SML Ch 68

Chapter 68

A Resting Interlude (5)

Reynald’s company, dragging their weary bodies and the limp, unmoving doll, made their way back toward the castle.

All along the return, Serna kept mulling over the events within the labyrinth. From what he heard, everyone who had entered that moss-ridden maze had undergone a process known as “selection.” According to Reynald’s explanation, it was a mysterious voice—capable of perceiving people’s past—that decided whether one was suitable to protect this domain.

But what did any of that have to do with the domain itself? Serna silently replayed in his mind the words he had heard inside the labyrinth.

[You yearn to know many things. More precisely, everything except your own heart. Is it not because you believe your heart holds no value? Or perhaps not just your heart, but your essence itself….]

[One who does not trust in his own worth. Yet even so, you will strive with all you have—for the one who cherished you, and for those whom you yourself cherish. At the very least, in that devotion there is no falsehood. Thus, you have been chosen.]

It had probed into him with near rudeness, digging excessively deep, while refusing to reveal its own aim. Serna pondered the words a little further but stopped himself, feeling he might grow needlessly offended if he dwelled on them more.

Two points alone brought him relief: first, that Reynald had not pressed him to reveal details of his selection; second, that he was not the only one to have endured a process he would rather not describe.

[The sin was committed by your family. The punishment, delivered by monsters. Though the balance of sin and punishment cannot be called fair.]

[Overly timid, overly sensitive outsider. Yet if you found your only solace in this land, after hiding both your origin and even your name, perhaps you might indeed strive to protect it. Thus, you have been chosen.]

The words spoken to Alex, however, carried a weight that could not be ignored. His origin—understandable enough. But had Alex truly hidden even his very name? What story could compel such concealment? The moment the voice uttered this, Alex had shown no small dismay, flashing Serna a glance as though imploring him not to pry further.

Since it was obvious he wished the matter dropped, Serna had simply nodded back at him. He had already learned, from past trouble after prying too rashly with Volant, that careless questions could cause serious problems.

‘Still… from what I heard, only Sir Reynald had to prove his qualifications. Even with that Orthros Serpent business, monsters always seem to fear or keep wary watch upon dragon slayers, do they not?’

Because those who could slay dragons—the mightiest of monsters—were vanishingly rare, scholarly study of how high-grade monsters reacted to dragon slayers was still thin. Ordinary monsters scarcely seemed to care whether such a warrior stood before them, but rumor had it that some of the higher beings could recognize them.

Yet given that Reynald had been made the subject of selection in the end, it seemed the entity did not truly despise dragon slayers. Rather, it only meant to keep watch, ensuring he never acted rashly.

‘From how the voice spoke, I suppose it judged we were beings unlikely to harm or abandon this land.’

It was an extreme method, but it had shown no malice. Stripping away its rhetoric, in essence it amounted to: this place needs kind, responsible guardians to preserve the public peace.

What exactly they were guarding against remained a question, however—and since both he and Arun must someday leave this domain, it was not a responsibility either man could easily shoulder. Deep in such thought, Serna only noticed he was back at the castle gates when the looming walls were before him.

Apparently they had spent more time in the fog-maze than they realized, for when they arrived, the sun was already sinking low. In the courtyard, tending a small kitchen garden, Heide’s face went wide with surprise at their return.

“My lord, you’ve come back late indeed! But… why are you carrying that shabby, filthy little doll—mph!”

“Don’t, Uncle Heide! One wrong word and it might smash you in the face!”

As Alex hurriedly clamped a hand over the old retainer’s mouth, Reynald and Volant were carrying over a bucket large enough to hold the doll. They poured ash-water into it and set it atop a hearth at the courtyard’s edge, stoking fire until the contents boiled.

As the lye water bubbled, giving off its sharp fumes, Volant dropped the clockwork doll inside, prodding it firmly with a stick to keep it submerged.

“Huh? I thought you’d wash it with soap—you’re just going to boil the thing in ash-water? Is that safe?”

“Soap’s precious, Your Highness! We scarcely have enough for laundry, let alone scrubbing some doll. Frankly, I’m not sure this is right either—but if it’s as tough as it seems, surely it will survive it.”

So Volant replied evenly while stirring the doll round and round in the boiling lye. Bubbles rose to the surface, bringing off its grime by degrees. Still, Serna felt worried. Inside, surely, were delicate clockwork parts. Would not this caustic brew corrode or destroy them?

And if the doll truly could withstand such harsh treatment, was that not uncanny in its own way? Serna could not imagine any clockwork doll tolerating being boiled in foul-smelling lye, were it truly sentient.

