Chapter Sixteen: The Witch Jasu

The hatred for his father’s killer—

For Dick, this was already something that belonged to a distant past. Moreover... A child raised from infancy as a tool for theft did not harbor many, nor complex, emotions toward the parents who birthed and raised him.

If anything, most of those feelings were of resentment.

It was an unquestionable fact that the murderer in the fog had slain his parents. Yet Dick bore little animosity toward that infamous killer who prowled the misty nights—not only because he was freed from that hateful, filthy mire by their deaths, but also because, had the murderer not appeared before him on that fateful foggy night, he would never have met... her.

The witch, Gasu.

In Hemtica, few still remembered that name. No—perhaps “few” was not quite right, for aside from a handful of children raised by her hand as he was, only Michelangelo knew the name and the terrible power it represented.

Dominion is never divorced from strength. The success of the Dice House was no happenstance. The witch, existing like a ghost in Hemtica, wove her web like a spider at the heart of the Dice House—a vast hub of information—drawing threads of fate to every corner of the city through each visitor who passed through its doors.

What did she intend? He did not know. More precisely, no one did.

Because—

No mortal can ever fathom the will of the gods.

Dick was acutely aware of his role. He was but an apostle, not meant to expect or desire more than his station. All he need do was perform his duties quietly, preparing each puppet who would take the stage—polishing and maintaining them—before the curtain’s grand rise. Nothing more.

All was the witch’s choice.

Her will was an oracle—was fate itself.

If anything went awry, it was the apostles’ task, his and the others’, to set the course of fate right again—undaunted by hardship, unafraid of sacrifice, and—

At any cost.

A flame seemed to kindle in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished. The handsome youth pushed open the private room’s door and stepped into a swirl of smoke. The solemnity that had just adorned his face vanished instantly, replaced—like a mask swapped in a blink—with a rakish, devil-may-care grin.

“Hey, Boss, good morning.”

He lifted the crystalline lid of the coffin and affectionately greeted the petite girl lying inside.

“Hmm?” came a weak reply. Her long lashes fluttered, and the girl, as exquisite as a fairy-tale princess, opened eyes clearer than black crystal. “Is it morning already? Time flies so quickly... Little Dick.”

“Uh... not yet,” the boy muttered, glancing away.

“First Samantha, now you. You kids won’t even let me have twenty-four hours of sleep anymore—getting bolder by the day...” Though it sounded like a child’s grumpiness upon waking, the black-haired, dark-eyed girl still curled up in her crystal coffin, her drowsy eyes barely open. “Lack of sleep is a woman’s worst enemy, you little brats just want me to age faster, don’t you?”

Her tone was annoyed, even faintly angry, but from her lips it was like the gentle babbling of a brook.

Light, bright, melodious—yet devoid of emotion.

“Who would dare?” the youth replied with a cheeky grin. “To us, Boss, you’ll always be young and beautiful—the very face of Hemtica City.”

“Only Hemtica?” came the languid voice again.

“Well, let’s toss in the dark chaos, too,” he replied, with a tone so insincere it bordered on mischief.

“My, my, you kids are getting out of hand.” For once, a trace of vigor colored her words. The woman in the thick haze turned on her side and stretched, yawning. “Daring to compare me to the monsters of dark chaos—seems you’re living quite comfortably these days... and in need of a little discipline.”

“Heh...” Dick scratched his head sheepishly. “It’s all thanks to your good teaching, Boss.”

“Smooth-talking brat.” The petite girl sat up straight in her crystal coffin, still rubbing her sleepy eyes and yawning, though a hint of tranquility in her expression showed her mind had cleared. “Whenever you need something, it’s all ‘Boss, Boss,’ but when there’s nothing to ask, you’re all out there making mischief. I wonder what great debt I owed you lot in a past life... no, two past lives.”

She spoke with a trace of distress, waving her sleeve to scatter the thick mist around her.

“Speak—what brings you here?”

“Boss...” The youth shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. “You know, if we could, I—or rather, we—would never disturb you.”

“So it is,” the black-haired beauty blinked, her gaze as deep as the night sky, without a ripple of emotion, her tone flat as if stating the obvious. “The one you wish to see... is her.”

The apostle of the Dice House merely nodded.

He—

He was the witch’s apostle, and only that.

