#745 (Patreon)

Dave (2)  

Oliver, who appeared suddenly, greeted everyone.  

For a brief moment, it felt as though sound itself had vanished.  

Not just voices or breathing, but even the ominous crackle of flames devouring the building and air.  

It was, quite literally, silent.  

A serene and utterly peaceful silence.  

Amidst a city gripped by chaos, this calm spread like water, washing over the hearts of those present.  

The terrified citizens, Terence and Philip burdened with anxiety, even the Warlock lurking beyond the Corpse dolls—all their hearts felt it.  

In that silence, Oliver knelt on one knee to meet Edith’s gaze.  

“You seem to have been through quite a lot.”  

Edith, pierced through the abdomen and out his back, let out shallow, faltering breaths, staring intently at Oliver.  

His expression was one of entrancement, as though forgetting even his impending death.  

But Edith was a gladiator of Landa who traded his conscience for a beast’s heart. He snapped back to reality and retorted.  

“...You’re goddamn late.”  

“The protagonist always arrives late.”  

At Oliver’s response, Edith’s eyes widened in shock. Exaggerating just a bit, they might as well have popped out.  

It was that startling of a statement—completely uncharacteristic of Oliver.  

“You look like you’ve been through a lot yourself.”  

“It wouldn’t be wrong to say that. Quite a lot, actually.”  

“The rumors... were true, then?”  

The Prince of Hell, the epicenter of the apocalypse.  

Edith referenced the whispers circulating in the underworld after Oliver defeated the Pied Piper.  

“Yes, they are true.”  

Without hesitation, Oliver answered directly. He admitted it—being the Prince of Hell and the epicenter of the apocalypse.  

Edith quietly marveled. It wasn’t the fact that Oliver was the Prince of Hell that astonished him. Somehow, it wasn’t surprising; Oliver being even more than that wouldn’t feel strange.  

What stunned Edith was Oliver’s demeanor.  

Despite possessing unmatched talent and power that no one could hope to rival, Oliver had always been humbly deferential, to the point of subservience. And yet here he was, nonchalantly acknowledging something so immense.  

Personality is a matter of inherent nature, something rarely changed. It’s harder than altering rivers or moving mountains.  

But Oliver had changed this much? Whether this was for the better or worse, Edith wasn’t sure.  

After all, people tend to change for the worse rather than the better—just like Edith himself.  

“I didn’t think you’d be so interested in me,” Oliver said with a faint smile.  

“What?”  

“The questions you’re asking—they suggest you’ve been paying attention to me.”  

“...I’m just a shrewd investor.”  

“I see. For a moment, I thought there might be another reason. Like... conflicted emotions, maybe love...”  

Trailing off, Oliver glanced at Jane. Edith coughed up blood and snapped furiously.  

“You little bastard—cough! Cough!! Damn—!!”  

Edith’s reaction was explosive, as if Oliver had struck a nerve. But Oliver ignored him lightly.  

“Seeing you like this, I think being late was the right choice.”  

“Argh—cough!! ...Damn it!! Were you always like this?!”  

“I decided to live a little more joyfully. By the way, would you like to make a confession?”  

“What... are you talking about, you lunatic?”  

“You’re dying, Edith. I assume you’ve committed plenty of sins.”  

“Damn lunatic... still joking to the end—”  

“—Edith.”  

Oliver cut him off. His voice was uncharacteristically serious.  

“This isn’t a joke. Do you not wish to confess?”  

A brief silence followed. Edith, contemplating, finally scoffed.  

“...I don’t need to. Confession is for those who regret their sins and seek forgiveness. I’ve sinned plenty, but I’ve never regretted them, nor have I ever sought forgiveness.”  

“Are you certain?”  

“Yes. If I hadn’t committed those sins... If I’d lived like those pretentious fools here, do you think I’d be here with you now?”  

Edith stared directly at Jane as he said this, then turned his gaze to those around them.  

His presence was striking, unimaginable for someone dying with a wound through his abdomen.  

“Are you all listening? I don’t regret a single damn thing I’ve done! Unlike you pathetic cowards, I don’t whine or regret! My choices are mine alone! And this—this is the ending I chose! My life, my godforsaken daughter, my death—there’s not a shred of regret in any of it!”  

“Got it.”  

Oliver nonchalantly responded, placing his hand over Edith’s abdominal wound.  

The action was so sudden that Edith, wide-eyed in disbelief, was left utterly speechless. Moments later, he found himself shocked for the second time that day.  

