Chapter 36: A Promise Made by One’s Own Mouth Must Be Fulfilled with One’s Life
Dean Silver’s fluffy little paw1 awkwardly froze in mid-air.
A moment later, it feigned nonchalance, picked up another dried fish snack, and popped it into its mouth, turning on the microphone on the tablet.
“Ishta, watch your demeanor.”
In the surveillance footage, Ishta’s eyes appeared vacant, her expression dazed as ever, as if she hadn’t heard the dean’s voice through the earpiece at all.
A dark line formed at the corner of Dean Silver’s forehead.
In its ruby-like beast eyes, a phantom image of a silver moon faintly emerged.
“Ishta Julian.”
The voice was not loud, yet it seemed to hold a certain magical power, jolting Ishta in the interrogation room out of her stupor and bringing a sparkle back to her eyes.
She hurriedly wiped her mouth. “Dean Silver, I…”
“No need to explain, I’ve already seen everything through the surveillance.”
Dean Silver interrupted Ishta’s attempt at an excuse.
“Don’t waste time with pointless chatter.”
“Now, describe in full, with every detail, exactly what you saw through the ‘Eye of Secrets’ just now.”
“Yes.”
Ishta composed her expression and began typing into the tablet.
…
Moments later, Dean Silver, munching on another dried fish snack, read the newly uploaded text on the tablet screen.
“An anonymous hero walking through the nights of Deep Blue Port, fighting evil in his own way, punishing criminals, protecting the peaceful lives of citizens—The Dark Knight—”
“Batman.”
“As the only one here who has interacted with Rast, does this match your impression of him, Little Tina?”
Shiltina stared at the words on the tablet, falling into silence, unable to associate the image of Rast—who had coolly drafted a plan to blow up half the city—with the Batman portrayed as a guardian of Deep Blue Port’s order.
However, she recalled their first encounter at the hotel.
The seemingly perfect playboy of a man who lived his life like a game was worlds apart from the cold figure who injected himself with veterinary stimulants without batting an eye.
The boy named Rast seemed to wear layer upon layer of masks—remove one, and another lay beneath.
In any situation, he could choose the most appropriate persona to don, presenting himself in the most fitting and advantageous way possible.
So much so that no one could truly know what kind of face lay beneath those countless masks.
“I can’t tell,” Shiltina said.
“I figured as much.”
Dean Silver flicked its tail. “If everything Rast told you is true—if he really did reincarnate for hundreds of years within that Nightworld Remnant—then it would be nearly impossible to see through him.”
“In those hundreds of years, he’s witnessed far too many people, too many things—such a stretch of time could rival several lifetimes of ordinary people.”
“For a normal mind to be filled with memories spanning so long, the most likely outcome would be that the avalanche of experiences would crush their sense of self, turning them into a babbling madman.”
“But the fact that Rast can still present himself like a normal person proves that he possesses self-discipline and control far beyond imagination.”
Dean Silver rolled over on the sofa and tossed another dried fish into its mouth. “Rast has encountered and befriended too many kinds of people.”
“That’s why he can adjust his persona freely depending on the environment, the needs, and the person he’s talking to, presenting different sides of himself to the outside world.”
“He can be a flawless playboy, an impoverished but idealistic orator, or a justice-defending Batman; but he can also be a heinous criminal, a ruthless executioner, a crazed schemer… It all depends on which persona best serves his current interest.”
“In such a situation, even that little one Ishta’s ‘Eye of Secrets’ won’t work.”
“Spiritual vision might be able to glimpse fragments of his true self and memories, but that is only one side of Rast.”
“Every one of his persona masks, every side, is real… yet none of them can fully represent the whole of the man named Rast, nor can they pierce through to the true landscape of his heart hidden beneath.”
Dean Silver paused its fish-snacking, lifted its head, and looked toward Shiltina.
“So, Little Tina, you should understand by now.”
“If it were merely that he couldn’t be mentally measured, that would be one thing… But his origins are equally mysterious. There’s no place called ‘Canaan’ on any current world map—we have no way to verify his background or history.”
“In such a situation, according to the academy’s regulations, Starfall University cannot possibly accept Rast as one of our own.”
“He’s far too dangerous and unpredictable. No one can be certain whether he’s connected to some hidden organization—like the ‘Bronze Rose’ that tracked you into the Nightworld. Maybe that dead dancer was part of a deliberate ploy designed by the Bronze Rose.”
“Or maybe even he himself doesn’t know, but has long since been implanted with some kind of failsafe by such an organization, just waiting to be triggered.”
“This wouldn’t be without precedent. Back in the Granwell Kingdom, four cities were sacrificed in a blood ritual.”
There was now less of the dean’s usual laziness in its eyes, and more gravity.
“If the government were to fund it, they might provide Rast with a comfortable residence on a climate-friendly deserted island, build a sanatorium, let him enjoy the blue skies, sunshine, and beaches—while the academy conducts regular monitoring…”
“If Rast’s situation were reported, this would most likely be the decision made by the board of trustees.”
“You should know, Little Tina, that even with your status as one of the Twelve Round Table Seats, you can’t interfere too much when it comes to decisions about potentially unstable supernaturals.”
“I understand, Dean Silver.”
Shiltina nodded gently, her eyes fixed on the boy quietly sitting in the chair on the tablet screen. “But Rast suffered for hundreds of years, went through countless hardships, endured unimaginable pain to escape that hell called Deep Blue Port.”
“And now we’re going to send him into another prison. That’s too unfair to him…”
“The blue skies, sunshine, and beaches aren’t pleasures to him. They are tortures he’s already endured countless times.”
“Besides, I believe in Rast.”
Shiltina paused briefly.
“Even the pollution of an evil god couldn’t corrupt his will—how could any hidden organization possibly manipulate him?”
“Your belief alone isn’t enough…”
Dean Silver gazed at Shiltina, but then noticed something was off.
“You’re right, my own wishful thinking means nothing.”
“But if even Dean Silver believes… then the academy would have to consider it seriously, wouldn’t they?”
As if having anticipated the dean’s response from the start, a glint of cunning flashed in Shiltina’s light brown eyes.
“In the end, what the academy wants to determine comes down to just two points—”
“That Rast’s mental state is stable and under control, and that he harbors no malice toward Starfall University.”
Her words were elegant, yet laced with formality. “And as far as I know, even if Ishta’s Night Blade and psychological measurement don’t work, Dean Silver has other means of proving these two points.”
Dean Silver froze in the middle of eating its dried fish.
Its snowy fur instantly puffed up. “Ah-ha! I knew something was off about you acting so sweet lately, even sending me a special invitation—didn’t invite the other professors, only me—turns out you had it all planned!”
“So I’m just a tool to be used, huh?!”
“Forgive my little scheme, but this really is a student’s request to her teacher.”
Shiltina’s voice was soft, but her tone was serious. “I promised Rast to pull him out of that endlessly looping hell known as Deep Blue Port—so I absolutely cannot send him into another prison with my own hands.”
“A promise made by a ‘Ranger’ must be fulfilled with one’s life.”
She stood up once more, and with perfect posture, gave the snow-white creature on the sofa a noble’s salute.
“Dean Silver, I’m counting on you.”