“In that case,” after a long sigh, the black-haired beauty’s form and features grew clearer in the swirling smoke. She gently closed her eyes, her consciousness sinking into the murky depths of chaos. “Then...”

—As you wish.

Scarlet pupils opened, falling like a meteor of fate to the earth.

The witch who heralded the end opened her crimson eyes; the one who presided over fate descended into the mortal world.

“Greetings to you.” Suppressing the torrent of emotion in his blood and soul, the youth, face still tender with youth, bent his proud head in humility and obedience. “Guide of Destiny.”

“Dick.” The scarlet gaze showed no joy, no sorrow, only his own reflection in that pure mirror. But the youth, knowing that everything he possessed was thanks to this apostle, understood she was not seeing him, but the threads of fate twined about him—and at the other end of those threads... another person. “It seems you’ve earned his initial trust—but it’s not enough, not yet—”

“Is that so...” Though he voiced a question, his eyes held no doubt. The apostle simply bit his lip and replied softly, “Understood.”

“You must become a weight that can tip the current of fate—a crucial weight.” The witch spoke in a low voice; her youthful features, growing clear in the mist, stood in stark contrast to the endless age worn in her crimson eyes. “Perhaps you cannot yet understand why, but you must do it—try to guide the course of destiny...”

She stepped down from her bed, her frail figure trailing a long nightgown.

“My time is running short,” she said lightly, as if it were of no concern to her. She rose on tiptoe to stroke the boy’s tousled golden hair, her gaze drifting to the window, to the gloomy sky beyond. A maternal tenderness softened her brow. “Perhaps, one day, the future foretold by fate will come to pass, but I shall not see that day—not see...”

The girl, burdened with the title of witch, paused slightly, her voice heavy with resentment.

“The moment of the end’s arrival.”

“So—” Her pale hand touched the youth’s cheek. “You, or perhaps all of you, are my last hope. I hope you can be my eyes, my hands, my feet, my apostles—walk these cages of order in my stead, and for... Him, toll the final bell.”

“If...” Dick lowered his gaze, “that is your wish.”

“The world must be destroyed,” the witch said, with a gentleness that sent chills down the spine. “The extinguishing of the fire is only the prelude. When all returns to eternal night, then a corner of the world’s reality will finally reveal itself. Only then will you truly understand what the deepest despair means.”

The boy said nothing—or perhaps he simply had no words.

Destroy the world, the world’s reality—what did these mean? They were beyond comprehension, beyond the grasp of his mind.

Though he had long known the witch who held fate was not someone mortals could fathom, it was only now, for the first time, that Dick realized he could not understand her at all.

But... what did it matter? He whispered inwardly. Like a fool refusing to accept reality, the youth brushed aside what he could not grasp, stubbornly reminding himself: Whatever happens, whatever she intends, I am her apostle, the executor of her will... If there is any reason, it is only this—fate.

Memory froze in a rain-soaked night.

A world of only black and white was, for the first time, touched by color. In the cold mist he felt something beyond chill—a petite, black-haired girl crouched down, raindrops beading on the edge of her clear umbrella. She reached out her hand, a pure smile on her face, neither pitying nor mocking. Though she never spoke a word, he understood her meaning.

As if destined, he grasped her outstretched hand.

And so, of his own will, became her blade, her shield, her knight, and... her apostle.

“If...” His lashes lowered again. He repeated, “That is your wish.”

“You truly are a child who never grows up,” the witch laughed lightly, like a child herself, but the smile faded quickly, replaced by deep melancholy. “But alas... all children must one day grow up. You will all have to face this cruel reality and strive for a victory that seems utterly impossible.”

“Before that, I am to approach Amy Ulysses?” Dick tugged his hat brim lower, hiding his messy golden hair. “But before I carry out your command, I have one small question—why must it be him? He’s just an ordinary Glorified, nothing more.”

“Glorified? Perhaps.” The girl watched the boy, amused that he would show even a hint of resistance, as a mother might tolerate the tantrums of an unruly child—no blame, only deep acceptance. “But he’s no ordinary monster to be described as ‘just.’ A terrifying monster—though I don’t know who created him, he must be either a plant by the Restorationists or a secret agent left by those madmen before their defeat. To define him as merely human is a mistake in itself.”

She paused, but did not allow the boy to interrupt, continuing at once: “That’s why I want you to approach him—gradually gain his trust.”

“And then—”

“—kill him.”