychological warfare—he was near perfect.
'I don't want to be a hero.' If Fermi could defeat Nane and save the world, Shirone didn't care about being called a hero.
"I refuse."
Fermi smiled at Shirone's words.
"Of course—parting with a seat like one of the Ivory Tower's Five Great Stars would be a waste."
"That's not the point. Even if you're stronger than me, that money was earned by plunging countless people into suffering. I won't sell Yahweh's power to you."
As always, Fermi didn't get flustered.
Every time Shirone saw that calm face he felt like he was trapped, but he forced himself to stay clear-headed.
"Then how about this?"
Fermi leaned close to Shirone's ear.
Shirone's pupils widened at the low whisper.
Gaold stood alone on the white sand and watched the sun rise over the horizon.
Since he'd come to, he hadn't attacked Miro, but his coldness hadn't softened.
Miro let her tangled feelings out as irritation.
"Why? Want another round?"
Kangnan said.
"Gaold isn't that stupid. When he saw you excited he lost his reason… But if love can flip to hate in a breath, the reverse can happen too."
'Miro's still in his head.'
Kangnan couldn't shake a deep sadness.
"Miro."
At Gaold's voice, Miro grumbled and walked up to him.
"You called?"
Gaold drank her in with his eyes.
A fierce longing rose in his chest, then snapped into anger.
'It hurts.'
Miro was pure pain to Gaold.
"That look in your eyes is brutal. Do you hate me that much? Then why not at least slap me?"
"That might do some good." Better to be hated than to be erased from his mind forever.
Miro looked back toward the sea.
"Remember what I said in Sion? If you ever can't stand it anymore, I said come back anytime."
"Right."
"Can't you just come back now? You wouldn't have to fight anymore; I'd be by your side…"
"You're pathetic."
Miro scowled.
"Yes, you idiot! This is all your fault! Why did you meddle in my life and cause all this chaos? Honestly, I don't like you!"
Gaold turned away coldly.
"Leave. This is your last chance. If I see you again, I won't forgive you."
Watching Gaold head back toward Kangnan, Miro made a bewildered face.
"You… are you really the Gaold I knew?"
Kangnan asked, "Are you all right?"
No one could presume to measure the heart of a man who would hate the woman he loves and still fight.
"Let's go. We're heading to the Central Continent. Everything will be decided there."
The three of them set off. Miro, left alone on the white sand, ground her teeth.
"All right, fine! This is over. It was disgusting meeting you—don't ever show up again! Got it?"
Gaold gave no answer.
"I'm going back."
If she let herself keep feeling here, she might lose even her Geukseon will.
"She's going back!"
The only crack etched into Geukseon's resolve throbbed in Miro's chest.
'You came to save me.'
Since they'd met at the Magic Academy, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he'd lived his life for Miro.
"This is driving me crazy!"
Miro stamped off, determined, and in an instant caught up to Gaold.
"I'm coming with you! I'm coming too!"
Around seven days after Pisho's funeral, the demonkin finally seized the capital of Kazra.
The royal family was mostly slaughtered, and the populace was absorbed into Hell's army through ideological indoctrination.
"The spirit realm is closed, so we'll have to use humans."
Although the demonkin still numbered over two hundred million, it was no longer only their war.
"If we take Tormia within a month, the war will be over. After that, they're useless."
Balkan's plan was to exterminate every human on the planet after winning the war.
"Why do that?"
Because it was Havitz's idea, Smodo—who asked the question—was answered by Havitz, not Balkan.
"Kill all humans?"
"Yes. Kill them all and then we die too. That part's fine, but why do it?"
"Out of curiosity."
Havitz stroked his mustache. "That's all. The first murderer probably wondered: what happens if I kill? So they did it to find out. If it didn't feel good, they'd stop. If it did—well, it felt good. You can take someone's things, and they stop bothering you. Many did it."
"Before evil there was chaos, then. So it's curiosity about possibilities."
Havitz nodded.
"This war is the same. If we kill them all, we're curious what will happen. Let's try it."
"Maybe nothing will happen."
A laugh creased Havitz's eyes.
"That would be interesting too. It would prove humans are meaningless. But if something special exists…"
His gaze lifted to the night sky.
"Wouldn't something happen? Wouldn't a god descend and say, 'You have won,' even if only to tell us that?"
Smodo said, "I hope nothing happens. That's my taste. It's thrilling."
"We'll decide then…"
Havitz cast a concealment technique; Balkan and Smodo no longer registered him.
"I'll raid the enemy camp tonight. Tell Natasha. And Zettaro—"
Havitz said, "I'm just going for a walk."
When they turned to look, Havitz was ten steps away.
'Vanishing.'
What was truly chilling wasn't that they couldn't see Havitz—it was that he'd been erased from their minds as well.
'Havitz is free.'
He was terrifying because he could do anything.
Natasha's pupils held the sight of the enemy camp. Her eyelids had been neatly sliced away; her gaze was fixed, an intrigued smile at her mouth, knees drawn up and wrists clasped.
'Impressive.'
In combat she was arguably the best in the world; the aura she gave off made that clear.
"What are you doing? That's an odd position."
Zettaro yawned as he approached.
"Look."
Natasha pointed at the enemy lines.
"There's something huge. I don't know who it is, but every time it breathes it feels like the world is getting sucked in. I want to go see it."
"Is there someone that strong?"
Coming from Natasha, that was enough for Zettaro to peer through the darkness at the enemy camp.
"I'm not sure. Wait a bit. Balkan said we'd strike tonight. I'll sleep a little more. Oh—"
Zettaro turned and suddenly realized. "We'll win, right?" Natasha didn't answer.
Tess stood guard at the Valkyrie barracks, one kilometer from the demonkin army.
"This feels off…"
On the surface everything looked normal, but today her chest fluttered with a strange anxiety.
"Something always breaks out on days like this."
Rian's voice was heard.
"What? Still like that?"
He came with fresh bread, split it in half, and handed a piece to Tess.
"Here. You need a late-night snack."
"Thanks."
Tess smiled awkwardly.
"Why are you so on edge today? You've been restless. Our defenses are set, right?"
"I don't know. I don't like this feeling. It's as if someone over there is watching us."
Rian scanned the enemy camp.
"Hmm."
The Law knows.
Rian and Natasha's gazes collided across the one-kilometer distance, meeting dead on.