Cicero: He's a Monster! He's a God!

Cicero saw the mirror standing in the center of the room. His slender, two-meter-tall figure was reflected within it, and he looked somewhat more haggard than usual.

It was the debt. Those damned debts had made him overthink things lately, leaving him worn and weary.

But it did not matter. Debt could take away his Denar and worsen his life, but it could not take away his thoughts, his wisdom, or his philosophy.

Those were what mattered. As long as he still possessed them, he could enlighten more people, truly liberate Macragge, and open the path to happiness and joy.

And today, he would enlighten a ruler's heir, and through him, enlighten the ruler himself.

The smile at the corner of Cicero's lips regained its confidence. He gave a slight bow toward the mirror before him.

Then a voice sounded from behind the mirror.

"Mr. Cicero, welcome."

It was a young man's voice, more mature than he had imagined. His speech was elegant and rational; he had clearly received a fine education, unlike those overbearing and foolish young nobles.

That made the smile on Cicero's lips even more pronounced.

Still, the child's voice carried not the slightest emotion. Conor's rigid way of thinking must have influenced him, suppressing his natural instincts.

How pitiful. Conor had turned a child into such a cold thing. Cicero felt it necessary to teach the child how to free his nature...

"I once read your masterpiece, On the Soul. I heard that it is quite popular among Macragge's nobility, and many regard it as a guiding principle."

Oh! He had read his paper! Cicero was somewhat delighted. How strange—hearing the child say he had read it actually filled Cicero with a sense of pride, as though he had received praise from someone above him. How strange...

"Thank you for your praise, young lord." Cicero adjusted his voice, making it sound warm and trustworthy. "I had feared I would be facing some barbaric young nobleman incapable of reading or thought, but your few words alone have shown me that you possess the aptitude for enlightenment. You can attain true wisdom..."

"Is that so? Then I would like you to enlighten me first and answer a small question of mine—I have heard your famous Infant and Elder Question."

Before Cicero could finish, the child behind the mirror interrupted him rudely—no, rude was not the right word. The child's tone did not fluctuate in the slightest.

"Between an infant who dies young after experiencing a hundred years of joy and suffering, and a centenarian who lives an utterly ordinary life, who is happier?"

Cicero froze, opening his mouth. "My answer is..."

"Your answer is the infant."

Cicero's throat moved slightly.

"Yes." He nodded, suddenly realizing that he was somehow being controlled in this conversation.

"I have no way of finding an infant who truly experienced a hundred years of joy and suffering before dying young, but I do happen to know a centenarian who lived an utterly ordinary life."

The young man behind the mirror spoke calmly:

"This elder was a gardener serving at a noble's estate. His life was as tranquil as a faint breeze on an autumn afternoon. He began as a gardening apprentice at sixteen and formally became a gardener in his twenties, earning a wage that was neither meager nor generous."

"Once, when another noble came to visit, he met the love of his life—do not misunderstand, this is not a story about a gardener falling for a noble lady. His lover was a maid attending that noble. Neither did they fall in love at first sight. Rather, his master happened to remember that this gardener was getting older yet still had no wife or lover, so he arranged an introduction between the gardener and the maid."

"The gardener was somewhat withdrawn. He merely regarded it as an assignment from his master, and only met the maid because he did not wish to offend him. But as time passed, the gardener began to feel that the maid would indeed make a good wife, while the maid also felt that the gardener was someone she could entrust herself to."

"So they married. There was not much love involved; they were simply suitable for one another. From then on, after finishing his work each day, the gardener returned to his little house as usual. Only now, there was a woman in it, and dinner was always waiting for him on the table. That was all."

"Later, the gardener and the maid had a child, a boy. He was neither particularly strong nor frail, but the couple was still happy. They sincerely loved their child. As the child grew day by day, the gardener's cottage gradually became too cramped, so he took out his lifetime savings and expanded the small house at the corner of the noble's estate."

"The gardener's lifetime savings were only enough to add one room to his house. That was nothing remarkable, of course, but the child was happy because he had his own room. His wife was happy because the newly freed space allowed her to enlarge the kitchen a little. The gardener was happy as well... He had a small hobby: painting landscapes—he was probably no more than a poor amateur—but now he had room to take up his hobby again."

