I Became the Narrow-Eyed Henchman of the Evil Boss

I revised my hypothesis about Argyrion. Carisia told me the story of Argyrion that she encountered in Elysion.

“At first, it seemed like she didn’t recognize herself, but as we faced each other, her memories came flooding back,” she said.

Originally, an Eroder is absorbed by extra-dimensional magic and mindlessly seeks to destroy the current world. Eroders like Argyrion, who retain their reasoning, are exceptionally rare, and the reasoning that remains is often limited to knowledge for destruction like strategy or magic operation.

While there are some Eroders who have preserved their memories and reasoning beyond those constraints, if such Eroders were common, would the Ten Towers view Argyrion as the danger he is now?

The case was so rare it warranted describing it as sparse, which is why the Ten Towers assessed Argyrion’s potential risks at the highest level. They’d rather mobilize excessive resources to prevent an emergency than underestimate his abilities and suffer unexpected damage.

However, I had a somewhat different view from the mainstream opinion of the Ten Towers. It was a judgment based on my experience of having seen a considerable number of Eroders as if living in extra-dimensional contaminated zones.

There are types of erosion.

When living beings are eroded by the extra-dimensional realm, their original selves resist the erosion, and a chain reaction starts where the extra-dimensional realm attempts to dominate the self again. The usual end point of that chain reaction is the collapse of the self.

This was the Eroder commonly known as a mindless destroyer. The foundation of their self crumbles, rendering them incapable of rational judgment, leaving them with only reflexive destructive behaviors.

On the other hand, dead bodies lose their resistance to erosion, making it easier for extra-dimensional magic to seep in. The extra-dimensional magic that permeates the body in place of the departed soul collects fragments of memory from the still-healthy brain, forming a mental reproduction of the living human. Should we call this a forged soul?

Forged souls can replicate most of the abilities from their living lives, but they are not identical to the original humans. A forged soul always prioritizes the will of the extra-dimensional realm in its actions.

Since it is formed using the cells of a dead brain, it was natural that some memories would be missing. However, if there are catalysts to trigger memories and sufficiently intense memories to be etched into the body, some of them may return.

I speculated that the executives of Argyrion might be such “corpse Eroders.”

The problem was that during the Golden Desert Operation, Carisia and I aimed to incapacitate them and drive them into the extra-dimensional storm rather than kill them.

“What if someone else, say a hidden traitor among the tracking team, killed those who were incapacitated?”

In this scenario, we would have to assume that one doomsday cultist was mixed in with Blasphemia. This cultist would have had knowledge of corpse Eroders, which can only be seen when fresh corpses are left in extra-dimensional contaminated zones under appropriate conditions.

But the circumstances were strange enough to lead to such a hypothesis. Almost all of the trackers becoming reasoning Eroders? That was something that couldn’t be explained with the magical knowledge I possessed.

Even my eyes would require considerable effort to distinguish between a forged soul and an original soul. It would need careful observation that couldn’t be attempted in the midst of combat.

Thud! The immense mass of information surged into my brain. Thump-thump! It felt like my brain was being directly invaded. I maintained my smile.

The more constant my smile, the greater the anxiety they felt would rise.

Beyond the fragmented surface consciousness, I delved deeper, going through the visual information that Sprigo observed with thousands of eyes, heading into an even deeper realm.

‘…No?’

My hypothesis was wrong.

A forged soul molded from extra-dimensional magic inherently acquires an unbridgeable alienation from the original soul that grew together with the body.

Should I say the colors of the body and soul subtly differ? If I were to compare it to “information” shown by the eyes, while the written content might be similar, the font was different.

However, while Sprigo’s soul might be muddled with other magics, its light was identical with the body. It still held onto its original body and soul.

It was a bewildering conclusion, but I couldn’t keep my eyes activated indefinitely. I might get dizzy and collapse before we even fought. I’d seen what I needed to see, so I cut off my field of vision.

