Page 4127 -- CCCXXVII.

It just felt so annoying, though, because it didn't even feel like Sermung was guarding himself. Maybe that was the whole trick of it. A deceptively relaxed defense. Perhaps that part of his aura normally helped to put people at ease, letting them feel like this man had no secrets--like he was already an old friend, ready to share everything with them.

Yeah. That was it. That was what was bothering him, Hector realized. The effortlessness of this incredible aura. It kept adapting. Remolding itself. Where before it was overwhelming, now it was so laidback and disarming.

And Hector was determined not to be taken in by it.

Even if it meant having to do something very stupid, right now.


Chapter Three Hundred Twenty-Seven: "The Titan's animosity...'
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How had things ended up like this? He truly was desperate for any distraction at all, wasn't he? The slightest whiff of nostalgia was enough to send him reeling into the past, reliving countless memories in some self-indulgent obsession.

Pathetic. Pathetic and miserable.

And now he'd dragged this innocent young one into his indolent angst, too. Agh. He hadn't felt like such a fool in quite a long time.

But perhaps this, too, was the illusive hand of fate at work. Hector here certainly didn't seem to believe in such things, but in a strange way, that was only making Sermung even more convinced that it might genuinely be true. And even more than that, it was a much needed reminder that destiny was not always and in all regards tragic.

It was so easy to become overly concerned with the fall, wasn't it? The descent into madness, destruction, and death. Of course.

But for there to come a fall, there must first come a rise, no?

And such things could be quite beautiful, indeed. Sermung had seen those, too, over the centuries. As had Tenebrach, naturally.

A thing to be admired, surely. A future to look forward to. Even if it, too, must one day fade.

Such was what these children represented. These "playthings of the gods." He'd been one himself, once upon a time.

A silly notion in retrospect. Nearly to the point of complete absurdity. He couldn't help wondering what Osgar would think of him now. He couldn't help wondering how Osgar might have changed, too.

The Godslayer.

That moniker was certainly suggestive enough of some transformation undertaken, some new height reached, and yet... somehow, it also felt entirely fitting for Osgar. Like it had always belonged to him.

Page 4126

Sermung's gaze lingered on Hector for a quiet moment, and then he took a deliberate breath, exhaling slowly. "Sorry. Maybe I'm getting a bit too stuffy for my own good. You're not really like that, are you? I should relax."

And Hector was lost. What was he talking about? And there was something else in the aura now--yet another new thing that he couldn't quite pin down. Was that disappointment, maybe? Mixed with nostalgia? Agh, neither of those felt quite right.

"My bad, kiddo."

What the hell? "Why do you keep apologizing?"

"Because I keep presuming too much. You really are so innocent and kind. I can see it in you, plain as day. Good-hearted in the extreme. You should go back home to Atreya as soon as you can."

Hector's irritation was rising up again. While a lot of those words sounded like compliments, the aura was adding a certain subtext that he didn't much appreciate. Pity and sadness. Not just toward Hector, either. Toward himself.

Why was the man pitying himself, right now?

What a weirdo. Just a complete wall of indecipherable emotion and history, despite seemingly being such an open book before. And distracted, too. The guy's mind was still elsewhere. Wandering off into the distance. Wandering back in time. Even wandering inward, if that were possible.

Sad and bored and tired, yet still somehow supremely confident and warm and welcoming.

This man made no sense. An enigma cloaked in contradictions.

Hector found himself drawing comparisons with Malast. He hadn't actually been able to sense Malast's aura, of course, but the longer this conversation went, the more he felt like the God of Boredom might be quite similar to this, if only a bit more extreme in certain ways.

And much like with Malast, the more he spoke to this guy, the more difficult it was to not get pissed off. Especially because, unlike with Malast, this guy, ultimately, was still just a dude. A normal human. Undead, sure, but still human. Not some ancient god or whatever.

Somewhere in there, buried under that mountain of bullshit, was just a regular guy. Hector felt like he'd glimpsed it a few times, but it kept disappearing. Even this new version, speaking so casually, wasn't actually him, was it? Just another front.

But of course, that also made sense. This dude had layers. And plenty to hide. Naturally. There was a lot that he could learn from here, Hector knew.

Next page tomorrow

Thanks for reading, everybody.