Thud.
Oliver submerged a cookie into the cup positioned before him.
A man, his countenance obscured in shadow, inquired, “Does it taste good that way?”
Oliver plucked a cookie from the ivory-hued milk, placing it in his mouth, and affirmed, “Yes, it seems to taste better this way.”
“That’s good to hear. Eat a lot.”
The shadowed figure gestured towards the heap of cookies amassed on the table.
These cookies, each about the size of a clenched fist, were densely packed with chocolate, and their mere sight was tantalizing.
However, Oliver found the man before him more captivating than the stack of cookies.
A man whose identity remained a mystery.
Perhaps due to the lighting or the peculiar ambiance of the place, the man’s visage was veiled in profound shadows, rendering his features elusive.
Yet, it wasn’t only the man’s face that defied clarity. Something about his physique seemed inconsistent.
Occasionally, he appeared painfully emaciated, while at other times, he seemed as rotund as Edith. On some occasions, he sported impeccable attire akin to Forrest, while on others, he was as slovenly dressed as Kent.
The more Oliver attempted to focus, the more perplexed he became.
‘Even his emotions are completely unreadable… It’s not just that they’re hidden like the Elder’s; they’re not visible at all. Absolutely.’
Oliver regarded the man seated across from him, nibbling on cookies, yet he could neither discern nor deduce anything.
Absolutely nothing at all.
The sole certainty resided in the fact that this man eclipsed anyone Oliver had ever encountered, even more so than the Oldman on horseback.
Though this assertion lacked any foundation, Oliver instinctively recognized it.
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of harming you. At least for now.”
The man with the shadowy countenance reassured him. Whether this assertion was genuine or not, Oliver had little choice but to place trust in it.
Oliver conveyed his appreciation for the man’s consideration and benevolence.
“Thank you for your words.”
The man nodded, and Oliver silently savored the cookies.
Cookies densely packed with chocolate. Their flavor was exquisite, as if they had been tailored specifically to suit Oliver’s palate.
“If you don’t mind, may I ask you a question?”
Oliver swallowed the milk in the sizable mug, astonished as it magically refilled itself.
“What is it?”
“May I ask where this place is?”
“Rather, how did you get here?”
The man countered.
Upon this, Oliver found himself lost in contemplation. How had he arrived here?
“Um… I opened a portal and returned to my residence.”
“Where is your residence?”
“Landa… It’s in District L. It’s a middle-class residence.”
“Is it nice to live there?”
Oliver ruminated momentarily before affirming.
He inhabited a two-story dwelling with a basement, a layout that facilitated the division of living spaces. Gone were the days of awakening to gunshots or inebriated altercations.
In numerous aspects, it proved to be a pleasant abode.
Initially, cost had been a concern, but after residing there for a while, he had swiftly altered his perspective, even deeming it a shrewd decision to relocate.
“Why do you think so?”
“Because it can accommodate dozens of people I’ve evacuated. It’s not spacious, but it’s enough to get by—”
Oliver interrupted himself with a realization. He had just comprehended how he had arrived here.
Apologizing to the Paladins, he conjured a portal back to his residence, ignored those who addressed him, and went straight to bed, drained both mentally and physically.
“This is… a dream, isn’t it?”
“It could be or it could not be.”
Perplexed by the cryptic response, Oliver tilted his head.
“A dream… or it could not be?”
Oliver took another bite of the cookie. It was delectable. Remarkably so.
“I already answered you. It could be a dream or not. It’s all up to what you think.”
“You mean me? Are you talking about me?”
“Yes, kid.”
“Ah… I apologize for the late introduction. My name is Oliver. Nice to meet you, sir.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, kid.”
Even after Oliver disclosed his name, the man continued to address him as “kid.”
Oliver deliberated on whether to correct something but eventually decided against it. There seemed to be no ill intent, and no compelling reason to make a correction. Moreover, he doubted that the man before him would pay heed even if he did raise an issue.
Thus, Oliver opted for a more constructive query.
“Excuse me, may I ask your name?”
“━━━━.”
The man responded, leaving Oliver utterly bewildered.
It was not merely a challenging pronunciation; it was entirely incomprehensible.
Oliver requested the name once more.
The same answer was returned.
“━━━━.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t even understand the pronunciation of your name.”
“It’s okay. It’s not weird.”
Unexpectedly, Oliver found himself readily accepting the man’s statement.
“I’m sorry, but may I ask what you do?”
“I do nothing.”
“Pardon?”
“I said I do nothing because I’m not doing anything.”
“I see.”
“Do I seem pathetic? Huh?”
The man abruptly asked if he appeared pitiable.
Oliver observed the man once more before responding.
“No.”
“Really?”
“Yes. For one, I don’t think I’m qualified to judge anyone, and I also don’t know who you are… What did you do before you did ‘nothing’?”
The man fell silent. His emotions were inscrutable, and his face remained concealed in shadow, making it impossible to discern his thoughts.
This proved to be more vexing and disconcerting than Oliver had anticipated.
