Retire 510

510 In a Dream (5)

Book.

Before I could even process what Hope had said, the dungeon shifted its shape.

This time, it was darkness. Pitch-black, not a single star in sight. It reminded me of that time when Park Seohyun briefly lost control of her mana.

If it were Park Seohyun or Choi Jinwoo, maybe they would have adapted more easily to this place. Maybe they would have found the way out with less trouble. But what good does it do to think about kids who haven’t even graduated yet? And if I ever had to raid a dungeon with them, I doubt my heart would survive the ordeal…

Han Taekyung, too, had found his way by following Park Seohyun’s shadow.

“……”

When the library shifted into a maze, we’d all been separated. But that was because we’d been physically apart to begin with. Those of us who’d been close together had stayed together—Kim Chaemin had been with Han Taekyung, after all.

But this time was different. What had Hope said? That if he could just confirm it, he’d tear it open?

Judging by how Noah Michel had shouted in desperation about his objective, Han Taekyung’s guess about the stairs being a weak point had been correct. And it had worked all too well.

Darkness. I stepped forward slowly. There was no sense of falling; the floor was solid.

I couldn’t even see my own hand. My eyes didn’t adjust to the dark. After a moment’s hesitation, I moved my feet carefully, deliberately tapping the ground to make a small sound, but there was no reply. I’d already known there was no one else around.

Had I been transported to an entirely different space? Or was this darkness simply so vast that I couldn’t see anything? Other than the utter blackness, my other senses were intact.

I moved forward cautiously. I couldn’t even tell if I was going forward, backward, up, or down. To throw someone into a place like this and not even attack them—now that was suspicious.

“……”

Then, for a moment, I blinked.

The blackness didn’t change, but something like a faint afterimage flickered by.

Did I imagine it? Or was Michel finally making a move?

“……”

There it was again.

It wasn’t my imagination. I could see a very faint golden dot. It flickered like a broken light bulb, then vanished, then flickered again far off in the distance before disappearing once more.

It never appeared in the same place twice. It was moving.

I couldn’t be sure if it was mana visible only to me. Still, it was the only change, so I tried my best to observe it. The light was so faint that even for me, it wasn’t easy.

I quietly followed the light. It wasn’t some kind of friendly guiding beacon. It felt more like a broken mini bulb on a Christmas tree—just blinking away, almost as if it forgot it was even there.

Following it was a strange experience. Nothing attacked me, and I sensed neither monsters nor Michel, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being drawn further and further in.

It was like the instinctive unease you feel when you reach the depths of a dungeon. Did this dungeon still have a place like that, even without a core?

Or maybe this was what Kim Chaemin had been talking about—how Michel was controlling the dungeon. Maybe it was the spot where the core used to be.

“……!”

Once again, without warning, the world around me changed.

If I’d been a less experienced hunter, I would have cried out. I barely managed to swallow the words that threatened to escape my lips.

The darkness hadn’t receded. It hadn’t turned into a library or a maze, or any other part of Mont Saint Michel.

In fact, the pitch-black darkness remained unchanged. Only now, something glowing had been added.

A tuft of golden fluff drifted past me. It had the soft, billowy texture of cotton candy stuck together. The sparkling gold dust looked like Michel’s mana.

But it wasn’t Michel.

It was a very small doll, not even reaching my waist.

A doll with golden cloud-like hair, as if made from torn cotton.

The doll ran silently ahead of me.

Then, in a hurry, it looked back at me and vanished.

…What was that?

I gripped my sword tightly, on guard. Michel’s dolls had never attacked us directly, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t. Just moving was dangerous enough.

But the vanished doll did not reappear. Instead, the faint light I’d seen before glimmered again.

Hesitating, I followed the light.

After a while, the doll appeared again without warning. Its fluffy hair fluttered as it ran. Then it looked back at—no, not at me.

I realized it then. The doll wasn’t looking at me. Just like the dolls Michel had been so obsessed with in the library, it had no facial features, but seeing it a second time, I understood. The doll was simply looking behind itself, as if programmed to do so.

It glanced over its shoulder, then faced forward. It stretched out its arms and ran again. The way it staggered as it ran—maybe it was just because of its small size, but it looked like a child.

“……”

The doll vanished again.

I walked on, following the light.

The third time it appeared, the doll wasn’t running. Instead, it held its right hand up as if grasping someone else’s hand.

Its left hand rubbed its eyes. The right hand came down. Then…

Someone slipped a hand under the doll’s armpit and lifted it up. There was no one there, but the doll’s movements were unmistakable. Like a child being picked up, its limbs dangled. Someone supported its bottom, and as the doll was held, it raised its arms to hug back.

The doll disappeared.

Gritting my teeth, I kept following the light.

This couldn’t be a trap. If I were Noah Michel, I would never use this as a trap.