As Oliver removed his hand, the wound that had pierced through Edith’s abdomen and back vanished as if it had never been there.  

“What the...?”  

Edith, startled, touched his abdomen where the wound had been.  

There wasn’t even a scar. Only the red blood staining his shirt served as evidence that there had ever been an injury.  

A wound gone as if by miracle. Edith looked at Oliver with an expression that screamed disbelief.  

His mind struggling to grasp the situation, Edith, uncharacteristically, could only ask a simple question.  

“Why?”  

“To make you regret.”  

“What... what...?”  

“To live a bit longer and regret. Of course, if you don’t want to, you can keep living as you always have.”  

“...”  

“All I can do is give you a little help. From here on, the choice is entirely yours, Edith.”  

Blunt and shameless words. Edith, after a long moment of stunned silence, murmured quietly.  

“Now that I think about it... I never liked you.”  

“I like you, Edith,” Oliver replied.  

Saying that, Oliver stood up.  

As he rose, his eyes met Jane’s. Without a word, Oliver silently sought her understanding through his gaze.  

Then he approached Terence—more specifically, the Prince Albert, who was wrapped in the remnants of a burnt tent.  

“May I speak with the prince?”  

The word "prince" caused murmurs to ripple through the surrounding crowd, and Terence froze, unable to say a word.  

Normally, whether it was true or false, he would’ve come up with a lie or tried to play dumb, but he was overwhelmed by the inexplicable aura radiating from Oliver.  

His mind told him to lie, but his body refused to comply.  

As he stood there, caught between action and inaction—  

Rustle.  

From within the half-burnt tent, Prince Albert emerged of his own accord.  

“Greetings, Your Highness. You’ve changed a bit,” Oliver said, looking at the prince.  

Indeed, Albert was somewhat different from the last time Oliver had seen him.  

The last time they met in Landa, Albert had been a well-dressed and clean young boy.  

But now, he was dressed poorly, his body stained with sweat and soot, making him look quite dirty.  

This boy, too, seemed to have gone through much, like everyone else here.  

“Dave...”  

“P-please hand over the prince to us!”  

As Albert revealed himself, someone among the crowd shouted.  

Surprisingly, once one person spoke up, others quickly followed suit.  

“Please! You don’t understand what’s happening in this city!”  

“The royal family is guilty! He must pay the price!”  

“Please, help us! Have mercy on us!”  

Each person begged, explaining their version of the current situation, justice, and their pleas for help, all asking Oliver to hand over the prince.  

Their words, like a wave of emotions and language, crashed endlessly against Oliver, trying to persuade him.  

The problem was—  

“What do you want to do, Your Highness?”  

—they had no effect on Oliver.  

Despite the crowd’s endless talk of the tragedy unfolding in the capital, the looming disaster, and their dire need for help, Oliver listened but remained unmoved.  

“Dave...?”  

“I’d like to hear Your Highness’s thoughts. I have a general sense of the situation. What do you want to do?”  

Terence, watching from the side, tried to interject, but Oliver placed a finger over his lips. Terence immediately fell silent.  

It was a strange feeling—he didn’t know if he had silenced himself willingly or if it had been forced upon him. He simply stayed quiet, staring at Prince Albert.  

After a long silence, Albert finally spoke.  

“My... my brother is preparing a ritual right now... I don’t know exactly what it is, but he’s betrayed everyone. He betrayed the kingdom, the people, and even our family...”  

“I’m listening.”  

“There was a warning... Joanna, the child of the angel, warned us this might happen.”  

“I’m listening.”  

“But I ignored it. I thought my brother would never do such a thing.”  

“I’m listening.”  

“And then I ran away. While my mother lay collapsed, while the city was about to be engulfed in disaster—I ran away.”  

“I’m listening.”  

“On the way, I saw orphans being hunted, and I turned a blind eye. Even at the execution ground... because of me, people got hurt. And then... and then...”  

Albert, as if confessing his sins, recounted the countless things he had experienced that day.  

The young prince appeared tormented.  

“So, I... I...”  

“Your Highness.”  

“...”  

“I didn’t ask about what you’ve done. I asked what you want to do now. Not your sins—your desire.”  

Oliver gazed at Prince Albert with eyes as calm as a lake, yet unfathomably deep.  

Under that gaze, Albert, who had been fidgeting his fingers in torment, suddenly looked as if he had been struck.  

