Chapter 114: The Defeated Phrolova, What Awaits Is...
For Phrolova, death was nothing more than a cool summer night, merely a brief moment of peaceful slumber.
In the past, what she saw in her dreams was only the destruction of her homeland replaying before her eyes, and the faces of those she might never see again.
However, lately, what appeared more often was...
Phrolova still remembers it clearly—the sword in that person's hand, imbued with light by Aeron, slicing through the night sky, illuminating the darkness, and then enveloping her.
And then, Phrolova opened her eyes.
This place, the prison specially prepared for her by Montelli, not only had sturdy defenses but was also filled with a poisonous mist designed specifically for her by Fisalia, attempting to eliminate any possibility of her forcibly escaping from here.
But none of this had any effect on Phrolova's current state of mind.
After all, as long as her consciousness remained clear, escaping from here was not a problem.
No prison, no matter how well-equipped, could withstand endless consumption; no terrifying poison could corrupt an undying soul.
However, as a performer, she indeed needed some time to sort out her thoughts and ponder...
What was the purpose of the person who had come before her now?
"...Don't look at me like that. I didn't expect to see you again either."
Aeron sighed. Though reluctant, judging by the facts alone, this defeated performer before him was indeed a loose end he needed to handle.
Phrolova knew who had come without looking up.
She maintained that stiff sitting posture, the torn red fabric slipping from her shoulder, revealing the pale skin beneath where subtle wounds were slowly healing.
The once magnificent gown was covered in burn holes, the black stockings had splits, and the laces on her shoes were broken, hanging limply around her ankles.
...She isn't saying a word.
Damn it, if it weren't for Carlotta and Rover's coercion, Aeron would never have wanted to see Phrolova again.
"I want to try to get some information out of her... but Phrolova hasn't said a word since the day we fished her out, so I'll leave it to you."
Rover's words still echoed in Aeron's ears, and he couldn't help but sigh—that newly crowned "King" of Ragunna really knew how to order people around.
If only he had let Phrolova escape back to the Fractsidus back then, at least he wouldn't have to worry about this now... Wait, no, that would probably make him a target.
What a hassle.
In the end, Aeron could only summarize the current situation with these three words.
Usually, he struggled just to strike up a conversation with others. How was he supposed to get Phrolova to talk now? There wasn't even anything around that could be used for interrogation.
Well, since Rover and the others couldn't see, maybe he could just let Arsène take over...
"...So, have you come to mock the loser?"
Just as Aeron was contemplating how to proceed, a hoarse yet still icy voice sliced through the silence of the prison.
He looked up at Phrolova before him, meeting her cold, clear eyes.
"I don't have time for that... Unlike you, I have to work for a living."
"...?"
Phrolova finally lifted her face, a faint curve forming at the corner of her pale lips. There was no warmth in that smile—only mockery.
"You and I both know that's nothing but a lie meant to numb yourself and others. Just an excuse you use to comfort whatever shred of conscience you haven't completely snuffed out after achieving your goals.
"You yourself don't even care much about truth or falsehood. Is it really worth being this hypocritical just to argue with me?"
"I'm merely stating facts... and besides, their existence is far more real than your words."
"At the very least, I haven't dragged innocent people into this."
That much was true. Though Aeron had no intention of posing as a saint, not doing everything in his power felt too negligent.
After all, no matter who you are, you always try for a perfect, zero-casualty ending in a game. For Aeron, it was no different.
"The difference in methods doesn't change the nature of things. You and I are both using everything we can to move toward what we believe is the right outcome. The only distinction is—"
"The only distinction is that I won and you lost. Victory crowns the king, defeat brands the outlaw."
Aeron walked to the edge of the cell, gazing through the barrier at the once-elegant, now broken and stubborn wraith within.
Hearing his conclusion, Phrolova let out two soft, amused chuckles.
"Hah... such a crude and simplistic result-oriented view."
But soon, the smile faded from Phrolova's face, her eyes locking firmly onto Aeron.
Then, as if to confirm the truth, she spoke.
"But at least... compared to you, my starting point hasn't lost."
Aeron leaned against the cold wall, offering no rebuttal, simply listening quietly.
