ALL NOVEL Chapter 150
[The God of the Wretched Mace], Morg’s [Nightmare] structure manifests through the subject’s
Normal anxieties and fears, nightmares experienced in the past.
And past terrors and happiness.
All of this belongs to the realm of the unconscious.
And the very structure of that nightmare is woven so tightly that it’s nearly impossible to escape.
Yuma recalled the words of the Join Tribe’s Legolas.
– Since Yuma is a God, and it’s possible to intervene now that Morg, the [Nightmare]‘s instigator, is dead.
– You must slowly make the subject aware that this world is a dream. If that happens, then maybe…
– In the end, the will of those trapped in the dream is the most important.
– Being trapped in memories of the past means one can only escape upon fully realizing that.
It all depends on the subject’s mental strength.
Yuma watched Hestia strolling through the village.
“Hey, Hestia, you’re here!”
“The weather’s really nice today!”
“It was just raining, but nice it is!”
“…That’s a formal greeting! Say hello!”
A couple of Cat-Folk with red Mulkiraks approached Hestia.
“Hello.”
Hestia awkwardly smiled and greeted them.
“Right!”
“Would you like to grab some bread?”
Yuma felt that the Cat-Folk appearing around Hestia were being overly friendly.
‘…They must have always been this overly friendly.’
Legolas once mentioned that nightmares of the past are infinitely closer to the truth.
Hestia sat on a bench, lost in thought.
Haruk.
The name written on that paper.
‘Haruk… Haruk….’
Countless thoughts had crossed her mind on her way to this bench.
Now, like magic, a vague face began to float up concerning that name.
Brown hair,
And memories of that Haruk also entered her mind.
Very vaguely.
Too vaguely to even recognize as a memory.
Hestia, with her head bowed, furrowed her brow at the memories flooding in.
Swish.
Hestia stood over a boy who looked like Haruk, sword pressed against his neck.
And Haruk trembled in fear.
All of it was unsettling.
This series of memories had abruptly intruded upon Hestia’s mind.
The memory currently swimming in her head slowly rippled wider and wider.
Hestia felt memories following after the recalled Haruk pushing into her mind.
Events before she tilted the sword against Haruk’s neck.
A scene where a Cat-Folk who looked like her killed countless people.
Hestia couldn’t help but question. After all, she had no reason to express such anger towards humanity.
There was no real reason to express such anger towards the human race.
Since there was no reason to kill at least twenty people.
Having never left the Cat-Folk village, there were no particular feelings towards humans.
“…Why am I?”
Why am I killing people?
Hestia let out a deep sigh, feeling as though her head was splitting.
“There must be a reason.”
As Hestia’s memories were being stirred, she found herself trapped in confusion.
“It’s a dream.”
A note that had suddenly been left on her desk.
“It’s a dream….”
Hestia struggled to deduce the situation she hadn’t quite grasped yet.
Hestia repeated the words.
“Dream.”
Hestia got up.
She wanted to know why she had killed over thirty people. To find that out, she would need to recall her memories before meeting Haruk, just as she had tried to remember what happened just before the killings. But those memories evaded her.
Rustle—
Hestia tangled her hair even more.
Just like a complicated mess of strings, it wasn’t easy to untangle the mess in her head.
Hestia stood up from the bench and walked toward home.
Still, there was no solid clue of what was going on.
However, it was clear that a strong ripple had happened in Hestia’s mind.
Suddenly, the world appeared hazy.
But still, she believed this world to be the truth.
Because the memories lingering in Hestia during the nightmare were more intact than the memories currently swirling inside her head.
Eventually, Hestia trudged home.
She walked towards her father, who was silently wielding his sword.
“Father.”
The only way she could think to organize the clutter in her mind was to exhaust her body and take a long nap.
“Let’s spar.”
Hestia’s father, Romanson, smirked.
“Spar, huh? Hestia, what an unusual thing for you to request a spar from your dad, hahaha!”
Romanson laughed heartily as he picked up a wooden sword from the display.
And he offered it to Hestia.
Hestia smiled faintly and took the wooden sword.
“Shall we begin?”
With Romanson’s words, Hestia nodded, and the spar started.
Clang!
The spar began with the clash between father and daughter, each wielding their swords.
The swordsmanship of the Rune-Wood tribe contained a balance of defense and offense.
Hestia and Romanson’s wooden swords collided.
Boom—
A heavy vibration coursed through Hestia’s arms.
True to the aggressive nature of Rune-Wood swordsmanship, the father and daughter unleashed fierce attacks at each other, showing off their weapons.
