Medici folded his arms and said, "I think I get how this works now. Misery contest, is it? Then I'll go first."
As everyone's eyes turned toward him, his expression remained unruffled.
"In the Second and Third Epochs, I'd say my life was pretty good. Sure, there was a painful stretch in the middle, but it hardly counts as miserable."
He opened straight from the Second Epoch. For Pallez, who had worked alongside Medici, that was not surprising—he already knew some of the man's history.
Reinette, however, looked at him differently. Born at the dawn of the Fifth Epoch, she was already considered "ancient" by most, yet compared to this Mr. "Not-Quite-Dead", she suddenly felt like a mere child.
As for Roselle, he was dumbstruck.
From the Second Epoch until now, that's at least three or four thousand years! These Beyonders really can live forever.
Though he had already met Zaratul—suspected to be from the Fourth Epoch—that man always spoke in riddles and revealed little. This "Not-Quite-Dead" fellow, by contrast, was refreshingly candid.
But what level of power is he exactly? Zaratul was already Sequence 2 in the Fourth Epoch. Don't tell me this guy is also a god? If so, does that mean even gods have ranks—like some endless-levelling system?!
Medici continued evenly, "Up until the early Fourth Epoch, my life was still going well. I aided my Lord in supporting Solomon, helping establish the Solomon Empire and unify the Northern Continent. Ah, we met around that time too, didn't we, Mr. No-Characteristic? Do you still recall?"
Pallez's tone carried a faint nostalgia. "Yes."
"Later, the Six Gods came to an agreement and struck against Solomon. The Solomon Empire fell. That was when I saw my chance. I schemed to capture Sauron and Einhorn—those two old hags—in hopes of advancing to Red Priest."
He sneered faintly. "But what I hadn't realised was this: I thought myself the hunter, yet while I was 'hunting' others, I had become prey in someone else's eyes. In the end, Adam, Amon, and Tudor joined forces, captured me along with the two women, and brewed us into a potion—stepping stones for Tudor's ascension to goodhood."
Roselle's jaw dropped. What the hell?! Did I just hear that right? Even gods ascend from Beyonders?! This is monumental! So this "Not-Quite-Dead" really is a "half-step god!"
"But the three of us didn't perish completely. We fused into an evil spirit and were sealed within the site of Tudor's godhood ascension. And so I remain—alive, but confined. In that sense, yes, the codename 'Not-Quite-Dead' suits me rather well."
He chuckled. "That's right, I am still sealed in that ruin. My presence here is thanks to the Chairman's 'great power.' Oh, and if any of you can help release me, I'll grant you one wish—anything within my ability."
"It's simple. Find the direct descendants of Sauron, Einhorn, and the Medici family. Collect ten millilitres of their blood—more is fine, less is not. Mix it with holy water and pour it into my seal."
"As for the location of that seal, it lies at—%…&%"
The rest of his words, Edward immediately blocked.
Taking over smoothly, Edward said, "Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Not-Quite-Dead, for getting us started. Although compared to Miss No-Head and Mr. No-Characteristic, your experience seems rather…ordinary."
Medici's face darkened. "Oi! What do you mean ordinary?!"
"Isn't it so? When humans speak of tragedy, they always return to death and betrayal."
Edward gestured toward Pallez and Reinette. "His people and descendants are all dead. Her parents and friends—all gone. But your kin still live on."
"You merely lost your freedom, while they lost entire families."
Pallez, Reinette: "…"
Was it really necessary to drag us into this?
Edward added casually, "Of course, if you count your eventual betrayal, and the fact that your descendants will all perish in the future, then perhaps you could be considered their equal."
Medici didn't care much about the "dead descendants," but his brows furrowed at one word. "Betrayal? Who betrayed me? Adam? Amon? Hah. I've been their enemy from the start. Even if they caused my downfall, that's not betrayal."
Edward smiled knowingly. "Lies don't wound. It is truth that cuts like a blade. And that blade will one day stab deep into your chest, forcing you onto a path of betrayal. But…that time has not yet come."
Edward turned, his eyes falling on Roselle.
"Your turn, Mr. Didn't-Live-Properly."
Roselle's body stiffened. He snapped out of spectator mode, heart filled with a stampede of curses.
My turn?! What the hell am I supposed to say?!
That I went to sleep and woke up in another world?
That I became the Son of Steam through inventions and creations?
That I've been dating noble ladies and mistresses every other day?
How the hell am I supposed to compete in misery against someone who was half a step from godhood, only to be turned into potion?!
