Chapter 373: Jindun (2)

As the white and black stones moved back and forth, their positions shifted, expanding their respective territories.

It was the first time Lennok had touched a board game since coming to this world, but he adapted without difficulty.

It was a game that was a blend of Go and Othello. With hundreds of pieces, players captured and flipped each other’s stones on the board to solidify their positions.

A simple yet complex game where victory could only be achieved by not neglecting small situations while also not losing sight of the big picture.

‘Not too difficult,’ Lennok thought, naturally moving a stone.

“You’re not as good at this game as I thought?”

“……”

As expected, he lost every single game.

No matter how intelligent and intuitive Lennok was, it was impossible to win a game he was playing for the first time, especially against a Transcendent-level practitioner.

Jindun clicked his tongue at Lennok and swept the board clean.

“Let’s play a few more rounds.”

“Alright.”

After that, Lennok silently focused on playing the game with Jindun.

A sensation as distant and faint as a dream.

In a hazy perception where the sense of time was almost imperceptible, he focused on exchanging moves with Jindun in a state of ecstasy.

In the final moments, he remembered what was happening outside, but Lennok ignored it.

The very fact that Jindun was facing him like this was proof that this entire situation was orchestrated by him.

The leader of Pandemonium, the end of The Cradle. Waking Jindun.

If Jindun had fully recognized and made decisions regarding this entire sequence of events, Lennok was willing to go along with his will until the very end.

After that, the two continued to focus silently on the game without exchanging a single word.

They made moves, and he lost.

He made other moves, and lost again.

But even amidst this, Lennok’s skill grew rapidly, observing and adopting Jindun’s techniques.

How much time had passed?

After more than dozens of games, a moment arrived when the exchanges between the two became tense.

Just as Lennok was about to pick up a black stone, Jindun, who had been silently focused on placing stones, opened his mouth.

“I apologize to the other two.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last three who passed through the gate. Normally, I would have met each of you individually.”

Jindun said, turning his head.

“Now I don’t have much time left. So I had no choice but to make a selection.”

As Lennok followed his gaze and turned his head, he finally realized that they were near the stairs of The Cradle.

Above the stairs, the figure of the leader, who had just ripped the pipes from Jindun’s body, was visible.

Behind him, Lennok himself, looking up at the scene with a shocked expression, and Ermont’s figure were also there.

Lennok carefully observed himself and the others, then realized that time hadn’t completely stopped.

Everyone was moving slowly, albeit at an almost crawling pace.

Jindun and Lennok had been engaged in an endless game within the infinitely fragmented time.

“It’s about infinitely fragmenting one’s consciousness and filling the gaps with intention.”

Jindun said, as if he had read Lennok’s thoughts.

“It’s a far more efficient and safer method than directly stopping the world’s timeline. There’s a side effect, if you’re not careful, you might not be able to escape the gaps in consciousness… but when you need to think something through, there’s no trick more useful than this.”

Did he mean artificially stretching his perceived time infinitely to use it for contemplation?

The fact that he treated his own consciousness like a toy to that extent was surprising enough, but even stranger was the inherent contradiction in Jindun’s words.

Lennok asked, dumbfounded.

“You fragmented your consciousness, but why was I also pulled into that Domain?”

“Because this labyrinth is a Conceptual Realm that I sculpted directly from my own mind. If you’ve come as far as the inside of The Cradle, wouldn’t it be fair to say you’re practically a part of me now?”

“……”

Jindun’s utterly calm words.

Lennok didn’t show it, but he felt a shiver run down his spine.

It was practically proof that Jindun held the power over life and death for all beings who had entered The Cradle.

Not only Lennok, Ermont, and Maiya, but also the leader of Pandemonium, who had just broken Jindun’s life support device, would not be able to escape his influence.

But Jindun, knowing all of this, allowed his body to die at the leader’s hands.

Lennok understood the intention, but not the reason.

“Why me?”

“Because I chose you.”

“What do you know about me?”

“Nothing.”

Jindun replied.

“I can’t see anything. That’s why I chose you.”

“……”

“Usually, by this age, whether you like it or not, you start seeing strange things whenever you meet someone. How that person lived, what thoughts they harbored, what they desired when they came to me.”

Jindun clicked his tongue and chuckled.

“To be honest, I like seeing such blatant desires. Fragments of emotion that are no longer left in me… watching them from the side is quite a good distraction.”

He pointed once at Ermont and Maiya, who were frozen above and below, and said:

“In that sense, those two hold special meaning. The most greedy one in this labyrinth, and the one closest to being desireless. Originally, I would have chosen to meet one of them instead of you.”

“……”

Jindun’s words were very ambiguous, but Lennok could roughly understand their meaning.

That Ermont, or more precisely, Jawoon, the original owner of that body, harbored a desire so powerful it couldn’t be compared to anyone else’s.

And that Maiya, who had come here because of Pandemonium’s affairs, had the least desire.

After a long silence, Lennok placed another stone and spoke.

“I met the previous Lighthouse Keeper.”

“The Lighthouse Keeper from some backwater?”

“……”

Jindun replied, casually continuing the game.

While Lennok was speechless at the bizarre title, he chuckled.

“She vehemently denied it, but she was the one among us who loved humans the most. That’s why I thought she would be the first to go.”

