Invincible
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#192
🕑 Added 2025-02-05 16:06:49 +0000 UTCRockefeller (7)
The place they stayed was an abandoned house.
"Impressive. It’s probably more complex than modern languages, but you understand well. You’ll learn faster than I thought.”
It all began with learning an unfamiliar language from the strange old man.
The old man claimed his goal was to erase his memories. To Rockefeller, he appeared nothing more than a senile old fool.
‘Reincarnation after death? It doesn’t seem like dementia; more like he’s lost in delusions.’
That explained a lot.
If the man truly believed he was forced into endless reincarnation, erasing his memories might seem like the only path to peace.
Didn’t someone say it? ‘Life is suffering.’
In the old man's case, it was probably an illusion born of insanity, but the conviction with which he treated his delusions as reality was undeniable.
‘Living endlessly…’
To understand the old man’s thinking, Rockefeller tried imagining his perspective.
The better he understood the man holding the metaphorical knife, the easier it would be to respond wisely.
‘Sure, there might be good parts, but ultimately, it wouldn’t be enjoyable.’
Pleasure would be fleeting, and boredom would be inevitable.
Even the people around him, constantly changing with every rebirth, would eventually seem repetitive.
Painful memories, after countless cycles, would likely become numbing.
Eventually, a person’s entire being would grow desensitized.
There would be no freshness in new encounters, no unfulfilled goals to pursue, and even raising children or building a family would become meaningless—a muddled memory among countless others.
That was closer to a curse.
It explained why the old man was obsessed with erasing even the memories of his soul.
If he could erase the tedium along with his past lives, perhaps everything would feel new again.
Of course, it was all just a delusion...
‘How does one even deal with someone like this?’
Perhaps his thoughts showed on his face because the old man clicked his tongue.
“Don’t worry about me. I expect nothing from you except for one spell. Whether you curse me or draw your sword here, I have no intention of touching you.”
The old man wasn’t as unreasonable as Rockefeller expected.
In fact, he was rather indifferent; as long as his memories could be erased, he seemed willing to compromise on most things.
Proof of this came when Rockefeller complained that too much study was inefficient—he was granted free time.
“Ten hours have passed.”
“So it has. Fine.”
Yet, Rockefeller had witnessed the old man slaughter mercilessly on the battlefield.
He had no intention of ever letting his guard down completely.
To protect Arcyon, Rockefeller avoided revealing his location or visiting him unnecessarily.
This abandoned house was the farthest one from where Arcyon stayed.
To keep his younger brother a secret, he never risked visiting him openly.
During his “free time,” he would take long naps or spend time in the village.
But once a month, there were things he had to do:
He had to pay the housekeeper and show his face to Arcyon.
‘This is a problem.’
Money was an issue, too.
He wouldn’t have time for mercenary work for a while, but he thought he could survive on his savings.
His goal was to learn as quickly as possible and get rid of the old man.
But learning magic was harder than expected.
Rockefeller, having spent most of his life working, had never seen a proper grimoire.
The basic primer the mathematician had once shown him was all he knew.
To understand the cryptic spellbooks filled with unknown languages and diagrams, he needed a solid foundation.
‘What should I do? If I buy textbooks, I won’t have money for living expenses…’
To learn magic, he needed expensive books.
But spending on textbooks meant no money for Arcyon.
If his studies stalled due to a lack of resources, the old man’s reaction was predictable.
‘Once I move past language and into magic theory, my lack of ability will be obvious. If he decides I’m useless…’
Ultimately, Rockefeller’s solution was to run away.
He’d long since memorized when the old man slept.
The village was dense with buildings, and through its labyrinthine sewers, escape was possible.
‘I’ll pretend to go out and then flee with Arcyon.’
The plan would unfold at night.
After confirming the old man was asleep, Rockefeller headed to Arcyon’s house.
It wasn’t very late yet; the lights were still on.
Rockefeller slid the key into the lock and opened the door.
And then, he froze in shock.
The housekeeper’s words were unexpected.
“You’re here, Delken. Dinner is ready, so come sit down.”
