Chapter 49: Rebuild Body

"...And so, he finally stepped into the circle of the royal capital, becoming a subordinate of Duke Murak. The Duke had his own plans, and he had his as well. He once told me that the person he was most grateful to in his life was me, because I was the one who pulled him out of his fantasies and brought him into reality, giving him the opportunity to realize his dreams. However, I've often wondered since then—did I help him, or did I harm him?... So, in the end, even when he betrayed me, I wasn't too angry..."

By the campfire, Talice and Ayime listened quietly to Asa's story. Listening to someone else's life is a peculiar thing, especially a life as tumultuous as this. Though it seemed unrelated to their own lives, the most basic human connection allowed them to feel the emotions—joy, sorrow, the weight and helplessness of life. And because they were observers, they could see the helplessness and sorrow more clearly. Asa spoke in great detail, as if he were venting his own feelings. Many of Rodhart's experiences overlapped with his own, and the storytelling continued late into the night.

"What a pitiful person," Ayime sighed deeply, summarizing Rodhart's life with these words.

Talice snorted coldly and said, "What's pitiful about him? His downfall was inevitable. A man who betrays his faith and abandons everything for power—no matter how high he climbs, no matter how strong he becomes—will ultimately fail."

"It's not about success or failure..." Ayime's large eyes fluttered, reflecting the campfire's soft, water-like glow of warmth and understanding. "He wasn't strong at all. He just gave in—he was running away. His ideals, his dreams were crushed by reality. Burdened by so much pain, regret, and hatred, he could only escape into reality. Reality is so overwhelming, so terrifying, that he had no choice but to immerse himself in it, to become strong within it. But he wasn't truly chasing a dream—he was running from the past, trying to fill the void and shadows in his heart. He wasn't striving forward by his own will; he was fleeing. That's why he could cast everything aside—because there was nothing else left in his eyes."

"To escape that shadow, he became a machine chasing power. Love, friendship, even his own self—he lost it all. Such a person is truly pitiful, having nothing. No matter how high he climbed or how much he gained, he was never truly satisfied."

The young mage sighed softly, reaching up to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen by her temple. She did not yet possess the mature allure of a grown woman, but her innocence and sensitivity carried a purity untouched by the worldly experiences of others. She was as clear and untainted as flowing water.

"People like him... actually make up the majority of the world. Living in this world, how can one not surrender to it? Hah, they'd never think of themselves as pitiful." Asa smiled faintly, his mind recalling the plump, ever-smiling Duke. He remembered a conversation he'd had with the Duke the day before Elaine's wedding. According to Ayime's words, Rodhart was exactly like the Duke, and he himself had once been just one step away from walking that same path.

There are no inherently evil people, just as animals are neither good nor bad by nature. This was something Asa had always believed. It was also why he could never feel complete hostility or murderous intent toward anyone—not even toward Duke Murak, Rodhart, or even the Marquis.

"How dare you compare me to someone like that? How am I anything like him? A fool who can't even hold on to his own beliefs and just drifts with the tide—how could he possibly compare to me?" Talice glared at Asa. Listening intently to a story for half the night was one thing, but accepting that the protagonist bore any resemblance to herself was an entirely different matter. "I'm just… a little confused right now, that's all."

"I can somewhat understand how he feels," Ayime murmured. "Though it's a little different, that sudden loss of the pillar supporting the sky of your heart—the confusion, the fear, the sorrow—it's truly terrifying." She hugged her knees tightly, curling up like a shivering little kitten. Her already delicate frame looked even more frail beneath the oversized mage's robe, evoking a sense of helpless vulnerability.

Asa moved closer to Ayime, but Talice had already jumped over and sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her. She shot Asa a glare. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Don't worry, little sister. From now on, I'll be your pillar. Protecting you is the only justice and light I can be certain of, without any doubt."

"Mmm." Ayime smiled at Talice, her face blooming like a flower in the firelight.

Watching the two of them huddled together, Asa also smiled. He walked back to the other side of the campfire and sat down, feeling a warmth he had rarely experienced before.

