Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

10
Admisol lowered his head, walked unsteadily, and walked on the street in an old coat and blue coarse cloth pants. His goal was the poorhouse on the Iron Cross Street in Tingen. This was a poorhouse sponsored by the "Ernst Charity Foundation", a long-established charity organization headquartered in Intis. The Ernst Foundation was established more than 150 years ago. There were countless poorhouses, welfare homes, and charity schools of all sizes in various countries. There was even one in the lower street of Tingen, a not-so-big city.

Admithal, who was born with excessive inspiration, often fell into trance and mumbling. He could hardly work normally to support himself. He lived a difficult life by doing odd jobs and receiving relief in the orphanage.

"Our Mr. 'Monster' is back!"

He walked into the workhouse and handed the shopping list to the person in charge. Then a familiar female nurse greeted him warmly and led him to the dining table, where she put down a vegetable soup with a few pieces of meat the size of a fingernail, two slices of toast, and a piece of bad butter. The children who were learning to sew in the workhouse happened to have their lunch break, and they ran over with joy, chirping like a group of swallows around Admithal.

"Sir! Mr. Monster!" A little boy holding a primary literacy textbook squeezed in front of him, his eyes moved around the meat in the vegetable soup, and he grabbed the spoon with what he thought was a very covert movement.

A slightly older girl glared at the little boy, who withdrew his hand in dismay, his eyes still rolling over his flesh: "What kind of story are you going to tell us today?"

"Story..." Admisol murmured, his cloudy eyes squinting, and he couldn't tell whether he was sleepwalking or awake.

He once told the children about the scenes he sensed. He said he saw a young man with a strong smell of death, as if he had just crawled out of a grave; he said he saw a dark inverted cross appearing behind a gentleman with gray eyes, and just a glance at it almost killed him; he also said he dreamed of a disaster, the whole city was drowned in a sea of ​​blood, and everyone died. He rolled over and wailed in pain, shedding tears of blood... But the children didn't understand, and the people in the workhouse didn't understand either. They couldn't understand, and even if they understood, they couldn't change the future.

Only the Night Watcher became alert to his hallucinations. The gentleman seemed to have been treated, but the final result was unknown. But even the Night Watcher was suspicious of his dream that everyone in the city was dead. He didn't know what would happen or where to start the investigation.

"There is no story." He said, "Dead, there is no story..."

Admisol was so sad that he could not speak, but the children around him looked at each other, and did not lose their enthusiasm because of these words. They continued to ask questions with great interest.

11
"Go, go, kids, it's time for a nap. You still have other classes to do in the afternoon!" An old lady who was probably in her fifties smiled and drove the children away. "The fabrics to be provided to the Night Welfare Home must be delivered tonight. The children who don't finish the work will have no candy to eat this week!"

The children scattered and rushed to sleep.

Then, the kind old lady, the director of the poorhouse, breathed a sigh of relief, sat down opposite Admisor with a smile, and asked a slightly pointed question: "Are you still dreaming about Tingen being full of dead people?"

"..." Admisol chewed the bread slowly and nodded after a long time.

"Goddess." The dean took a deep breath and made a red moon on his chest. "I hope my lovely children are okay."

"Everyone will die." The monster said, with confusion on his face, "Someone stirred up the sea of ​​blood. Just a wave can drown this place. Humans are so fragile. What is the meaning of life...?"

"...Life is a pilgrimage of accumulated suffering and happiness. Life is just a journey from birth to death." After a moment of silence, the dean spoke softly, saying this sentence that did not exist in "Apocalypse of the Night". Her voice was so low that only Admisol could hear it clearly. Finally, she thought for a moment and asked carefully, "Your talent is very rare. We need your strength to investigate this matter. Would you consider helping us?"

The words about the journey and the pilgrimage made Ademisol, who was eating with his head down, slightly widen his eyes, as if he had heard something incredible. He swallowed the soup, and the hot temperature sliding down his throat made him a little more sober. A strange river surrounded his consciousness and rushed forward. He felt that his mind was in a trance again. The gentle and loving dean opposite him looked at him worriedly, and he couldn't help but murmured:
“… We’re almost there…”

12
As an Outer God, I am well aware that there is a tragically thick barrier between humans and me, which stems from the huge difference in our life levels.

