Chapter 227 - That Is Suicide

* * *

Hermann was a genius.

Ever since childhood, he had been able to create any sculpture with nothing but a knife. His good fortune in finding an outstanding teacher had helped his talent blossom further, and by his twenties, he was already counted among the world's leading sculptors.

From enormous stone statues for temples to ornaments the size of a fingernail, from ice sculptures to metaphysical sculptures, his talent shone in every field related to sculpture. By the time he entered his thirties, he could scarcely find anyone to rival him.

Even so, he never grew conceited. Whenever his hands were free, he sculpted; whenever they were occupied, he dreamed up new sculptures.

Perhaps it was thanks to that painstaking effort that he had held fast to his place among the top sculptors even after the Iron Age began and players with all manner of artistic skills appeared.

Until something went wrong with his body, that is.

"The doctor said it was because I had pushed my body too hard."

Hermann lifted his tin cup. Looking at the coffee still trembling faintly inside it, he continued quietly.

"Ever since I was young, I refused to rest when I needed to and forced myself to keep working even when it hurt. Only now am I paying the price."

Effort. Grit.

Both were certainly necessary. But effort taken too far was overexertion, and extraordinary grit meant enduring until your body broke down.

When he was young, that had not mattered. No, he had believed he could never improve unless he pushed himself that way.

As he grew older, however, the return on that effort came not only as greater skill, but also as assorted illnesses and declining health.

Little by little, gradually—but steadily, without stopping—problems appeared one after another. His bones ached, his hands grew sluggish, and he became short of breath.

As his health deteriorated, so did his skill as a sculptor.

His robust constitution and innate talent had allowed him to keep pushing himself to work despite his illness for several years, but that had ended three years ago.

After stubbornly driving a body that had already reached its limits, he had found even holding a cup of coffee difficult. In the end, he had no choice but to give up sculpting.

"I am no longer a sculptor. Just a has-been who has retired to enjoy what remains of his life."

Hermann sighed.

He did not regret the effort he had put in during his youth. That effort was what had made him the greatest sculptor.

Still, what if he had realized sooner that the human body was ultimately a consumable, and that excessive effort shortened its shelf life? What if he had given himself a little more breathing room instead of rushing to become the best?

He could not help thinking that way sometimes.

"... So that's why you said we'd come to the wrong person?"

"That's right."

His moment of regret was brief. Limon's question brought him back to himself, and Hermann shook his head to dispel those stray thoughts. Then he addressed Limon, who sat opposite him with his arms folded.

"I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"This would never have happened if I had made the reason for my retirement clear."

Not wanting to announce that he had become a has-been, he had secluded himself without a word, keeping his condition secret. That had been a mistake, Hermann said quietly before adding,

"It may not amount to much of an apology, but I can introduce you to a skilled sculptor instead."

"That is unnecessary."

The white-haired girl beside Limon had been sipping warm cocoa. Taken aback by Ainsha's blunt answer, Hermann soon looked as though he had realized something.

"... I apologize if I offended you, Chairwoman Ainsha. Now that I think about it, that was a terribly presumptuous thing to say in your presence."

Hermann smiled wryly.

Although she looked like a young girl, she was the owner of Tiamat—the chairwoman of a vast corporation with absolute influence over almost every business connected to arts and culture, from music and painting to film, books, and theater.

In arts and culture, where outcomes were inherently difficult to predict, the words of the future-reading White Dragon Clan were as good as oracles.

Offering to introduce another artist to Ainsha was like boasting about his knife work before a Sword Master.

Contrary to Hermann's assumption, however, Ainsha had not rejected his offer out of wounded pride.

"That is not what I meant. It is literally unnecessary."

"... What do you mean?"

"Ming Yan. Jean Senaf. We have already met them all. But none of them were up to the task."

Hermann was a little surprised. The people Ainsha had named were sculptors of the highest caliber. Even when he had still been active, they had represented the arts of their respective countries, and in certain fields, their renown had exceeded his own.

