"Why does a Temple Slave of Shadow God possess [the Heart]?"
"..."
Sunny's eyes widened so far they nearly fell into the goblet of dark, reddish wine sitting before him. His jaw practically hit the floor.
"How the hell do you know about [the Heart]? Is that why you kept me alive? How do you even know what that is to begin with?" A flood of disorganized, frantic questions poured from his mouth, stumbling over each other in his haste.
Sunny didn't just want answers; he demanded an explanation.
As terrifyingly strong as Goliath was, he was merely an Ascendant. This world was nothing more than an illusion, the phantom of a tragedy that had met its end millennia ago. The Nightmare of a deranged God. So, there was absolutely no way a mere Master—a puppet in this play—could have gained consciousness and peered past the hand pulling the strings, let alone squinted at the very runes of the Nightmare Spell.
Goliath laughed heartily, a look of immense satisfaction blooming on his face now that he'd finally made the boy talk. "Ha! So the Devil hasn't eaten your tongue after all, eh, boy?" He gestured calmly with his hand, signaling Sunny to slow down while still clutching his wine.
"And you're quite rude, from what I see. You demand answers, yet you offer none in return? Truly presumptuous," the Champion of War added. He set his goblet down, crossing his lone left arm and shaking his head in a display of mock disappointment.
One of Sunny's eyes twitched in rage. He wanted to scream a retort, but such a move would lose him this verbal skirmish instantly.
This was a game of chess now.
Goliath wasn't as naive as Auro. He could have easily beaten the words out of Sunny, yet he had chosen rhetoric instead. If Sunny wanted to hold his ground, he had to remain as composed as his opponent. Goliath had opened the match by attacking Sunny's character; to lose his temper now would be to forfeit the board.
Sunny exhaled slowly, steadying his breath. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the full goblet of wine.
"Fine, then. An answer for an answer. That's what you want, isn't it?"
Goliath picked up his own goblet and gave a satisfied nod.
The two drank in unison, sealing the pact in silence.
"So, why am I here?" Sunny asked first, determined not to cede the opening move. He had wanted to prioritize the matter of [the Heart], but he had already asked that several times in different ways. Goliath might notice his fixation and use it against him. Circling around the target was the better play.
Goliath reached for the pitcher, refilling his own goblet. "At the Temple, while you held the corpse of your woman in your arms, I asked you a question: 'What do you intend to do?' I am still waiting for an answer."
Sunny blinked. Once. Twice. 'That's it?!' he screamed internally. 'I ended up in a slave caravan and risked being raped just for this?'
"My turn," Goliath said, setting the pitcher down. "Was it you who killed the old slave and one of my men?" He asked with the same terrifyingly steady emphasis he'd shown so far.
"Yes," Sunny replied without flinching. There was no point in lying; the Champion of War had already deduced the truth. Even if Sunny denied it, Goliath could simply summon Auro to the tent to testify. In this no-man's-land, the Master before him was the only true law. If Sunny hadn't faced the consequences yet, it was because Goliath had other plans.
"Well? Now that you know, how do you intend to punish me?" Sunny asked immediately, crossing his arms. He fought to keep any flicker of fear or anxiety from cracking his porcelain mask.
Goliath took a sip, allowing a brief, agonizing silence to stretch between them. Then, wiping his mouth with agonizing slowness, he looked at Sunny for a beat.
"Punish you?" he finally said. "No. You've misunderstood, boy. I have no intention of punishing you. In fact, I want to thank you."
"Thank me? Why on earth would you thank me?" Sunny asked, gesturing to himself in disbelief.
Goliath tilted his head slightly. "That would be two questions in a row, but... I'll let it slide, provided I get to ask two of my own afterward."
Sunny gave a curt nod. His opponent wasn't playing dirty; if anything, he was using blunt honesty to force Sunny to lower his guard.
"You see," Goliath continued, "the old slave you killed was the son of a high-ranking noble in the Empire whose banner I carry. He was also that noble's brother."
"Oh," Sunny muttered. Then the realization hit. "Oh!"
"The man was... disturbed. He was caught violating a child in the city slums. In the Empire, the penalty for such acts is slavery. However, the noble—being both his father and brother—had connections. He bribed my second-in-command to protect the wretch during this campaign. The plan was to keep him alive until we reached a market, where the noble could simply buy his own blood back."
