"……I don't!"
The doctor retorted sharply: "You are really too naive, Miss Hitzfeld. I just think you are incredibly stupid to have mercy on your enemy... I have to correct your thinking."
"And by the way." He stretched out his arm and gestured, "I'll teach you some basics."
"Let's continue...where were we just now?"
"[Why we can fight against the evil god]."
"Yes... right here. In fact, you should be able to guess that this is the effect of nightmares. Some literary works keep advocating positive emotions when facing despair, as if love can defeat everything. I must say that is nonsense."
"Love is bullshit?"
"'Love' is something very ethereal and illusory. As a positive emotion, when you can feel it deeply and draw strength from it, you can face anything. This is good."
"But how do you feel it?"
“What kind of feeling can be called profound?”
"There's no better comparison than nightmares in this regard."
He nodded his chin seriously.
“A world composed entirely of light is a deformity. The beauty of light needs to be set off by shadows.”
"Similarly, only when a person can muster the courage to face his deepest nightmare, can continue to be cleansed in this nightmare, sink into the abyss of despair and still stick to himself, then we can basically conclude that he can look those things in the face without getting hurt."
"why?"
"Because those who can do this must have persisted because they have something in their hearts that is brighter and more shining than the nightmare—than the despair brought by the nightmare."
"…This is what nightmares mean to us."
The two people stood in the woods and talked about nightmares. Miraculously, the scene looked particularly harmonious.
The wind died down and the dew hung in the air.
Even time slowed down.
"So what you're saying is that in this nightmare, you can actually change the ending, but you don't want anyone to do that."
Hitzfeld blinked.
"That's why you dragged me to say these things... You don't want me to save them."
"That's it."
The doctor nodded.
"How should I put it... Anyway, this is just a dream. Everything you have achieved here is meaningless when compared with the reality that has already happened."
"I can save everything in my dreams, but what's the use?"
"The dead will not come back to life. Instead, it is better to use it to torture yourself..."
"Is this how you tortured yourself for so many years, urging yourself to find a way back?"
Hitzfeld half-closed his eyes, and his pair of heterochromatic eyes flickered in the darkness.
"So you also have something brighter than despair in your heart, and that is actually..."
"enough!"
The Doctor interrupted her fiercely.
"I'm just reasoning with you, not letting you offend me again and again!"
"What the hell..."
Hitzfeld heard him swear under his breath.
"Why is that you……"
"How could a cold-blooded devil talk so much nonsense to a stupid kid..."
I felt a little angry and embarrassed because such a stupid kid could see through my thoughts.
That's right - he would not allow her to get close to Hitzfell Manor to find out the truth.
The Coldis in history didn't make it in time.
Then the corpse-sewers here shouldn't appear in that place.
"That means you still have some instincts left in your mechanical body. Maybe that's because you haven't given up your heart of flesh and blood yet..."
The doctor was stunned by the girl's response.
He keenly sensed a hint of rebellion in these words and quickly turned around to grab her.
But it was too late.
Hitzfeld was backing away. She took a big step back to avoid the doctor's grabbing hand, and then did something he didn't expect - she stuck her thumbs into the collar and pulled hard at it.
What does she mean?
That thing should be something like a blood seal... engraved with the body, skin and bones of a blood relative to prevent the evil god's flesh and blood from contaminating the heart core.
She probably can't break it...
wrong.
He suddenly realized that this was not reality, but a dream intertwined by the spiritual thoughts of himself and the other person.
And here is the simulated history of the Earth.
One of the rules of the Earth's supernatural system is that as long as you enforce the rules, you can get feedback from the mystery.
What about her insomnia...?
Her seal...how many days had she gone without sleep before she removed that thing?
"Aisun!"
He growled sharply.
"Esun Hitzfeld—"
As he watched, the collar was torn off.
The gray-haired girl stood in the woods and looked at him. At the same time, the flying collar spontaneously floated to his side, circled around him, and fell into his hands.
This……
The Doctor was stunned.
He looked up suddenly and a terrible thought came to his mind.
"Just as you have ideals to uphold, I have things to protect."
He could no longer see the detective, he could only hear her talking through the endless light.
"Your prayers are not in vain."
"Nice to meet you."
"……Father."
Chapter 76: Evidence of Dreams
When all the mysteries were solved, Hitzfeld no longer wondered why Left Eye was afraid of this man.
