Endless Debt Chapter 1159 - 19: Hiking Trip

Upon exiting the stairwell, Bologue left Sai Zong behind in the armory. This repository held not only implements of war and the chronicles of conflict but also served as a silent testament to Sai Zong’s extended existence. His fingers grazed the chilled metal, akin to turning the brittle, aged pages of a personal chronicle.

Bologue did not tarry within the confines of the Undying Club; his immediate destination was the outdoors. The crisp morning air dispersed the musty odor lingering in the armory, and the gentle warmth of the sun’s embrace soothed Bologue’s spirit.

"I can disclose the devils' hidden knowledge, at least what I possess," Sai Zong's voice resonated in his memory, "and I can aid you in confronting other devils without disturbing his eternal slumber, even hastening the ultimate conclusion."

"Why do you extend such aid to him, merely due to his status as the Chosen One?"

Bologue chose not to reply directly to Sai Zong's proposition but instead posed a question, finding the elder’s devotion excessively perplexing. Despite being a Chosen One himself, Bologue harbored no particular fondness for Leviathan, having consistently plotted against the devil.

Sai Zong’s allegiance to the Eyes of Eternal Fury was absolute, mirroring the will of the Eyes as if it were his own. His desires were Sai Zong's desires, with no other concern occupying his mind.

Rather than addressing the inquiry, Sai Zong continued his soliloquy, "Through the amassed bloodshed and rampant fury, those wielding the Original Sin Armaments shall be drawn to one another, connected by an invisible tether.

Much like a frenzied contest, the Original Sin Armament will compel its wielder to gather every other such weapon, culminating in their triumph over all rivals, standing as the sole victor, the champion bathed in blood."

Sai Zong foretold the adversaries Bologue would encounter, a faint smile gracing his scarred and weathered visage, before an enveloping darkness descended.

When Bologue’s senses reawakened, he found himself ushered out of the armory, the far end of the adjacent corridor now an unattainable point.

Presently, Bologue navigated the increasingly crowded thoroughfares, settling casually upon a public bench, his gaze penetrating the flow of traffic to fix upon an empty expanse.

After a considerable pause, Bologue released a profound sigh.

"Feeling weary so early in the day?" Bologue addressed himself, a hint of weariness in his tone.

The Sin of Wrath, the Eyes of Eternal Fury, the inevitable clashes among those who bore the Original Sin Armaments… The persistent issue of the Night Race remained unresolved, and a new cascade of challenges had begun to surface.

Bologue harbored a distinct premonition: as the dormant powers gradually awoke, burgeoning conflicts would inevitably saturate this world, leading to its ultimate disintegration.

He ceased his repose and his idle loitering, rising to his feet and making his way towards the Order Bureau.

...

"As you can perceive, the Field Operations Department is currently facing a critical shortage of personnel. Even with recent expansions, replenishment will be a protracted process," Geoffrey began, employing preliminary pleasantries to ease Bologue's disposition.

"Consequently, numerous assignments have fallen upon the Special Operations Group, necessitating a postponement of your well-deserved leave for the time being."

"It presents no hardship; I am Undead, after all. I possess ample time for recuperation."

Bologue harbored no reservations regarding the augmented workload. He found satisfaction in his duties, much like his late team leader, Lebius.

"Pray tell, what directives has the Decision Room issued?" Bologue inquired.

"A few minor assignments," Geoffrey responded, raising an eyebrow. "The Decision Room has shown considerable thoughtfulness, recognizing your month-long exertion in combat. This task is comparatively light and falls well within your expertise."

"I am prepared to hear it."

"Conduct a patrol of the Great Rift."

Geoffrey elaborated, "Xilin's Command's actions resulted in the destruction of the Wandering Crossroad, profoundly altering the terrain and exacerbating the instability of the already precarious geological formations. Now, a multitude of fissures crisscross the landscape, extending even beyond Oubos."

"Do all these vast fissures reaching outwards serve as pathways, routes leading to the Abandoned Land, is that the implication?" Bologue questioned.

"Precisely. Without the obscuring mists of the Wandering Crossroad, we face considerable difficulty in concealing the Abandoned Land. As for the entities residing within…"

Recounting these details, Geoffrey rubbed his temples, "The Decision Room is actively exploring potential solutions."

"Understood. I comprehend the situation."

Bologue stretched languidly before posing another question, "Am I to undertake this alone?"

"The choice is yours. After all, the Special Operations Group has been significantly depleted, and recruitment has proven exceedingly challenging for us."

Touching upon this matter, Geoffrey recalled recent directives from the Decision Room, "Incidentally, to counteract the escalating challenges, the Decision Room is embarking on a comprehensive expansion of the Field Operations Department."

"It sounds remarkably similar to a military mobilization."

Geoffrey offered a brief chuckle before his expression grew somber, "The Decision Room is preparing to re-establish the second contingent, designated as the Second Group, the Blade of Order."

