"Are you perhaps looking for a quest?"
The question came from a girl who had suddenly appeared at his side.
She was petite, with platinum blonde hair tied in an elegant lace-braid ponytail. Her outfit—a white blazer over a black skirt and a flowing black robe—gave her the appearance of a mage. Yet instead of carrying an enchanted staff, a dagger was sheathed behind her waist, complemented by a crossbow and a small pouch strapped to each side of her belt.
While her polished appearance stood out among the crowd, what truly caught his attention were her striking blue eyes, each holding two black pupils that overlapped and collided like two connected worlds—a pair of eyes he had only ever seen on his creator.
***
They were created from her blood and soul: a thousand clones of a single person.
Although the male versions developed much larger bodies than the female versions, they all shared the same defining features—her dark blond hair and even her laid-back expression.
The only difference that marked her as the original and their creator was her eyes—a pair of dying gray eyes, each holding two black pupils, overlapping and colliding like life and death.
"These eyes are the mark of a sinner, of a fool who cursed the world—an idiot scientist who believed that what lay beyond the gate of the abyss was a world of fantasy and magic."
She would always say it to them with a look of relief that they hadn't inherited her eyes, believing it was proof they could atone for her sin.
Yet to them—the thousand clones who chose to believe in and fight for her—her eyes were the most beautiful sight they had ever known.
The eyes of someone who still believed and hadn't lost hope, even after seeing the world come to an end.
***
"My, my, have you been enticed by my beauty?"
Her teasing remark made him realize he'd been staring for too long, and her mischievous smile only deepened his embarrassment.
He averted his gaze, cheeks tinged with red, and stammered an apology.
"I-I'm sorry for staring, Miss."
She responded with a pleased smile that bordered on smug, then continued with her initial question.
"You're looking for a quest, right?"
Given that he was standing right in front of the Adventurers Guild notice board, crammed with job postings, it was a pretty safe guess.
Doesn't take a genius to figure that out, he thought, but held his tongue to avoid being rude.
Instead, he offered a neutral answer and a mild smile.
"I'm here to take a quest, but I'm having trouble choosing one."
"It's because you can't read them, right?"
He had been mysteriously transported to another world at the moment he had already accepted his death—that was two months ago.
But unlike the stories he had heard from his creator many times before, his Isekai didn't come with a System that granted language translation.
He couldn't speak or understand the language of this world.
It had taken him a month just to learn the basics and speak their language with the help of his benefactors, and now that he was on his own, it would probably take a few more months before he could read and write.
For her to figure out his illiteracy in an instant, he found himself rather impressed.
"It's not because you look dumb. It's the way you were staring at the board with a confused expression. Someone uncertain about their abilities wouldn't look like that. That kind of face belongs to someone who can't even understand what the quest says."
Her words walked the line between insight and insult, but her deduction was more fascinating than offensive.
"Are you a detective or something?"
"Huh? What's a detective?"
"Never mind. Forget I said anything."
"Either way, if you're having trouble picking a quest, how about joining me for one?"
His large, well-built frame made an impression. A ragged battle axe was strapped to his back, worn black leather armor over his clothes, black arm and knee guards, and a tattered brown coat that matched his dark blond hair and gray eyes. A copper-rank adventurer's tag hung from his neck, but his presence hinted at more experience than his rank suggested.
It had always been the reason every time he was invited to another adventurer's party, but to his surprise, she said something he didn't expect from someone offering an invitation.
"The truth is, I need a meat shield for this quest."
The cheerful tone and innocent smile with which she said it annoyed him more than the blunt wording itself.
"Could you at least call me a tank instead of a meat shield?"
"Tank?"
"I mean, vanguard."
"You do use a lot of unusual words for a country bumpkin," she said, waving it off. "It's just a cushy quest—easy and effortless."
Even if her phrasing was grating, her offer seemed fair and likely came from decent intentions—at least that's how he interpreted her cheerful smile and lively demeanor.
"Can I at least hear what kind of quest it is?"
"It's just a simple Monster-Extermination Quest."
"Alright then. I'd like to join your party, Miss."
"Lynn. You may worship me by that name."
"Worship?"
"You should be grateful I'm letting you join. Especially after being rude to me."
Her smug grin—the hint of her vanity and audacity—gave him second thoughts about joining her adventurer's party. Yet the mystery of why Lynn had eyes similar to his creator's made him want to know more about her. He wouldn't deny that it drew him to her.
"The very least you could do to apologize is introduce yourself."
For a moment, he hesitated to give his name—the name he inherited as the one who remained among a thousand clones.
Even their creator refused to accept it and simply called herself 0000.
He would rather have introduced himself as 0201, thinking he didn't deserve it.
Still, he couldn't help but hold on to it, because the name itself carried the memories of his creator and fallen comrades.
"Please call me Arezu."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Arezu."
"Likewise, Ms. Lynn."