Chapter 521 Extra Text · Baemon’s Library
“Buzz buzz buzz!”
In the unfathomably deep and dark abyss, a square book suddenly appeared out of thin air as if it had traversed time and space, falling into the surrounding darkness.
“Ouch!”
The book, which was tumbling in mid-air, struggled to flip itself over, exerting all its efforts to control its descent. Although its cover only had a single eye as its “face,” it looked around warily at the surrounding darkness, as if trying to confirm its environment.
Feeling the unbearable heat and the overwhelming aura of terror, even this book couldn’t help but retreat a slight distance in fear.
“The great Sir Book Emhart actually did it! I succeeded! I really passed through the previously discovered [Gate] to come here! The legendary [Demon Dynasty] where demons reside. I can already smell so many enticing scents. Is it over there?”
Indeed, at this moment, the book entering this bottomless abyss was none other than Sir Book Emhart.
Prior to this, he had traveled on the surface for a long time. He only remembered that he was a creation of a great Holy Spawn and was aware of the concept of the Holy Realm, but for some reason, when he tried to recall specific images or memories, his mind would become hazy, as if everything had been violently torn away from him.
Having lost his memory, Emhart had wandered and searched in the mortal realm for a long time, hoping to find any trace of the Holy Realm and the history of the Holy Spawn. Unfortunately, his efforts yielded little.
However, previously, he found a teleportation gate left by the demon attendants in an extremely hidden ruin in the Southern Continent. Although it was broken, that was no challenge for the world’s smartest artifact, Emhart.
It is said that demons are ancient beings known alongside the Holy Spawn. If he could find the Demon Dynasty where the demons reside, there must be records about the Holy Realm there.
After putting in tremendous effort, Emhart finally fixed the teleportation gate and transported himself here.
Emhart stayed behind a rock protrusion, using the natural formation as his cover, and thus he descended layer by layer into the dark and hot abyss below.
“Don’t be afraid, great Sir Book. The demons have been sealed by the Mother Goddess. They can’t do anything. Yes, that’s right. As long as I follow the scent of knowledge to find what I’m looking for, it will be fine.”
He kept encouraging himself as he descended, and finally, the sights at the end of the deep cavern came into view.
Through this vertical cavern, there lay an extremely vast space; its exact size was impossible to determine, resembling an endless ocean of magma. Above that sea of magma, several buildings with extremely strange shapes were sparsely scattered. The buildings lacked any symmetrical beauty, twisting and chaotic like a vortex, making one feel unsettled.
Most importantly, Emhart vaguely saw columns of fire restrained beneath the magma, and within each column lay a shadow that emanated a terrifying aura just from its presence.
Could that be the bodies of the demons?
Only at this moment did Emhart realize that the sea of magma seemed to be some kind of terrible prison. Upon closer inspection, the swirling magma continuously twisted, inadvertently forming eternal symbols representative of power: “∞”.
“Ha, indeed, these demons have all been sealed.”
The space below was dead silent, as if there was no sign of life at all. It seemed just as he had learned beforehand: all the demons were currently imprisoned, leaving no one capable of paying attention to him!
After carefully observing for a long time, Emhart finally confidently and boldly jumped down from the upper cavern.
Now, he was going to find where the scent of delicious knowledge lay.
Emhart floated above the magma, struggling to search for his target amidst the sulfur and some kind of burnt smell, but for the world’s greatest Sir Book, none of this was a problem.
Ha, got it!
He quickly found relevant clues in a building atop the magma.
Unlike the rest of the chaotic buildings, this one appeared perfect even through Emhart’s extremely critical aesthetic viewpoint. The building had two layers, composed of continuously rotating inner and outer forms, resembling an abstract eye, beautiful like a whirlpool in the ocean.
Thus, the building stood calmly on the magma, as if it were the center of the Demon Dynasty, yet completely silent. Presumably, its owner, like her kin, was also locked beneath the magma.
