Chapter 372: The Story After (4) [Side Story, Part 4]

“Before we go any further, I would like you to confirm it once more,” the Tower Master said.

Ketal nodded and set his hand on the handle of the device. He began to turn it steadily. As the rotation sped up, the physical motion pressed through the coil, and kinetic energy shifted into electrical energy. The tiny bulb at the end of the device brightened, a soft glow swelling into a clear, steady light. The Tower Master watched as if nothing in the world could be more fascinating.

“Remarkable,” he said. “There is no Myst present, yet light appears.”

For them, light had always been something that bloomed from Myst. Whether the source was mana, Aura, or the power they called magic, some form of Myst was always consumed to create radiance. That was the order of this world. Light was the manifestation of Myst being spent.

Now, however, Ketal had spread his authority and erased Myst from this little, bounded space, yet the bulb still shone. The Tower Master tilted his head.

“What did you call this phenomenon again?” he asked.

“It is a process that occurs when charge accumulates in matter,” Ketal replied. “When you generate a difference between positive and negative charge, whether through friction or other means, that imbalance moves, and electricity is produced. Static electricity works in a similar way.”

“I still do not understand,” the Tower Master said honestly. “In this world, no such thing as charge exists.”

In place of charge, there was Myst. That was the only difference. Static electricity existed here as well; people sometimes felt a sharp jolt when they touched something at the wrong moment or noticed a spark leap through dry air. Yet the cause was not the same. In this world, friction stirred and compressed mana, which then snapped apart and scattered in brief flashes of light.

The Tower Master spoke again. “You said your world has lightning as well.”

“Yes,” Ketal said. “I do not know the details, but in my world, lightning is explained as a phenomenon that arises from the energy generated when raindrops fall and move through the atmosphere.”

“Similar, yet different,” the Tower Master murmured. “Here, lightning occurs when Myst condenses as the rain falls, and that compressed Myst bursts apart.”

He had heard enough to begin drawing rough lines. Thoughts settled into place, and he started to summarize.

“What did you say the fundamental forces in your world were?” the Tower Master asked him.

“Gravity, electromagnetic force, the strong nuclear force, and the weak nuclear force,” Ketal said. “Those four are the basic forces. They form something like the law and order that govern the universe itself.”

“Four forces,” the Tower Master said. “That is quite a number. In contrast, the order and laws of this world are built on only one.”

In this world, Myst, and nothing else, formed the core. It appeared under different names—mana, magic power, Aura—yet in its essence, it remained the same substance. Myst served as the foundation that sustained all things.

It took the role that gravity, electromagnetic force, the strong nuclear force, and the weak nuclear force filled in Ketal’s world. It pulled and bound, repelled and carried, touched the small and the large alike, and permeated all existence.

At a glance, the difference did not look so great. In the end, one world had several basic forces while the other had one; the structures were different, but the results appeared similar. When they examined the details, however, the gap widened.

“In your world,” the Tower Master said, “the forces always produce the same result under the same conditions.”

“In this world, that is not the case,” Ketal answered.

“Myst is fluid,” the Tower Master said. “It shifts. It is never exactly the same.”

The Myst of this world did not guarantee a fixed outcome. Speaking in simple numerical terms, on Earth, one hundred plus one hundred always equaled two hundred. There was no exception. No matter how many times the calculation was made, the answer did not change.

Here, that was not true. One hundred plus one hundred could certainly become two hundred, but it could also become 199.99997 or 200.220004. The result might hover around the expected value, but each repetition produced a slightly different answer.

Unpredictable variability was the greatest difference between the laws of Ketal’s old world and the laws of the world he lived in now. Because of that, there was a single, fundamental limitation.

“So that is why science never took root here,” Ketal said.

The laws of his original world produced clear, consistent results. That reliability allowed people to run experiments, compare outcomes, and trust that what worked once would work again. On that foundation, they were able to build increasingly complex devices. Lightbulbs, tanks, computers, satellites—these were only a few of the things they had created by combining simple, predictable principles.