*

“I won’t see you again in the future.”

No one here had a brain pure enough to view this as a mere farewell. It was a prelude to murder.

It was an absurdly arrogant declaration, yet precisely because of that, Sprigo regained his reasoning.

The one standing before me was an enemy of Argyrion. The one who single-handedly turned upside down Blasphemia…

“No, that can’t be.”

Sprigo recalled Halto’s cautiously explained words about the enemy.

“There are two enemies.”

One was a monster of White Light, and the other was that schemer.

Argyrion’s chief Halto had given the schemer a noble title, but to Sprigo, he was just a damned bastard.

The difference between the two adversaries, the “monster” and the “schemer,” was simple.

The monster was, in a literal sense, a monster. With a level of magic that eclipsed the elite agents of Argyrion and overwhelmed them. A pure embodiment of destruction.

Meanwhile, the schemer didn’t employ such methods. He deceitfully hid his own form and toyed with Argyrion.

Ideally, a monster should have been powerful, but it shouldn’t have known how to conceal itself. Monsters were beasts of that kind. Giants that left huge traces with every step they took.

But everything changed with the interference of the schemer. The monster lurked in the shadows and tightened the noose around them. That was the reason the expectations and reality diverged most critically when the first “monster hunt” was commissioned from the White Light Tower.

“Hey schemer, where do you keep your monster?”

As the first person to confront an enemy after Argyrion’s establishment, Sprigo had an obligation to gather as much information as possible.

He hadn’t expected that the nameless schemer would easily respond, but if they continued talking, they’d surely glean some clues.

“I will soon be able to secure enough output to send a message….”

“Me? Raise a monster?”

*

I was dumbfounded. The monster he was referring to was likely Carisia, but how could I raise her?

If it was the opposite, it would’ve made sense. I am the one receiving a salary from Carisia!

“This is ridiculous. Don’t you still get it?”

“What do you mean?”

“The person you all called a monster, that being, I’m not the one in charge of them.”

*

What on earth was he talking about?

That was the question that Gorgopf, excluded from the two’s conversation, wondered. That nameless pretender. It was evident that the author whom Sprigo referred to as schemer was entwined with Argyrion in a long-standing grudge.

However, just how long that “long” grudge went back was something even Gorgopf couldn’t guess. He had been the first to realize the Divine at Amimone Tower.

He was hearing about the enemy of Argyrion for the very first time.

“I’m merely serving that being. The relationship has never changed from the beginning until now.”

“What…?”

“Ha. You called them a monster, but did you truly think they were just a mere beast? That can’t be.”

A weighted smirk settled on the schemer’s lips.

“That being is more just than your truth and far grander than your Divine.”

“You dare to insult the Divine!”

“There’s no need to fear a being that hasn’t even stepped into this world yet. The only one I fear is that single being.”

Orthes shrugged and turned his gaze towards Danao. From the rise and fall of his chest, it was still possible to tell he wasn’t dead yet.

He turned his head back to Sprigo. During the process of dismantling pieces of consciousness to peer into Sprigo’s soul a moment ago, Orthes read Sprigo’s intentions.

Endlessly extending roots to send information about himself through the extra-dimensional storm.

It was something he had somewhat anticipated. After all, someone who had been through enough experiences to curse as soon as they saw him wouldn’t respond defenselessly in conversation.

“Halto… Did he remember me?”

It was astonishing. Despite his faint presence being diluted into memory upon becoming an Eroder, Halto still retained a grudge. And in this situation, Sprigo’s resolve to take risks for information was also remarkable.

Orthes, while reading all of this, did respond to the conversation. He wasn’t the only one who needed time.

The longer his eyes remained open, the more he could see.

Now Orthes could observe all of Sprigo’s body, deeply rooted in various places throughout Algoth City.

And in Orthes’s possession was an extra-dimensional artifact he’d borrowed with a special promise to a friend.

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