"What sort of sculpture are you commissioning that even they aren't up to it?"

"Hmm... Explaining it in detail would get complicated."

After scratching his cheek for a moment, Limon reached inside his clothes. He took out a glass case containing a deep-gold carving knife, set it on the table, and said casually,

"Try holding this first."

"... As I already told you, I am in no condition to sculpt."

"Doesn't matter. Once you hold it, you'll know what you need to do."

Giving a carving knife to a sculptor who could no longer sculpt?

Hermann looked dubious for a moment. Only after seeing Ainsha nod expressionlessly was he convinced they were not mocking him, and he reluctantly reached out.

With his trembling hand, he opened the glass case and picked up the carving knife inside. The instant he did—

WHIRRR.

"...!"

Hermann's eyes widened. The deep-gold carving knife had suddenly come apart like a puzzle and reassembled itself, changing to a size that fit his hand perfectly.

Not only that, it had taken the familiar shape he had favored in his prime.

"I see. You do meet the minimum requirements, at least."

"Of course. He is the world's greatest sculptor. We would not have come if he could not even do this much."

Unlike the bewildered Hermann, Limon and Ainsha remained perfectly calm, as though this were a familiar sight. Watching the two converse so nonchalantly helped settle his confusion, and he asked uneasily,

"What in the world is this?"

"I'll explain later. For now, just do what it tells you."

"Do what? What are you...?"

Hermann never finished his question. Golden radiance streamed from the tip of the carving knife and gathered in midair, forming two solid shapes of light: a neatly squared rectangular block on one side and a round ball on the other.

At the same time, lettering made of light appeared beneath them, along with an arrow pointing from the rectangular block to the ball.

■ => ●

Τέλεια μπάλα

(Perfect ball).

'... A perfect ball? I'm supposed to carve this rectangular block to match the ball beside it?'

His long years as a sculptor had enabled Hermann to recognize the Greek written in a somewhat archaic style. He blinked, hesitated briefly, then tried pushing the carving knife into the rectangular block floating in the air.

SCRRUNCH.

Hermann was startled. The translucent rectangular block made of light shaved away beneath the blade with a tangible sensation, as though it were a real object.

Yet it placed no strain on his hand and offered no resistance.

For a man who suffered considerable pain and trembling merely from lifting a cup, it was a sensation he had not experienced in a very long time.

That was why Hermann began carving the mass of light as though entranced. The realization that he could sculpt again, after years of being unable to touch his craft, set his hand moving without conscious thought.

SCRUNCH, SCRRUNCH.

The rectangular block was shaved away. Little by little, but with precision and finesse. As drops of sweat fell, the block gradually grew rounder.

But even after it had been carved into a fully rounded shape, the mass of light did not disappear. It merely shone gold, urging his hand onward as though it were still not enough.

Gritting his teeth, Hermann moved the carving knife again to achieve the "perfection" the light demanded.

CRACK!

"Ah...!"

Hermann cried out in dismay. His hand had trembled for an instant, making the knife carving the light slip ever so slightly. At that moment, the mass of light shattered and vanished as though it had never existed.

The talent that had earned him the name of genius, his experience as the world's foremost sculptor, and even a mysterious carving knife that changed its shape automatically to ease the strain on his hand—with all of that at his disposal, he still could not fully overcome his illness.

As he stared emptily into the air, the applause that followed brought him back to his senses.

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP.

"Impressive."

"... Are you mocking me?"

"No. I mean it."

Limon shook his head, then pointed at Hermann's still faintly trembling hand and continued,

"Honestly, I didn't know whether you could get that far with that hand."

"I agree. That was remarkable. A little more, and you would have passed the first stage."

Limon wore a serious expression, while Ainsha spoke without any expression at all. Only after studying them closely did Hermann realize their admiration was sincere. His furrowed brow relaxed, and he asked quietly,

"Chairwoman Ainsha, was this what you wanted to ask of me?"

"Yes."

"Senaf and Ming should have been able to manage this much as well."