"Later, the boy grew up and followed the noble on that famous expedition, the expedition to Elyrium. But the boy achieved no praiseworthy feats, nor did he die in that war. He lost a finger to the cold, but he still returned. The gardener and his wife considered themselves fortunate, and their child became a city guard. Later, he married a woman who ran a vegetable stall. Occasionally, the couple would bring fresh vegetables to visit the gardener and his wife."

"That was all there was to his life. No great achievements, no grand accomplishments. Only a wife he had never passionately loved, a child who was not especially accomplished, a child who married an ordinary woman. And he merely continued trimming the plants in the garden, occasionally sitting down to paint the scenery before him. That was all."

"After reading your work, On the Soul, I asked the gardener whether he was happy... He said he had lived a fulfilling and happy life. Even if he died tomorrow, he would already be content."

Cicero's eyes widened. He stared at the mirror before him in disbelief, but it reflected only himself, those somewhat haggard eyes.

He suddenly became anxious. His fingers clenched involuntarily as he began devising ways to refute the child in the mirror, but... the child's words came stabbing toward him like needles...

"Lord Cicero, what about you? Has your life thus far been fulfilling and happy? If you died tomorrow, would you be content?"

Was it fulfilling and happy...? Fulfilling? He desperately wanted to say it was, but when he reached for his life... gambling, debauchery, pleasure, humiliating slaves... Those sensory experiences had been so vivid at the time, yet now they seemed hazy and insubstantial, like illusions that could fill nothing.

As for happiness, he had yet to be satisfied. How could he speak of happiness...

Only after a long while did he barely manage to say,

"All that gardener's happiness and fulfillment came from his ignorance."

Yes, ignorance. That gardener was happy and fulfilled because he was ignorant.

He possessed his thoughts, his wisdom, his philosophy... so that was why he, why he... was unhappy?

"Is that so?"

The voice behind the mirror remained indifferent:

"Do you know? Throughout the course of human civilization, there have been no shortage of people who pursued pleasure. Every age has had them."

"When humanity was still confined to Terra, in an era when people had not even mastered ironworking, even the king of a vast land could pursue no greater pleasure than a bowl of coarse grain, a few pieces of barely edible meat, and a meat paste made from snails and ant eggs."

"That was the pleasure he gained by exploiting his subjects and oppressing his slaves. If I let you experience such pleasure now, you certainly would not find it blissful."

"How can you be sure that the pleasures you now pursue are not merely a bowl of ant-egg paste?"

"But that king still felt happy!" Cicero retorted almost immediately.

The child laughed. For the first time—for the first time in the entire conversation—he laughed, as though Cicero's words had amused him.

That laughter made Cicero's skin crawl.

"Yes, because he had never tasted finer spices, never tried fish sauce fermented into savory richness, never sampled crops cultivated through generations of selective breeding, even though all of these are now within easy reach."

"But he did not know. He did not understand. All his happiness and fulfillment came from his ignorance."

The young man calmly repeated Cicero's own words, using them to refute him.

"My friend, now that the stars are divided and human civilization has regressed, many kings on many worlds must be enjoying that same ignorant happiness."

"Our species once transcended the mundane, yet now we call ant-egg paste pleasure."

"Lord Cicero, in my view, that gardener is no more ignorant than you, and you are no wiser than him."

"His wisdom gave him a happy and fulfilling life. What has your wisdom given you?"

Cicero's breathing grew heavy.

What had it given him? What had it given him?

He searched within himself, trying to answer the question, but the more he searched, the emptier he felt. He...

He began to fear. He suddenly felt afraid of the creature behind the mirror. It seemed to be using words to dig into the hollow within his heart...

He stared fixedly at the mirror's surface, trying to see through it and discern what lay beyond. In the fleeting reflections, Cicero saw his own terrified, haggard face, but he seemed to see something else as well...

"Monster!?" Cicero let out a hoarse roar. He thrust out a trembling finger at the mirror and snarled viciously, "You are not human. What kind of monster are you? A beast? A demon? An alien? A mutant?"

At last, Cicero sucked in a breath. He rose to his feet in terror and edged closer to the door. "Or are you a god?"

There was only silence behind the mirror. Light from outside the window swept across its surface, and the reflected glare poured into Cicero's eyes. Cicero saw the thing hidden behind that mirror... It was a storm, a storm of interwoven blue and gold—eternally flourishing, ever-expanding, engulfing everything...

Cicero could no longer endure it. He screamed, flung open the door, and fled in panic.

In the corridor, Zhou Yun watched Cicero rush past him with mild curiosity.

Why was he so scared?