Chapter 67

Chapter 67

“Slap!”

The cheek is a mysterious organ that can both awaken and lose a person’s mind. (Generally, the latter was the main application.)

Ivan, being a highly skilled agent, successfully awakened Elpheira’s mind.

“Uh... Why...?”

“Snap out of it.”

“Snap out of it? What are you talking about? I’ve never lost my mind! I was contemplating how to share that with you, considering your thoughts, but this rude human... No, ‘rudeness’ and ‘human’ are the same thing.”

Elpheira, while babbling nonsense, still glanced at the pile of combs.

“What does that look like?”

“Huh? That’s a treasure trove! I’m a merciful elf, so I’ll split it with you. Oh, but Lorein is not included. That has a purpose. It’s not something you can eat as it is; I’ll infuse it. It’s a very tricky ingredient....”

“It looks like combs to my eyes.”

Ivan casually remarked to Elpheira, who started murmuring Elvish again.

“What? Combs? What’s that sudden talk about?”

“Literally combs for combing hair.”

Ivan pulled Elpheira’s arm and slowly stepped back.

“That’s a trap.”

“A trap... Oh... really? It looks like combs? But what kind of trap...?”

“A trap that shows what you desire most from the observer’s perspective. Probably a dreamlike trap, similar to when you first arrived at this temple.”

“Does that make sense? What kind of life does a human live that combs are what they desire most...? Especially when there’s an elf next to them, not to mention their insignificance?”

A dreadful trap indeed. To destroy an elf’s mind like this.

But Ivan was not surprised. Inherent lack of character in elves is common knowledge; it naturally implies that elves are a mentally weak race. Those with a healthy mind do not belittle other races.

Ivan still coldly gazed at the sparkling hills of combs.

If it’s a trap, there must be an intention behind it.

He narrowed his eyes, scanning from end to end of the room. Temptation always has a purpose.

There can be no trap without intent.

The treasure pile lures in victims, like lanterns hanging from a predator’s head. Now it was time to find the fangs of that predator.

‘The scent felt when opening the entrance.’

So, it’s a trap that disturbs both vision and smell, leading victims to the desired treasure pile by dismantling their subconscious defenses.

“Elpheira.”

“Yes?”

“Still no magical aura?”

“Well, no. If there was, I would have immediately recognized it as a trap, but there’s no sign of it at all.”

“Hmm.”

If it’s not a magical mechanism, let’s assume it’s a trap based on physical actions.

Ivan closed his eyes, blocked his sense of smell, and slowly leaned his ear.

-Thud, thud, thud...

The sound reverberates beyond closed eyes, bouncing back with echoes. Sounds colliding with terrain and objects return with distinct refractions, slowly taking shape.

It’s a fundamental use of echolocation.

In this spacious room, there’s a ‘pile of something’ and ‘something protruding.’

Immobile still life. Therefore, the immediate possibility of it harboring an enemy is low.

“In the treasure pile you see, at the center, do you see something protruding?”

“Protruding?”

“The form doesn’t matter. Just think freely. When you first saw it, was there something you wanted to grab first?”

“Oh, yes. If we have to specify... something is protruding. Probably some grass.”

“I see.”

Ivan opened his eyes. In the middle of the pile of combs, a particularly well-crafted comb was slanted among the other items, precisely located through echolocation.

If the trap was intended to make him want to pull that out.

Ivan cautiously moved, feeling the sensation beneath his feet as the combs crunched beneath him.

He walked gingerly and picked up the comb.

Suddenly, the craftsmanship was so excellent that he felt the urge to take it. Exactly to his taste, a simple yet beautifully functional design, with a small utility clip designed like a dagger for added reliability.

Perhaps he could consider commissioning a custom order later, so he memorized the form. Ivan closed his eyes.

-Sss...

Then, he infused magic into his senses. The flow of air touching his skin, even the subtle waves created by his exhaling breath, felt intricately blurred.

Thump, thump. The sound of his heartbeat. Extracting concentration to the extreme, he projected all his senses onto the touch.

