Chapter 275: A Useful Man

  "...and so he finally stepped into the circle of the royal capital, becoming a subordinate of Duke Mrak. The duke had the duke's plans, and he had his own plans as well. He once told me that the person he was most grateful for in his life was me, that I had brought him from those fantasies into reality, giving him the chance to realize his own dreams. But later, I kept thinking, did I actually help him, or did I harm him... So in the end, even when he betrayed me, I wasn't too angry..."

  By the campfire, Talise and Aimee listened quietly to Ethan's story. Listening to someone else's life is a wondrous thing, especially such a tumultuous life. Though it seems to have nothing to do with you, that most basic resonance of being human allows the listener to feel the joys and sorrows, the weight and helplessness of life. And because of being an observer, one can see the helplessness and tragedy within even more clearly. Ethan spoke in great detail; this was also a form of catharsis for him. Many of Rodhart's experiences overlapped with his own, and the storytelling continued late into the night.

  "What a pitiful person," Aimee sighed, summarizing Rodhart's life with these words.

  Talise snorted coldly and said: "What's so pitiful about him? His end, utterly discredited, was destined. A fellow who betrays trust and abandons everything for power, no matter how high he climbs or how strong he becomes, is bound to fail in the end."

  "It's not a matter of success or failure..." Aimee fluttered her large eyes, in which the campfire reflected a gentleness and acceptance like water. "He wasn't strong at all, he was just broken, escaping. His own ideals and dreams were crushed by reality. Burdened with so much pain and regret, he could only escape into reality itself. Reality is so powerful, so terrifying, that he could only merge with it, to become a strong man within that reality. In truth, he was no longer pursuing ideals, but escaping the past, trying to mend the void and shadows in his heart. He wasn't pursuing it of his own volition; he was fleeing, which is why he could disregard everything. His eyes could see nothing else."

  "To escape that shadow, he became a machine chasing power. He lost love, friendship, and even himself. A person like that is truly pitiful, with nothing. No matter how high he climbs or how much he gains, he has never truly been satisfied."

  After her sigh, the young female magician reached up to brush the long hair falling by her temple. She did not yet have the bewitching charm of a mature woman, but this purity and sensitivity was something a woman immersed in the mundane world could never possess, as light and clear as water.

  "People like that... actually make up the majority. Living in this world, how can one not yield to it? Heh, they would never think of themselves as pitiful," Ethan said with a faint smile, the image of the fat, smiling Duke Mrak appearing in his mind again. He recalled a conversation he had with the duke on the day before Sophia's wedding. According to Aimee's words, Rodhart was truly just like the Duke Mrak, and he himself had once been just one step away from walking that same path.

  There are no people who are born great villains, just as animals themselves are not inherently good or bad. Ethan had always believed this. This was also the reason why he could never feel complete animosity or killing intent toward anyone. Even towards Duke Mrak, Rodhart, or even someone like Marquis.

  "You're actually comparing me to that kind of person? How am I like him? How can a fool who can't even stick to his own beliefs and just drifts with the tide be compared to me?" Talise stared at Ethan and said. Listening to a story for half the night was one thing, but accepting that the protagonist of that story was like her was another matter.

  "I'm just... a little confused right now."

  "I can kind of understand how he feels. Although it's a bit different, the confusion and terror, the sadness, when the pillar that supports your world suddenly collapses, is truly terrifying." Aimee hugged her knees, shrinking like a frozen kitten. Her already slender body looked even thinner and more pitiful under the wide mage's robe.

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  Ethan moved a little closer to Aimee, but Talise was one step ahead, jumping over to sit beside Aimee and hug her, then glaring at Ethan: "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Don't worry, sister. From now on, I will be your support. Protecting you is the only justice and light I can be sure of, without confusion."

  "Mmm," Aimee looked at Talise and smiled, her face as beautiful as a flower in the firelight.

  Watching the two of them hugging, Ethan also smiled. He walked back and sat down opposite the campfire, feeling a warmth in his heart that he had rarely felt before.

  If only this could continue, or even go a step further. Ethan suddenly had such a thought. This feeling and thought had only occurred once before, when he first went to Oufu, with her. Thinking of this, his heart suddenly ached with a touch of melancholy.

