#195

“I am here to help you….”

I rip apart the mouth spewing such foul words.

Even after I tear away the lower jaw, it continues to speak.

“…I exist. You do not need to show it through your actions; simply tell me what you desire from me.”

Casimir frowned and threw half of the face away.

It is impossible for a human to speak clearly after becoming that state.

Even if only the tongue is cut, they can do nothing but howl like a beast….

‘To think that I, of all people, am floundering in an illusion. How ridiculous.’

If I still had the Eye of Nephiton, would I have been able to pierce through the truth?

For a brief moment, such a blasphemous thought crossed her mind, but she shook it off.

“O Loclem, that which disturbs the Order stands before me. Please forgive me for not being able to condemn it immediately. Forgive me for defiling my ears with the nonsense this creature babbles. Forgive me for harboring blasphemous thoughts even for a moment. Grant me the strength to restore the Order….”

“The Order cannot know what has happened here. You are safe.”

A man with gray hair smiled thinly.

Casimir knew that man’s name.

Or, to be precise, she knew the name of the shell he was wearing.

Francesco Horeum.

Born as the first child of the family, he could not inherit the lineage because he was a man.

While the number of those with the Divine Bloodline is strictly limited, the Horeum family was permitted to have up to ten ‘bloodlines’ in recognition of the many Sacred Relics they offered to the Order.

However, an eldest son without a womb is worth less than a daughter from a collateral branch.

On the day the eleventh ‘Divine Bloodline’ was born into the Horeum family, Francesco’s departure for the Capital Church was decided.

Those who received the Ordination of Order were free to return to their families and live out the rest of their lives, but upon death, they had to be buried in the Capital Church.

‘Though in reality, no one is actually buried in the ground.’

Rather than enshrining the dead in Sanctuaries and treating them with respect in their own way, the Order butchered them to use as materials for crafting items.

Since they already belonged to the Order, the Order used them as they pleased, and no one dared to protest.

The Ordination bestowed upon the Divine Bloodline was, in effect, a procedure for the Order to pre-select the ‘Sacred Relics’ they would receive as offerings.

Having once enjoyed power as agents of the divine, it was impossible for them not to feel insulted by such treatment.

Thus, noble families obeyed the Order’s commands but employed various schemes to ensure the Sacred Relics did not fall entirely into the Order’s hands.

Sending them with their heads shaved bald was the most trivial trick.

It was not uncommon for families to send them missing a limb, claiming they were severely injured before death, or to send only the bones, claiming they had performed their own embalming according to tradition.

In response, the Order enacted a new law stating that they must be buried in the same appearance they had ‘at the time of Ordination,’ and any missing parts must be filled in, even if it meant cutting pieces from the Head of the family’s body.

Shortly after that law was established, when word spread that a new candidate for Ordination was coming from the Horeum family, the clergy held small bets on how much hair would be shaved this time.

If they received Ordination without hair, they had to remain that way until burial, meaning the final ‘harvest’ could be collected!

Cloth woven from the hair of the Horeum family could reduce the volume of an item by half and was thus extremely expensive. One day, after seeing a corpse whose hair had been cleanly shaved even in the most private areas, a minor controversy erupted among the knights of the clergy as to whether hair from other parts of the body was also used.

Of course, since there was no reason to lift the clothes of the one receiving Ordination, the winner of the bet could not be known unless one spent a night with them.

And when ‘Francesco’ finally removed his hood, those who had been joking lost their words.

‘…To think he came with his scalp peeled off.’

He was also missing eyes and fingers, but the sight of the exposed white skull was so shocking that it left the deepest impression.

If he hadn’t needed to answer during the Ordination, he probably would have left even more behind.

Despite such treatment, Francesco was a remarkably cheerful man.

When asked how it happened, he laughed it off, saying he mistook a vine-cutting knife for a comb and accidentally swept his scalp off. When helped up after a fall, he joked that since he had no hair to cut as a thank-you, he would give a date instead, boasting that all he had left was his handsome face. He even teased Casimir, telling her to claim him quickly before he received the Blessing of Healing.

‘When I told him he wasn’t that handsome after receiving the Blessing of Ledea, he shot back that if I didn’t look in a mirror for three days, my standards would drop, and I should come look at him again then.’

Francesco stayed at the Capital Church for nearly half a year after his Ordination.

He had been on good terms with Elamin as well….

‘…Was that almost ten years ago?’

After returning to his family, she had heard almost nothing of him.

To think she would encounter him like this, within an illusion.

But if this was stimulating her ‘memories,’ shouldn’t he look exactly as he did back then?

“No, I am using the flesh of Francesco Horeum, but I am not the person you know.”

“…Are you a Watched One?”

“I am no longer.”

“So you were a Watched One.”

She started to ask why he made such a choice, but realized the person she truly wanted to ask was not here.

No, perhaps all of this was merely Casimir’s delusion. The fact that she had never tried to find out how he was doing remained as guilt in her subconscious….

“If you are curious about what has happened in the meantime, I can show you.”

“…I am not curious. I would prefer you break this illusion and send me back.”

“I am not the one who executed the ‘isolation.’ I can only guide you further outward.”

‘…Outward?’

Is he talking about beyond The ‘Stars’?

No, she must not engage in a long conversation with this thing.

‘Do not be swayed by your senses; grasp the current situation.’

This is not reality.

Seeing as she could hear sound even after bursting her eardrums, the current situation was closer to a ‘dream’ unfolding in her mind than an ‘illusion.’

