Chapter 245: From The Ashes (2) Part 1

The roof sloped like a breaking wave, the floorboards groaned with age, and dust fell from above like lazy snow. The guild room seemed ready to collapse with a sigh, but on this island, it was still counted among the last real shelters, one of the few left that hadn’t completely given up.

“... Guess I should congratulate you,

huh

? Getting all chummy with Professor now?” Jukaken said, sneering at Arlos in the reflection.

“Shut your mouth, you piece of shit,” Arlos replied, her face turning stone cold.

“Blabber on, sure~ but it doesn’t change the fact that Arlos, the Puppeteer, showed her original form, and Deculein had the pleasure of seeing every inch.

“What did he say again~?

Oh

, right—if the world’s most noble and exquisite art piece existed, you would remain something better than the finest damn artwork in the world,” Jukaken said, chuckling as he trimmed his beard and adjusted his coat.

“Jukaken must be busy trying to impress Deculein,”

Arlos thought, shaking her head.

“Whatever you say—Deculein’s just the same. I still get goosebumps just thinking about what he did to me.”

Even when she was still called Cynthia, Arlos had become numb to the world’s obsession with appearances. Lookism was nothing new, and with both men and women constantly eyeing her with attention, it was no surprise that once

Puppetry

, her specialized magic, blossomed, she chose to lock away her original form—and the reason wasn’t anything special.

Because it’s too much to deal with, and out there, it’s not safe.

That was the only reason Arlos had chosen to team up with Gerek and Jukaken—since Gerek, the Multi-Persona, had fractured into too many selves to care for, had no interest in people, and Jukaken had no interest in women. That alone made them easier to breathe around.

"... Finally, I’m really getting off this damned island~” Jukaken said.

"Then, get to work."

Jukaken and Gerek were assigned the task of tunneling along the island's perimeter to outline the framework of the magic circle. Convincing Gerek proved difficult, but he eventually conceded, acknowledging that real revenge required stepping beyond the confines of the island.

“Alright, alright. Whatever gets me out of here, right?” Jukaken replied, parting his hair neatly into a slick two-to-eight ratio. Just like that, the old style of his underworld years—the look of a man known as one of the Six Serpents—returned. “Speaking of which, where’s Deculein? Wasn’t your task to escort him?”

“Deculein’s in the village.”

“The village? And you’re managing his escort remotely through that shabby puppet of yours?”

For Arlos, even calling her a homebody felt too generous, as she had secluded herself from the outside entirely, commanding a puppet to go in her place—her own form untouched by wind, sun, or sound for a long time now.

More importantly, this room keeps me out of Sylvia’s magical surveillance.

“You call it shabby? That puppet is more than enough to kill someone like you. I didn’t build it to look human—only to maximize performance. And besides, I didn’t want to stay near the Professor. The way he looked at me...”

“It didn’t seem lecherous to me.”

As Jukaken had said, Deculein didn’t look at Arlos like a man eyeing a woman with lecherous or inappropriate intent—only with the startling purity of a man who appeared to be a patron lost in a gallery. The praise he showered her with wasn’t flirtation but fascination, pure and intense, and perhaps a praise that bordered on overwhelming.

“Perhaps it’s not the worst thing. If I were to leverage this appearance for gain... there’s no bigger fish than the Professor,” Arlos muttered, shaking her head, a hint of bitterness on her face.

***

Sylvia's home stood tall at the center of the Island of the Voice, resembling a lighthouse with its tall and unique structure. To prepare for any potential threats, I stationed Arlos's puppet scarecrow nearby—a straightforward assembly of straw dressed in clothes.

Knock, knock—

The moment I knocked, the door creaked open to reveal Sylvia, her face a storm of anger, and without hesitation, she gripped my sleeve, pulling me into the tense silence of the room.

Bang—!

“Why are you here. Are you here to kill Cielia,” Sylvia asked, her hand slamming the door.

“Certainly not. There's no advantage in rousing you unnecessarily,” I replied.

"Then, why."

“I was told by Idnik that you’ve been dedicating yourself to study.”

“And,” Sylvia asked, blinking, her brow knitting ever so slightly.

“Have you given any thought to employing a private instructor?”