Emhart soon arrived at the front of the building, only to see that the door of the structure reflected his floating figure like a giant mirror. The door was tightly shut, making the small Emhart wonder how he might open it.
At that moment, lines of text suddenly flickered on the door’s mirror surface:
“I am me, I am the thought of thought.”
“I am a song that cannot be listened to, I am an eye that cannot be perceived.”
“May I ask, what am I?”
Emhart tilted his head to look at the text in front of him, sneering as he murmured,
“Ha, it’s actually a riddle. It seems these demon creatures with horns and tails are not brainless after all.”
Emhart thought for a few seconds and then tentatively replied,
“Soul.”
“Ka ka ka!”
As Emhart spoke his answer, the mirror-like door split open with a thin crack in the middle, and then automatically swung open, revealing a bright space with a faint fragrance inside.
“Haha, the great Sir Book is truly the smartest existence in this world.”
His square book face involuntarily tilted up, showing an arrogant look.
In an instant, he was captivated by the deadly allure emanating from every book inside, unable to wait to enter, not even noticing the mirror-like door behind him slowly closing.
As that door closed, the riddle’s text gradually reflected inward, eventually transforming into a very short name.
“Baemon.”
The interior space was vast but lacked structures like bookshelves, let alone anything like books.
Compared to a library, this place resembled more of an art studio.
In the bright space, the walls, standing easels, and rectangular picture frames were adorned solely with images covered in rich oil paint.
Those paintings seemed to present perspectives from different viewpoints, and many of the images made Emhart feel dizzy just by looking at them.
He saw a swirling vortex composed of countless golden tentacles deep within the boundless galaxy. Clearly, that existence should have been so eye-catching, occupying seven or eight parts of the entire painting, yet even from the painter’s perspective, it was so hard to detect that being hidden among the stars.
But Emhart still noticed that the collapsing tentacles seemed to be…
Running away?
Upon seeing that thing, Emhart’s eyes seemed to catch fire, wanting to quickly divert his gaze. Just then, he saw a line of titles written in Holy Spawn script at the bottom of the frame, stating,
“The Coward.”
Emhart didn’t grasp the implication of the words on the canvas, but that did not stop him from shedding tears of excitement, as after such a long time, he finally saw the true traces of Holy Spawn script.
This meant that the owner of this painting was very likely the great Holy Spawn he had been searching for!
These damned demons actually had clues about the Holy Spawn. How wonderful!
He couldn’t wait to read more and more paintings in this enormous space, but honestly, he couldn’t understand most of them. Many pieces were so nauseating that he found himself wanting to vomit, and he could only decipher the Holy Spawn text below.
He dared not look too closely at those images because he began to sense unusual movements in his pages; therefore, he shut his eyes and continued forward, finally bypassing those pieces and reaching the central position of the first floor.
Here, he did not find more clues about the Holy Realm; instead, he saw even stranger images.
He saw a small room with a few layers, and the walls and television in the room were covered in strange black text on paper. A human girl sat crouched on the floor, blankly, but strangely enough, she had no head.
He saw a city covered by a steel forest and neon lights. Under those neon lights, countless people with mechanical bodies were shouting, while in the sky, a man, bound to something like a rocket, spread mechanical components like a virus.
He saw a city wrecked by gunfire, where a woman with disheveled golden hair wept blood, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as she tightly embraced the lifeless body of a girl.
He saw a man kneeling and roaring in front of two tombstones, on which were inscribed “Cal Uzz’s beloved wife” and “Cal Uzz’s beloved daughter.”
Hmm?
Wait, why can I suddenly read the words on that?
Emhart thought, stunned, but his eyes inadvertently looked back. Behind him were several such paintings, but before he could finish looking, a gentle female voice called out to him,
“Emhart?”
Emhart turned around in confusion and saw, at the end of the color-splattered space, a woman in a white robe, pure and gentle, standing in the shadows. The shadow just barely covered her upper body above the chest.
