"Who in their right mind would travel so far for a simple lunch? Charles is gonna scold you, y'know," Angelica remarked with a playful tone, her white hair catching the brilliant light of the noon sun.
Roland looked at her fondly, his eyes softening. "He'll let this slide. Astolfo and I earned some downtime after sorting out that whole mess with the Pinky."
"You're not planning on feeding me something weird, right? I heard a story about a person tricking another fellow into trying out a 'delicacy'. It turned out that they were eating human meat," she joked, a hint of mischief in her voice.
Roland snorted, amused. "This ain't District 23. The restaurant's perfectly ordinary, and the food is made with ordinary ingredients."
They arrived at a quaint establishment, its aged wooden sign 'Dong-hwan's Pub' painted in a vibrant red hanging above the door. "A groggery?" Angelica raised an eyebrow.
"It looks a bit old, but the food is good," he reassured her as they stepped inside.
The interior of Dong-hwan's Pub was unexpectedly lively, with more customers than Roland had anticipated. The cozy ambiance was inviting, yet it meant they had to wait a few minutes for a table. Soon, they were seated at a small corner table, their order of pajeon and makgeolli promptly taken by a friendly waiter.
"Wo, this pajeon is really tasty!" Angelica exclaimed after her first bite, her eyes lighting up.
"Yeah, the taste goes especially well with Makgeolli," Roland agreed, taking a sip of the milky rice wine.
"By the way, have you brought someone else here for a couple's meal before?" Angelica asked.
"Well, I had lunch with Olivier here a few times," Roland replied.
"Hmph, you two seem so close. I'm almost jealous," Angelica teased.
As they finished their meal, Angelica rubbed her blue eyes, slightly glossed from the alcohol. "I'm starting to feel a bit tipsy. I don't usually drink in the day."
They got up, preparing to leave. "It's a pretty charming lunch to have from time to time. So there's gotta be a reason you brought me here," Angelica said, grabbing his hand firmly. "I'm not letting you go until you tell me!"
"Okay, okay. I actually - I like you," Roland confessed, his voice slightly nervous.
"Heh, then you'll be glad that I like you in that way too," Angelica responded with a soft smile, her words warming Roland's heart.
Roland smiled fondly, remembering how he was just going to confess that he accidentally broke the Mook Workshop sword she had bought a few days ago. He had planned to express his feelings in a fancier, more refined place. But when he heard her reply, it didn't matter.
But all dreams must come to an end.
"Buy some pajeon for me when you get back, ok?"
He remembered the sorrow that had followed. That awful melody...
As the surge of anguish and rage overwhelmed Roland, a different tune—calming and gentle—began to smother the storm within him. It was a melody that drained away the negativity, replacing the vivid scenes of carnage from his rampage with serene images of Angelica's wedding. But amidst this deceptive calm, he remembered Mephisto, the boy whose flesh and bone billowed outward into white dust. A Distortion, a kind that trapped the mind in a painless, beguiling past, born out of naive desires.
I have nothing but my sorrow, and I want nothing more. It has been, it still is, faithful to me.
Roland dismissed the happy illusions, focusing instead on the painful present. His will hardened, clashing against the seductive melody. Centimetre by centimetre, He could slowly feel awareness of his body returning. Once the precipice, a warm, familiar voice entered a crack in his mind.
You rejected dwelling in the past, yet, what future could you look forward to? Angela was dead by your hands, and your revenge is complete. Who would you point your blade at next? Perhaps it was easier to give in to spite than to deal with that uncertainty. Pile up corpses to form a hill. Kill until the hill becomes a mountain that blots out both past and future. You couldn't protect anything, so why not give up this whole deal with Rhodes Island? The nature of a sword was forever to cut.
"Shut up!" Roland snuffed out the invasive voice. Yes, he admitted that he was wrong to kill Angela, to kill and trample over the countless bodies in his career. But he wouldn't give in to his spite, for the other Roland had proved that he could be better.
"Observe simply what your eyes can see, without imputing any external values to it. Everything shall repeat. What truly matters, however, is that the cycle did break at least once," Binah's words echoed in his thoughts.
He might have become a lump of obstinance, a hollow life trying to wrap itself in a glossy package. But that wouldn't stop him from changing. Even though he couldn't protect everyone, he would save the ones he could. That is why he swung his sword. Aimless wrath or apathy would lead him no longer.
That's This, and This is That.
...
Ch'en clenched her jaw, the familiar scenes of her and Talulah's carefree childhood flashing before her eyes within her shell, brutally juxtaposed against the current horror. Mephisto had transformed into a grotesque abomination, now a sprawling mound of white dust that vibrated with a song sapping everyone's will to fight. The LGD, along with Ch'en herself, were gradually being encased in the powder, effectively turning them into statues that further propagated this debilitating effect.
Even the helicopter, their last hope for a quick escape or reinforcement, wasn't spared. It was caught in a sudden deluge of the white powder, a stark white pillar shooting up from the roof to trap it in an unyielding grip.
At the epicenter of this chaos was the once-leader of Reunion, now nothing more than a condensed mass of powder taking on the grotesque shape of feathers. Avian heads sprouted haphazardly like tumorous growths, each one singing that same eerie, draining song.
"C-Chi Xiao..." Ch'en murmured, her voice faltering. The situation was dire. Despite her resolve and training, she found herself unable to summon enough focus to unleash her arts without risking severe backlash.
Suddenly, a distinct crack pierced through the monotonous singing. It was one of the statues breaking, dark energy coalescing within it. As more cracks followed, the singing intensified, the dust scrambling to seal the breaches, but the force within was relentless.
With a final, resounding shattering noise, something broke free. A figure emerged, shrouded in a black haze that clung to his suit like armor and coated the edge of his sword. His head was cloaked in darkness, his mask now appearing as a boundless void. The swirling dust around him formed a storm, attempting in vain to halt his determined advance.
One step. Roland pushed forward, the eerie song growing muffled beneath the weight of his presence.
Two steps. The dust melted off him as soon as it touched, unable to cling to his form.
Three steps. He attacked.
...
Eno was enveloped in bliss. To him, his song was everything—a melody woven from the depths of his soul, shared freely and without burden. Sasha and his friends echoed this tune, their voices blending seamlessly with his, free from pain or remorse. In Eno's world, nothing else held weight; only the music existed, only the song mattered. He would sing and sing, spreading his notes until every ear was filled with his sound.
But amid the harmony, a discordant note persisted—a blot of ink marring the purity of his chorus. This dissonance was made of darker materials: hatred, sorrow, despair, guilt—ugly things that contaminated his beautiful song. Eno sought to bury these jarring tones beneath his melody, but they were relentless, stubbornly resurfacing. His song faltered, the notes trembling in the air. His friends' voices dwindled into silence.
Then came the agony, as sharp and sudden as a shard of Originium jammed into a throat. The painful present dragged him back from the blissful reverie of the past. That black silence was back, no it was death. He was going to die. He... He needed to heal, to eat, to survive. But wouldn't that hurt his friends? He didn't want to hurt anyone - he wanted to live on. Live on. That was what Sasha wanted, right? Live on, even if he had to devour others.
As this internal conflict reached its peak, a thunderous clash broke through the contemplation. Ch'en watched in awe as Roland's greatsword tore into Mephisto's core. The strike was powerful and decisive, cutting through the roof and sending half of the floor tumbling down the building. The powder that had entrapped them began to dissipate, clearing the air and grounding the moment back in reality.
Ch'en rushed to the edge of the crumbling rooftop, her heart pounding in her chest as she peered down.
On the streets below stood a Mountain of Smiling Bodies.