If only this could continue, or even grow stronger. Asa suddenly had this thought. The last time he'd felt this way was during his first trip to Orford, with her. Thinking of this, his heart ached slightly, and he felt a pang of melancholy.

"By the way, where is that guy now? What's he doing? I remember the Queen of Einfrost pleaded for him, and he was exiled, right?" Talice suddenly asked.

Asa lay down, looking up at the starry sky. "I don't know. I hope he's learned his lesson and settled down somewhere quietly."

He could only hope. Asa sighed inwardly, knowing Rodhart wasn't the type to settle down quietly. Indeed, as Ayime had said, his eyes were always fixed on the distant horizon.

...

"I'll be very useful."

The echo of these words still seemed to reverberate in his mind, though now they sounded like a joke. A joke so laughable that it was no longer funny at all.

"Really useful..." The hunched old man in front of him muttered, nodding, before breaking into a violent coughing fit.

As long as this old man was around, the sound of coughing never stopped. Sometimes Rodhart truly wondered if the old man would cough up his lungs or simply cough himself to pieces. He had hoped and prayed for this countless times over the past few days. But the old man, who always seemed on the verge of death, somehow managed to keep coughing as if he could go on for another century.

After his remark, the old man pulled open the skin on Rodhart's chest. His withered fingers fiddled, and the ribs sprang open like automatic doors. The old man's three bony fingers pinched Rodhart's heart, feeling the unique elasticity of the young man's muscle fibers, then poked at his liver and spleen before finally withdrawing his hand.

So this is what it feels like to have your heart squeezed, Rodhart now knew. But his heart had long since stopped beating. Even his liver, spleen, and stomach had been processed, filled with who-knows-what.

His senses were still intact, as sharp as if he'd just stepped out of a hot bath. He could even feel the wrinkles on the old man's fingers, the breath from his lungs brushing against his internal organs. Yet he couldn't even blink an eyelid. As for speaking, his vocal cords had been removed and tossed aside, probably because the old man thought he'd never need them again.

"I'll be very useful." This had always been his belief. He knew that only useful people were valued, only they had the chance to climb higher. So he had always strived to make himself useful—not just through physical and martial training, but also through his mind and the information he gathered. But he had never imagined that his usefulness would come in this form.

The old man pulled open the muscles in his arms and legs, peering intently at the blood vessels and nerves within. He couldn't help but let out another coughing sigh. "Excellent physical condition. Though not as strong or robust as that one, the potential and coordination are far superior. Rare, rare... very useful, very useful..."

The sensation of the old man's fingers moving through his tissues was excruciatingly clear. The pain was so sharp and overwhelming that it felt as if his consciousness was splitting under the intensity. Yet he couldn't do a single thing to alleviate or vent it.

The "that one" the old man mentioned was another like him, standing in the corner. If it could even be called a "like him." Rodhart had seen the old man disassemble the burly figure into tiny pieces, like a giant jigsaw puzzle, then put him back together piece by piece. This was probably the only person in the world who shared his fate—if it could even be called a person anymore.

There was no need to speak of regret or even feel it. The only sensation he had now was pain. His mind could no longer hold any other thoughts or feelings. The liquid flowing through his veins was no longer blood. The old man had used a thin tube to pump a foul-smelling liquid into his body, replacing his blood with its stench and strange magical energy, spreading it through his limbs.

The muscles, nerves, tendons, and bones of his limbs were all carefully removed by the old man, studied, toyed with, and then reassembled like building blocks. The parts that were put back seemed to have gained something extra, while also losing something else. Under the withered, branch-like hands of the old man, his body had become nothing more than a toy that could be dismantled and reassembled at will.

The old man's movements were precise and practiced, as if he had spent his entire life manipulating human limbs and organs. He hardly ever used any tools; with just his hands, he slowly tore, twisted, and pulled, completely disassembling a once-intact human body. Wherever his fingers touched, magic sealed off the blood vessels immediately, ensuring that not a single extra drop of blood was lost from Rodhart's body.