For some reason, I suddenly felt that the situation before me was somewhat familiar.
No, I shouldn't find this familiar. Everything here is unfamiliar to me; it's more likely that my subconscious has confused it with something else, leading to a misperception of some kind of similarity.
Just like the Mandela Effect describes.
So I didn't think about it too much, but instead focused my attention on the man in the black trench coat who was trying to pry open the transparent door with a straight sword not far away.
"You can't open it by doing that."
Before I could even play the cards I had prepared, my mouth moved faster: "This should be a dungeon, with the corresponding activation conditions."
"...I don't need you to teach me how to do things."
Sword Demon's cold, hard voice sounded full of anger as he continued to struggle against the impassable door, even as the straight sword in his hand made a constant, ear-piercing noise.
It looks like he's trying to vent, even though he knows it's not going to work.
“Your approach is wrong, so I must point it out.”
My mouth was still talking to itself, which started to lead things into a bad situation: "It's like when you suddenly pulled a knife on my friend. Even though we've only known each other for less than a day, you still tried to hurt him, and I can't tolerate that."
He finally stopped moving, but did not turn around.
I could feel the hairs on my skin standing on end because of the intense rush of blood rushing towards me.
“And before that, you even tried to kill us outright, even though we never showed you any hostility or did anything that could cause a misunderstanding.”
The one-sided silence continued.
"You need to repent for this and show genuine remorse."
I don't know why I suddenly said that, but... maybe that's what I really wanted to say when I was alone and face to face with that bastard.
It is not a hypocritical attempt to flatter, nor a conciliatory compromise, nor a pursuit of cooperation based on self-interest.
What I need is for him to acknowledge the mistakes he made and sincerely apologize for them.
It sounds a bit strange, but... well, I play games just to have fun! If you can't rule out this character from your main options, at least do this as the minimum standard.
If there were other options, I would prefer to rewrite the character's underlying design from the very beginning.
A lovable, well-behaved child is obviously more appealing than a twisted and crazy psychopath.
"...You sound like one of those religious lunatics I've met a few times before."
After a long silence, this is the assessment I received.
This isn't the first time I've received similar feedback here.
It felt like eating a sour date, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, and I had to weakly defend myself: "No, I don't believe in any religion at all..." God is an unreal, fictional existence.
But the sword demon didn't seem inclined to listen to my further explanation.
He finally turned around, letting the darkness envelop him, with only his weary eyes reflecting a few glimpses of the surrounding light. Then he began to speak to himself: "I originally thought that you and that child might be the turning point this time, but judging from the current situation, perhaps it was my fault."
He slowly raised the straight sword that he hadn't yet sheathed, slightly raised his elbow with his other hand, turned his body to the side, and assumed an attacking stance.
My body also instinctively took a step back, raising a defensive barrier and causing the lightning and fire to boil in my palm.
This is entirely an instinct triggered by crisis signals.
A few drops of cold sweat trickled down the back of my neck, dampening my hair and causing a slight itching sensation. But I was too exhausted to even scratch it.
"We might be the variable..."
I tried to communicate with words again, but the sword demon paid no attention: "I should have killed you in the first place instead of letting you go and trying to see if things would change in any detail. I should have just started all over again, like the previous times."
Is this some kind of theoretical extension of Poincaré regression?
Before I could even complain, a chilling sword light shot straight at my face.
Without a doubt, I messed up this one-on-one conversation.
Eventually, things turned out in one of the ways I didn't want to see.
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