Endless Debt Chapter 1106 - 120: Royal Domain

Soft snowflakes descended outside the window on a winter's night, obscuring the pane. The fireplace crackled with a low flame, casting a comforting warmth, while the aroma of hot tea wafted from the table.

The sounds of the television mixed with the gentle crackling of the fire, gradually easing Bologue’s taut nerves until drowsiness set in.

Just as he was about to succumb to sleep, the sound of approaching footsteps roused Bologue. He opened his eyes to see an elderly woman, carrying a platter of freshly baked cookies, approaching him.

"Would you like one?" she inquired.

Bologue nodded, accepted a cookie, and took a bite, its sweetness instantly filling his mouth.

"This is delicious," Bologue commented.

The old woman offered a smile and then took a seat beside Bologue. They settled on the sofa together, observing the black-and-white television screen where unfamiliar programs flickered, the host discussing inconsequential matters.

The clock on the wall kept a steady rhythm, its soft ticking echoing in the room.

For the first time in a long while, Bologue experienced a profound sense of inner peace. Wrapped in a cozy blanket, this comfort stood in stark contrast to his days of incarceration, filling Bologue with an overwhelming joy.

Then, the emptiness returned.

Bologue felt like a kite whose string had snapped, adrift in the vast sky, directionless and without refuge.

Hearing the faint, labored breaths beside him, Bologue considered that without the old woman's kindness, he might be shivering in a frigid alley or seeking shelter in a church corner for the night. Bologue had no idea where to turn.

It seemed ironic; Bologue had longed for freedom for so long, yet upon obtaining it, he was consumed by a wave of sheer panic.

"How have these years been for you?" the old woman inquired.

"Not bad," Bologue replied after a brief reflection, then stressed, "Not bad at all. I had food and a place to stay."

Bologue then turned the question back, "And how about you?"

"Oh, well... just the life of an ordinary person, I suppose."

The old woman briefly recounted her experiences, describing them as uneventful, while Bologue listened intently.

"Am I boring you?" the old woman asked, noticing Bologue's momentary distraction.

"Not at all, I'm not bored in the slightest," Bologue assured her, shaking his head. "I genuinely enjoy listening to you... How are the others?"

"Most of them have passed on."

The old woman continued, "You see, they were all addicts – drunkards, gamblers. Even if they amassed fortunes, they squandered it all, never truly living well. It’s no wonder they met such ends."

"That does sound rather unfortunate."

"There's no regret in it; it was the path they chose... much like the path I've chosen for myself."

Bologue mused; from her words, he understood her life, just as he had suspected: a lifetime of selfless acts, leading her into her twilight years, awaiting a peaceful end.

"You are surprisingly selfless," Bologue remarked.

"I've simply come to understand that I am an ordinary person. Rather than live a life of quiet desperation, why not strive to create some meaning?" the old woman explained. "It brings my heart a sense of peace."

Bologue remained quiet, considering her words. "Meaning, you say?"

A brief silence followed before the old woman abruptly asked.

"Have you created any value, Bologue?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Do you intend to create any value?"

"I haven't given it any thought."

The old woman smiled, her gentle expression reminiscent of a cherished church icon. She slowly rose and retrieved a walking cane.

"Do you have a place to sleep tonight?"

Bologue shook his head, admitting, "No, I don't."

"You are truly in a state of destitution, not merely in material terms, but spiritually as well."

The old woman paused, then concluded, "You are as devoid of resources as they were."

Bologue offered a faint smile, thinking to himself, "But I won't meet the same fate as those individuals."

"If you wish, you are welcome to sleep here, on this sofa. What do you say?" the old woman asked, patting the cushion.

Bologue instinctively adjusted himself and lay down. The sofa was somewhat small, forcing his legs to extend awkwardly, and his neck was strained against the armrest. After trying a few positions, Bologue eventually managed to curl up.

"This is quite comfortable."

Bologue found satisfaction in the sofa and nodded, stating, "Yes, it's not bad."

The old woman departed, and Bologue, burrowed into the sofa, gradually drifted into sleep. He dreamt of a battlefield shrouded in mist, where a monstrous entity was slowly consuming him.

...

The First Seat, his mouth slick with blood, fragments of flesh clinging to his teeth, his broken form contorting into a nightmarish amalgamation of bone and flesh. Jagged pieces of white bone jutted from his wounds, piercing the ground and forming a grotesque scaffold for the warped tissue.

In this state, the First Seat resembled a colossal spider, poised to seize its next victim.

Bologue lay trapped within the First Seat’s cage of bone, his vision blurring. The Supreme Secret Sword, empowered by the Seeker of Glory's might, had inflicted a grievous wound upon his chest—a wound that seemed beyond healing, as even his Undying Body struggled to counteract its immediate effects.