Chương 94: Oni

Mortimer lay in bed with a glass of whisky in his hand. His eyes were dark and sunken, and his wrinkled face looked even more aged. His silver hair seemed to have greyed further. He still wore a suit, but the buttons were undone as he lay back, presenting an unflattering angle of his gut straining against his undershirt. It was the end of day 11 of the games, and for the last 2 days, the old man had searched high and low for strings attached to the assassination organization he had destroyed.

The organization wasn't particularly strong and had a few Dreamers who died without putting up much of a fight. He followed a few trails, but every one went cold. A purple vial sitting on uncut wrapping paper sat on his nightstand, and several opaque sealed jars full of human fingers rested on the ground on the other side of the room. He killed, tortured, and interrogated several people from the organization, but every trail went cold.

No one truly knew anything; they followed orders from higher-ups, but those higher-ups hired others, who in turn hired more people, creating a complex chain of command. Mortimer was half sure that the higher-ups were also middlemen for the true perpetrators. Worst of all, Lilia was still upset with Mortimer for shoving June into the virtual realm. As a peace offering, Mortimer purchased a purple vial from a legitimate apothecary and planned to gift it to Lilia, who would then offer it to June.

Mortimer lifted his glass of whisky and cheered to himself.

"She won't hate me anymore if she could make that boy a man! They're both that eager age anyway.' Lilia also asked Mortimer about a Noble-class nightmare being one of the final challenges, which Mortimer quietly dismissed but still double-checked for her, and now his old heart was palpitating like never before. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

He didn't tell her the truth about the Noble-class not being created by the Colosseum, but he knew Lilia was too smart for her own good. Mortimer downed the rest of his short glass and gazed at the empty bottom.

'I don't know if I should be scared for the kid or not worry about him.' This Noble-class nightmare called itself ONI. It stood approximately 6'6" tall and was covered in what looked like traditional heavy samurai armour with an ONI mask that constantly bled blood red Will from underneath. It wielded an ornate 4-meter transforming odachi, and its flaw was that it compulsively searched for someone it only referred to as 'my lord.'

It was an oddly righteous nightmare that protected the weak, but if someone referred to a lord, any lord who wasn't his, he would slaughter them regardless of age, sex, or power.

'For a Nightmare, it isn't half-bad.' Mortimer had gone toe-to-toe with ONI on several occasions; despite it presenting itself as a human, it was not one. Mortimer was once commissioned to eliminate an IMP-class nightmare a long time ago when he was around June's age and nearly traded lives with ONI. Funnily enough, even though they mainly try to kill each other because of their age-old rivalry, they often drank with one another after their stalemates.

It was a rivalry built on respect, where the weaker one would die.

'ONI did acknowledge my old lord, but not as his lord.' Mortimer still couldn't understand Nightmares; they were creatures born with a purpose in their minds before they learned how to even move their limbs. Even in ONI's case, where it converses with humans and occasionally works with them, it was still a monster compulsively looking for someone who didn't exist. It was a sad fate, endlessly watching his rival looking for someone who may or may not exist. The nightrealm was infinitely vast, too.

ONI may never find his lord, even if he searched for a thousand years or more; new places would be discovered by him, old places would be destroyed by him, but he would forever wander as a ronin looking for someone he was born to serve, but never meet. Mortimer sighed and limply tossed the glass to his side, letting it shatter across the floor. He reached for the bottle and popped the cork, not caring about the stains forming on his shirt.

"They call June the Lord of Light…. It's a nickname that won't help ONI go easier on him.' Mortimer downed half of the bottle and haphazardly put it on his nightstand before shutting his eyes. crash'Damn! waste of a fine bottle of whisky.'