"No matter the world, some things never change," Sunny commented, his voice dripping with acid.
Goliath nodded in grim agreement. "I was disgusted by it. I had been planning a way to kill the man myself for some time. The problem... was my honor. A General massacring a defenseless slave would cost me my position and the respect of my men. But then, you stepped in. Not only did you solve my problem, but you also reminded those lazy bastards on guard duty what happens when they slack off. You solved two headaches at once, boy. That is why I am grateful, and why I have no intention of denouncing you."
"I see," Sunny murmured, taking a small sip of his wine. The explanation was exhaustive.
"Now tell me," Goliath said, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Was that truly your first kill?"
Sunny sighed, the weight of his past—both in the real world and this dream—settling on his shoulders.
"No."
The Champion of War still had one more question in reserve. "Then when was your first time?"
Sunny didn't answer immediately. He stared into his wooden goblet, finding it empty. He tilted it toward the giant, a silent request for a refill. Goliath obliged, the dark, reddish liquor flowing slowly until it reached the brim.
Sunny drained the goblet to the last drop, but the wine wasn't enough to wash away the sudden dryness in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a short, bitter chuckle escaped him.
"Even if I told you," Sunny whispered, shaking his head, "you wouldn't believe a word of it."
Goliath ran a hand over his coarse beard, his gaze never wavering. "Don't you think that's for me to decide?" It wasn't a question; it was a challenge.
Sunny crossed his arms again.
Perhaps it was the wine dulling his caution, or perhaps he felt that the depths of a dream were the only safe place for a confession. So, he began to talk.
"Fine. What if I told you that you, your men, your beloved Empire, and this very world are nothing but an echo? A nightmare dreamt by a God trapped in his own slumber? That the real 'you' died centuries ago, maybe in a glorious battle or maybe starving under a bridge? That I am the only real thing here, and the moment I wake up—or worse, die—this entire ship goes down? Tell me, Champion... would you believe that?"
Goliath stopped rubbing his beard.
He blinked, the silence stretching between them. "Nope," he said eventually, a small shake of his head. "You were right. I don't believe you at all, boy."
Sunny scoffed, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "See?" he added, feigning a dejected sigh as if he hadn't seen it coming. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me."
It was a foregone conclusione. Expecting a puppet to acknowledge its own strings just because someone pointed them out was a fool's errand.
But then... 'Wait a moment! What the hell am I doing?!'
A terrifying realization struck him like a physical blow. Blood turned to ice in his veins, and a jagged shiver raced down his spine. His mind, usually sharp and guarded, suddenly felt like it was waking up from a thick, velvet fog.
Something was horribly wrong. The very air in the tent felt surreal, heavy with a sweetness he hadn't noticed before.
Since the moment he had crossed the threshold, his guard had lowered, inch by inch, until he'd allowed himself the suicidal luxury of relaxing his muscles. Goliath had been too calm, too accommodating from the start—as if he were making Sunny dance on the palm of his hand without the boy even noticing the rhythm. And his voice... it was too hauntingly pleasant. Too magnetic. Too friendly.
Sunny's eyes darted around the tent. Instinctively, his suspicions fell on the wine. He remembered with a jolt of panic how the original Sunless had once made a catastrophic mistake because of a drink—an error that had haunted him for the rest of his story.
'No... if Goliath had really drugged me, the fog would have set in after I drank. But this... I've been slipping since the moment I stepped inside.'
"Boy, I am still waiting for your answer." The Champion of War's voice, patient and steady, pulled him back to the present.
Sunny looked at his antagonist with newfound dread. Quickly, he summoned his runes. If he couldn't trust his own senses, perhaps the Spell could give him a hint.
---
Name: Sunless
True Name: -
Rank: Aspirant
Soul Core: Dormant
---
Everything seemed to be in order.
Everything seemed to be good.
His eyes scanned down the shimmering lines of light, past the familiar ranks, until they landed on his Attributes.
Attributes: [???], [Shadow Weave], [Spark of Divinity], [Shadowspawn], [The Heart]...
His breath hitched. The word burned into his vision, mocking his supposed cleverness.
Attribute: [Enthralled].