He knew Phrolova wasn't speaking to justify herself. It was just that someone like her, even in defeat, couldn't allow the core that had sustained her through endless years to be scorned.
For now, at least, Aeron was willing to concede this step to the performer.
"Dust buried my homeland and my kin, along with my name. What stands here is nothing but an undying monster wrapped in their 'echoes.'
"Immortality is a gift to you, Aeron—the capital you stir with expectation to achieve your goals."
"But for me, it's a curse that keeps me trapped in the past."
Here, Phrolova paused, as if gathering strength or confirming whether Aeron was listening.
"Like you, I gave everything to find a path that could lead to 'reunion.' The ideals of Fractsidus? Threnodian's 'Heaven'? None of it mattered."
"As long as it offered even a sliver of possibility... even if it was an illusory, bloodstained staircase, I would climb it."
Phrolova slowly raised her hand, staring at her pale fingers. She, too, knew they were stained with an indelible crimson.
"I don't seek forgiveness, nor will I make excuses. I chose this path, and I accept the cost. But you cannot say that the conviction that carried me this far is wrong or laughable."
Aeron listened quietly to the end. He didn't interrupt, didn't mock, and his expression remained almost unreadable.
"I never said, nor am I interested in judging, what's right or wrong in that regard. In the end, that's your business alone."
Hearing Aeron's words, Phrolova's body stiffened for a moment.
"To me, you're just an obstacle in my path. No matter how tragic your motives, how profound your obsession, or how painful your past—those are your own affairs."
"When you become an obstacle blocking my way, all I have to do is remove you. It's that simple."
There was no emotional fluctuation in his words; he was merely stating a fact. No triumphant gloating, nor cheap pity for the defeated.
"...So, you just came to tell me this problem has been resolved?"
"Not entirely."
Aeron straightened up and walked directly toward the prison cell door.
"Everything you just said doesn't concern me. The person you care about most likely won't forgive your actions either. But you also know she isn't the type to simply let such matters go."
He pulled open the door. The dim light outside the cell outlined his silhouette as his voice, though not loud, came through clearly:
"Some things can only be resolved by the one who tied the knot. Your 'other shore' may be a castle in the air, but perhaps there are other ways to address what you cling to. Of course, that depends on you and her."
He didn't continue, only looked meaningfully at Phrolova.
Phrolova fell silent. In the cell, only the faint hiss of the toxic mist flowing could be heard.
After a long while, she let out an extremely soft sigh, leaving behind nothing but an overwhelming weariness and a trace of understanding.
"Is this... pity?"
Aeron didn't respond to this question. But he knew his task was complete—Phrolova's obsession had quietly shifted from the elusive "other shore" to that specific person who had once offered her a sliver of understanding, yet ultimately sent her to this place with their own hands.
Footsteps sounded, gradually fading into the distance.
The cell returned to silence, with only the faint sound of the toxic mist slowly flowing. Phrolova remained in that stiff sitting posture, her tattered red garment draped over her pale shoulders.
...How ironic.
She exhaled softly, her breath failing to form a white mist in the cold air.
In the end, I wasn't even a proper 'enemy'.
Just an obstacle in the way.
...
"Eh? Resolved?"
After leaving the cell, Carlotta and Rover looked at Aeron, who practically had "off duty" written all over his face, and curiously inquired about Phrolova's situation.
"Well... probably? At least we can communicate normally now."
After all, Aeron himself wasn't entirely sure. He had just followed Phrolova's lead earlier—truth and falsehood mixed, depending on whether she believed it or not.
"So, did she reveal any information about Fractsidus or Threnodian?"
"To be honest, from what we just discussed, I feel like she might not know anything at all."
Hearing Aeron's reply, Carlotta also felt somewhat helpless. They had finally captured an Overseer of Fractsidus, only to find they couldn't extract even a shred of intelligence.
"Well then, it's my turn next."
Rover spoke while heading toward the prison cell ahead.
As she passed by Aeron, she deliberately reached out and patted his shoulder, nearly startling his soul out of his body.
"See you later."
Damn it, I shouldn't have come.