Volume Five: Returned from the Other Shore - The Sleeping Slave

"I think it's more appropriate for her to decide your life or death. After all, if anyone in this world is most qualified to kill you with their own hands, it's definitely her."

Having said that, I stepped aside and left the stage.

Givinia stepped forward.

The roles of audience and actors are reversed.

I stood a few meters away and watched from the side, removing all protective measures from Givinia's body. Now I just wanted to be a good spectator; as for what would happen to them... I'd leave that to Givinia.

Givinia approached the lady step by step, covering her naked body with the blood-woven veil I had given her. With each step, the blood-stained veil swayed gently, like a red ghost.

It was only a few steps, but it felt like an eternity for Givinia.

The revenge journey that began 192 years ago has finally come to an end.

Even from the very beginning, the reasons for revenge were untenable.

Even long ago, the act of "revenge" itself was more important than the purpose.

Even though hatred should have faded with time, she stubbornly carried out this action.

Revenge is no longer just an action; it has become the pillar that has sustained her all the way.

Without it, the girl would have nothing left.

The girl and her mother looked at each other.

Her long, flowing hair obscured Givinia's profile, her eyes peeking out from beneath her bangs, her lips trembling slightly, and her fingers gripping the blood-red veil so tightly that the white knuckles were visible.

In contrast, although the lady was worse off than a terminally ill patient, she was calm. Her bloodless face showed no emotion, neither joy nor sorrow, and it was impossible to tell whether it stemmed from the relief of facing death or from utter despair.

Silence.

The losers calmly watched the victors, awaiting their verdict.

The victors were far more unsettled than the vanquished.

After an unknown amount of time—perhaps a few seconds, perhaps several hours— Givinia suddenly lifted the long hair that had been covering her face. Her lips were no longer trembling, and the fingers gripping the blood-stained veil relaxed. She had returned to her usual calm and elegant self.

Givinia looked down at the lady lying in the flowerbed, her eyes filled with icy coldness, and declared:

"You lost, my mother, Winsani Goldleyman."

"That's right, I lost."

The lady readily admitted it.

When her opponent so readily conceded defeat, Givinia's expression changed slightly, but she quickly returned to normal.

"Do you know how many years I've waited for this moment?"

"Counting from the day I left... it's been about one hundred and ninety-two years, isn't it?"

"You remember it so clearly."

"A woman's heart is always more delicate than anyone else's."

"He looks so relaxed and confident, is he just putting on an act even after failing? It's so unbelievable."

"This isn't acting, my daughter. What other tricks do I have up my sleeve? To you, I'm just a dying man at your mercy."

"... Aren't you angry and pained by this outcome?"

"If that's what you wanted me to experience, then congratulations, you've succeeded..."

The lady tilted her head slightly, a movement she found extremely difficult to perform; her pale neck seemed as if it might break at any moment.

"I'm extremely angry right now."

With this simple movement, her expression twisted, a mixture of anger, hatred, and murderous intent that sent chills down one's spine.

"--Yes, I am furious! Because I, in my perfect state, have ultimately been defeated by you! I am in pain! Because I must swallow the bitter pill of defeat alone! I am saddened! Because my body is on the verge of death and I have even lost my voice, which is more precious than life itself! I am regretful! I regret not striking sooner to finish you off! I am indignant! Because every trump card I played failed to achieve a decisive victory! If time could turn back, I would have gone all out to annihilate you from the very beginning!"

A furious roar, brimming with negative emotions, rang out without warning. Givinia involuntarily took a step back, worried that this might be some hidden killing move. But nothing happened; it was just a simple shout.

Then, as soon as the roar subsided, the lady immediately returned to normal, the expression of hatred on her face disappeared, and she put on that peaceful mask.

"But... it's really difficult. Being defeated by a combination of enemies from the past and a destined nemesis is tragic enough, why make it even more tragic?"

"You want me to spare your life?"

"No, I meant 'you shouldn't look so miserable when you fail,' it's about ladylike manners."

"... That's quite a boast."

"That's probably my flaw, but you've inherited it perfectly. I'm actually a little surprised; I thought you'd continue recounting how you've survived all these years, what hardships you've endured, in order to accuse me of injustice."

"I feel the same way as you. I don't want to make sad things even sadder. I don't want to waste any more time on it; it's such a killjoy."

"If you value your time, why dawdle? Make a choice, my daughter."

The lady emphasized the word "daughter" and revealed a distinctly strange smile.

"Choose..."

Givinia's eyebrows twitched slightly, but she didn't back down. Instead, she extended a finger. The surrounding airflow rapidly compressed at her fingertip, forming a small Air Bomb. Although not very powerful, it was still enough to kill someone easily.

"Winsani Goldleyman..."

As Givinia whispered her name and brought the Air Bomb closer to her, the Air Bomb's spherical shape began to twist and crumble, eventually dissipating back into airflow.