“... What—”

At my words, Sylvia's voice caught in her throat, her expression momentarily lost in the haze of surprise.

Gulp—

“What did you say,” Sylvia added, swallowing hard.

“There’s a ceiling to what one can achieve by studying alone.”

Sylvia stared back in disbelief, her expression dumbstruck with confusion—an unguarded moment that, strangely, made her seem more innocent than ever, and there was a certain charm to it.

“Hire me to be the one to bring structure to your studies.”

“... No,” Sylvia replied, shaking her head.

“And your reason?” I inquired, as if it were a passing thought.

"How could I trust you. There's no proof that you're not here to kill Cielia."

It was a tired excuse—and just insulting enough to hit a nerve with me.

“Sylvia, I am Deculein. There is no lie or deception in my presence.”

“You’re just a fake.”

“No, I remain Deculein. I give my oath—so long as I remain who I am now, I will not kill Cielia.”

Upon my oath not to kill Cielia, Sylvia's eyes widened, round with disbelief. Seizing the moment, I slipped past her and ascended the stairs to her room. Sylvia, momentarily stunned, gave chase, her steps a flurry of urgency tapping behind me.

“No, don’t. Stop. Stop,” Sylvia said, visibly shaken—a rare emotion in her voice—as she reached out to grab my back. “Don’t do that. Stop. I haven’t given you permission yet to—”

However, I placed my hand on the door—and opened it without hesitation.

Then, I fell silent.

The first thing I noticed was that Sylvia’s room was stuffed with plush toys—bears, rabbits, puppies, tigers, pandas—lined in neat little rows across her bed. But what caught my eye wasn’t the toys. It was the life-sized portrait of me, Deculein, plastered on her wall like a celebrity poster.

Sylvia must have painted this herself,

I thought.

Riiiiiiiiiip—

"... Get out," Sylvia said, rushing to pull the life-sized portrait off the wall.

Sylvia had her head dipped, her face flushed deep red—right down to her ears, burning with embarrassment as she ordered me to leave, but I ignored it without a second thought. Instead, I wandered over to the bookshelf placed on one side of the room and read the title of the nearest tome.

“Essenturutak Parielin.”

It wasn't the common tongue, nor the language of Yuren, nor any tribal dialect. It was a language so foreign that most of the continent would deem it incomprehensible. However, as I spoke it fluently, Sylvia's ears perked up, and she looked toward me.

"A book of the fairies. I believe you’ve had a taste for Etynel erotic literature in the past," I said.

“... I picked it up without realizing what it really was in the past.”

“Tell me—aren’t you at all curious about Etynel? Its grammar, its rhythm, its proper translations. Don’t you wish to understand that language for yourself?”

Everyone thought painting was her only hobby, but there was something else entirely—one less visible, but a more real passion to her.

“You’ve always preferred collecting books and literature for the texture of paper and learning new languages rather than painting on the canvas with a brushstroke, haven’t you?”

At that moment, Sylvia's eyes widened with startling clarity, and her small shoulders tensed as if caught in the swell of a rising tide, her reaction more profound than I’d anticipated.

“... How,” Sylvia muttered, but the rest of her words never came, and all she could manage was that broken fragment.

That was when I realized—Sylvia’s other hobby remained hidden from the world, a secret written only in the settings of her story, known to me, who had read it, and perhaps only a passion that her mother, Cielia, knew about.

Of course, Sylvia would have questions.

“How did you know that,” Sylvia asked, getting straight to the point.

“Sylvia,” I called, giving a small nod after a moment's thought.

Deculein did not make a habit of lying. It wasn’t that he lacked the ability, nor was it some flaw in his personality programming. It was pride—an inherited grace that came with the weight of his noble name.

“... What.”

However, he had a gift for letting the truth slip from his lips while keeping its full meaning tucked safely away and of course, I couldn’t tell her the truth—that I was the game designer, and her entire setting was something I had read, line by line.

“It remains with me—in memory and in my room.”

"What are you talking about. Don’t dodge the question—"

“

The Stars and Moon of Zeffelon.

”

At that moment, Sylvia’s eyes flew wide, her fingers easing from a clenched fist, her lips parting as if the breath had caught in her throat.

"It’s the title of the book you gifted me long ago."