No matter how you looked at Michel—whether as someone who hated humans, or as someone shaken by the late-discovered will of his parents—this wouldn’t be a trap.

The doll kept appearing.

Sometimes it was being carried, sometimes it fell asleep in unseen arms. I saw it walking with both arms raised, as if holding hands with two different people.

Sometimes the doll hesitated, or tripped as it walked.

Then someone would come and scoop it up. Sometimes it was carried on a shoulder. The doll would kick its legs in delight.

They were all dolls in the shape of a child, and though they only appeared briefly, it was clear they were being well cared for.

If I had to guess, I’d say the size matched a child of four or five.

“……”

One of the dolls—who knows which number—this time wasn’t being carried or piggybacked. It wasn’t holding anyone’s hand.

The doll looked around mischievously like a child about to play a prank. It covered its mouth and shook its shoulders. It was laughing.

The doll kept whipping its head around, as if making sure the adults weren’t watching, then reached out. Its fingers caught on something in the air. Using both hands, it pulled something closer. Staggering backward, the doll plopped down on the floor and turned a page in a book.

Ah. That’s right.

A book. Just like a child looking at a picture book. It was turning the pages.

Screeeeech!!

A chilling sound, like fingernails scraping a chalkboard, rang out.

I reflexively hunched my shoulders and looked at the doll. The doll, which had been turning pages, froze. But it didn’t disappear.

The doll’s image wavered, like a glitching hologram. It jerked, and then afterimages overlapped. The doll was pulling a book from a shelf. Another appeared over it, standing by the bookshelf, holding its breath as if afraid the adults would see.

It looked like a monster with many arms writhing.

Finally, the flickering doll returned to the beginning. Laughing quietly, holding its breath before playing a prank. Looking around, it pulled a conspicuous book from the shelf. Opened the fallen book.

The same scene repeated.

Again and again.

Without stopping.

Around it, the faint lights still swarmed like insects. Only then did I realize those lights were the afterimages left by the doll’s hair.

Around the doll reading the book, the images of all the dolls I’d seen so far flickered in and out. The faint light remained, but was barely visible.

It was like an old, broken projector running. Worn out, stained, barely functioning, but forced to play. The scenes didn’t connect, there was no sound, but somehow the fragments were being pieced together.

When Noah Michel first entered the dungeon, he hadn’t been a magician. Even if he had, at five years old, he wouldn’t have been aware of it. Awakening as a magician doesn’t mean a child suddenly prefers studying over playing.

No one remembers their childhood perfectly. I remember my time at the lab only out of spite. The thought that someday, I’d leave with my brother and get back at our real parents and the researchers, especially the last director. That’s why Ui-rok and I wrote diary-like notes.

But that was a special motivation. Unless the experience is that intense, childhood memories fade quickly. No, sometimes the more intense the experience, the more likely it is to be forgotten. Traumatic events, things you don’t want to remember. For a child who doesn’t fully understand the world, memories are easily distorted. They change to suit the person’s comfort, or the convenience of those around them.

The child-shaped doll was still reading the book. It wasn’t hard to put together the doll and Hope’s words.

Did Michel begin to doubt his own memories after reading the will? Did he want to dig up exactly what had happened in that dungeon?

Then, amid the repeating afterimages of the doll, I noticed a small gap. With the world pitch-black, any change in the doll—the only source of light—was easy to spot.

Through the shifting hair, I could faintly see another scene. A book. Bookshelves. A library.

I cautiously approached the doll, raising my sword hesitantly.

Even when I moved my sword through its hair, the doll’s actions didn’t change. It didn’t seem to notice me. I couldn’t expect much from a doll, but… if Michel’s magic was controlling it, was Michel not paying attention? Or was this a trap?

…No. This couldn’t be a trap.

I slowly moved my sword. When I pushed the blade into the hair, it didn’t emerge from the other side. It was as if it had been swallowed up.

That library scene was probably the space where Michel had been standing. This was Michel’s workshop. Following the trail of mana, I’d likely entered through the back door.

Even without much force, the space between the strands of hair began to tear.

“…It does matter.”

A voice.

Father’s voice.

I stopped tearing at the space.

“Why?”

A woman’s voice. Noah Michel.

“See? You’re asking why, too. Knowing the reason is important.”

The voices weren’t loud, but I could hear the conversation clearly.

“Now?”

“If not now, when? As long as two people are willing, a conversation can happen anywhere, anytime.”

“…You’re not exactly known for being a good talker.”

“That’s just prejudice. And you weren’t always known as a violent magician, either.”

I twisted my sword a little, hoping to see inside, but the gap was too small. Still, the voices continued.

“We don’t need reasons anymore.”

“Why not?”

Father replied to Michel in a voice stripped of all humor.

“If we want to keep this from happening again, we need to know the reason.”