Chapter 43: Old Stories and Chains (5)
The clothes prepared outside fit perfectly.
They appeared to be newly purchased garments, proving Veronica had an excellent eye for measurements.
Ray used magic to conjure a wind that dried his hair as he descended the stairs.
"Ah, you're all clea—"
Veronica froze mid-sentence as she rose from the table, her words catching in her throat at the sight of Ray.
A young nobleman stood before her.
She'd always noticed his elegant features, but never imagined they could be this striking.
Handsome didn't begin to cover it – there was an indescribable quality radiating from him.
'There was a word for this feeling.'
A term she'd read in dictionaries but never witnessed firsthand flickered through her mind.
The realization struck like lightning.
'Right. Dignity.'
That elevated, magnificent aura emanating from certain people or objects.
It wasn't the clothes – Ray wore ordinary streetwear anyone might find.
This dignity came from the boy himself, previously hidden under layers of grime and dust.
Veronica only regained her senses when Ray reached the table, shouting as if released from a spell:
"You look completely different! Your hair was white all along?"
"Apparently."
"That's incredible! If you claimed to be the same person from before, nobody would believe it!"
As Veronica kept marveling, she noticed the bundle of discarded clothes in Ray's hand.
"Ah, if you give those to me, I can wash—"
The garments were beyond salvation – over half the fabric torn or charred beyond repair.
The clothes seemed to plead:
Just... let me die...
"—might be tough. Better to retire them," Veronica amended.
Ray studied the bundle before stepping outside. He returned empty-handed.
"Did you discard them?"
"Burned them away."
"...You're decisively ruthless."
"Efficiency enables progress. Shall we begin lessons?"
"Sure. Take a seat?"
The girl and boy sat side by side.
Veronica opened a textbook with slightly trembling hands, her first teaching attempt showing in nervous gestures, though her explanations remained clear and focused.
"...This is how subjects and predicates connect in sentences."
Ray immersed himself faster than expected.
While Niles had taught him basic literacy, this structured learning felt entirely new – gaps in knowledge filled while existing understanding solidified.
"This section's tricky. Need another explanation?"
"No. Understood. Proceed."
With his strong foundational knowledge and quick comprehension, they blazed through material.
Thud
An hour later, Veronica closed the first textbook's final chapter.
She slid a handwritten quiz across the table.
Scritch-scratch
Answers returned in under a minute.
"Only one wrong!" Veronica gaped at the paper. "At this rate, you'll master the curriculum in under a month!"
"Good. What's next?"
"Eh?"
"Aren't we continuing?"
"Next... lesson?"
Veronica floundered.
He'd devoured a week's worth of material in an hour, now demanding more without fatigue.
A premonition struck – even as difficulty increased, Ray's learning speed wouldn't slow.
'Can I even keep pace?'
She suddenly understood her grandfather's strained smiles when pressed for more knowledge.
Teaching drained twice the energy of learning.
Combined with residual fatigue from circle construction, she felt ready to collapse into bed.
Crisis surged through her veins.
Yet simultaneously, competitive fire ignited.
'I enjoyed teaching him.'
The act brought unexpected satisfaction.
New ambitions bloomed – desires for structured, professional lessons.
Her mind already buzzed with tomorrow's preparations before today's session ended.
The crimson-haired tutor reached her decision after brief turmoil:
Challenge accepted!
(But not immediately!)
"Let's stop here today," she declared. "But I'll prepare multiple textbooks for tomorrow."
"Understood."
Ray accepted easily – today's knowledge, though limited, would suffice for basic reading.
"Oh, Ray? May I request something too?"
"What?"
"Could you watch me construct magic circles? I know you can't explain like I do... but your presence would help."
A simple enough favor.
He considered it fair exchange for lessons.
"Agreed."
"Thanks!"
As Veronica cleared the table, Ray finished reviewing and approached the bookshelves.
"May I read these? I'll handle them carefully. Can I read independently?"
"Hmm? Oh! Yes! Just don't crease or mark them. But can you manage alone?"
"I'll try."
"Start with the dictionary on that shelf!"
"Dictionary?"
