Chapter 169 Thinking
Maxine: "..."
For a moment, several memorable faces from her previous life flashed through her mind, filled with the despair and distortion she longed for—even with just one face, her friend could cause a storm of bloodshed.
Was it love? Or lust? Maxine couldn't tell, but as a young girl, she couldn't help but feel a lingering fear when she saw those suitors kneeling before her friends.
Love is such a terrible emotion, she thought. Those young people who are obviously gifted, have outstanding family background and looks are so humble in front of the ones they love, begging them to give them a cold look - and what they were initially fascinated with might even be nothing more than the careless disguise of the person they regard as a god.
But now, the one who was once high and mighty is now willing to offer one end of his chain to a man, and the other end is his entire soul - and the monarch who holds power is a former real tyrant.
"You...will have a hard time." Mashilin was silent for a moment, thousands of words gathering in her throat, but she finally just whispered.
——It is not anyone’s fault. Even if we put aside all worldly things and just fall in love with such an existence, the person who falls in love first will inevitably bear more struggles and pain.
Azuka's expression softened. He smiled and was about to say something when he suddenly stopped.
The person who had been curled up on his lap moved, instinctively rubbing against his chest. He mumbled vaguely and asked in a hoarse voice, "...What time is it now? Is it dark?"
There was even a hint of hazy nasal tone in his voice, indicating he had not yet woken up.
"The sun has set." The Savior's voice was soft and gentle, with a gentle smile. Seeing that the person suddenly remembered something and tried to climb out of his arms, he said softly, "I have sorted and organized the letters that need to be replied, and the manuscripts that need to be published have also been polished and adjusted..."
He acted like he knew the other man's job inside out.
"Would you like some water?" Azuka tentatively touched the back of the black-haired young man's neck - it was warm and delicate, and was pressing intimately against his palm.
“…Hmm.”
The other party was still a little slow, and it took a long time for him to respond - but he still didn't forget to say thank you, and he actually looked a little... obedient?
Marshilin subtly observed the Majesty sleeping on the other woman's lap, his hair disheveled and his cheeks slightly reddened. Perhaps because his eyes were covered, he seemed much closer, even softer, as if all the fur on his body were lazily spreading out. Then, suddenly, he sat up and "looked" in her direction. Even though she knew he couldn't see her, the red-haired girl still froze.
"Miss Marchline?"
The black-haired young man's voice had returned to its usual cold and calm tone.
Although she knew that the other party couldn't hear her conversation with Azuka, Mashilin felt inexplicably guilty. She couldn't help but touch her nose and quickly changed the subject: "It's me, how did you know?"
"Smell," the professor said briefly. "You have a sweet, freshly baked aroma—you've been to the bakery."
"That's right! You really can't hide anything from you." The red-haired girl blinked in surprise, took out a paper bag from her bosom, and extended a friendly invitation: "By the way, would you like some?"
What else could she do? Marcylin simply started to play badly.
After all, her friend always knew what she was doing, and once she decided on something, she would not change it easily. As a friend, all she could do in this matter was to watch, wish her well, and pray that it would not be a tragedy.
…
Olei was currently clueless about the strange warmth between the heroine and the villain.
"That guy told me he could talk to you." The assassin, wafting through the window in the night's chill, began the conversation in a very brief and rude manner. It seemed he had finally swallowed his awkward thoughts and bowed his head to his greatest enemy in his previous life.
"...So you have to come when I can't see you?"
Startled by the sudden voice, the professor couldn't help but frown and taunt him: "What? Are you worried that I, in my normal state, will see through all your little secrets?"
After a nap in the afternoon, he was still energetic and didn't seem to have much reason to make coffee - damn Ole Asaqi, any other day he could find an excuse to have an extra cup of coffee and no one would blame him.
"...I'm on the other side." Ole said expressionlessly, "The object of your sarcasm is the wall."
"Don't try to trick me." The tyrant, sitting on the bed in his pajamas, sneered and raised his chin at him. "My ability to locate the source of sound is flawless. Based on the time difference and intensity difference, I'm 90% sure you're to my left—unless you're using magic."
The assassin, who habitually used magic to conceal his movements and confuse his position: "..."
"...That's not the point." Ole took a deep breath and repeatedly reminded himself to avoid using offensive words as much as possible, unless he wanted to turn this conversation into a quarrel and then get so angry that he had a heart attack.