Reaching for that splendid comb stuck in place, slowly and precisely, like a surgeon’s scalpel.

A cold touch. The substantial weight of metal. A grip about 13cm long.

Slightly applying force to the fingertips and sensing the recoil when shaken lightly, he deduced the remaining shape.

With a firm grip, he could finally discern the complete form.

Ivan slowly closed his eyes.

Oof, tearing away his sense of hearing.

Oomp, pulling out his sense of smell.

“If you truly read my thoughts and knew about my homeland, there would have been traps better than a comb in this trap. It would have been dangerous.”

If Earthly belongings had piled up like hills, Ivan would never have resisted.

The mere comb, those cheap and meaningless trinkets, determined the limitations of this existence.

He couldn’t recall Earth, and he couldn’t manifest Earthly items.

In other words, it meant the ability to send him back to Earth did not exist.

[Most who faced me began with suspicion, went through certainty, and eventually only praise remained. You will be the same.]

“You are sealed by human hands.”

Ivan nonchalantly spoke, paying no attention to the statue’s nonsense.

[What...?]

“If the remains in this place were traces of people from a distant past.”

The remains Ivan finally saw after dispelling the illusion had the skeletal structure of a human. The shape of the limbs, the structure of the bones, everything was complete.

Therefore, by deduction, this was sealed by human hands.

He knew of beings revered as gods who lived. He had even faced some of them directly.

It is the Seven Dragon Lords and the Demon King.

Great warlords who ruled solely with the power each individual possessed, surpassing even the lords of each race, and eventually the Demon King, praised as the Emperor of the Seven Races by subjugating the seven warlords.

They were all gods in their own right, incomprehensible beings.

Countless armies prostrated before the Seven Dragon Lords. More than half of the kingdoms among the over twenty vanished into history, and the number of deceased humans surpassed counting.

It was a dreadful era, and no one could resist. It was a time when wielding weapons was not for victory but for survival.

In that time when everyone whispered in despair, a hero appeared.

*

Ivan understood the unfathomable power suppressing his fist.

This was ‘bliss’. An instinctive happiness that could not even imagine anything else aside from drawing the sword to break the seal. It was a primal happiness that made it impossible to fathom anything else, like the whispering of hell, akin to the melodies of heaven.

Yet, Ivan’s hand remained unmoving.

Slowly, fingers dropped one by one. The fingers that had tightly grasped the hilt, laboriously but firmly, as if it were glued.

He remembered the hero.

*

The hero did not wield the sword for his own happiness.

When the hero first cut down the Seven Dragon Lords, what he brought was not merely a single achievement. It was hope.

He swung the sword for hope. Like gazing at a morning star through thick clouds in the dark night.

If we dare to guess the hope he wished for, it might not have been peace for everyone.

Ivan is a selfish person. Therefore, he cannot harbor hope like the hero. His hope is merely for his own.

The desire to return to Earth.

That is what it simultaneously means. In this world, in this undeveloped pre-modern fantasy world, there is no happiness.

[What...? Who are you...?! How can a human think like this...!]

The left hand finally gained freedom.

It raises. Ignoring the cries of muscles and nerves screaming for rest, shouting that it’s enough.

Ignoring the pleas whispering how sweet a brief rest from exhaustion would be.

[Stop, stop...! Listen to me!!]

“No.”

The right hand gained freedom.

There is no happiness in this land, only obligations.

He only has tasks to fulfill. Anything beyond that, any joy he could personally contemplate, has all died over the past thirty years.

His hands slowly rose, gripping the head of the statue.

[Stop, stop!! You cannot kill me! I am your god!]

“I’ve met those who believe themselves to be gods.”

The tendons in Ivan’s grip writhed like snakes.

“They died.”

*

He knew beings revered as gods who lived. Some he even personally faced.

The Demon King and the Seven Dragon Lords.

And one of them died under his hand.

Therefore, killing someone who unquestionably believes themselves to be a god is not new for him.

As Ivan is an efficient person, he doesn’t find difficulty in doing things twice.

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