I looked at the small town. There was no demigod-level strongman to protect it, and there was no strong enough seal. I couldn't think of any reason for failure. As for the scammer who always tried to escape, I also gave him some warnings. From the world of dreams, I couldn't think of a more gentle method than this. But he was even more terrified, almost to the point of madness.

I can't remember the names of every human being, just like humans can't accurately distinguish each ant. Therefore, when I encounter an uncommon human being that I need to remember, I always choose a unique feature as a code name.

The reason for his fear is "I must die when the Son of God is born. How can a mere mortal be the father of the Son of God?" I think this fear is meaningless. It is a bit disrespectful to the evil god to take the initiative to join the cult's rituals without being prepared for death. He obviously doesn't know that he is also one of the vessels of the advent, and even more hidden than the seeds that have been planted. The allies have made double insurance for this God's descent plan. In the process of finalizing the plan with Him, I deeply felt how "generous" the treatment of being blocked by the seven gods together was, which made Him become a god with obsessive-compulsive disorder and fussy about details. I remember that in the millennium that I have formed an alliance with Him, God has descended every hundred years, and it ended in various failures. In comparison, I, the evil god who has been walking on the earth from the beginning, really don't know how lucky I am.

Of course, as a reliable ally, an excellent and generous "old survivor", it is reasonable for me to help Him land as soon as possible.

But reality and ideal are often the opposite. In every failed descent of God, there is always the figure of Adam, the firstborn son created by Him when He was still the "sun", the half-body of the angel king that the audience passes by now. But I can't touch Him, and I don't want to touch Him. My humanity is false, and my image is simulated. I am not sure that I will not be exposed when I get along with the angel king who is best at seeing through people's hearts.

It’s not that I can’t kill it, but right now I’m just a Sequence 2 angel passing by. If I switch to my own authority, it will attract attention.

So whenever I spot Him, I immediately move away.

"This time... I must..."

His words rang in my ears again. Okay, I answered Him, as long as Adam doesn't interfere this time, I will definitely do my best to help you.

Passing by the theater, I saw actors who had changed into costumes were rehearsing in the back yard. One of them was dressed as a prisoner, in ragged clothes, with a look of fear and hatred in his eyes, and another was dressed as a clerk, arrogantly saying some words of courtship to a weeping girl. I took a quick glance and realized that this was a rehearsal of the first few scenes of "The Return of the Count", which tells the story of an innocent sailor who was framed and imprisoned and forced to be separated from his beautiful fiancée for fourteen years.

...Oh. Not a sailor, but a genius mechanic.

When I met my fellow countrymen, I said: "The Count of Monte Cristo is really well written, and it is a bit like your Return of the Count."

Every time I think about this, I want to sigh at the magic of the "universalist" method, which allows me to memorize this novel from beginning to end without missing a word. Even though I have completely devoured and digested the soul of "Edward Vaughan", the memory of ordinary people is weak, and most of the pages I have read are already blurred, with only fragments left.

But he is an associate professor at a university after all. Although his major is not suitable for me to use, if I go through his memory hundreds of times and combine it with my own fabrication, I can also make out a few big books such as... "A Thousand Years of Solitude", "Flower Girl", "The Orphans of Backlund" and so on.

But having Roselle, a remnant of the old days, is enough. I remember that there were hundreds of light cocoons of various sizes hanging in the source of Fusheng Xuanhuang Tianzun. I don’t know what they are used for. If they were to be released all at once, it is hard to imagine what the world would become.

13
I still remember my first meeting with Roselle, when He was still an outstanding genius under the command of the God of Steam and Machinery. I approached Him as a remnant of the Old Ones, and He quickly accepted me as a person who left his homeland, even though He and I were not from the same country.

This is consistent with my judgment of human beings, that is, human beings can never get rid of their attachment to their hometown. (It is hard to understand, this is obviously the earth.) When they are close to home, they long to play with their neighbors; when they study in a foreign place, they long for their fellow countrymen from the same city; when they are alone in a foreign country, they will be excited to see people from the same country.

In this "world" where there are no other travelers, Roselle is all alone, and only he and I come from the same era.

Russell asked: Old... no, international friend, how did you get here?
I answered: Sequence Two of the Demonic Path, the Angel.

Russell was shocked: I’m awesome, Chainsaw Man.

I felt confused, but I didn't say anything, leaving Him alone there, embarrassed and then lonely with no one responding.

TBC
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*There is an angel-demon in the manga "Chainsaw Man" by freelance manga artist Fujimoto Itsuki.

(End of this chapter)