Bologne’s expression stiffened slightly as his gaze shifted to another individual in the office, who, as usual, had been absorbed in their work since Bologue’s arrival.

Lebius, without looking up, commented, "It is quite pleasing to see the Second Group reintegrated into the operational sequence."

Bologne blinked, returning his attention, and had anticipated Lebius to display significant excitement upon hearing this news. However, he appeared remarkably calm, as if the demise of Red Dog had entirely resolved his inner turmoil.

That is a positive development.

"Alright, I comprehend," Bologue continued his inquiry, "When does the commencement of this task take place?"

...

Aimou set aside the nearly toppling stack of ledgers, nudged her chair back slightly, propped her feet onto the desk, and reclined her head, releasing a profoundly weary sigh a few seconds later.

"Ah..."

Being a researcher tasked with these responsibilities is truly a draining endeavor.

After an extended period, Aimou couldn't help but entertain the suspicion that this was an elaborate scheme by Belli, designed to gradually hone her research and administrative capabilities. The ultimate objective, she mused, was to eventually transfer all of Belli’s responsibilities onto her once she was deemed sufficiently competent.

This scenario seemed entirely plausible for Belli, that cunning senior figure.

Aimou’s sigh gradually elongated, as if attempting to expel every last bit of air from her lungs. Her voice steadily diminished in volume while maintaining a continuous tone until her breath was completely depleted, at which point she ceased.

This exhibition was notably childish.

"Does this qualify as child labor?"

The words Bologue had uttered previously resurfaced in Aimou’s mind. Child labor? The notion seemed peculiar regardless of the perspective, yet there was no denying the reality; her existence undeniably defied conventional understanding.

A magnificent artificial life form, possessing a body of steel by nature... At times, Aimou found herself unable to fully grasp her own identity.

Despite her internal complaints, the workload remained undiminished. Aimou straightened herself, preparing to resume her duties, and it was at this precise moment that she noticed a tall figure standing by her desk.

"Good morning, Aimou."

Bologne, acting as if he were entirely at ease, pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Aimou.

Aimou was utterly taken aback; after a significant pause, she inquired, "When did you arrive here?"

"Just a moment ago."

"Why... why did you not knock?"

Reflecting on her recent actions, Aimou was overcome with a mortifying sense of shame that threatened to shatter her composure.

"Your door was not closed," Bologue remarked, glancing towards the door before turning the question back to Aimou, "What precisely were you engaged in just now? Enhancing your lung capacity?"

Bologne demonstrated no concern whatsoever for Aimou's image.

"Yes," Aimou responded stiffly, nodding.

"What brings you here?" Aimou then asked.

It felt peculiar; although their relationship was established, as Aimou had previously concluded, a distinct sense of detachment persisted during their interactions.

Aimou contemplated for a considerable duration, surmising that their differing life experiences might be the underlying cause. Neither Aimou nor Bologue could be classified as ordinary individuals by conventional standards.

Aimou was brought into existence through the power of Fantasy Becoming Reality, a manifestation of pure imagination. Based on standard human lifespans, Aimou was still considered a minor, whereas Bologue was considerably more mature.

Within Bologue’s tumultuous existence, he had indeed experienced a period of ordinary life. However, this was succeeded by a relentless cycle of warfare and repeated deaths, continuing until the present moment.

While both appeared outwardly normal, their mental states diverged significantly from those of typical individuals. One could be deemed underage, and the other should have long since been interred, rendering them akin to novel species that defied conventional categorization.

Bologne stated, "Nothing in particular, I simply came to see you."

"Really?"

Aimou narrowed her eyes, appraising Bologue intently, "You are an individual driven entirely by objectives; without a specific motive, you would not undertake unnecessary actions."

"You are one of those objectives," Bologue replied.

Aimou frowned; Bologue’s pronouncements occasionally resonated deeply with her, while at other times, they sounded peculiar, reminiscent of a middle-aged man. Considering his history, Bologue should rightly be regarded as an extremely elderly individual.

In contrast, Aimou felt that her artificial existence possessed a full spectrum of emotional sensitivity, whereas Bologue, despite his physical form, seemed mechanically detached... perhaps this was linked to Bologue’s limited expressiveness.

Bologne added, with a hint of reluctance, "Very well, there is, in fact, something else."

"I knew it!"

Aimou felt a sense of satisfaction with her accurate guess, inquiring, "So, what is it?"

"A new job offer has arisen; it involves patrolling the Great Rift and inspecting the extending fissures," Bologue explained, "The task is straightforward, even quite relaxed. I wished to extend an invitation for you to accompany me, perhaps considering it as... a hiking excursion?"

"Huh?"

Aimou was taken aback by this unexpected proposition, and Bologue continued, "Primarily, I have observed that you seem rather fatigued recently, and perhaps you might appreciate an opportunity to get out for a while?"

Bologne spoke while carefully observing Aimou’s reaction, "May we go?"

"Absolutely!"