Does the mechanical girl dream of the Messiah?

"On stage, if Colette plays the witch, Rose plays the hero. She is the one who likes heroes the most, but she doesn't know how to play the hero."

"Colette...Colette likes opera performances, dancing, all kinds of dresses and jewelry. Colette likes chocolate cakes. Colette likes reading heroic stories. Whenever she goes to a place, she will collect heroic legends and make them into songs to sing. She wants those stories and the memory of heroes to be passed down forever."

"Colette tries to get up early every day. If she oversleeps because she is too tired, she will get angry with herself...Colette likes the tip of Rose's tail and likes to hold Rose to sleep. If Colette doesn't do this, she seems to feel uneasy...Colette's mother seems to have passed away. Every year, she secretly rushes back to Muland to visit the grave in the small cemetery...Colette's relationship with her father is still not good. Rose also hopes that they can reconcile. After all, even if there is no quarrel, it feels strange...Colette likes black and white accessories and asks Rose if they look good..."

"Traveling with Colette, from one city to another, from one country to another, over mountains and valleys, over plains and hills, through forests and rivers, from spring to summer, from summer to autumn, from autumn to winter, from days when the north wind blows to days when the east wind blows, from rainy days to clear days, from foggy days to snowy days, spending holidays with Colette, getting into trouble with Colette, chasing criminals with Colette, helping others with Colette, upholding justice with Colette, performing on stage with Colette, singing with Colette, accepting bouquets thrown by the audience... Every day with Colette is happy, no matter what kind of day it is, it is happy..."

Tears gathered in the corners of the dragon's eyes, rolled down his cheeks, dripped onto the ground, buried in the snow, leaving a striking mark.

The dragon named Rose began to cry quietly at some point.

"Rose...Rose likes Colette more than anyone else...so..."

"…So, there must be a lot of things you want to do with her, and there must be a lot of things you want to say to her, right?"

Those were the words that Ella had said "last time", and this time, she still said them. As if she had thought of something, she smiled in a complicated way while speaking.

“Hmm…! Rose…there are still so many things I want to do with Colette…so many things I want to say to her, so many things I want to tell her, so many things I want to take her to see…uh…Rose…I want to be with Colette forever…”

"Go tell her."

Lunicia patted the Dragon Girl's back gently.

"Maybe I can't decide yet. Maybe I feel embarrassed. Maybe I'm worried that doing so will affect her judgment, make her unhappy, and disappoint her. After all, I don't know if I can give an answer that will satisfy both Rose and Colette. Colette must still want the ceremony to go on and sacrifice her life."

"Hmm... so... wuwu... Rose doesn't know what to do..."

"…If you still can't decide whether to follow your heart or the person you like, then think about it again."

"Is it alright, Lady Luna?"

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if I don't get the answer now. It doesn't matter if I might regret it later."

Lunicia smiled gently.

"I want them to be happy, so I don't want them to do anything they don't want to do."

Standing up from the bench, the paladin reached out and gently touched Rose's head.

That's what a woman named Systine often does when she cries.

"Think about it carefully when you get back. Sort out your thoughts, ask yourself what you think, and ask her what she thinks, how Colette feels, how she feels. Since she likes you so much, she will definitely not really only care about the ceremony and ignore you."

Think about your own wishes, think about Colette's wishes, and then at the end of the third day, make a decision that you will not regret.

"I will definitely find a way to make you happy."

The paladin made this wish and made this promise.

She is not a writer, is not good at writing, and does not have the confidence to write touching words. Even so, she still wants to pick up the pen and write the ending for the story, an ending that is far more beautiful and warmer than reality shows.

That was a sequel to the encounter at the end of midsummer.

Chapter 72: Days of the Past

Whether it was the girl in the machine or the knight with a melancholy face and heavy armor, they all remained silent and did not talk to each other, as if the other party did not exist in their own world.

It was late winter, and the snow had been falling for who knows how long. Snowflakes whistled on his face, and he didn't know whether it was a test from the gods or an obstruction from the devil. No matter which one it was, it couldn't stop the man's movements or slow down his pace. He could have directly swung the long-handled hammer behind him and dispersed the dark clouds in the sky, but he didn't do so. He just braved the north wind and blizzard and continued to work steadily.

Ding - ding - ding -

The hammer and chisel collided with each other, making a dull sound.

The solid and ancient black rock was no more stubborn than clay in his hands, and was carved into the shape the man wanted. The immortal black steel was no different from gray cast bricks to the man. He only needed to raise the hammer and swing it downward, letting the chisel and the material in his hand touch, grinding it with a file, and polishing it with his fingers. If someone who didn't know the man saw this scene, they would probably have some misunderstandings about the man, for example, thinking that he was more like a craftsman who made a living by carving than fighting.

“Are you almost done?”