"... It seems I've reached my limit too. I'm too exhausted; I can't even create Air Bomb anymore, let alone Mind Projection."

Givinia withdrew her hand and shrugged.

Even so, she seemed relieved.

Silence returned, but this time it did not last long.

In those few seconds, Givinia had made her decision.

She lifted her foot—

Then, he took a step back.

"I've figured it out... Indeed, it can't be left so easily."

"Oh? So you mean?"

"In other words, my choice is 'not to kill'."

"..."

The lady fell silent.

Givinia continued speaking to herself.

"I've thought about this many times—is death really the worst outcome for a person? For most, yes, but for a few, probably not? In other words—"

She lowered her head, her cold eyes reflecting a cruel light.

"--You have now been defeated by your own daughter and your lifelong nemesis. This shameful mark will forever be etched on your soul. Not to mention that your vocal cords have been severely damaged, and you have lost your most prized voice. That alone is enough to make you wish you were dead, isn't it? Therefore, rather than killing you, letting you live on with shame and pain, losing all your former glory and honor, is the most suitable ending for you!"

Givinia's gaze grew colder, and a cruel smile crept onto her lips.

He then took one last look at the lady's face, turned and left, his footsteps sounding incredibly firm, without even looking back.

"..."

But the lady simply watched her retreating figure quietly, her face devoid of the despair and helplessness that should have been present.

She remained silent.

The same goes for someone who is watching all of this as a spectator.

(The saying "the onlooker sees more of the game than the player" finally applies to you, Givinia...)

I looked at her, still trying to hold on, and shook my head inwardly.

When did you become so weak?

Or is it that you are truly this weak?

(But... I have no right to interfere.)

This is her choice, and I have no right to interfere with her will.

If she insists on continuing to deceive herself, then let her keep lying.

If she fears a life without goals to support her, then let her continue to run away.

I'm still a little unwilling to accept it.

(Please, don't tell me this is the end of the road--)

Just then,

The person who "luckily" escaped with their life spoke up.

Are you really that cowardly?

"..."

Ignoring the hoarse words coming from behind her, the girl quickened her pace.

Don't stop, don't listen.

If you waver even slightly, everything you've always believed in will crumble completely.

"Which is more pathetic: the victor who fears the future or the loser who faces death?"

"..."

Do not respond, and do not look back.

They ignored it completely.

"... Let me tell you something. Back when my passion for life hadn't been completely worn down by bad luck and marriage, I thought about something..."

Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.

"... If I have a daughter in the future, what should I teach her first? Reading? Writing? Arts and crafts? Music, chess, calligraphy, and painting?"

"..." He paused.

For the first time, my pace slowed down.

"None of those are right... If I had a daughter, the first thing I'd teach her would probably be—"

The lady paused,

"--Even after experiencing great setbacks,

Even if one has committed a grave mistake,

Even though I have always lived in confusion and pain,

Even if you lose your way forward,

We must survive.

Live with your head held high.

"..." Crack

The sound of feet rubbing against the crystal sand stopped abruptly.

The girl stopped.

Her body swayed, and her shoulders trembled slightly.

As if abandoning something, he bent down.

Pick up a sharp Crystal Spike that has fallen to the ground.

Then,

He gripped the Crystal Spike tightly in his hand, ignoring the sharp edges that cut his own hand and drew blood, then turned and walked towards her, surrounded by clusters of Lycoris radiata.

--Click!

Is this a cruel twist of fate, or the inevitable end of folly?

--Click!

Why did things come to this?

--Click!

I've always been like a clown wound up by hatred, spinning aimlessly, hating the spring that controls my fate, yet fearing the loss of it.

--Click!

I've had dreams like that before.

--Click!

What would my life be like if I were just a child from an ordinary family, living and growing up with a beautiful, arrogant, but also just an ordinary person mother?

--Click!

During infancy, mothers may complain while meticulously caring for their babies and raising them with great care.

During my early childhood, I would pester my mother to read me bedtime stories. At first, my mother would be very reluctant, but she would always agree after I pleaded and begged.

When I was a teenager, I might ask my mother for a reward with a report card full of excellent grades, or I might be scolded by my mother for being playful.

--Click!

Once you enter puberty, your mother will pester you relentlessly about whether you have a crush on anyone, worry about your every word and action with suspicion, and blush as she explains simple facts about puberty to you.

As I grow older and become an independent adult, my mother will nag me about common sense in society, and I will probably just say "I know, I know" to get by, but I will feel a little happy inside because of her warmth.

--Click!

But all of this is an illusion, an impossible dream, the remnant of regret that I should have had but failed to obtain.

--Click!

If only I had a loved one from childhood who could teach me what love is.

--Click!

I want to be loved.

I also want to love someone.

--Click!

Thank you for the hatred you gave me, which made me grow up in pain.

Even if I were to sever this hatred, I would lose my direction, my reason for living, and everything that constitutes me.

--Click!

Even so, I still want to tell you...

Goodbye, Mom.

--Click!!!