Chapter 20: Leave It As It Is
"Everyone knows this post was made in England, ladies and gentlemen," said a well-presented, serious-looking elderly man.
Looking at the scar on his face, it was clear he had led a hard life.
The other people in the room were not much different.
Regardless of their gender, appearance or race, many of them were covered in scars; those without scars, however, had a gentler appearance.
Yet there was one truth everyone knew. That truth was the very ’post’ the elderly man speaking to them had mentioned.
"I couldn’t believe my eyes. If it’s true, we must take that person into our midst. We don’t want them to be our enemy. If we can find them, it would be better to try to be friends," said one of the women in the room.
"You’re not wrong, my lady. Still, I can’t believe everyone is accepting this so readily. It’s simply incomprehensible that we’re talking so much about someone whose very existence we don’t even know for certain, and even holding a meeting about them," had remarked a younger-looking man.
"There’s no need to be ridiculous, young sir. It wasn’t difficult to track down the anonymous person who created the post. I’m certain this person isn’t the sort to lie. I’ve looked into their background. They’re a father of two girls, someone with a good relationship with their spouse. They treat their friends well and are regarded by everyone as a conscientious but very serious person," replied a completely different woman.
"But madam, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t lie," said another woman.
"True. Still, the way he wrote it, the way he made his explanations so passionate... it certainly seems rather odd. It wouldn’t be right to say he’s lying. On the contrary, one could say it increases my faith in him," replied the same woman.
The room fell silent after these words.
Everyone was looking at one another, trying to conclude.
Nearly five minutes had passed, and no one had spoken.
This silence was about to be broken by one person speaking.
"Hmmm...."
In the far right-hand corner of the room, by the window, sat a slender woman in a wide armchair.
She was wearing a long, black gown. Her jet-black hair was long and fell to her neck.
She wore a mask. Her eyes and mouth were visible. Her bright red eyes could be said to be the deepest and brightest colour in the room.
The woman was very beautiful.
Perhaps she did not possess a beauty quite on a par with Nemesis or even Mirael, but everything about her, from the contours of her body to the shape of her face, from the depth of her eyes to the serenity of her gaze, made her appear perfect.
"My lady," everyone said in unison.
"If this person is telling the truth and there is such a powerful figure, it means they will have no need for us in their life. Still, we shall do our best and at least try to befriend him."
When the woman spoke, everyone had agreed with these words.
The objections and questions that had arisen just a few minutes earlier had vanished completely.
There was no need to ask who the most authoritative person in the room was.
"Do not search for him. A person of his calibre will reveal himself in due course. We just need to wait."
The woman had spoken these words and stood up.
Immediately afterwards, she had scanned the room carefully once more, then said, "I have spoken."
The people in the room had vanished within seconds.
Everyone had returned to wherever they had come from.
The night would thus pass, and the days that followed would continue to pass swiftly.
Nothing had happened over the next two weeks.
Neither any dungeon information nor anything else had appeared before Dean.
During this time, the young man had simply sat in his room, trying to become better at utilising the energy within his body.
It could be said that he suffered great pain during this process.
Possessing two types of energy within his body made everything more difficult and prevented him from getting used to it.
Everything could have gone smoothly, but using the two energies separately was still more difficult than using them together.
On top of that, the methods of use and the energy required for the two items, the Spear of Dawn and Moon’s Rope, were different.
The Spear of Dawn operated directly on Holy Power.
The Moon’s Rope, on the other hand, operated using Magic.
In this situation, Dean was forced to try to use both powers separately and control his artefacts in this way.
This... was very difficult.
The young man was not merely preoccupied with simple usage.
On top of that, he was trying to separate the powers and use the artefacts in tandem, which was straining his muscles and, most importantly, causing his heart to feel constricted.
These two combined energies surrounding his heart must not be completely separated.
That would lead to his death.
Still, one thing was certain: Dean had to find a way to make it work, no matter what.
The Spear of Dawn was almost as if it had been created specifically for Moon’s Rope.
Or one could say it was the exact opposite.
Moon’s Rope was more like a ’thread’ than a ’rope’, a thread of exquisite delicacy, incredibly long and glistening in the moonlight.
It could be said to be a weapon that utilised the mana forming the spell and would genuinely allow Dean to maintain control.
The Spear of Dawn, on the other hand... was a weapon of unimaginable power, yet one that could not yet be used to its full potential.
The fact that it was nearly as tall as Dean, yet not quite as long, made it easier to handle.
This weapon, practically overflowing with Holy Power, was clearly one that Dean could not yet fully utilise.
It almost seemed as though the weapon itself did not deem him worthy.
This had made one thing clear to Dean:
The system could provide him with everything, yet he still had to strive to truly earn certain things for himself.
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