In this world, the result was not fixed. Myst refused to behave in exactly the same way twice. It made building layered, intricate structures far more difficult.

“In this world, we have artifacts that use Myst,” the Tower Master said, nodding. “However, the things you described—computers, smartphones—such tools cannot be used by ordinary people. Most artifacts can be handled only by those who can wield Myst themselves.”

Because the result was always a little different, there were almost no artifacts that common folk could use safely. Only those who could control Myst, who could impose their will over those fluctuations, were capable of operating them.

“So instead of individuals handling Myst directly, your people bound the laws of the world itself and made them obey,” the Tower Master mused. “It is an intriguing way to live.”

“The difference is very clear,” Ketal said.

His smile held a warmth that came from genuine interest. This conversation pleased him. It gave him a clean answer to a question he had carried for some time: why science never advanced in a fantasy world. The Tower Master seemed equally absorbed.

“If what you say is true,” he murmured, “then if we could control the result, we could create artifacts that even ordinary people could use. There are already tools that reclaim weapons or recall armor when triggered, but perhaps we could go beyond that. If there were a way to fix the outcome of Myst...”

He sank into thought, chasing implications and designs no one else had ever considered. After a long silence, he caught himself and let out a dry laugh.

“Ah. My apologies. My mind wandered,” he said.

“I understand,” Ketal replied. “I ended up thinking about several things as well.”

The Tower Master finished his mental sorting and spoke with quiet wonder. “There are differences in the details, but from a broad view, the two worlds are quite similar.”

Gravity, electromagnetic force, the weak nuclear force, and the strong nuclear force—all of them found their place in this universe through Myst. Aside from the single difference that Myst produced variable results, everything else aligned so closely that one could almost call it the same. From that realization, a single thought naturally rose to the surface.

“It suggests that the universe you came from and this one are connected in some way,” the Tower Master said.

“That possibility exists,” Ketal agreed.

“May I tell you a hypothesis?” the Tower Master asked him.

Ketal inclined his head. The Tower Master chose his words with care.

“I suspect that the universe you came from and this one are related,” he said. “Do you know anything about the birth of the universe?”

“Enough to follow a discussion,” Ketal answered.

A point compressed to its limit had expanded and become the universe. The Big Bang—its essence remained unchanged. That theory existed here as well, carried down through the words of sages and gods alike.

“There are many theories about the end of the universe,” the Tower Master continued. “One of them claims that a universe which expands and expands will eventually reach a limit, then begin to contract and end.”

Ketal knew that one, too.

The Big Crunch

, Ketal thought.

“And there is another theory besides. When the universe has fully contracted and compressed, some trigger causes it to expand again, and a new universe is born,” the Tower Master continued.

The Tower Master was talking about a new cosmos that bloomed from the corpse of the old one, and Ketal understood the meaning behind the Tower Master’s words.

“You mean my universe might be the previous one,” he said.

“I believe there is a chance of that,” the Tower Master said. “The basic laws resemble each other too closely.”

If everything matched except for the variability of Myst, it was difficult to see them as entirely separate. It felt more natural to think of this world as something that had grown from the remains of the last.

“Perhaps a very long time passed,” the Tower Master said. “Your universe reached its end and collapsed. Then more long ages slipped by, and this universe came into being. As for why you arrived here... that remains beyond us.”

Ketal stroked his chin. The Tower Master glanced at him, uncertain.

“Are you all right?” he asked Ketal.

“What do you mean?” Ketal replied.

“It may not be a pleasant hypothesis for you,” the Tower Master said. “To be told that the universe you lived in has already perished... most people would find that a harsh thing to hear.”

Ketal gave a short laugh. “I have no affection for that world.”

A universe without Myst, where nothing like this could exist, had been little more than a hell to him.

“I had no family, no friends there,” he added. “There is no one for me to mourn. In truth, the thought that it has ended makes me feel lighter.”