  "Sigh, but where is that kid you talked about now, and what is he doing? I remember it was the queen of Ainfast who pleaded for him, getting him exiled, right?" Talise asked suddenly.

  Ethan lay down, looking at the star-filled sky above, and answered: "I don't know. I hope he learned his lesson and will just settle down honestly somewhere."

  Just a hope like that. Ethan sighed secretly. He knew he wouldn't be a person who would settle down honestly. Truly, as Aimee said, his eyes could see nothing but the distant path ahead.

  I will be useful.

  The echo of this sentence seemed to still reverberate in his mind, but now it sounded like a joke. A joke so funny it was no longer funny at all, a joke he couldn't even laugh at.

  "Truly very useful..." The stooped old man in front of him also muttered, nodding, followed by a violent bout of coughing.

  As long as this old man was around, this coughing never stopped. Sometimes Rodhart really suspected the old man would cough up his lungs at any moment, or cough himself to pieces. He had hoped and prayed for this countless times these past few days. But the old man, though seemingly on the verge of death and about to perish at any moment, paradoxically seemed as if he could cough on into the next century.

  After his remark, the old man pulled open the flesh on Rodhart's chest. His dry fingers pried, and the ribs sprang open like automatic spring-loaded doors. Three twig-like fingers squeezed Rodhart's heart, feeling the unique elasticity of the young man's muscle fibers, then poked at his liver and spleen before finally retracting his hand.

  So this is what it feels like to have one's heart squeezed by another person, Rodhart now knew. But his heart had long since stopped beating. His liver, spleen, stomach, and other organs had already been 'processed', with who knows what stuffed inside.

  His sense of feeling throughout his body was perfectly intact, as sensitive as if he had just taken a hot bath. His heart could even feel the wrinkles on those fingers, and he could feel the old man's breath spraying on his internal organs. And yet, he couldn't even blink an eyelid, let alone make a sound. His vocal cords had been removed and tossed aside; the old man probably thought he would never need that organ again.

  I will be useful. This was the belief he had always held. Because he knew that only useful people would be valued, would have the chance to continuously climb to the top. So he had always tried his best to make himself very useful. Not just training his body and martial skills, but also his mind, the information he knew, and so on. But he had never imagined that he would be "useful" in this way.

  The old man pulled at the muscles of his arm and thigh again, burying his head as if to carefully observe the blood vessels and nerves within. He couldn't help but let out another sigh, punctuated by his coughing: "Excellent physical condition. Though inferior in terms of raw strength and constitution, his potential and coordination are much stronger. Rare, so rare... Useful, so useful..."

  The sensation of the old man's fingers moving across his muscles was excruciatingly clear. The pain was so sharp and immense it felt as if his consciousness was splitting apart, but he couldn't perform a single action to alleviate or vent it.

  The one the old man referred to was a similar figure standing in the corner of the room. "Similar" perhaps. Rodhart had witnessed with his own eyes that hulking, muscular man being disassembled by this old man into small pieces, like a giant toy made of building blocks, and then reassembled piece by piece. This was probably the only other person in the world who shared the same fate as him. If that could still be considered a person.

  There was no need to speak of regret, or even to feel it. His current feeling was pain, and nothing but pain. His mind could no longer accommodate any other thoughts or sensations. What flowed in his vessels was no longer blood. The old man had used a thin, long tube to pour a liquid with a strange, foul smell into his body. The stench and a strange magical power had completely replaced the blood, spreading from his vessels throughout his entire body.

  The muscles, nerves, tendons, and bones of his limbs were all taken down by the old man for careful study and examination, then reattached like building blocks. The reattached parts seemed to have something more, and something less. Under this old man's pair of twig-like hands, his body had completely become a toy that could be disassembled at will.

  The old man's movements were skillful, as if he had spent his entire life tinkering with human limbs and organs. He almost never used any instruments, just slowly tearing, prying, and pulling with his hands to completely disassemble a human body. Wherever the magic on his fingers went, blood vessels would immediately seal on their own, not letting Rodhart shed a single extra drop of blood.