Their wooden swords clashed repeatedly.
They clashed repeatedly.
‘…Uh?’
Hestia felt a sense of discomfort.
She was facing an incredibly strong oddity.
Bang!
With every exchange of strikes between her head and body, she felt knowledge of swordsmanship seep into her mind.
Jjeo-eong──
It wasn’t just absurd knowledge; it was practical swordsmanship that could be applied in real situations.
In an instant.
The techniques of combat that flashed in her mind were crystal clear.
Astoundingly familiar.
‘Why?’
Why can I see my father’s sword path so clearly?
With a dazed expression, Hestia extended her sword. Her expression was blank, but her sword path showed no signs of hesitation.
Squeal!
The fully mastered techniques of the Rune Wood tribe unfurled from Hestia’s feet, making her sword feel like the head of a serpent fiercely charging toward its target.
Whack!
Ron swung his sword towards the serpent-like sword path with a stern face.
But it was too late.
Ron’s swing couldn’t block Hestia’s sword path.
Chik—
Ron stared at Hestia’s sword, now at his throat.
He awkwardly opened his mouth.
“…When did our daughter get this strong?”
Hestia let out an awkward chuckle.
“I’ve never beaten you, have I?”
Father, Ron slowly nodded at Hestia’s question.
“That’s right, never. Until just now, that is.”
Hestia gingerly placed the wooden sword back on the shelf and stepped inside the house.
With her body slumped in a chair, Hestia collected her thoughts.
‘A dream… It feels like a dream.’
Disconnection.
The swordsmanship in her head and her body’s movements, which emerged while facing her father’s sword, had a qualitatively vast difference.
Mastery.
The spirit of Hestia, who had lived her life as a ‘swordswoman’, had blossomed even in the [Nightmare].
Though she hadn’t fully grasped the situation yet, she was now somewhat certain this world was a dream, thanks to her recent spar with her father.
However, despite that certainty, the [Nightmare] remained unshattered.
It meant the conditions of the hazy reality were still unmet.
Hestia had dinner with her siblings and parents, laughing together. Afterward, she stepped outside, took a short walk, and succumbed to sleep.
‘Tomorrow, I must find a conclusion.’
Whether this was a dream or not.
Tomorrow, she would surely end it. With that resolve, Hestia drifted into slumber.
*
Hestia opened her eyes.
Hestia opened her eyes.
And she greeted the morning by chatting cheerfully with Kailon, Peln, her parents, and others.
Hestia spent half a day helping the villagers with errands, sharing laughter while looking at their faces.
And once again, the sun set.
After finishing her errands and personal training on the mountain, Hestia was on her way home.
She bent her knees and furrowed her brow.
Finally, the memories of a situation where she brutally killed many people flooded back.
The whole village was drowning in a sea of red blood.
Heads were rolling on the ground.
Among them were the Cat-Folk she had just greeted. She could faintly see the clothes of the person killing them.
Men clad in garments marked with a red circular symbol were massacring the Cat-Folk.
Sizzle…
The mysterious memory turned the scene upside down.
Hestia quickly realized where this place was. It was none other than the house where her family lived.
Her younger sister, Peln, lay cold on the floor with a deep scar on her neck.
And it appeared that the boy Kailon had rushed to protect her but died first.
The background changed again.
The backyard of the house.
Two corpses lay on the ground.
The bodies of her mother Kamelen and father Romanson.
Plop.
Her vision went black for a moment.
Then her sight restored to its original state.
“Sis!”
“Big sister!”
To her left was Peln.
To her right, Kailon had come to support Hestia, who was on her knees.
Hestia slowly relaxed her stiff face.
“Yeah.”
And then she smiled.
“My legs suddenly gave way.”
“L-Let’s go inside for now!”
Peln said with shining eyes.
“Right, let’s go to the room and lie down.”
Kailon chimed in.
“Okay.”
With a smile still on her lips, Hestia walked into the house supported by the two.
Peln and Kailon, putting their effort into supporting her, didn’t fully grasp the reason behind Hestia’s smile.
It was a very bitter smile.
That bitter smile soon transformed into tightly pressed lips.
The fragmented memories started to piece together slowly.
Except for the piece called ‘Haruk.’
Hestia lay on the bed blankly, sorting through the assembled puzzle.
Everyone, including her family and the villagers, had been killed by a band of humans.
And she was the one who killed those humans.
Revenge.
The moment Hestia completed that puzzle, the scenery of what had been her room distorted like a mirage.