After a brief silence, he spoke in a voice filled with desperation.  

“Help me...”  

He asked Oliver to save him.  

In response, Oliver placed a hand on Albert’s head and awkwardly patted him.  

Then he stood, tapping the ground twice with his quarterstaff as he walked toward the crowd surrounding them.  

As Oliver stepped forward and met the eyes of the people, the shouts and demands for the prince that had filled the air began to subside.  

One by one, the voices faded, and silence returned.  

In that stillness, Oliver spoke.  

His left hand was wrapped in bandages, one side of his hair bleached white, and his gaunt frame seemed as if he could collapse at any moment.  

“I’ve heard your voices clearly. You’re asking me to hand over the prince to you, aren’t you?”  

“...Yes!”  

The crowd shouted.  

Realizing they couldn’t take the prince by force, they tried desperately to persuade Oliver with their words.  

“The royal family is to blame for the destruction of this city!”  

“That’s right! They betrayed us and sided with the Warlocks!”  

“He’s a criminal! He must pay for his sins!”  

The people, as before, cried out about the city’s tragedy, the betrayal of the royal family, and the price that must be paid.  

Oliver nodded in agreement.  

“Perhaps you’re right. As the prince himself admitted earlier, he turned a blind eye to the truth before him, ran away like a coward, and abandoned others. That is a sin.”  

“You’re right! So—”  

“—But, as you’ve also heard, Prince Albert was unaware of what was happening.”  

The crowd, which had been roaring like a storm, suddenly quieted as though doused in cold water.  

They wanted to shout that it was a lie, but as their eyes met Oliver’s calm, unwavering gaze, they couldn’t.  

It felt as if he would immediately ask, “Do you truly believe that?” and they knew they wouldn’t be able to answer affirmatively.  

Then someone shouted, breaking the silence.  

“He’s the prince! The second in line to the throne! Even if he knew nothing, he has a duty to this chaos!”  

The man shifted the conversation from “sin” to “duty.”  

Though abrupt, it wasn’t wrong.  

Albert was a prince. Even if he bore no blame, he had a duty to quell the chaos. That was what being a prince meant.  

Once again, Oliver agreed.  

“That’s not incorrect. A prince remains a prince, no matter what.”  

“Then...”  

“But, sir, have you fulfilled all your duties?”  

The man’s face hardened at Oliver’s question.  

“As a child, did you honor your parents? As a sibling, did you cherish your brothers? As a husband, were you faithful to your wife? As a father, did you love your children? Did you live harmoniously with your neighbors and do your best in your work? Did you fulfill all your duties?”  

The man’s lips quivered, but no words came out.  

Oliver shifted his gaze from the man to the rest of the crowd and asked,  

“I’m not accusing or criticizing you. I’m merely asking: among all of you here, is there anyone without sin, anyone who has never neglected their duties? If so, step forward and take the prince with you.”  

As he finished speaking, Oliver waved his hand.  

The menacing metal barrier that had stood between the crowd and Albert receded, transforming back into a sword.  

Now, anyone could approach and seize the prince if they wished.  

Yet, not a single person stepped forward.  

Although there was nothing physically blocking them, it felt as though an even greater, more formidable wall now stood in their way, preventing them from moving.  

They simply shuffled awkwardly, avoiding Oliver’s gaze.  

The only emotion they felt now was shame.  

The kind of shame that a person ought to feel.  

“What you say isn’t wrong. The prince does have his sins and duties. However, to demand excessive punishment and obligations solely because he is a prince would also be unjust. If that is permitted, then scorning the poor and oppressing the weak would also be justified. Is that truly what you desire?”  

“...We just want to live.”  

From the crowd, someone muttered, voice trembling with tears.  

“We just want to live... The city is burning, the sky has turned black, and everything is twisted. What are we supposed to do?”  

They asked what they were supposed to do.  

“The palace is surrounded by the military, so we can’t stop them. We can’t even leave the city. The radio says this is just the beginning—so what can we do? We want to live. Heaven has abandoned us; what are we to do?!”  

A cry filled with despair.  

People began to sob, caught between helplessness and anguish.  

As the weeping reached its peak, Oliver, who had been silently listening, finally spoke.  

“Heaven has not abandoned you.”  

The people, their heads bowed in shame and despair, slowly raised their gazes.  

Facing them, Oliver repeated his words.  

“Heaven has not abandoned you. I am here.”