After all, he is a corpse-sewer, after all, he is the agent of the secret-keeping family.
The left eye had been left in the manor as a sealed object and suppressed for so many years, so he was already quite familiar with his aura.
Let's assume it also has biological instincts, then of course it will be afraid. Moreover, it knows very well... what kind of relationship the other party has with the body that is currently trapping it.
But Hitzfeld was not afraid.
At the beginning, affected by her left eye and limited by common sense, she was afraid for a while.
But now she just wanted to figure everything out. She wanted to follow the mechanical face to smell and listen, to observe his fear and terror, to further explore his inner world.
Time ripples like water.
Just like the ripples on the water spreading out and returning to calm, it was the sunset. A man in a shirt and a cloak was painting in a wooden house.
He is not very tall, probably between 175 and 180 cm, but his body proportions are perfect, and he looks tall and has long legs when he stands there.
Hitzfeld judged him to be young.
It was not because of his handsome face, which looked only in his early twenties and still full of childishness, but because he was humming a song, a ditty from that period that was a little old-fashioned compared to her memory.
...She couldn't imagine that the corpse-stitcher or mechanical doctor of the future would do such frivolous things when painting, so he was naturally young, and this face had not yet solidified in time, so it should be what he looked like when he was young.
He is a very good painter. Considering his age, most of his peers may not even be able to study sketching well, but he is already drawing portraits without any reference around.
There is no model, and no photo is clipped next to the frame. It is clear that he is tracing the outlines entirely from memory, and then using his rich experience to blend the colors.
Golden sunlight shone into the room through the window, and Hitzfeld noticed that he frowned.
She immediately guessed why he was angry because she had some knowledge about the matter.
Skylight has an impact on color.
Objectively, there may be no impact, but the colors of the picture are blended by humans, and the basis of human blending is to see with the eyes.
Changes in light will affect the human eye's perception of color saturation and contrast, just as Hitzfeld had seen people arguing online about the color of a skirt in his previous life... Some people really don't like changes in light and don't like fluorescent lights, and they are particular about the time they paint every day.
"What bad luck."
The man was humming a song one second and dropped his tools the next.
He really threw it - he casually stuck the paintbrush into the bucket, threw the palette onto the table, and threw himself into the sofa out of thin air, pulled the quilt over him and went to sleep.
Hitzfeld was not sure how to comment on this irresponsible behavior, so she turned her gaze to the other side of the frame and saw clearly that the painting on the canvas was of a young girl.
She has red lips, white teeth, a bright smile, and is wearing a long, wide-sleeved dress that is very retro. She is half-turned and staring at me.
Is this the person he once loved?
Just as she thought this, a paintbrush came in and painted a big "X" on the picture.
It was already daybreak without him noticing. The young man had slept all night in a daze. The first thing he did when he woke up was to change the brush, dip it in paint, and smear the painting all over.
"No...no...this is not what I want."
She heard him talking to himself.
"Life is short, loneliness is long... How could I have such thoughts?"
"I think you are crazy, Coldis. Living with such a troublesome person for the rest of your life, do you plan to die before her or after her? Which ending do you prefer?"
As he muttered to himself, he casually outlined the paint on the frame, inadvertently outlining a new outline.
Hitzfeld noticed his eyebrows move, put away all his carelessness, and began to fill in the outline methodically.
Soon, he sketched the image of an old man wearing a turban.
Deep eyes, deep wrinkles.
He is standing on the stone steps carrying a bundle of firewood and turning around. His shape and expression are lifelike.
"That's right..."
She heard him muttering again.
"Life is short... Life is short..."
"If I can't find a way to live forever, why don't I help the poor more?"
He began to change his way of thinking, and his painting style also changed.
Before this morning, the young painter named Lendis mostly painted those magnificent and beautiful things that made people yearn for them at first sight.
But his later paintings were old and outdated, which made many dignitaries who had high hopes for him lose interest.
He was rightfully ignored, but he was not disappointed. Instead, he traveled around with his dream in mind, as if he wanted to record the sufferings of the world with his brush.
Hitzfeld traveled across the ocean with him, witnessed him get into danger and escape, and got lost in the mountains while searching for strange stories.
He did not die in the mountains because someone came to pick him up.
"Excuse me, is this Mr. Leng Disi?"
"It's...it's me..."