“D-Dinner?”
Her tone made it seem as though she had known he would come.
‘What’s going on? I haven’t contacted them in weeks.’
His confusion didn’t last long.
At the dining table, where the housekeeper led him, sat the old man. He was calmly placing a piece of steak onto Arcyon’s plate.
“You’re finally here, Delken. Sit down.”
When the old man spoke, the housekeeper withdrew. Rockefeller sat down, feeling a chill crawl up his spine.
The old man leaned in and whispered in his ear.
“Do not underestimate the wisdom of a reincarnated soul.”
“W-What? I just came home…”
“You have the face of a liar.”
Suddenly, the old man turned his sharp gaze to Arcyon.
“Your brother may seem carefree, chewing on his meat, but inside, he is nervous. He fears what I might do. And you, Delken.”
Arcyon flinched.
The old man withdrew his gaze from Arcyon and stared at Rockefeller with his cloudy eyes.
“When you plan to escape, you wear a certain face. When you’re desperate for money, that shows, too. If you have family, your face reveals it. Human lives are generally the same—that’s how I know. This is the insight earned over thousands of years.”
The old man placed a pouch on the table.
With a metallic clink, a few gold coins spilled from it.
“As I’ve said countless times, I don’t care if you plot or scheme, as long as you do not act in a way that displeases me.”
The old man’s expression darkened as he glanced at Arcyon.
“Remember this. The only reason I haven’t killed him is that I don’t want your learning distracted by useless worries.”
Rockefeller slumped his shoulders, his mind in turmoil.
It was good to know the old man had no intention of killing them.
But blood was now dripping from the pouch, staining the table.
For a brief moment, Medel’s face came to mind.
No matter how hard life had been, she had always said to stay honest and earn money the right way.
In truth, Rockefeller had never done anything illegal.
The killings he committed as a mercenary were within the bounds of the law—mutual combat where death was understood as the ultimate consequence.
Earning money that way was not something to be condemned.
But this gold was different.
It was clear that the murderous old man had taken it from someone he had killed.
This sparked an internal conflict in Rockefeller.
‘The old man’s the villain. But knowing that and still using the money…?’
As Rockefeller wrestled with temptation and morality—whether it was right to keep himself and Arcyon alive with blood-soaked money—the old man leaned in with a sinister grin.
“You have a troubled look. Let me ease your conscience.”
“W-What?”
“You are worthless if you can’t learn magic. Your brother is the same. Now, take the pouch.”
In the end, Rockefeller’s hand snatched the pouch.
That day, he gained a large sum of money, but he felt as though he had lost something far greater.
The old man watched him and muttered words that felt like a curse.
“It’s only hard the first time. It gets easier after that.”
And he was right.
A few months later, Rockefeller accepted the second pouch the old man handed him without hesitation.
A year passed.
Rockefeller finally deciphered the old man’s spellbook and mastered the spell to erase the soul’s memories.
As soon as he shared the news, the old man sat cross-legged, eager to erase his memories as quickly as possible.
The overwhelming relief at finally parting ways with the dreadful, murderous old man lasted only a moment.
Rockefeller suddenly recalled something the old man had said when they first met.
“By the way, what did you mean when you said those who awaken sensory powers first are descendants of demigods? What does that mean?”
Over the past year, Rockefeller’s perception of the old man had changed drastically.
He was no longer just a madman.
Of course, much of what the old man said was still hard to believe, but Rockefeller couldn’t deny that a part of him wondered if it might be true.
“They were the ones who spread mysteries into the world. In the past, they were even called gods, though they weren’t truly divine. They were humans—humans with limitations.”
“Still, hearing that I’m descended from such beings doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Don’t be proud. In your case, you are simply descended from their offspring, mixed with humans through countless generations. Your blood is so diluted it’s almost meaningless.”
The old man answered no further.
Rockefeller didn’t press him either.
Hearing more would be pointless, and just as the old man was eager to leave, Rockefeller was equally desperate to send him away as quickly as possible.
As Rockefeller cast the spell, murky smoke billowed out from the old man’s body.