[Tick.]

And sure enough—at some point, the sound of clock-hands shifting rang out as the spring wound itself taut again. Volant startled, recoiling, just as the clockwork clicked to its limit. In the next instant the doll’s eyes bulged, and it tried to leap shrieking out of the boiling vat.

“Ah ah, you’re not done with your bath yet. Back you go.”

Fortunately, Volant avoided Alex’s fate. Reynald, wielding his stick beside him, jabbed the doll straight in the chest and shoved it back under the surface.

The doll flailed, making rude-looking gestures that might have been curses, but Reynald—having already studied its antics—restrained it with little difficulty. In the end, sulking and curled up in defeat, the doll had no choice but to endure the lye bath quietly.

“Well, doesn’t seem hurt by it. Now—if ash-water actually harmed you, draw a circle with your arms. If it merely offends you, then cross them in an X. That way we’ll know how to take it.”

At Reynald’s cheerful suggestion, the doll, visibly upset, lifted its hands and made an X. Seeing this, Serna was struck by a realization. Perhaps this was their chance to interrogate it.

“Sir Reynald, mind if I ask it some questions?”

“By all means. I’ve a few myself, but you go first, Your Highness.”

“Good. Let me think—ah, yes. That spring on your back—what is it for? Is it what allows you to move and exert strength?”

The doll glared at him with crescent-shaped, disapproving eyes, then slowly raised its arms to form an O. Serna thought this might prove fun indeed.

“So if the spring fully unwinds, you won’t be able to move for a while? And it takes time before it can be rewound again?”

[O]

“Oh, I see. Then—in a single day, can the spring be wound up more than once?”

[O]

“Ah, so twice? Can it be wound more than that?”

[X]

“Ahh. So only twice per day. And how long does a single winding last? More than six hours? …No response? Did I phrase that wrong? Or is it that the time depends on how much effort you expend? Yes, of course—that’s it! So is there a standard? Say, split into heavy, medium, and light tasks? If I knew which counted as great effort versus small, it would be convenient—”

Seeing him carry on with mounting enthusiasm, both Volant and Reynald traded tired looks. But Serna pressed on, excited, directing questions at the doll, which generally answered with honesty despite several irritable attempts to climb out of the vat (promptly suppressed by Reynald).

“My word, the prince does this to everyone—so it wasn’t only me!”

“Indeed. By now you must have realized, this is Prince Serna’s nature.”

So the interrogation, reduced to strings of O’s and X’s, went on at length. Meanwhile, the doll grew steadily cleaner, though also wearier from incessant questioning and bathing. Serna, however, considered it a fair trade of mutual benefit, and ignored its sulky demeanor.

“In summary, Sir Reynald, it works like this. The doll can be wound twice daily. Each winding gives it energy enough for one task of high difficulty, or two tasks of medium difficulty, or many tasks that require negligible magic.”

A “high-difficulty” task was, for instance, transporting humans into that illusory maze. A “medium-difficulty” task was something like driving off crystalline clockwork birds or low-level monsters. Simple movement or flight, as now, consumed almost nothing.

Serna had even tried asking elaborate hypotheticals—such as whether saving strength one day allowed three uses on the next, or borrowing against tomorrow’s strength for today’s—but the furious doll had nearly struck him for it. That might have upset the bucket and injured others nearby. Thus Serna resolved not to burden it with impossible demands.

“For the record, it seems willing to help drive off those birds to aid the farmers. What a kind soul!”

“……”

“Sir Reynald, I’ve learned so much from this! For all its temper, it answers questions faithfully, so it must be a decent creature after all.”

Flushed with delight, Serna’s enthusiasm made the doll raise its arms again, striking a majestic, inscrutable pose as though showing off. Reynald recalled it had made the same gesture atop the marble altar, and thought perhaps it was habitual.

Yet his brow furrowed slightly as he observed.

“That’s well and good. But I believe we must ask something more important.”

“Eh? More important?”

“The being that commands this doll—the one who selected us. That much is certain: it requires guardians who will not harm, but carefully protect this land. But the fact that we were put through such a demanding trial… suggests that there exists a task only those who pass may accomplish.”

“Oh—of course!”

Serna realized, chagrined, that in chasing his idle curiosity he had nearly overlooked what mattered. Reynald lowered his gaze to the doll.

“So tell me—what task does your master intend to lay upon the five of us?”

And at that question, the doll’s eyes gleamed with an oddly satisfied light.

Footnote:

1. [O] and [X] responses – In Korean shorthand, ⭕ means “yes/true,” ❌ means “no/false.” The doll uses physical gestures to answer.