As I've said before, I like fools.
I mean, to be precise, I really like fools with a bit of humanity to them.
I like fools who are endlessly innocent, fools who know nothing of the filth in other people's hearts.
I also like stubborn fools who cling with all their might to a single path they believe in and keep pushing forward without wavering.
I like those fools(heroes) who carry a dazzling light in their hearts that I myself do not possess, and who keep moving ahead without hesitation.
Friends of that sort are all wonderful to watch from the side, in their own way.
In a sense, they themselves are one form of "romance."
Perhaps this feeling is what people call "admiration."
But as an exception, I have one more type I like among fools who are not fools(heroes), but fools(ordinary people).
These people may not have the brilliant light in their hearts that the others do.
Instead, they tend to carry a rather刺激ing darkness here and there, like seasoning.
Among them, the type I like is one of the few that are different from the common fools(trash) scattered everywhere, even if they seem similar at first glance.
For example, a white canvas stained with ink, where the light and darkness in the heart are balanced in a way that is, by my standards, exquisitely perfect.
Those whose original light is slowly being devoured by darkness, yet who struggle desperately to preserve whatever light remains.
Those who remember their own brilliance from the past, curse their shabby present selves, and uselessly struggle to undo their mistakes.
And then, in the end, those who resent the past, curse reality, and let go in despair, yet still cling to a tiny shred of attachment and continue living because they have no choice.
I like those pitiful, miserable fools very much as well—those who agonize, suffer, slowly break apart, and ultimately meet a ruinous ending.
Their worn-down scent is something quite special to experience from the side, precisely because the process of cooking them is so difficult.
In other words, this is pleasure. This is entertainment.
This is blissful delight.
The supreme delicacy praised by that golden king of heroes!
In that sense, the woman before me, Firvis, was undoubtedly the most special of all those fools.
Think about it.
Once, she had been an elf full of lofty pride, brighter and more hopeful than anyone else.
Perhaps, like Bell, she might have become another hero.
But now she had fallen so deeply that she lived cursing her own defiled self.
She had become a hideous monster, no longer able to feel warmth in another's embrace.
And yet, despite that, she still clung to a sliver of hope, leaning on it as she dreamed of an undeserved peace, or perhaps an impossible salvation.
Ah, how... how pitiful and heartbreaking.
Just looking at her made my heart race.
Truly, she was disgustingly, wonderfully miserable.
What an adorable fool(clown) she was!
"I see. The 'Nightmare of the 27th Floor,' then. So everything started there."
"H-How did you...?"
"If you're asking how I knew, then I'd say you told me yourself."
"W-What are you... talking abou—?"
Firvis couldn't hide her natural confusion or her primal fear at my words.
For her sake, I smiled and decided to explain the situation to her as kindly as I could.
Now then.
First, perhaps I should start with this eye.
"This right eye of mine is a very special eye called [Open, Kamui]. In this world, I alone possess it, and even then I only have one of them. A truly precious thing."
Needless to say, this [Open, Kamui] was nothing more than a homemade copy created by my own hands.
A degraded version, with several functions missing or weakened compared to the true original.
But even that, compared to the other Mystic Eyes from my previous world, was top-class.
It was an ultra-high-grade Mystic Eye that was practically no different from a "rainbow."
Even so, what always frustrated me was that my original goal had been to recreate both the techniques of the Sharingan and the Rinnegan.
In the end, due to the limits of my skill, I could only reproduce three techniques.
And even those were only degraded versions, flawed in many ways compared to the original techniques.
The [Kamui] I used a moment ago was one of them.
Its original ability is almost never used; here, it serves only as a gate to the inner world, the inherent bounded field [Timeless Temple].
In other words, unlike Obito in the original work, I can't even manage the level of skill Kakashi had.
And with a degraded copy like this, every time I use it, the eyesight in both eyes deteriorates badly, and I'm left with a pain like my brain is burning up—just like some certain someone.
The side effects for the other two techniques are similar.
That's why I usually wear a Mystic Eye Killer and keep myself from using my Mystic Eyes at all.
Because of that, this fake Rinnegan is, for me, a painfully irritating symbol of failure.
From the very beginning, the process of making it had been a success only because of one accident after another, stacked together in ways I never could have predicted, so I couldn't even dream of trying to remake it or strengthen it further.
For that to become possible, I'd need to be at least at the level where I could dip even a pinky toe into the [Root].
"On top of that, this eye has several functions. The simplest one is that it can see through the soul of any target within my field of vision. As for mages, I can even grasp the flow and quality of the mana inside their bodies. Thanks to that, I was able to tell that you and that monster were the same person."
"A Mystic Eye... you say? Such absurd..."
"And furthermore, here in this inner world, [Timeless Temple], I can exist as the strongest image I can possibly imagine. That is the effect of the otherworld I created. In short, you could say that right now I am an 'omnipotent existence.' A rather limited kind of omnipotence, admittedly."
At my explanation, Firvis stared at me with an expression that said she couldn't believe it.
She looked at me the way a human might look at a monster.
Even though, by species, she was the monster here.
"You... you are... what in the world are you?"
Could he be a god?
That fear-filled, awed question never even made it past her lips.
Then she shook her head violently and rejected my words with all her might.
"No, impossible! That can't be! It can't!"
Watching her, I could only wear a tender, sorrowful... compassionate smile.
Ah, Firvis.
Truly, what a poor, unfortunate fairy.
"Your soul is quite muddled now that I look at it again. Black and white, bright and dark, clean and filthy—among them, the most prominent are rage, resignation, and a thin, fragile hope. All of it mixed together into a murky sludge. That is what you are now."
"Sh-Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut uuuup!"
"So anger is taking the lead right now. How interesting. Ah, you now... you're wonderful. Truly, in this world... I never expected there to be someone this enjoyable just to look at. Very good. Ahhh, very, very good indeed, you."
Even now, through the inherent bounded field, her true feelings were being transmitted to me in real time.
Was she afraid? Yes, of course she was.
Was she shaken? Yes, she had every reason to be.
Did she not want to believe it? Yes, that was only natural.
But.
"Kuh! Damn it... I'll kill you. I'll definitely kill you! Ah, no. How am I supposed to... kill a thing like that, a monster like that... Even so... I have to kill you. For Lord Dionysus..."
"Hmm, I only poked around a little and looked inside, but your emotional turmoil is quite severe. Is this also a side effect of splitting the emotions in your heart so extremely in two? What a foolish... no, what a pitiful fairy you are."
Even so, nothing would change.
This damned reality was a merciless thing that shoved the things you least wanted to believe right in front of your face and forced you to accept them.
"Good."
And so, I made my decision.
I would save the poor fool of an elf before me...
"I will 'save' you."
With that declaration, I took a long golden needle from my chest pocket.
And without hesitation, I stabbed it into my own neck.
Thud!
Before Firvis could even react to my sudden act of self-harm in shock, my mouth, my words, my voice, all of it 'declared' toward her.
"[Split in two and die]."
Slash!
"Huh?"
The instant that declaration ended.
Thump.
Firvis's body split exactly down the middle...
With a sharp crack, it was cleaved in half vertically and collapsed limply to the floor.
And so the woman called Firvis was certainly able to "die," bringing that sorrowful, burdened life to a hollow end.
"That makes one."
Looking down at her, I smiled.
With anticipation shining in both eyes.
========================
The website for reading paid chapters is available on my Patreon. The number of chapters on Patreon: 81
Link: patreon.com/UltraMagnus_T