"I went to the Temple of Night." He whispered.
The task assigned to him by the other party also involved the Temple of Night - Orel didn't want to think about whether it was a calculation or a coincidence.
The other one hummed lazily.
"I saw it. Ever since the divine seal appeared on my body, the temple has been recording my whereabouts...very detailed." The assassin stood in the shadows. For a moment, his gray-blue eyes revealed the pain and confusion of having lost everything. "In my previous life, I always believed that the people monitoring me were sent by the old man."
Why is the Temple of Night monitoring him?
The most powerful assassin since the end of the century hides in the depths of darkness, and no one in the entire temple can see him.
He gazed at the massive statue suspended in mid-air at the center of the temple. Samuel, the god of night and death, wore a black cloak that obscured his entire face, making it impossible to tell whether he was an old man or a young man. Ole had long been accustomed to his appearance, but this time, he felt as if something was hiding beneath the cloak, gazing at him with cold, gloomy, and malicious intent.
All the evidence was laid out before him, and he couldn't turn a blind eye to it. He felt as if he had fallen into deep space, with completely unfamiliar directions filled with dense, malicious prying eyes - and yet he had been completely unaware of this, like an ignorant fool.
"You're right, it's me... because of some prejudice, I acted stubborn and stupid in front of you." The assassin closed his eyes tiredly. Ole Asachi should not be a mediocre person who was unwilling to admit his mistakes for the so-called "self-esteem". This would only damage his pride.
"...My life was manipulated and destroyed by the god I once believed in wholeheartedly."
...How sad and ridiculous.
At a certain moment, an extremely intense pain suddenly erupted from the depths of his origin. It was because the resonance circuit was damaged due to the dissipation of faith.
Ole Asachi subconsciously held onto the wall, with veins bulging in his arms. However, he soon could not withstand the severe pain that came from the source, and began to be unable to support the weight of his body. He could only collapse little by little until he knelt on the ground.
Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Ole swallowed the blood rising in his throat, trying his best not to scream. He even began to feel fortunate that the man couldn't see him. Even if he exposed himself to someone, he didn't want to show even the slightest bit of his embarrassment in front of the tyrant.
Ole Asaqi heard footsteps.
The other party couldn't see, but was groping and walking towards him step by step accurately.
"Are you still alive?" The tyrant's voice was calm.
"Thanks to you, I'm living well." Ole gritted his teeth, and the blood he didn't have time to swallow flowed down the corner of his mouth, dripping onto the ground, sounding deafening in the quiet room - now it's good, even if someone as sharp as the tyrant can't see anything, he can easily discover his abnormality.
The man stood before him, head bowed slightly. His dark hair made his skin appear so pale that it seemed to glow. The cloth covering his eyes made him look like one of those great prophets described by bards. No one knew where they came from, or where they were going, but they spoke of the future.
The difference is that every word of the prophet comes from the will of the goddess of fate, Lamodo, while the existence in front of him is a human being who will not make mistakes. The decisions he makes are not decisions, but things that will happen no matter what.
"I was worried that you were one of those fanatics who longs to sacrifice everything to God." The professor's tone was calm, without any sarcasm. "But now I'm relieved."
——At least he will feel pain about it. Pain is a signal for help and a fundamental precursor to trying to save himself.
The severe pain that came from the source made Orel unable to hear clearly what the other party was saying. He stood up, with only one thought in his mind: stand up, don't kneel in front of the tyrant, don't kneel in front of pain... don't kneel in front of the extremely tall statue that represents darkness and death.
But the assassin felt something was pulling at his body tightly. He gritted his teeth and tried to hold on to the wall beside him to escape the despairingly heavy gravity, when a hand suddenly appeared in front of him.
The assassin's bloodshot eyes reflected the hand: slender, thin, wrapped in a leather glove, palm facing up - was he going to... pull him up?
"Because 'resonance' is the source of your power, this ridiculous world always overemphasizes the dominance of spirit, will, or faith over reality," the professor said expressionlessly, speaking as slowly as possible. "So, without a sufficiently healthy and comprehensive worldview and methodology, when your faith collapses, you'll fall into a closed loop of subjective cognition, constantly doubting your own subjective initiative until you completely collapse."
The black-haired young man's tone was very calm.
"—But have you ever heard of materialism?"
The author has something to say:
Decisions made by the innocent are not decisions; they are inevitable and will happen no matter what. - Disco Elysium
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