In reality, she was likely standing still in a daze or asleep.

The strange words it spoke were likely all means to buy time.

‘Is it targeting me? Or Fabio?’

Casimir could not imagine that the entire Capital Church had stopped, and guessed it was an attack targeting only her.

Suddenly, she became curious.

What was the longing that ‘Francesco’ possessed?

What did he want so badly that he was willing to risk never being saved….

“Shall I answer you?”

“No. Shut up.”

“Yes, I understand. But please call me whenever you are ready to listen.”

Casimir honestly felt perplexed.

Even if she broke its neck or cut it off, it would simply smile foolishly and tell her to do as her heart desired.

This space was similar.

Even if she destroyed it or set it on fire, it quickly returned to its original state.

‘Seeing as I was dragged here in an instant without being able to resist, it is a very powerful Curse.’

If so, she should feel intense malice….

‘…This place is excessively peaceful.’

Since she had no idea where the core was hidden, she had no way of knowing how to leave.

Is the core hidden outside this dream?

To prevent consciousness from accessing it.

Casimir frowned.

Back when she served Nephiton, the ‘Visionary,’ she had learned how to escape from a sorcerer who intrudes into dreams.

‘The important thing is not to self-harm within the dream.’

If one is injured or dies in a dream, the body wakes up in shock, but if that habit is formed, one might end their own life simply by mistakenly thinking they are in a ‘dream.’

It is better to try and sleep within the dream if it feels like one.

The one who intruded into the dream is, in the end, merely an ‘uninvited guest.’

No matter how much they mess up the dream, no actual injury occurs.

Therefore, no matter what she faced, she could simply scoff and walk out.

As she crossed her arms and closed her eyes tightly, Francesco’s voice tickled her ears.

“May I provide you with comfortable bedding?”

“…No.”

“Actually, you have no need to sleep here. You no longer need to satisfy such biological requirements.”

The moment she decided to completely ignore it and stop responding, the space suddenly shook.

The void tore open, and something acrid leaked through.

She could instinctively feel that this ‘intrusion’ was toxic.

“What is that? Did it crawl in from the ‘outside’?”

“No. That came from the inside. How interesting. To lift the ‘isolation’ using a drug that induces temporary amnesia.”

“Explain. Who is trying to attack me?”

“It has not been born yet, so it has not received a name. But it does have a prenatal name. Currently, it is called ‘Insanity.’”

“What….”

How could something unborn attack her?

She wanted to ask, but the space was collapsing faster.

Casimir floundered for a moment in a darkness where nothing could be seen.

Someone called her name. Casimir, Casimir, Casimir….

‘No.’

It was a more familiar pronunciation.

One she had heard since she was in her mother’s womb….

“…Kasmira.”

Casimir opened her eyes.

The familiar patterns embroidered on the tent swayed gently.

A divine light, the symbol of Nephiton, cast a shadow over her.

“Kasmira. Didn’t I tell you several times to go to bed early yesterday?”

A person who had died long ago was speaking to her.

Casimir reached out to scatter the vision, but her hopelessly short arms only flailed in the air.

The phantom, thinking that gesture was her way of stretching, laughed softly and kissed Casimir’s forehead.

“Now, time to wake up. Wake up quickly before the creases on your mother’s forehead grow deeper.”

“…Daddy?”

Casimir spoke the words unconsciously and was slightly surprised.

It was a language she hadn’t heard in over twenty years, yet it flowed naturally from her lips.

“Yes, my cute little quail. Now, say ‘ah’.”

As the phantom spoke, he placed a dried fruit in Casimir’s mouth. It was his habit to say that one must wake up feeling good for the day’s luck to be good. When she was young, Casimir would sometimes keep her eyes closed even after waking up, curious about what her father had brought. Sometimes he would sing to her in a low voice….

‘…No, now is not the time to be immersed in memories.’

This is definitely a ‘dream.’

Such a scene could not be created without digging through her memories.

Casimir bolted upright, chewing the dried fig in her mouth.

‘Why make me dream of this specific point in time? To make me a powerless child?’

Sorcerers who use dreams as a medium are mostly despicable.

They are people who spy on others’ memories and strive to mold them into nightmares by poking at terrible wounds.

Casimir looked at her hands and guessed she was not even ten years old.

‘…If they wanted to show me the most terrible memory, they should have chosen a point ten years later than this.’

Do they intend to show the contrast between peaceful times and hellish moments?

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Casimir recited the method of waking from a dream.

‘Find the alien part, and break it.’

Even if she couldn’t find the core, she could just smash everything until the dream could no longer be maintained.

As long as she was aware she was in a dream, it would have no effect on her.

The phantom said as he combed her hair,

“Today is the day we decided you could come along on the hunt because you begged so much.”

‘A hunt….’

Then she could use a bow.

That was welcome news.

If she saw anything strange, she could just shoot it.

As she stepped out of the tent, stinging sunlight poured down.

‘…If the sensations of reality were influencing this, the dream should be winter.’

No matter how hard she tried, she felt only warm and soft air.

She seemed to have fallen into a very deep dream.

A brown-eyed servant bowed, offering the hunting gear.

“Your mother is waiting for you.”

‘…Mother?’

Casimir frowned.

She is my mother, not your mother.

He should use the proper title.

The Lord, no, the Amir….

“My child.”

Turning her head, her ‘mother’ stood there in hunting attire.

Blood-red hair flowed down from beneath her hood.

“Come here.”