"A book compiling nearly every word's meaning. Useful for unfamiliar terms."
'Every word.'
Ray's mind immediately produced one:
"Does it include 'rainbow'?"
"Uh... Probably not? That's magic-related..."
Ray nodded.
Regardless, such a reference proved invaluable.
Heading toward the indicated shelf, he planned his next targets.
An automotive repair manual became priority – essential knowledge for their wasteland journey.
Breaking down in the wilderness meant certain disaster.
'We were lucky reaching Sector 49 without breakdowns.'
The harsh terrain between sectors could easily destroy vehicles.
They'd departed hastily last time, but now demanded thorough preparation.
'Cromwell... Encyclopedia? This must be it.'
Ray stopped before a massive tome.
Brown leather cover.
Thickness matching his palm's width.
The dictionary radiated formidable presence – an excellent blunt weapon, he noted.
'Books prove surprisingly versatile.'
Suddenly, he sensed watching eyes.
'Staircase direction. Not Veronica – she's still at the table.'
Only four residents here.
Turning slowly, he found Veronica's brothers halfway down the stairs – Yulta and Molphin.
The boys startled at eye contact, scrambling upstairs like frightened rabbits.
Though brief, their wariness showed clearly.
Yet Ray focused elsewhere.
'Familiar faces... Have I seen them before?'
Facial recognition wasn't his strength.
His memory excelled in other areas, but human features blurred together – as if living in a world of blank-faced beings.
He distinguished people by hair color, height, or other striking features.
Familiarity through prolonged contact helped, but absence eroded even those memories.
A congenital condition beyond his control.
'Can't recall.'
Ray abandoned the futile effort, refocusing on his task.
Flick
Alphabetical organization became apparent.
Reaching his target section, Ray meticulously traced entries with his finger.
No 'rainbow' – Veronica was right.
Unperturbed, he kept flipping pages until...
Stop
His finger rested on an entry:
「Sacrifice – Living beings offered to higher powers during rituals.」
Subsequent definitions echoed similar concepts.
Exactly as he'd suspected.
The basement letter resurfaced in his mind:
「Received hematite... Still growing stronger...」
「Street orphans as sacrifices... 66 confirmed... Proves my resolve...」
The man's approach to Cedric gained clarity.
Thud
Ray closed the dictionary, tucking it underarm.
He gathered more books from the shelves:
「Compact Vehicle Rescue Manual」
「Automotive Maintenance Textbook」
「Wasteland Terrain Guide for Travelers」
「Interpretation of Dreams」
「On Human Nature」
All thick as the dictionary.
Though lacking magical texts, these held practical value.
They might serve alternative purposes in emergencies.
'78 Essential Survival Techniques for Various Environments – want that too.'
No room left.
Ray summoned mana from his circlet.
Huummm
Colored energies flowed down his arms, weaving between books and palms.
Sky-blue tendrils coiled around the stack, lifting it weightlessly.
His hands emptied within seconds.
'Previously, I could barely levitate one book.'
Telekinesis – a high-difficulty spell he'd avoided due to mental strain.
But circlet-mana made it absurdly simple.
'Need proper testing back at the car. The circlet's mana composition: red... pink... white.'
Colors tied to rage, sorrow, anxiety – emotions leaving deep scars.
New questions arose:
Would emotional variety alter mana ratios?
What magic did pink mana enable?
He'd avoided pink mana like white – both sticky and unwieldy.
But now...
'Not anymore.'
The circlet's pink mana flowed smoothly.
Experimentation might reveal new spells, yet...
He felt no desire to try.
The reason lay buried in memory:
Pink mana connected to sorrow.
Shooooo—
Rain poured as Ray clutched Niles' corpse under a collapsed tent, weeping uncontrollably.
That night, he'd first tasted sorrow's bitter draught.
The memory birthed primal fear:
Never again.
A self-preservation instinct.
His mind erected psychological barriers against anything reminiscent of that grief.
'This much pink mana is inefficient.'
Unconscious denial whispered:
'Red and white suffice.'
Complete, utter rejection.
The boy walked on, followed by books as heavy as the scars in his heart.
