Chapter 90: 77 - Deduction I
I was in the rehabilitation room. The place is still empty except for the quiet hum of the air conditioner. The clock shows past midnight. But I know my sleeplessness tonight isn’t because my insomnia has returned—it’s due to one very simple thing: I lied.
I gave her the necklace without a full explanation.
And now, the energy sealed within it has been used. Most of it to save Selene, and some... perhaps it’s been contaminated by an aura that shouldn’t be there.
I sighed softly.
The necklace held far more than met the eye. It was designed to absorb and store magic in its purest form, then compress it until it was invisible.
I myself used it once.
Only once... and even that made me see hallucinations for three full days.
I exhaled slowly, trying to quell the turmoil inside me.
That necklace held far, far more than its unassuming appearance suggested.
It was designed to absorb and store magic in its purest, most potent form, then compress it until it became invisible, a dormant power ready to erupt at any moment, and even that single exposure was enough to plunge me into three full days of terrifying hallucinations. Three days consumed by nightmares, by horrifying whispers that slithered into my ears, by subtle, repulsive touches that made my skin crawl with disgust, as if unseen fingers were stroking every inch of my pores, awakening unwanted, perverse urges.
Azalea doesn’t know. And I’ll make sure she never does.
I couldn’t bear to see her innocent face when she said,
"Kairi... I’ll be careful." then left as if she would be fine.
Careful? With a Mytheia I’d falsified into a common charm?
An object capable of tearing apart reality, capable of summoning horrors from the depths of the subconscious, capable of shredding the thin veil between sanity and utter lunacy?
I looked down. I couldn’t take responsibility for this decision. But if I told her the truth... would she still do it? Yes. Because she’s Azalea. And maybe... Selene would understand. She’s also very selective about who she tells about her projects.
I turned my face away from the window’s reflection of my body. Helena, Azalea, Selene... all people I’ve hidden the truth from. I know more than they think. And the more I know, the more I realize: the greater the risk if they know too.
My transcription ability helped me reconstruct the narrative, filter my internal monologue, and change it into a neutral narrative that wouldn’t trigger detection. Selene noticed it first. She knew my sentences were sometimes too precise, too structured, too clean to be spoken spontaneously. And I’m sure she’s known for a long time that I’m hiding something. But she chose to stay silent. Because maybe she also knew that if we revealed each other’s secrets, we would burn together.
I bowed my head, burying my face in the shadows. I couldn’t stomach the weight of this decision. I had gambled with my best friend’s life, all to save someone else. But if I told her the absolute truth... if I unveiled all the inherent horrors concealed within that necklace, would she still have gone through with it? Would she still have been willing to shoulder such an immense risk, to sacrifice her soul for a truth she wouldn’t fully comprehend?
Yes. The answer, sickeningly, was always the same. Because she was Azalea. She was stubborn, she was brave, and she possessed an unyielding determination. She would do anything, absolutely anything, to save the person she loved, even if it meant sacrificing herself, even if it meant dragging her own soul into an endless hell.
And perhaps... Selene would understand. She, too, was incredibly selective about who she confided in regarding her projects. She understood the immense dangers we faced, and she knew that the truth could be a burden too heavy to carry. A burden capable of shattering anyone who dared to touch it.
I averted my gaze from the reflective glass of the window, which mirrored my own form. I saw myself, a man burdened by secrets, a man who consistently lied to the people closest to him. My face appeared indistinct in that dark reflection, like a shadow concealing a festering corruption.
Elder Sister Helena, Azalea, Selene... these were all individuals from whom I had deliberately hidden the truth. All people I was supposedly protecting with lies. Lies that I desperately hoped would serve as a shield for them, rather than a blade that would stab them in the back.
I knew far more than they could ever imagine. I knew about the dangers lurking in every shadow of the academy, about the dark powers striving to dominate this world. Powers that thirsted for blood, for dominance, for absolute annihilation. And the deeper my knowledge grew, the more I realized: the greater the risk if they, too, were to know. The higher the probability that they would be destroyed, plummeting into madness, devoured by the cruel, unyielding truth.
My transcription ability aided me in carefully reconstructing the narrative. It allowed me to filter my chaotic internal monologue, transforming it into a neutral narrative that would evade detection. I was trained to conceal my emotions, to present information in the safest, most effective way possible. I had mastered the dark art of verbal manipulation, the skill of wrapping truth in convincing layers of falsehood.
Selene had been the first to notice. She knew my sentences were sometimes too precise. Too meticulously structured. Too unnaturally clean to be spoken spontaneously. She knew I was hiding something, that I harbored secrets that could potentially destroy us all. She saw through my facade, peering into the dark recesses of my soul, concealed behind a blank stare and a manufactured smile.
And I was certain she had known for a long time that I was hiding something. She saw through my mask, peering into the dark, festering depths of my soul.
But she chose silence. She chose not to ask, not to press. She chose to let the secrets remain buried, to avoid unearthing the hidden horrors.
Because perhaps she also knew that if we were to expose each other’s secrets, if we were to reveal all the truths we kept locked away, we would burn together. The fires of truth would consume us alive, incinerating everything we cherished, reducing us to mere ash scattered by the wind.
Arthur...
His name sounded utterly ordinary. A simple, unassuming name. But that man had been anything but ordinary from the moment he first set foot in Aethelgarten. There was something inherently wrong about him, something that immediately put me on edge. Something rotten, deeply unsettling, that made the hairs on my neck stand on end.
From his movements, which were unnervingly calm, as if he meticulously controlled every single step. Every breath, every blink, every twitch of his fingers, all perfectly choreographed. From his gaze, which never met anyone directly, as if he feared revealing what truly lay within him, or perhaps, was simply too disgusted to look directly upon weak humanity. From his choice of words, which sounded as if they had been planned five steps in advance, as if he constantly sought to manipulate those around him, ensnaring them in a web of sweet yet deadly rhetoric.
He was no ordinary member of the International Magic Association. He was not merely a sorcerer. He was something far darker, far crueler, far more monstrous.
He was Machiavelli. And not just in name. He was a master manipulator, a cunning strategist, a man capable of doing anything to achieve his objectives, even if it meant trampling over countless innocent corpses. He was the embodiment of decay, a puppeteer pulling the strings of destiny from the shadows.