Though he couldn’t see her full appearance, Emhart looked at that figure and felt tears welling up involuntarily as he murmured,
“Mother.”
The woman seemed surprised as she quickly extended her hand towards him.
“Emhart, come here! I haven’t seen you in so long!”
“Mother!”
Emhart could no longer restrain himself, flying into her warm embrace. At that moment, Emhart felt as if he had finally found peace. Even after searching for so long in the mortal realm, as long as he could find the great Holy Spawn who created him at this moment, it felt worth it.
“Why… why are you in the demons’ abyss? What happened to the Holy Realm before? Why are you all gone, leaving me alone in this world? Please tell me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Emhart. Mother can’t do anything.”
That gentle arm softly caressed Emhart’s book cover, opening like a lullaby.
“Because…”
“Because Mother has long since died.”
With his eyes closed, Emhart heard that seemingly murmured voice, and in an instant, the entire book felt an extreme chill. He opened his eyes, looking up, only to see that the figure of the woman in the white robe had no head whatsoever, and behind her, countless arms with eyes were stretching out from the darkness, grasping at the limbs of the woman who embraced Emhart.
“Ah ah ah ah!”
Emhart’s soul left his body in fear, and he quickly got up, trying to back away but felt utterly weak, collapsing to the ground.
“Emhart!! Where are you going?!”
“Help me! Save Mother!”
The body that was being torn apart by those countless hands continued to scream and lunged at Emhart. Terrified, he frantically tried to fly back, but it seemed like it was already too late.
All around, the space covered in paint seemed to come alive.
He seemed to see countless bright worlds, those worlds inhabited by intelligent beings, many of whom resembled human beings here, while others looked like enormous insects or clumps of sticky rubber.
He appeared to see bizarrely shaped ships gliding through the cosmos; he felt he could see countless beings living on the surface of a white “sun,” building their homes amidst the glimmering stars.
Those…
What on earth are those?
In that moment, he seemed to witness countless civilizations, seeing the beings of different shapes, cultures, and thoughts creating their own architecture, art, and philosophy.
He saw how those countless beings reproduced, observed how they fought against one another, and how they communicated.
Inside Emhart’s frantic body, black, sludge-like substances continuously surged out, along with his eyes and mouth, flowing out amidst the “Monstrous Mother” chasing behind him.
Not because the knowledge they saw polluted him, but because this place was the abode of certain existences; its very essence tainted Emhart.
But undeniably, he understood much more.
Although he did not want to think about those things, the chaotic thoughts in his mind surged forth uncontrollably.
He couldn’t help but ponder why the moving images in those worlds looked so different from theirs. Could it be that these were all fabrications of the painter?
Why was there never a concept called “soul” in the worlds they were born into?
Or perhaps…
It exists, yet they have never perceived it?
But why is it that in our world, the souls in the Spirit Realm have substance and gather together?
As a seeker of knowledge like Emhart, his understanding of many matters was deep. Yet, for some reason, he had dabbled in the Spirit Realm, while he could not find any news about the Holy Realm.
“Emhart!!”
The voices of the countless severed limbs arrived one after another, but Emhart was already unable to move, collapsing to the ground, despairing and unwilling, thinking,
“It’s over, Holy Spawn, I can’t find you anymore.”
But before his eyes, a pair of pale feet stepping out of the shadows slowly took form.
It turned out to be a figure in a white robe, coming down from the second floor.
“Alright, Camel, don’t chase him anymore. He was scared off by my aura.”
“Wuwu~”
Camel?
Just as Emhart was dazedly thinking, a pair of pale hands suddenly reached down, gently gripping him, and then, she casually curled her fingers.
“Rip!”
“Ah ah ah!”
With Emhart’s painful scream, two sheets of paper stained with some black substance tore out from within him.
This seemed to inflict tremendous pain on Emhart, rendering him unable to open his eyes instantly.
But as his vision blurred, he could still make out the surrounding landscape.
All those writhing, animated images around him fell silent, as if they had never moved. At that moment, a giant Camel-like face leaned in, humming a song while curiously looking at him.
