Dark Fantasy: Super Coward Mode

Chapter 142

Clutching his hair with both hands as if trying to rip it out, he crouched on the floor.

He had no confidence in handling this overwhelming confusion otherwise.

It was like the instinctive reaction of curling up when doused with freezing water.

He tried to organize the fragments of memories flitting through his mind.

The people of Lintpia calling him "Muji Absoluta."

The restaurant owner speaking to him as if he were an old acquaintance, like a son they had known for years.

And now, the massive statue standing before him, a figure crafted in his very likeness.

"Urgh... Kuh..."

Why couldn’t humans open their skulls?

The thought of clawing at his brain with his fingers came unbidden.

Everything he was seeing was new to him.

Yet his body accepted it all as if it had been familiar for a long time.

Was it some remnant of "Raydan Tantan’s" memories?

That couldn’t be.

Memories originate from the soul or the mind.

His soul had changed—this familiarity shouldn’t exist.

He looked at the statue again.

When he first saw it, it felt like a blow to the head, a searing pain.

But now, looking at it again, he realized the sensation wasn’t pain but comfort.

Like a dazed man, he approached the statue without purpose or direction.

It felt as though he was being led—as if he was supposed to do this.

His gaze fell to the ground where the uneven surface caught his attention.

There, he found an inscription.

The script matched exactly the style used by the Recorders.

"Those who reach death shall cross to another world."

What a strange statement.

To claim that the dead cross to another world.

At least within the world of Snow Castle, such a notion did not exist.

Yet for some reason, the sharp pain that had been tearing at his mind eased slightly as he read the words.

The relief was faint—like a temporary measure barely offering respite.

But after days without water, the sight of an oasis would drive anyone mad with desperation. He longed to read another inscription, yearning for more.

He raised his head.

Stairs spiraled behind the statue, leading upward, covered with countless inscriptions.

Damn it.

It was like cheese baited for a trap, tempting any curious mouse.

And yet, he couldn’t resist.

The urge to see more overwhelmed him.

How pathetic he must have looked, he thought fleetingly, as he rushed toward the words.

Nearly crashing into the wall, he reached out with trembling hands and read the next inscription.

"To restore one who has crossed over, an equivalent price must be paid."

As he ascended the stairs and read each inscription, his chaotic mind began to clear and stabilize.

"Even so, if restoration is your goal..."

The stairs stretched endlessly upward.

Back at the inn, the Hunter changed into different clothes and began exploring the streets again. She paid an informant for information, only to have her money handed back with a sneer.

"What are you doing, paying for something so obvious? Just go to the library and ask the librarian for a history book."

She couldn’t forget the contemptuous look the informant had given her—not because it upset her, but because of the term they’d used: "obvious."

Why was the Hunter’s story considered "obvious"?

Piece by piece, it didn’t add up.

Why was there a "Hunter" in every region?

"In this territory too, there’s a Hunter—though it’s little more than a name."

And why was the Hunter of Lintpia merely a symbolic figure, unlike the others?

Why did this Hunter have followers?

Driven by these questions, she eventually found herself at the library.

She entered, short on time, and asked the librarian for a simple, concise history book. The librarian handed her a thin book retrieved from their drawer.

"So, you’re from Lontan? I bet they treated this like a fairy tale over there."

"A fairy tale...?"

"Just read it. The author probably had no choice but to write it this way to avoid leaks."

Taking the book, the Hunter opened it carefully and began to read.

The content was simple.

It was easy to understand.

But perhaps because of that simplicity, the information struck her like a hammer to the head.

Her grip faltered.

The book fell to the ground, its pages scattering with a soft rustle.

The librarian offered no complaint. They merely glanced at her pale expression and pointed somewhere.

"The restroom’s over there. Don’t make a mess of it."

How the librarian had known what she needed, she couldn’t fathom. But she was grateful nonetheless—because it was exactly the space she needed at that moment.

The Hunter dashed into the restroom, bowing her head toward the spotless toilet.

Her stomach convulsed, muscles moving involuntarily in an attempt to find relief.

"Urgh..."

Thankfully, it wasn’t severe enough to bring up the contents of her stomach.

But the fairy tale’s contents were so shocking that she almost wished she could vomit it all out.

For so long, she had avoided the library, dismissing it as a repository of writings from outsiders.

And because of that dismissal, she’d been forced to take the long, convoluted path to uncover information she could have learned so easily.

The iron rule of Lontan?

Though she despised the Knight Order and had focused solely on outsiders, she realized she might have been more deeply brainwashed than anyone else.

And in the moment she pieced everything together, her perception changed.

"...Those rotten bastards."

It was inevitable.

Anyone who read that fairy tale would have their thoughts altered, just as hers were.

Of course, only those ready to accept the truth would perceive it as such.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, the Hunter finally raised her upper body, startled by her own reaction.

If this was her response to fragments of history, how much worse must it be for Raydan Tantan, who was suddenly inundated with every memory he’d lost?

"Damn it!"

There was no time to waste.

The Hunter hurried out of the library and set off to find Raydan Tantan.

She could only hope that he wasn’t entertaining any extreme thoughts.