The three fundamental questions of life.
Whether in his past life or in countless online jokes, unnumbered people had poked fun at these three questions. Yet right here, right now, when they came from an all-seeing entity, Lynch lost all ability to improvise. He stared blankly into the pitch-black, deep abyss within the rift, his mind going entirely blank for a moment.
Am I truly a transmigrator? How did I come to this world? After I arrived, was I really just floating in the Dreamlands with no experiences in between? Were the memories of my past life left behind before I transmigrated, or after? Where will I ultimately go, and what will I accomplish?
Most importantly, why call me an Awakened?
I originally thought it was simply because I had just awakened at the time, which was why she called me an Awakened. But for Tawil to call me that as well... there must be a reason.
He is an existence beyond time, an all-knowing evil god. For him to address me this way cannot be without cause.
And why did he ask me these questions?
No, these aren't just questions. They're hints. He wants me to find the answers.
But she doesn't want me to find the answers right now. It's not time yet.
Scenes flashed through his mind—especially the past few months since waking up, spending day and night accompanied by that voice in his head, curling up every night under the crimson moonlight, washing away the anxiety and fear in his heart to sleep peacefully.
Lynch fell silent for a long time before suddenly raising his head with a smile.
“I cannot give you answers to these three questions right now. I promised someone I would put them aside for now until the day I am ready to accept the truth. Flip-flopping and changing my mind isn't my style. Once I make a choice, I won't easily back out.”
The humanoid figure floating in midair remained motionless, but the entity's response already surfaced in Lynch's mind:
“This is your choice. There is no need to explain to us. As I have said, we shall watch over you continuously, until you are able to answer.”
“Does this affect the ownership of the Torch of Light?”
“The Torch of Light is compensation for the Necronomicon, while the three questions are compensation for the Silver Key. Equivalent exchange is our principle. Whether now or in the future, you will eventually answer the three questions, so the transaction is smoothly completed. The Torch of Light already belongs to you.”
Equivalent exchange, huh? No wonder those librarians in the Knowledge Library are all a bunch of greedy merchants. Still, seeing that his original plan wasn't disrupted, Lynch breathed a sigh of relief and asked thoughtfully, “So, before we conclude the transaction, may I ask a question?”
“You may. What do you wish to ask?”
Hmm? I can ask an all-knowing entity whatever I want?
Lynch's heart tightened, and he nervously licked his lips. “I want to know who the deity behind the Shadow Alliance is. Why are they doing these things? Also, what happened to the Friedman royal family? Can you observe matters concerning deities as well?”
“We cannot peer into major gods, but that does not prevent us from observing their believers. Thus, these questions pose no issue. However, what will you offer in exchange for the answers?”
Lynch froze, left utterly speechless.
Dammit, I forgot immediately after saying it—equivalent exchange.
He only said I could ask, not that he would answer for free.
The corner of Lynch's mouth twitched. “What do I even have to trade with? Surely I can't exchange this thing, right?”
As he spoke, he pointed at the cloth-covered stone pedestal.
“Not enough.”
“Hss, even a manifestation grade mystery relic isn't enough?”
“Your questions directly concern the future of the Fifth Age. Their value far exceeds that of a single Torch of Light. To exchange for them, it would require at least the secrets of the crimson moon to be considered equivalent.”
“Forget it, then.”
Lynch sighed. As expected, there are no shortcuts in this world. Just as disappointment settled in, Tawil's message reached his mind once more: “However, the value of the Necronomicon is indeed higher than that of the Torch of Light. To leave the exchange as is would violate our principle of equivalent exchange. Thus, regarding your second question—what occurred in Friedman—while I will not give you the direct answer without cause, I can offer a guidance that should aid you in finding it.”
Hmm? A pleasant surprise! So doing business really requires demanding sky-high prices; you might just get a bonus after all.
Lynch immediately leaned forward, assuming an attentive posture.
“It involves matters between nobles, and you already have someone by your side who specializes in such information.”
Lynch was slightly confused at first, but revelation struck him almost immediately.
He had nearly forgotten about that man—Mr. West, manager of the Black Cat Theater, an apostle of the King in Yellow, and a cultist who could single-handedly match Dagon of the Deep Ones.
That man specialized in trading intelligence related to high society. Perhaps Lynch really could glean something from him. No, since the Ancient One pointed to him, it meant he definitely knew something. The only question was what price it would take to pry open his mouth—it looked like Lynch's wallet was going to take a heavy hit this time.
“Hastur rather dislikes what lies behind this matter, so you need not worry. Including this guidance, we have reached equivalence.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency, Ancient One.”
Having this guidance was far better than stumbling around blindly. Lynch bowed solemnly, then composed himself and walked toward the stone pedestal in front of him with high anticipation.
As if sensing his gaze, the fabric covering it suddenly fluttered without wind, sliding off on its own and vanishing into the void. Lynch felt a violent shock in his consciousness as unnumbered complex images flooded into his mind in an instant.
In the vision, Lynch saw corpses covering the ground. The deceased were covered in dark spots, their bodies rotting away as they died miserably, oozing pus. Smoke from cooking fires no longer rose in the cities, and neither humans nor beasts remained. The city centers were piled high with the bodies of those who had succumbed to illness, with no one left to cremate them; only flocks of red-eyed crows hopped and pecked among the corpses.
From villages to cities, and then to entire nations, the raging plague consumed the whole continent, leaving hundreds upon hundreds of kilometers of land utterly deserted.
Amidst the scattered corpses, a group of white-robed figures wearing bird-mask beaks and carrying medicine boxes moved like ghosts through the desolate villages and towns. They burned corpses, cleansed filth, found the few remaining survivors, and formulated remedies from their medicine boxes to treat them as best they could. Wherever they went, the medicine box became the most sacred symbol in the hearts of the living, carrying everyone's hope for survival.
Yet the medicine box could not cure every disease. Repeatedly exposed during their journey, the white-robed figures collapsed one by one to the infection. The medicine box was passed down among them until the final white-robed figure fell before the plague. That last soul, dragging a heavily diseased body, gathered dry firewood and kindled a fire, hurling their own infected body and the medicine box into the flames to eliminate the threat for the world one last time. At that moment, the burning medicine box erupted with dazzling light, instantly illuminating the entire Middle Earth.
【Torch of Light: May we call forth a miracle with our lives; may our souls turn into the light of life, illuminating every soul in the world tormented by illness and suffering.】
The vision faded, and tranquility returned before his eyes. A small medicine box lay quietly upon the stone pedestal.
A manifestation grade mystery relic possessing dual authorities of healing and light, the ultimate weapon against plagues—offering what is beautiful and hopeful in exchange for suppressing plagues and death at their origin.
This was the Torch of Light.
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