The old man sat blankly, his vacant eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
He spoke no words, breathed no thoughts—he was little more than a living corpse.
And the next day, the old man died.
Whether it was a side effect of the spell or simply his time, no one could say.
The first thing Rockefeller did after being freed from the old man was to study the spellbook the man had left behind.
With it, all the unrealistic goals he had postponed until now would finally become possible.
“Derkan… Just as you did to me, I will deliver the same pain to you.”
Of course, that goal was revenge.
***
Five years had passed since Rockefeller taught himself useful magic from the spellbook.
Now looking older and sharper, Rockefeller still worked as a mercenary.
By then, he had gained a fearsome reputation, having aligned himself with the rebels opposing the kingdom’s army, earning enormous bounties for his contributions.
He had been waiting for the day he would finally cross paths with Derkan.
One day, as that moment drew closer, Arcyon said, “If you’re so involved, why don’t you just join the rebel army formally? They’d treat you much better. With some rank, you could even stay at the rear—it’s safer there too.”
“…Arcyon.”
Arcyon was eight years old—almost nine, with his birthday approaching.
“You don’t understand. They’re no different from the kingdom’s people in the end.”
“Really? But I heard the new commander is getting great reviews. He’s capable, treats people well, and has a great personality.”
Rockefeller shook his head.
The previous commander assigned here had been ruthless, but as Arcyon said, the new one was different.
He hadn’t executed people indiscriminately for associating with the kingdom, and he showed mercy by sparing noble children.
Even so, Rockefeller shook his head because he knew it wouldn’t last.
“That’s just because they’re being careful right now. They’re watching the commoners, trying not to stir trouble. It won’t last—they’ll show their true colors soon enough.”
“Hmm… He didn’t seem like that kind of person to me.”
“Wait. You’re talking like you’ve met him before.”
Rockefeller squinted suspiciously as Arcyon pointed toward the kitchen.
“He’s in there.”
Rockefeller’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“Sir, I gave my brother a good word. The rest is up to you.”
Arcyon waved his hand as a bag of cookies flew out from the kitchen.
Rockefeller quickly pieced together the situation and gave Arcyon a flick on the head.
“Ow!”
Having worked as a mercenary, Rockefeller had often been offered formal enlistment by the rebels.
But he never imagined the commander himself would come here and pull such tricks.
“Arcyon, you little brat, did you sell me out?”
“I turned him down at first! But… but the cookies were really expensive.”
“Unbelievable!”
“Ow! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
Just as Arcyon tried to run away, Rockefeller caught him with telekinesis.
At that moment, a middle-aged man stepped out of the kitchen, laughing so hard he held his stomach.
“This house is so lively! Compared to all those grim faces I usually see, this is refreshing. Thanks to that kid Arcyon, I’ll never be bored.”
The man had a kind demeanor, but as the rebel commander, he was undoubtedly a major figure.
Rockefeller tensed up and pushed Arcyon behind him.
“Go outside and play with the other kids.”
“Then you’re not mad anymore?”
“…We’ll talk about that later.”
Once Arcyon left in a hurry, Rockefeller sat across from the new commander in the kitchen.
The man got straight to the point.
“I’ll keep it brief. Join the rebel army, Delken.”
Rockefeller rejected him immediately.
“No, thank you.”
The man smiled and offered an unexpected incentive.
“I’ll give you a chance to fight Derkan, the mage who burned the slums.”
Rockefeller’s wariness deepened.
He didn’t like that this man knew about things he had kept secret, even from Arcyon.
“How do you know about that?”
“I’ve done extensive research on you, believe it or not.”
Rockefeller narrowed his eyes.
“And in exchange, you want me to enlist?”
To his surprise, the man’s reaction was unexpected.
Scratching his head awkwardly, he blinked and said, “No? I’ll give you that for free.”
Rockefeller’s jaw dropped slightly.
“What?”
“If you take out that monster for us, that’s enough. And if you don’t want to join, well, that’s your choice. If you don’t like it, don’t enlist.”
The man seemed… a little strange.