It really was a Camel.
He thought hazily, and the next moment, the face of a stunningly beautiful woman with short golden curly hair bumped into Emhart’s view.
For a moment, he couldn’t tell whether this existence was an angel or a demon, only able to remember her crooked crown as a point of reference in his mind.
“Hello, little guy, we meet again.”
“Again…”
“Ah, I forgot, it’s your second time having your pages ripped out by me, so you’ve forgotten some things. But don’t worry, you’ll remember them later. Let me introduce myself, I am [Baemon].”
“Ba…”
“It’s okay if you can’t remember. Later, you will have a very profound impression of me.”
“…”
Emhart didn’t have time to ponder the hidden meanings in her words, but seeing her smiling blue-golden eyes made him feel chills down his spine.
Thus, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and fainted.
“Wuwu~”
The adjacent Camel raised its head in confusion and hummed at the woman before him.
But Baemon merely shook her head, indicating it was no problem, and then she turned with the unconscious Emhart, heading back upstairs.
At that moment, the paintbrush in Baemon’s right hand finally emerged from the shadows.
It seemed she was painting.
As her figure ascended to the second floor, it turned out there was even more already completed artwork there.
There was a shadow hidden deep within the sea, peering into it, seeming to glimpse countless faces of varying shapes and expressions. There were also peculiar existences seemingly formed from countless bubbles hidden in a crevice. There were enormous beings concealed between the darkness of the cosmos and the shining stars; upon closer inspection, those stars appeared to have just been born.
There were still a few more paintings, but they were all placed in narrow frames, obscured by the frontward images.
The golden-haired woman hummed a tune as she moved forward, soon passing by an even larger painting.
At the center of that painting was a disheveled human woman whose tattered clothing seemed to collapse as she rested a hand on her cheek, yawning as she stared at a subhuman woman passing by. Yet for some reason, although this female human looked so strange, no one bothered to pay her any attention.
Below, the Holy Spawn text used as the title was somewhat crooked, seemingly indicating the artist’s rare excitement,
“Damn Stray Fish.”
The Baemon, holding the paintbrush and Emhart, soon came to a halt. Before her was an unprecedentedly large canvas, the central scene exquisite, revealing the fineness of the brushwork.
In the image was a black-haired man with an exposed upper body, his handsome face showing a kindness that perhaps he himself was unaware of, appearing tranquil as if submerged in a lullaby.
In the other images, there had never been any content or information related to the artist, as if viewed through the eyes of an extremely nameless observer.
That painter, or observer, or singer, recorded everything witnessed with an unprecedented cold touch or voice, carrying the whole story like a vast ocean.
Yet uniquely, in the painting before her, a hint was revealed.
In the hand of the bare-skinned black-haired man was tightly grasped a pale hand from the record keeper, looking as if it extended from outside the painting, wanting to firmly hold on to the sleeping individual.
But whether due to the weight of gravity in the image or the ethereal nature of it, even if Baemon tore the canvas apart, she couldn’t bring him out.
Nevertheless, Baemon fixated on the sleeping man in the painting, a slight smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
Then, she gently sat before that massive canvas, extending her hand to press against it, flipping it over to the other side.
At that moment when the canvas turned around, the paint seeping in from the front seemed to connect the formerly shapeless color blocks together with invisible lines.
Baemon gazed at those interconnected lines, hesitating for a moment before she turned the canvas back again, bringing the man’s sleeping face back into her sight.
Her fair fingers traced over the body in the painting, yet no matter what, she could not penetrate through the paper’s back, as if someone was silently and silently competing against her.
However, there was no additional expression on Baemon’s face. After a long while, she still smiled as she lifted the paintbrush in her hand and inscribed at the bottom of the canvas,
“Fisher.”
“The person who refused the ocean does not know that the ocean has come.”
求求投票、打赏和支持，这对我来说十分重要！
万分感谢支持！
(End of Chapter)