Day and night alternated, sunny days and snowy days alternated, the man forgot how to calculate the time, as if he was in a long dream from which he would not wake up. Only when the mechanical girl spoke those cold words, would he suddenly wake up and look back at the work at hand, those things that were not yet completed or had already been completed.

“…Ah, yes.”

For some reason, the man seemed to be feeling emotional.

"This is the only door left."

In the beginning of ancient times, there were clouds and ancient trees, snakes and deep seas, the sun and the moon alternated, the stars changed, dragons gathered on empty islands, giants built courtyards, humans were born, demons invaded, gods descended, and history turned around and around until there was no return. Intercept it, remember it, carve the ballad of swords and axes, draw the scene of people conquering each other, heaven and earth biting each other, turn it into stone carvings, cast it into doors, and then you have what you see before you, this tall, magnificent, majestic black stone door.

If you only look at the content of this door, you probably won't know what the sculptor was thinking - he is just narrating and recording without expressing any opinions, without giving a beginning or an end. No matter the bottom as the beginning or the top as the end, all you can see is blank.

"It looks like it will take some time to complete?"

"No, that's what it is."

"..."

From the beginning, men had no intention of filling the gaps at the beginning and the end.

"why?"

“The beginning is unknown, the end is yet to be written—this is an unfinished story.”

Only the original creators can write the beginning, or those who know everything about the original creators. Men do not think they have such qualifications. As for the ending, it can only be carved by those who construct the ending. It is a blank scroll handed over to future generations. What content will be on it depends only on the answer they give in the end.

Pushing open the door, stepping into the corridor, and crossing the empty square, the girl and the man in the agency did not seem like fellow travelers, but just strangers who happened to be walking on the same road. Even so, they would still talk and communicate from time to time, saying things that were difficult to understand.

"Shouldn't you be the one to put an end to it? Let you squander your passion, not for yourself, but for the loneliness that is gradually approaching."

"The glorious blind white will become my destiny. My story has come to an end. The one who writes this ending will be the ones who come after me. The ones who come after me, the ones who come after me... the ones who will set foot on this path again after an unknown period of time."

"This city is prepared for them?"

"Yes and no. I cannot predict the future. I only know that anyone is qualified to be the protagonist."

On the cliff, the man built a suspended corridor. The stone bridge that is helpless and makes people dizzy just looking at it is hard to say whether it is the embodiment of the man's artistic aesthetics or the embodiment of the man's state of mind. It seems that as long as you step on this long bridge, walk through the brick and stone corridor, and look at the boundless sea of ​​mountain fog, you can understand the man's thoughts and feelings, and become a part of the man's story - but even the man in front of him probably couldn't have imagined that those who came later would be so creative, not only filling up the cliffs and steep walls, but also building a floating track. If he knew all this, he would probably laugh.

The city was vast and quiet, with uninhabited houses and spacious, cold streets. The benches in the cathedral were quietly waiting for believers to arrive. The library was filled with countless ancient scrolls, but no sage reached out to flip through them. Snowflakes fell, covering everything with a layer of pure white, but the man did not care. The ice would melt, the snow would disperse, and spring would come again until the next winter. Everything would repeat itself like what he had experienced before. He could still seem to hear the voices of his companions, their laughter, their faces, and everything seemed still vivid in his mind.

Men built fountains, men made sculptures of gods, men planted flowers in flower beds, men surrounded the neglected ancient roads with exquisite courtyards, guarding the resting place of things in the past. Rather than saying that men are building a city of the future waiting for visitors, it is better to say that they are building a mausoleum, a coffin for burying the past and all the past.

"Did you write her epitaph?"

"No need, that kind of thing is very redundant."

"Why?"

The man shook his head and poked his heart with his thumb.

"My story has ended, my time has stopped, I will exist until the day I no longer exist. People may remember my story with her, but they will not remember her herself... She fought against her bloodline, rejected her mission, fought against her fate, called for love, and betrayed love. She was clearly the shadow of a hero, but she longed for the other side of light. Her epitaph is here, in the chest of the only person who knows all this. This is probably the only place in the world where it can be stored forever."

"Do you hate God?"

"No, not now, not ever. Not ever."

"Even if that ritual makes everything look ridiculous and laughable, negating the meaning of giving, and the ending you expected?"

"…This is your misunderstanding."

The man's palm gently brushed across the crystal coffin lid. It seemed that only when he looked at the inside of the object that seemed to be carved out of ice and snow, at the beautiful black-haired woman who seemed to be sleeping, his expression would become soft, with a bit of nostalgia for the past, for the time that had gone and would never come back.

The gorgeous black and white robe, the pointed hat with numerous decorations, the long staff that looked like a celestial globe, the scene when we met that day seemed to still be vivid in my mind. As long as I closed my eyes, I could see her expression that was slightly sarcastic and a little depressed.

"Her fate was sealed at that moment."

"..."

"I feel satisfied that I can still spend such a long time with her after that."

"They might have done better."

