Hearing the playwright’s low and magnetic voice, Annan imdiately felt a chill and numbness down his spine,
like the juice-filled, dark purple snake fruit.
Or rather...
like the gaze of a snake coiled around the branches of an apple tree.
The playwright might be a young deity,
but the oppressive aura emanating from him was even more intense than that of the older Paper Princess and Stony Father whom Annan had t.
Just in terms of pressure, it was getting close to the level of the Faceless Poet.
What kind of look was it?
—There was no malice or killing intent therein.
It was a calm gaze that reminded one of the ocean at midnight; under the impenetrable darkness, a faint light of hope twinkled.
Compared to such depths of mystery and twilight,
it was the pure, childlike curiosity and pleasure that induced fear.
Just like a child tearing off the wings of a butterfly, curious about how it would fly; like a child drowning an anthill with juice, gleefully watching them perish in the bestowed sweetness.
If it were an ordinary person, they would probably be too terrified to move.
Annan, who felt no fear, could even feel his spine tingling repeatedly. Like electricity surging through... he felt an abnormal excitent and jubilation, his whole body trembling with agitation, his breathing a bit rough, and he couldn’t help but clench his fists to release the tension.
"I indeed ca to you for sothing,"
Before the playwright, Annan made no pretense— he did not hide his emotions at all.
Because it was impossible to conceal them.
"You recently gave a large sum of holy light imprints, didn’t you?"
"Hmm-hmm-hmm... Indeed,"
The playwright’s lips curled into a low chuckle: "You showed a splendid play. That is your just reward."
"A splendid play?"
"You’re well aware, aren’t you? This intricate tragedy, like an inverted ’Gemini,’ tells a tale—the dead child of god, the human child who sacrificed everything for the other’s salvation, and the child of god who in dreams would rather die than fail a friend.
"Entwined with the spiral of endless Sacrifice upon fate... That is ’Gemini’ on the tragic level.
"And, in the mont of cutting off this spiral—conspiracies revealed, betrayals reenacted, the murky soul of a re child bursting forth with a brilliance like that of Gold... That is exactly what I wished to see."
Speaking thus, the playwright’s face suddenly took on a mocking smile: "And then, there’s soone who thought the history of old had long been forgotten by others,
"Suddenly waking up in a dream, realizing their secret has been exposed... that panic and unease. And from this panic and unease, what kind of decision will they make?
"Will they inform ’another ’ of this intelligence? Or seek to re-rge with other selves? Or perhaps, decisively root out anyone privy to the knowledge? What kind of sches will this birth? That is exactly my curiosity... the tragic ’sequel’ I wish to see."
He spoke all at once,
shaken and restless.
No matter what the playwright was saying, the hint of a smile on his face was indelibly etched,
as if soone had branded the sha onto his body with a red-hot iron fork.
"So, my dear Annan,"
His deep voice lingered in Annan’s ears: "Is there sothing wrong with the reward I’ve given you?"
Annan believed that, were he right beside him now, that hand would certainly rest on his shoulder from behind—his transcendent perception told him so instinctively.
"But there’s more to it than that."
Annan simply gazed straight into the playwright’s eyes.
I wonder if there’s so hidden problem with this mirror.
Annan always felt... his smile seed to bear so resemblance to the playwright’s, and it was becoming more and more alike.
He earnestly asked the playwright: "Do you think the story about ’’ is also a tragedy—is that so?"
Annan genuinely suspected.
Perhaps the playwright had already taken notice of him back when he lost his mory years ago, on his first visit to Kafney in the Noah Kingdom.
The Grand Duke’s son who willingly sacrificed his mory to climb higher, the future god favored by the Book of Truth.
If the playwright himself were soone who took pleasure in the ga...
So after Annan beca Tan Juan Geraint, was his story also under the scrutiny of the playwright of tragedies?
"That’s not necessarily the case."
Unexpectedly, the playwright of tragedies gave a firm and decisive negative answer.
"Fate is but the track of the chariot of Heaven."
The playwright of tragedies slowly spoke, "This phrase can also be interpreted as, ’Fate’ is the defeated side in the battle against the chariot of Heaven. To topple the unfortunate fate of others, and then to stand upon it, is this not also a fate drama where one struggles against destiny?
"Your story was destined to be an epic, how could I not pay attention? As for whether your life is one of happiness or misery, whether this journey of yours is filled with satisfaction or full of regrets... I will not pass judgnt or rashly define it as a tragedy before your story ends.
"No one can comnt on your life, Annan. Nor can I."
The playwright of tragedies’ gentle voice resonated in Annan’s ears.
He just spread his hands with a joyful and contented smile.
"I am just quietly overjoyed."
He spoke slowly and heavily, "Even if you hadn’t called for today, I would have watched you with the sa smile."
That was an "affection" of imnse warmth.
Just like the sculptor eagerly gazing at the unfinished statue... just like a painter facing the chaotic splashes of color.
Although it seems to be rely rough drafts and haphazard daubs of paints.
But for the creator, what they truly wish to create, has already been "hidden within."
Annan realized...
The playwright of tragedies might know more than he had initially thought.
He was probably always paying attention to himself.
The reason for suddenly granting him a hundred and twenty Holy Light imprints... might not be just because he saw a good story.
But because he saw two storylines finally intertwine before him.
"... I don’t need your Holy Light imprints."
Annan was silent for a while, then said straightforwardly in a low voice.
"Oh?"
Seeing this, the playwright of tragedies’ mouth curved up even more, "So you’re being blunt like this now?
"Did you realize sothing... Annan?"
Indeed, at the beginning of seeing the playwright of tragedies, Annan had planned to be a bit more tactful.
Because at first, Annan wasn’t sure whether returning the Holy Light imprints that had just been given to him and asking for cash instead would anger the other party.
In the world of Conan... that would have earned Annan a seat among the deceased.
But he quickly realized... the playwright of tragedies wouldn’t be angry over this.
Because compared to the matters involving Tricino,
He cared more about the "script’s" protagonist... which was none other than Annan himself.
Yes.
He hadn’t granted Annan so many Holy Light imprints because of interesting changes in the nightmares on Tricino’s side.
— It was because the person who made the nightmares undergo interesting changes was "Annan."
After all.
From the beginning, it was just an excuse for the playwright of tragedies to give Annan the Holy Light imprints.
This was not entirely impossible.
If there was any mistake... perhaps it was the act of calling upon the playwright of tragedies itself.
But considering the precognitive powers Tricino possessed.
... Was this really not the future the playwright of tragedies had foreseen?
It was to have this conversation with Annan today that He had given him so many Holy Light imprints...
And even earlier on...
Very rarely, Annan experienced a chilling sensation.
That’s why he didn’t want to delay any longer—if all this were within the playwright of tragedies’ expectations, it might be better to bring things to a swift conclusion.
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