“…I heard about the world’s end and the secret of Ascension from her. I came to meet you to ask about the full story.”

Lennok and Jindun’s eyes met steadily.

“What exactly is Ascension? In a closed world, what do Transcendent beings hope for when they challenge fate?”

“A trite question. Does the grand cause of defying fate need any other wrapping?”

Jindun replied indifferently.

“Ask something more interesting.”

“What on earth is Alkaid?”

“……”

Jindun fell silent.

Had he not expected Lennok to immediately change the subject to that question?

But Lennok knew that the noun carried as much significant meaning as the secret of Ascension itself.

Otherwise, that name wouldn’t have appeared in the previous Lighthouse Keeper’s final message and warning.

He had merely buried it deep in the recesses of his memory. Lennok had never once forgotten that name and its existence.

Jindun, who had been staring at Lennok, resumed the game and spoke.

“You know that the world’s end is predetermined, don’t you?”

“……”

“When the time comes, the heavens open, and the sea of darkness descends upon the land, bringing about the end. The entities of the Outer Sea, monsters that have wandered the seas for thousands of years, freed from the cycle of causality, are not beings mortals can contend with.”

“I know that.”

“Oh, you do?”

Jindun smiled.

“Then did you know that this has already happened three times?”

“……”

Lennok fell silent.

It touched upon a taboo that Lennok had cautiously speculated about but never dared to utter aloud.

That perhaps the destruction of this world wasn’t the first time it had happened.

That the term ‘Old World’ spoken of by Pandemonium and the cults might not simply refer to an ancient era, but truly a ‘previous’ world.

That this world might already be the third iteration, having undergone two destructions.

“Obtaining a standing equal to the world and escaping destruction to cross over to the next world. We have constantly revered this, calling it Ascension.”

Jindun, who had casually revealed the secret of Ascension, said.

“But since the advent of the third world, the fact that not a single Ascendant has succeeded has never felt as significant as it does now.”

“……”

“Perhaps the previous Lighthouse Keeper already knew. That’s why she so readily accepted her end.”

Jindun slowly tilted his head.

As if worried someone might overhear, as if fearing it would leak onto the game board… he whispered very softly.

Like someone who wanted only Lennok to hear.

“There won’t be a fourth. This world was completed through three cycles, and now it’s racing towards its end. From the very beginning, for the inhabitants of this world, Ascension was a miracle that was never permitted.”

Lennok and Jindun continued to play the game.

“Good. You’re playing much better now.”

Jindun chuckled, stroked his chin, and moved a stone.

“Your learning speed is much faster than I expected. At this rate, I can tell you more.”

“……”

As Lennok captured the stone Jindun had placed, he frowned at the information flooding into his mind.

Every time the game tilted in Lennok’s favor, every time Lennok’s stones consumed space on the board, unknown knowledge began to continuously pour into his mind.

From the basic principles of constructing barriers, to the stage of materializing intentions and Mind Imprints within them, and even the qualifications required to interfere with spacetime and bend the world’s laws.

It was the culmination of barrier magic that Jindun had accumulated over hundreds of years of his life.

He didn’t know it when he blindly started the game, but he realized it while endlessly exchanging moves, learning techniques, and understanding Jindun’s thoughts.

The principles of moving stones, the rules of the game, and the efforts to improve skill.

That the mysteries and secrets of the barrier magic Jindun had created were embedded within all those elements.

Jindun had been repeating this game with Lennok hundreds and thousands of times, teaching him in his own unique way.

Melting the complex power of barrier magic, which was impossible for a human mind and heart to properly grasp, into the form of a game.

Every time he grasped a technique and understood an advanced theory, corresponding knowledge of barrier magic was ingrained into Lennok’s mind.

Seeing Lennok’s sweating face, Jindun smiled.

“It’s a process where, as you understand the theories and principles, the corresponding knowledge is assimilated into your memory. Just resist a little and accept it.”

“……”

“Fortunately, your talent seems far more outstanding than I expected, so I can pass on more than I thought. I suppose I’ll have to think of it as taking on another disciple in my later years.”

“Why me?”

“Oh, you can even speak?”

Lennok struggled to look up at Jindun, who was laughing playfully, and asked.

“You don’t know anything about me, so why…?”

The same question as before. But its meaning was entirely different from the first time.

The cycle of Lennok’s talent and penalty. Jindun couldn’t possibly have recognized it.

That secret was a highly dense origin, to the extent that even the previous Lighthouse Keeper, a Transcendent specialized in sight, could barely perceive its underlying nature.

So what did Jindun see in Lennok that made him pour his knowledge and experience into him like this now?

Because this kind of experience was new to Lennok, and he hadn’t expected the first Transcendent he met to suddenly try to act as his master.

Because Lennok himself didn’t entirely dislike this moment.

He couldn’t help but ask Jindun.

Jindun, who had been silent, subtly turned his head to look at the scene above the stairs.

“Do you see it?”

“…?”

“Even amidst all this, he’s turning his head to look at us.”

Lennok followed his words and turned his gaze towards the leader of Pandemonium, feeling a chill run through his entire body.

Because in this immense gap where time had practically stopped, he realized that the leader was looking their way.