"I don't know, maybe so, maybe not. The source of the tragedy is not them. On the contrary, it is because of their existence that I gained strength, met her, helped her break free from the shackles of fate, and let her get the ending she dreamed of. I don't know what reason I have to resent the gods, resent them for abandoning me alone? Some sages believe that longevity is the greatest torture, while others believe that being alive is the best gift. For me, at least I can make this body her tombstone, guard her spirit, and wait for the arrival of her successor."

"When you are in this state, you can't do as much as before, and you can't do as much as before."

"Ah, yes. Now I am just a watcher. Many times I cannot personally intervene in the course of fate."

"Are you satisfied?"

"It's better than not being able to do anything. At least, like now, I can still do something."

Crossing the deserted long street, passing through the stone-carved houses, and in front of the deep ancient road, the man and the girl did not stop. No matter how many times he saw it, the man would be amazed by the boundless grassland and the scene where the sky and the earth could be seen at a glance. Under the bright sky, everything seemed to have value. This might be what the original owner of this small world wanted to express, but no one knew it and no one could confirm it.

In front of the not very broad and deep forest, the man stopped, closed his eyes, and lowered his head slightly, as if he was mourning, or as if he was expressing some distant remembrance.

"...Aren't you going to kill me?"

"what?"

"I am tired of the gods' reasons. You are not a god. From your perspective, raise your hammer and see if you can smash this body to pieces and bring me to the end."

"No, I won't do that."

"Because you can't do it?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't."

"My existence is equivalent to evil itself, and is equivalent to the evil gods and dark kings in your cognition."

"Yes I know."

"Even so, you're not going to kill me?"

"...The reason why I am against 'Zuxes the Darkest' is not because it sits on the throne of darkness. What makes me hostile is not its identity, but its behavior. People who are ashamed to associate with beasts will not choose to accept it just because 'heaven has determined that you are born evil'. So should we draw our swords against you? You who have been observing me...observing us, you should understand this."

"..."

The girl in the agency remained silent.

"…Are we the same kind?"

Because they will not die and will not come to an end, they are similar things?

"No."

The man's answer was straightforward.

"We are different."

"Why?"

"Everything about me is over. My adventure, my journey, my life. Now I am just an existence whose life has not yet ended, but has already come to an end. You can think of me as a corpse, a corpse that has not fallen because the time has not come yet."

"I am made of corpses, just a strange thing mixed with the body of a girl and machinery."

"No, it's different."

Looking back at the small stone temple, that was sleeping under the blue sky, and no one knew what was housed in it, the man's voice revealed some emotion.

“You haven’t started your journey yet, your story hasn’t begun, you haven’t met anyone important yet, and you still have an extremely broad future. You, the nameless you, are not synonymous with the end. No one can decide how you exist and survive. Maybe in ten years, or a hundred years, you will change, and you will meet someone who can change you.”

"..."

This is just your nonsense.

As a result, until the day she left, the girl from the agency never spoke out what was in her heart.

Why was she wandering here? The girl had forgotten the reason. Was she looking for the lost memories? Or was she trying to get closer to the gods and get the answers she needed from them? Or was she looking for her "father" who was still nowhere to be found and was illusory? Or was she simply looking for her so-called "destiny" that did not exist?

Or maybe, she was just attracted by those adventurers, followed in their footsteps, observed them, and recorded their stories, that's all? Even the reason was forgotten by the girl. Perhaps one day, even this memory would be shattered and buried. The girl would eventually lose the fact that she had met them, and continue to wander, linger, and repeat endless wandering.

She was nothingness, a gift of nothingness, but even for such nothingness as her, men still offered their blessings.

"The gods and I will bless you, and hope you can find your own happiness."

……

"Did you find what you wanted?"

"..."

That was a story that was too far away, so far away that Ashlee had completely forgotten it.

She seemed to be still recalling that memory, a memory that was both familiar and strange, making it hard to tell whether she was awake or asleep. Time would not stop because of Ashlee's stopping, and the old man in black robes did not care. There was no snow, no war, no alternation of day and night, and all he could see were books, one after another, ancient books that seemed to be endless. It seemed that because of this, the old man's concept of time became blurred. This small pause was insignificant in his eyes, and he would only wait patiently for the other party's answer.

"Well...Ashe found it."

"Really? That's fine."

The old man chuckled lightly, and seemed not to intend to make any comment on the mechanical girl's memories.

He didn't seem to care about the past, the girl's identity, and what she wanted to do. Even though Ashlee was caught as soon as she tried to break into the confidential library, the old man didn't do anything. Instead, he directly gave the girl a piece of information - not the secret history of Muirand, not the secrets of the four major families, nor the taboo knowledge, but a picture book titled "Sitzberg".

"I must thank you, but I don't know..."

Even though those memories were somewhat incomplete and some parts were not very clear, they were enough for Ashlee to determine the key to the problem. She already knew everything she needed.

"Thank you? Why?"