Cicero stiffened at the familiar voice.
He turned his head, and there was Klein’s smiling face, suddenly right in front of him.
Klein was striding toward Cicero at a breakneck pace, as if afraid Cicero might flee, and at the same time he stretched out his hand toward him.
Cicero instinctively stepped back, raising a hand to shield his face, terrified that Klein might suddenly punch him again.
But Klein did no such thing.
Instead, he stepped forward, seized Cicero’s hand, and pulled him close.
The smile at the corner of Klein’s mouth never wavered.
His psychic power subtly seeped into Cicero’s body, and Cicero’s internal organs began to grow clear within his perception.
Lucretius had told Klein before that the age of witchcraft on Macragge was over, that the witchcraft left was nothing more than a few petty tricks.
But Klein had something to say about that: Macragge psychic bumpkin, do you even understand psychic-energy processing technology?
True, on Macragge, psychic power was severely restricted, and the force one could exert was minimal.
But small force did not mean non-lethal.
Even the power to push a single sesame seed, if applied properly, could be just as deadly and dangerous.
For instance…
under Greyfax’s tutelage, Klein knew exactly which artery in which part of the brain would cause death if a thrombosis formed, and which blood vessel to manipulate to induce cardiac arrest.
At this close range, Klein could snuff out Cicero’s life with effortless ease and disguise it as an accident.
“My dear Cicero, which do you prefer, a cerebral infarction or cardiac arrest?”
Cicero’s expression went rigid.
He could not understand why Klein was suddenly so enthusiastic, nor why he was suddenly asking such a question.
“I don’t like death.” Cicero tried to pull his hand free from Klein’s grip, but he failed.
Klein’s fingers were clamped around his wrist like an iron vise, more precisely, clamped around the venous blood vessels in his wrist.
“No, no, my friend.
We are not discussing death, but rather the manner of death.”
Klein shook his head and said with earnest sincerity:
“Do you still remember your theory?”
“Man comes into this world to acquire more experiences and sensations.”
“Isn’t a cerebral infarction or cardiac arrest part of life’s experiences?”
“If you were to die tomorrow, yet had never experienced a cerebral infarction or cardiac arrest, wouldn’t that be a regret?”
Cicero paused in a daze at first, then lowered his head as if in thought.
A moment later, he looked up and nodded at Klein.
“That actually makes sense!”
He really did think it made sense…
Hearing Cicero’s words, Klein felt something approaching reverence. This story is hosted at g.com.
This guy was, at least in the realm of the profoundly odd, utterly pure.
A talent like this, how he wanted to sit him on the Golden Throne to give it a try…
Big E, you bastard, at least leave me the technique for grabbing a scapegoat!
“If I had to choose, I’d probably prefer a cerebral infarction, because the experience lasts longer.” Cicero thought for a moment and said, “And the mortality rate is lower.
After the experience, you’d still have the chance to experience cardiac arrest, why are you suddenly asking me about this?”
Klein released Cicero’s wrist, then reached out and patted Cicero on the back.
“Because I’ve been thinking!” Klein put on a serious expression.
“After thinking it through, I believe there’s great wisdom in your philosophy, that people are born for pleasure and experience.
Even if death comes tomorrow, you should keep enjoying yourself today.”
“Especially after my failed suicide attempt a few days ago, I understand the wisdom in your philosophy even more.”
“Failed suicide?” Cicero raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Yeah, a few days ago I tried a tug-of-war between my neck and the ceiling.
I didn’t lose, the rope I bought was just too shoddy.
The ceiling and I hadn’t even reached a verdict before the rope snapped.”
The rope snapped…
It took Cicero a few seconds to understand what “tug-of-war between the neck and the ceiling” meant.
So that was what happened.
Cicero suddenly realized.
It seemed the witch’s curse had worked, it was just that Klein had bought poor-quality rope, which unexpectedly broke, preventing his death.
“Even so, you still punched me two days ago.” Cicero couldn’t help complaining.
“Oh, my friend, if I hadn’t done that, how would Dita have given me her father’s pension?” Klein grinned slyly.
He subtly used his psychic power to twist his own expression, making himself appear shameless and depraved in Cicero’s eyes.
Cicero was briefly taken aback.
“You little bastard, you really are rotten to the core.”
“How can you call that rotten?”
Klein’s expression suddenly turned serious.
With utter earnestness, he said:
“I’ve come to grasp a truth: money lost gambling isn’t gone; it’s just temporarily held on deposit at the casino.
As long as I keep gambling, I can eventually withdraw it.
But if I quit, that money will truly never be retrievable.”
“Cicero, take your old pal here to withdraw some money!”
“Now that’s more like it, friend.” Hearing Klein’s words, Cicero smiled a little and patted Klein on the back.
“There happens to be a banquet today, same old place, Agathe Thermae.”
“Speaking of which, what brings you to the Temple District? Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
I recall you’re not the religious type.” As Cicero led Klein forward, he asked curiously.
“Oh, one of the temples at the back was handing out free fish sauce.
What about you?
You believe in Simonetta?” Klein raised an eyebrow and asked back with keen interest.
“No, nothing like that.
My faith is my philosophy.” Cicero smiled slightly.
“It’s just that there’s an internal reformation underway within the Temple of Simonetta.
Some old fossils cling stubbornly to outdated doctrines, so Priest Lippo invited me to teach the believers and correct their thinking.”
“Oh…” Klein turned his head, glancing back at the Temple of Simonetta.
Suddenly, his steps halted, and his gaze shifted slightly.
He wasn’t looking at the Temple of Simonetta, but at the star in the northwest.
That star, even when the light of all other stars was drowned out by the four bright moons, still shone resolutely, hanging above the spire of another temple, like lingering embers atop a lighthouse…
For a while now, Klein had been faintly sensing a certain gaze…
a gaze coming from that star…
“Fancy stargazing, are we?
Oh, the Beacon Star.” Cicero followed Klein’s line of sight and saw the star as well.
“Hm?” Klein gave a soft hum.
Beacon…
He recalled the mountain he had seen in his prophecy, and the voices he had heard.
Back then, the Dita in his prophecy had called that mountain the Beacon.
“Ah, you’re a grammar professor, not well-versed in theology.
That star is the Beacon Star, venerated by the Temple of the Broken Beacon.”
As he spoke, Cicero extended a finger and pointed toward the spire directly beneath the star:
“They believe that star is a beacon forged by an ancient god.
Its starlight transcends time and space, forever shining upon all beings…
but the divinity within the beacon has shattered, which is why its light is so dim.”
“They also claim that it was their God of the Broken Beacon who brought down the sanctioning Obelisk, piercing through Macragge’s satellite Formaska to form the Celestial Iris, crushing the dreadful Witch King to death and ending the darkness of Macragge’s Old Night.”
“Crushed the Witch King to death?” Klein’s interest was slightly piqued.
The Witch King was the ruler of Macragge during the era of Old Night, ultimately replaced by the Lord of War of Macragge City, but the specific details of how that happened had long been buried in the dust of history.
“Temples claiming their god ended the Witch King’s era are a dozen-a-coin, at least eighty or a hundred of them.
No need to take it seriously.” Cicero waved his hand dismissively, patting Klein on the back to urge him toward the baths.
Klein’s gaze lingered for a moment longer on the Beacon Star before he withdrew it and walked out of the Temple District alongside Cicero.
(Translated by yourtl.app)