Roselle's head throbbed as he racked his brains.
Pallez, Reinette, and even Medici himself were all quietly curious. What sort of tragic past could this Mr. "Didn't-Live-Properly"—who so far seemed like nothing more than an ordinary person—possibly present that would compare with Medici's?
And what exactly did his codename mean? So far, the other three codenames had all been targeted and deliberate; surely this last one wasn't an exception.
"I…honestly, I've always lived a pretty good life," Roselle said after a long internal struggle. "I was born into a declining noble family, sure, but our living conditions were always decent. Later, I even caught the church's eye and became a Beyonder. My Sequence isn't high yet, but I've been quite satisfied."
He hesitated, then added, "Oh, well…I was recently targeted by two…no, by one evil god—Hidden Sage—but before He could do anything, I had the church help me deal with it."
"So…my past really doesn't have much to do with 'misery.'"
He swallowed and looked nervously at Edward. "Chairman, does this mean…that in the future something…truly terrible happens to me?"
Feeling the stares of the four, Edward summarised in clipped, merciless words:
"Your wife and child die. Your son loses his humanity. Your daughter sees you as an enemy. You are betrayed. You discover a cruel truth. Your obsessions shatter. You fall into despair, paranoia, and madness. You stake everything in one last gamble…and ultimately fail, dying with your eyes open and unclosed."
Roselle: "!!!"
It was only a few dozen words, spoken almost casually, but Roselle's body broke out in goosebumps. His instincts screamed that every word was true.
But why…why would it turn out like that?
He could accept death. He could accept betrayal. He could accept despair, madness, and failure. But the one thing he could not accept—was that his beloved daughter, who adored and cherished him, would one day come to hate him. See him as her enemy.
At that moment, the surrounding grey fog rippled, and images appeared out of thin air:
An aged Roselle sat by the window, holding the frail hand of Matilda as she breathed her last, a boy beside him staring blankly with dead eyes.
A grown Bernadette looked upon him with scorn and fury before walking away in disappointment.
He stood high above the continent, eyes hollow with despair. Like a wounded lion, he became sensitive, irritable, and insane.
He sat alone upon a darkened throne, blood and tears streaming down his face, his expression so numb it no longer even carried despair.
Emotion was contagious—
And when that emotion came from his future self, Roselle was engulfed in a wave of helplessness.
After a long silence, he forced a wry smile. "I once heard a saying: once the future is known, it is no longer the future. If my future is so terrible…then I'll just find a way to change it."
Edward's voice was cool, "And how do you know that every step you take to change it, is not precisely what brings that future about?"
"…"
Roselle fell silent. Before transmigrating, he'd read countless time-travel novels and watched movies where people tried to alter the future (or past), only to fulfil it instead—closing the loop.
From the outside, it was entertaining. But as the person trapped inside it…
"…That's truly despair, isn't it?"
Medici sneered. "Aren't we competing in misery? If your future is that tragic, isn't that a good thing for you?"
Roselle: Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not that desperate to win this damn Misery Contest.
Medici chuckled coldly. "Heh. Honestly, experiences like yours? I've seen too many. Power and authority always bring misunderstandings and hatred. Being betrayed, losing your wife and children—commonplace. Hardly unique."
Roselle gave him a polite bow. "You win. You're the most miserable. Respect."
Pallez interjected smoothly, "Chairman, shouldn't we now take a look at Mr. Not-Quite-Dead's future?"
"Of course."
The visions surrounding Roselle dissolved, replaced by scenes of Medici's future:
A shadowed figure held three test tubes filled with blood. He poured them together with a vial of holy water onto a massive, bloodstained door.
With a boom, the door burst open. Medici strode out laughing, rage and elation mingling in his expression. He said something inaudible, then possessed the body of the shadowed figure and left the underground palace.
But as he walked into the night, his spirit was suddenly expelled. His body twisted and spiralled smaller, dragged by an unseen force. With fury and despair, he was caught in a pristine white palm.
The hand belonged to a priest clad in plain white robes, with a thick, pale-golden beard. His golden eyes were gentle and merciful—but utterly devoid of emotion.
Adam.
Edward had, of course, fabricated this vision.
He hadn't forgotten for a second—the reason for this whole "tragedy contest" wasn't amusement, wasn't theatrics, wasn't prophecy. It was to digest the potion.
And to break someone like Medici…required the harshest of blows.
If necessary, I'll tear away the veil entirely and expose the truth—that Adam is the Ancient Sun God.
———
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