“If my question was inappropriate, I apologize—”
“I was a gardener.”
“A gardener?”
“Do you know what that is?”
The man inquired as if addressing someone entirely ignorant.
Oliver pondered for a moment and then nodded slowly, unsure of the accuracy of his knowledge.
“That’s…someone who takes care of gardens, right?”
“Correct. It may seem insignificant, but it requires more knowledge and experience than you’d think. Patience too… The workload is heavy.”
“I might be overstepping, but I don’t think it’s insignificant work. This includes all kinds of work.”
“Why?”
“Because someone needs it… How can it be insignificant when it’s needed? But how did you become a gardener?”
“I had the talent, and there was no one else to do it.”
“Was it very hard?”
The man paused to contemplate.
“It was very hard. That’s why I’m resting now… Managing a garden is difficult. Things don’t always go as planned. It’s exhausting.”
“I see… It must have been very hard.”
“Yes.”
“Uh… Have you ever felt it was rewarding? You’ve done it for so long, so there must have been some rewarding moments.”
Oliver inquired as the conversation flowed naturally. He was genuinely curious about whether being a gardener brought any sense of fulfillment.
The man remained silent for an extended period, as if displeased by the question. Just when Oliver thought he should apologize, the man spoke.
“What did you originally plan to do?”
“Pardon?”
Oliver responded, puzzled by the abrupt question.
“I asked what you originally wanted to do. You, to the Holy Knight.”
“Ah…”
It was only then that Oliver grasped the nature of the question. Although he should have inquired about how the man had this knowledge, Oliver simply continued with the conversation.
For some inexplicable reason, it didn’t seem odd for any kind of statement to emanate from the man’s lips.
“Well… I don’t really know. At first, I wanted to poke his eyes with my thumb.”
“Why did you want to poke his eyes?”
“Because they’re fine?”
Oliver responded, appending a questioning tone to his words, as if he himself were uncertain. In reality, he didn’t know; perhaps he merely wanted to elicit a reaction from someone…
“And what did you plan to do after poking his eyes?”
“Uh, I’m not exactly sure, but I might have tried tearing off both his arms and legs.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re attached?”
The man’s shoulders seemed to twitch slightly. His face remained veiled in shadow, making it difficult to ascertain, but he appeared to be wearing a faint smile.
“What were you planning to do next?”
“Um… I would have burst both eardrums. Because he still had good hearing.”
“And after that?”
“Maybe rip off skin or tongue, or jaw? There’s nothing else to tear off. To be honest, I’m not really sure… I just wanted to hurt him.”
“So why didn’t you?”
The man posed the question once more, but this time with a greater solemnity.
Upon hearing it, Oliver hesitated more than usual before reluctantly responding.
“…I was ashamed.”
“Ashamed of what? Isn’t it natural to be angry when a loved one is in mortal danger?”
Oliver didn’t dispute it and nodded in agreement.
“That’s true… it’s natural to be angry. But that doesn’t mean I can do anything.”
Oliver recalled his actions.
The senseless violence etched onto the building, and the family ensnared in terror amid shattered tranquility.
Then, Oliver witnessed it.
Young children, profoundly frightened of him, and slightly older children forcibly covering the mouths of the younger ones. An elderly man and woman, seemingly the parents, acted as human shields, desperately striving to safeguard their progeny.
Even when they themselves yearned to crumble in fear.
Oliver covered his face with both hands and released a dry sigh.
As if attempting to erase that memory in this manner.
Oliver mumbled, “I still feel ashamed when I think about it.”
“Why should you be ashamed?”
“May I ask, why shouldn’t I be ashamed?”
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe because you have power.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s the reality.”
As if a realization dawned upon him, Oliver nodded.
“That’s probably why I feel ashamed.”
“…?”
“Even though I had power and destroyed everything, caused pain, they still tried to protect what’s important to them without any power… So, I looked so ugly.”
At that moment, a fleeting alteration rippled across the man’s shadowed countenance. His expression was—
—suddenly,
In the midst of his conversation with the man, Oliver abruptly widened his eyes.
After a deep slumber, his eyes felt remarkably clear, and his body seemed as weightless as a feather.
The accumulated fatigue from ceaseless turmoil and labor dissipated.
Oliver cast a glance at Marie and her subordinates, who knelt beside him, patiently awaiting his awakening.
The moment Oliver regained consciousness, their voices fell silent, and in unison, they lowered their heads, bowing deeply to the ground.
Each of them was filled with a mixture of fear and reverence.
With a deliberate pace, Oliver stood and perched on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed in silence upon those who were prostrated before him.
His loyal followers.
“…Master.”
“Speak, Marie.”
“The holy relic you ordered to keep safe is here.”
With hands quivering slightly, Marie delicately raised the quarterstaff, its height surpassing even her own head, and presented it before Oliver.
Oliver said nothing as he peered down at the artifact, then slowly accepted the quarterstaff.
“Thank you, Marie… for keeping it safe.”
As he stroked the sacred staff, Oliver expressed his gratitude.
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