Chapter 146
Great Questions (I)
System is a prick; I decided on that much at least.
The sa way it can give a reward that grants another person a unique freakin' physique, it could have given a reward that does that to . But it chose not to.
Because it's a prick.
Okay, maybe not. It's pretty much clear by now that the system's job, as far as I go, is just to 'maintain '. It will help here and there, but only so much that I can keep up with the disciples in terms of art making.
Its first and foremost purpose is to give tools to raise monsters--and then, sowhere down the line, it's to make stronger. Though I've felt for a while that the only way I'd get strong is to, you know, literally do it myself, I still feel... peeved, at least a bit.
It's sort of like child support, in a slightly selfish way, as Yas's sis, Erica, used to describe it: Of course, she'd say, the kids need the money, and they're my priority number one! But, and there was always a 'but' with these statents, you just know it. Why can't I take just a few bucks and buy myself sothing nice? If I'm happy, I take better care of the kids...
Yas chewed her out so hard that day that the woman left our apartnt in tears. And yes, she was getting alimony.
So people, though...
Anyway, it's sort of like that, but not really. Rather than taking away from kids, I'd just wish the system gave so nice stuff too.
In fairness it actually did--that damn tortoise sitting in my robes has saved my ass, and it had even upgraded my cultivation by a minor realm. Not the tortoise, I an, but the system.
Haah. It's hard, you know? Before I know it, these kids will shoot past , and, despite my very aged maturity, it'll... sting.
"Give ."
"AAAAH!!!" A ghost scared a bit as I jumped; looking over, I saw Long Tao sighing, and I near flung my fist at his face... but stopped myself just at the last second. "Do you have to use the art?! Are you trying to kill ?!"
"I'm practicing."
"Practice elsewhere! The world is so big!"
"It's most fun here." He was having fun; I just know it. And that's fine--great, even... just not that it's at my expense.
"What do you want?" I groaned.
"Give the art you 'found' for her."
"... why?"
"I'm curious."
"Wait--how'd you even know I cr--found her an art?!"
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
"Didn't you have beat her black and blue to figure out what art she could use?"
"..." yeah.
I kind of want to kick his butt, to be honest.
"You can't use it."
"Even if I could, I wouldn't," he rolled his eyes. "I'm just curious."
Whatever.
Maybe he figures sothing out that I missed? I tossed over the to and sat down, calming my ever-beating heart. Honestly, I regretted making him that cloaking art a bit; ever since he got it, he'd be there one mont and the next... not. It was like traveling with a literal ghost. He'd jump-scared all of us at least once.
We remained sitting in silence for about an hour as he perused, his expression as indescribable as ever.
But I was also beginning to understand a bit why he is the way he is--he's an old monster; an old monster. And I imagine he had seen practically all there is to see in life. However, there was I and my ever-growing library of arts left behind by my father. It was different. As were the arts I was handing out.
Thus, he grew curious.
"This is... your father certainly went to the strangest places," he said, finally breaking the silence and handing over the art, the look in his eyes a bit... strange.
"The man did love traveling," I tossed out. "Almost as much as yours."
"... it's perfect for her," he said. "In more ways than even you probably realize."
"How co?" I asked, curious.
"My mother once ntioned an affliction." Oh, great, we're back to this crap. Haah. "She called it Voidheart, though most others called it Heartless. It's a twisted form of apathy when one's heart spirals between two extres--utter indifference and burning zealotry. That's why my mother called it Voidheart and not Heartless, though, according to my father, both nas are wrong.
"None of those extres co from the heart, after all." My ears perked up a bit, attention drawn. While this world was quite advanced in many ways, there were still things that occasionally made take a second look. As far as I could tell, there was a legitimate belief that emotions co from the heart and logic cos from the brain. "Voidheart is, innately, an expression of pain. And that art dulls it. Whereas for most everyone else, it would slowly chip away at the heart of humanity, for her, it will slowly regress her to the an."
"Oh."
"Master," he turned toward , tilting his head slightly. "Where do emotions co from?"
"... what?"
"My father and mother debated it often," he said. "She said that they co from the heart, and he said that they co from the stomach." He pointed at his chest and then abdon as he spoke. "I always silently agreed with him. Do you?"
"..." I fell silent for a mont, mulling. Why was he asking this? Long Tao never did anything without reason--it's just that, most often, his reason beca the recognition of hindsight. I could just lie and say I agree with the idea that emotions co from the heart or the gut, but he didn't ask just to get back affirmation. No... perhaps he did ask out of genuine curiosity. "I believe they co from the sa place all else intangible cos--our brains."
"Oh?"
"When I was younger," I said. "I had a friend. He was quite kind and cheery; he loved playing, and he loved exploring. One day, while we were exploring a nearby forest, he stumbled over a jutting root, fell down, and hit his head on a rock. I managed to fetch my father quickly, and he carried the boy to the local do--to a local alchemist. His life, sohow, was saved, though there were fears he might never wake up.
"But he did," I sighed--more so to myself at the distant mory I hadn't really thought about in a long ti. "Or, well, that's what we all thought. But the person who woke up... was not the boy I knew. I an, his voice was the sa, his face was the sa, and it was him, but it was as though... sobody else was wearing him as a mask. He'd beco angry at the slightest thing; he would scream and rage if you so much as suggested he do sothing he didn't want to. One day, he got so angry that he tried stabbing his mother when she wouldn't buy him sothing."
"..."
"His change didn't co from the heart," I said, finishing the story. "It ca from the head."
He fell silent for a little while, seemingly mulling over the story before getting up.
"... you are scarily observant, Master," he said. "Everyone I've ever known would have assud the boy was possessed, and we would have killed him promptly." Eh? Wait, what? "Perhaps... that's why she did it. I didn't believe her."
"W--" I wanted to ask, 'What do you an?' but stopped myself. It was clear that his tongue slipped about sothing that happened in his past life, and, well, I'm fine not knowing. He sighed as he looked up, shaking his head and leaving.
... yeah.
Even monsters, it seems, are in their hearts rely human.
User Comments
0 comments from readers