Vol 4 Chapter 102: “Origin” (Vol 4: The Otherworldly Battlefield Arc)

“Where is this?”

A place of nothingness.
Not a darkness like that of the gods’ realm.

Just a white space stretching out endlessly.

Sukui…
was fighting the Demon King.

Using the secret art of self-replication—and his knife that can forge a path to victory even against an enemy with no chance—
he should have succeeded in defeating him.

Yet this place is not the Demon King’s castle.
And he is completely alone.

“What on earth—”

Puzzled, he began to walk forward, and then, a voice came from somewhere.

No, perhaps it was only as if he heard something.
However, before Sukui’s eyes, without him noticing, there appeared

a young boy crouching.

“What’s wrong?”

The boy had his back turned to Sukui.
He merely crouched in silence, yet to Sukui it seemed as though the boy

was crying.

He moved closer.

Sukui himself still had no idea where this place was.

“This is—”

Again, a voice spoke.
This time, it was unmistakably coming from the child in front of him.
But it did not sound tearful; though it was a child’s voice, it carried a firm, deliberate tone.

“Your inner landscape.”

Realizing that the child before him was not an ordinary child, Sukui stopped in his tracks.

“Inner landscape.”

“Inside your heart.
That must be it.”

Sukui tilts his head, forcing a smile.

“Surprisingly, it’s rather refreshing, isn’t it?”

Aware of his own madness—and having seen others lose their sanity by peering into their hearts—Sukui replies with genuine surprise.

“The surface is far more intricate.”

Various feelings.
Countless memories.

They mingle and entwine.

“Deep down, at your very core—your innermost heart.”

That is where we are.

It is not an empty space.

“You are—”

Sukui cannot help but accept these words.
Yes, this is his inner landscape.

The primal scene.
The origin.

The child crouching before him is young Sukui himself.

There he is—crouching and crying in an empty space.
And that, alone, is the entirety of the realm.

It is what forms the very foundation of his being.

“Yes, the very birthplace of the madman that is you.”

And then, “It is coming,” the child declares.

“Coming?”

Even Sukui does not understand why he came to this world; there is still something yet to appear.

“The Demon King was not meant to be defeated by anyone except the hero with the holy sword.”

Either way, it would have been the same if the Demon King were complete.

“And yet, you defeated him.”

You knew exactly where it was, so you should have refrained from touching the Demon King, right?

“But now, you have a reason to keep going.”

A sound emerges.
This time, it is not a voice.

Even if it were a voice, it doesn’t register as such to Sukui.

A great, approaching sound—a dreadful something is about to flood into this world.

“No one can save you.”

The child declares it clearly.

When Sukui turns around, he sees that this endless white space is being completely filled.

A wave of pitch-black, muddy sludge attacks, covering this world.

“You and all those who suffer alike—no matter how far you progress—”

Thus, it will all end.

Those words—both resigned and reproachful—are, in fact, Sukui’s own.

Before he can utter another word,

Sukui’s world is engulfed by a sludge of madness.