“In that case, I am relieved,” the Tower Master said. “Even so, I did not expect you to suggest these experiments.”

Analysing the differences between two sets of universal laws, probing the gap between worlds: the idea had come from Ketal himself. The Tower Master had not imagined that someone who disliked his previous world so thoroughly would take the initiative in such a project.

“It is nothing special,” Ketal said. “I simply decided to change the way I think.”

“Do not fix meanings. Do not carry value like a burden. Do not doubt yourself. Enjoy what comes. You think too much. It is your only flaw.”

Those were the final words the Abomination had left him before it vanished. He had decided to follow them and stop investing his previous life with weight it did not need. He stretched as if casting off the last of that old gravity.

“Good,” he said. “My questions have been answered. Thank you.”

“I am the one who should be grateful,” the Tower Master said. “I have new ideas I never would have reached alone. There are many experiments I would like to try now.”

“Should you not deal with your paperwork first?” Ketal asked him.

“That... is also true,” the Tower Master said.

His voice, bright with anticipation a heartbeat before, suddenly went flat. Ketal chuckled.

***

Another month slipped by. The world was peaceful in a way that felt almost unfamiliar. Small problems still flared up here and there, and the aftermath of war continued to demand attention, but those tasks were being handled one by one.

Ketal spent a rare quiet day drinking tea with Milayna. Milayna had first met him in the White Snowfield as a merchant, and she had kept in steady contact with him even after he left that frozen realm. Two years had passed since then. Now, the air around her was fully ripened. No one would dare dismiss her as a naive girl any longer.

“You seem to be doing well,” Ketal said, smiling. “I have heard your name more than once. You have become quite a famous merchant.”

“That is not my own strength,” Milayna replied, giving a rueful smile and shaking her head. “To be perfectly honest, I owe a great deal to you, Ketal.”

Milayna had formed a close relationship with him long before his identity became widely known. As word of the Champion spread, so too did interest in the people close to him. Because she had ties to him from early on, that attention fell heavily on her.

When he felled the Demon King and defeated the Primarch, that interest reached its peak. She was a merchant who stood in a friendly relationship with the Champion who had saved the world. That alone yielded immense advantages in negotiation and trade.

The benefits grew so extreme that even Milayna, who prided herself on being a greedy merchant, began to feel uneasy.

“Connections are part of a merchant’s skill as well,” Ketal said. “I have received much help from you in my own way. You should enjoy what you have earned.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Milayna answered. She lifted her teacup, her smile soft.

He watched her for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.

“Hmm,” he murmured.

“You look troubled,” Milayna said. “Is something bothering you?”

Ketal stroked his chin with a strange expression. Milayna hesitated, then spoke gently.

“If there is a problem, and if I can help at all, please tell me,” she said.

“It is nothing,” Ketal replied. “It is not a problem you could assist with.”

He tapped his jaw with a fingertip, thinking. After everything had ended, he had spent a full year inside the White Snowfield.

He had watched over the tribe and brought the chaos within the White Snowfield under control. In that time, he had encountered many kinds of monsters. The White Bear and the Ugly Rat—he had seen almost everything that moved within that harsh domain.

Almost everything had revealed itself to him. Only one creature had never crossed his path—a monster so vast its length was said to brush the sky itself. The White Serpent.

Did it slip Outside?

Ketal wondered.

It was possible that the serpent had escaped before he erected the barrier. If so, it might have left the White Snowfield without his knowledge.

Even so, the world beyond had been quiet for the past two years. Given the size of that creature’s body, it should have drawn notice the moment it moved. The fact that there had been no rumors, no disturbances, nothing at all, felt wrong.

It is strange,

Ketal thought.

He sipped his tea with a faint, puzzled frown.

Around that same time, the earth began to roar. On the far edge of the continent, in a sprawling mountain range buried under snow, the ground shuddered and heaved as if something beneath it had begun to wake.