"They did pass the first stage. But they failed the second. And they said you were the only one who could do it."

"... How many stages are there altogether?"

"Three."

"..."

Hermann swallowed a groan.

On the surface, it was a simple piece of sculpture: carving a cube of light into a sphere. But he could tell that what the light had demanded was truly a "perfect ball"—a "perfect" sculpture that would not tolerate an error of even a hundredth of a millimeter, let alone a full millimeter.

Even this required terrifying precision, enough to engrave Buddhist scriptures on a grain of rice. And there were still a second and third stage after it?

He understood why the other elite sculptors had thrown up their hands and declared it impossible.

"Even I cannot do this."

That was why Hermann could only shake his head. With hands that already struggled to sculpt at all, even passing the first stage was beyond him.

"Try visiting Karsen instead. As a player, she should have little trouble with even a transcendent sculpture like this that challenges human limits."

"That will not work."

"Have you already met her as well?"

"No. But players will not work."

As Hermann furrowed his brow again at Ainsha's blunt answer, Limon suddenly asked,

"Hey, Mr. Sculptor. When you said it was impossible just now, which version of yourself were you talking about?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm asking whether it would've been impossible even for you in your prime, before you got sick like this."

Caught off guard by the question, Hermann fell silent for a moment. Indeed, in his prime, he would never have given up without even attempting the second stage, whatever it might entail.

No, he would have declared with confidence that if a sculpture was impossible for him, no one else could make it either.

"... There is no point discussing that now."

"What if there is?"

"What do you mean?"

"Could you do it if we cured your illness?"

The instant he heard those words, Hermann's face hardened involuntarily. He stared fiercely at Limon before saying stiffly,

"Do not toy with me with such nonsense."

"Don't jump to conclusions already. It's not as though you know for certain your illness can't be cured, is it?"

"No. I do know for certain."

Hermann's answer was categorical. Then he revealed the reason his illness could never be cured—the reason he had been forced to give everything up and retire three years ago.

"Because even the Divine Monarch could not cure my illness."

As one of the world's foremost sculptors, Hermann had accumulated a considerable fortune. By spending freely from it in an effort to cure his illness, he had even secured the privilege of treatment from the Divine Monarch.

That was how he had regained this much health after a time when he had struggled even to move and had hovered on the brink of death.

But that was all. Even the Divine Monarch, who stood at the pinnacle of healing skills, had been unable to cure Hermann's illness completely.

Who, then, could possibly cure him? Even after hearing Hermann's self-deprecating question, Limon showed no disappointment. He merely spoke calmly.

"Well, just because the Divine Monarch can't cure an illness doesn't mean someone else can't."

"Don't be absurd. Who in the world could cure an illness even the Divine Monarch could not?"

Hermann was incredulous. Having experienced firsthand how extraordinary the Divine Monarch's skill was, he could hear Limon's words as nothing more than bluster.

But the next instant, he found himself bewildered for an entirely different reason.

"... Lee. No."

"Chairwoman Ainsha?"

"It is too dangerous. That is suicide. You would be better off downing a glass of poison."

"...?"

Hermann looked puzzled as Ainsha vehemently opposed Limon's words, her face expressionless.

He could have understood if she had called the idea "ridiculous," but he could not understand why she called it "dangerous." Didn't that make it sound as though they really knew someone who could cure his illness?

"We don't have any other options."

Under the gazes of a puzzled Hermann and a head-shaking Ainsha, Limon shrugged.

The Divine Monarch was unquestionably the world's greatest healer. She could make the seemingly laughable claim that she could save anyone, so long as they were not already dead, a reality.

But ultimately, she was a healer (Healer). Though she could work miracles, regrowing severed limbs and making those unable to walk stand again, she was not a physician (Doctor) with specialized medical knowledge.

That was why Limon had no choice but to offer a solution with a distinctly unenthusiastic expression.

"Treating injuries is one thing, but when it comes to making medicines and practicing medicine to treat disease, the world's greatest expert is in your Seven Dragons Society."