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墨書 Inktalez
James's smile softened a bit, and the hint of a charmingly sinister aura about him seemed to recede. He leaned gently against the Security Desk, speaking in a more relaxed tone, "You know, Hunter, folklore has never been just nonsense. It may be filled with exaggerations and fantasies, but often it contains truths forgotten by history. Just like myths—those ancient tales, no matter how absurd, always hold a trace of reality."
His voice grew deep and resonant, as if each word carried some ancient wisdom that beckoned one to explore further. James's gaze swept over Hunter, noticing the confusion and curiosity etched on his face, prompting him to continue, "So whether Dark Magic truly exists or if its rituals ever took place, and how much of those so-called legends are real—these things aren't really important."
Hunter paused for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He could sense that James's words concealed deeper intentions, but he couldn't fully grasp them at that moment. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice to ask, "Then... what is important?"
Upon hearing Hunter's question, the smile on James's lips grew more enigmatic. He casually pulled a chair closer and sat down facing Hunter, his movements appearing effortless yet purposeful. His eyes remained fixed on Hunter as if trying to peer into the depths of his soul. Once settled, he crossed his hands over his knees and leaned slightly forward, as if sharing a secret.
"What matters is how we create history." James's voice suddenly turned low and deliberate, imbued with an undeniable power. The words echoed in the dim light of the security room like an ancient incantation, striking deep within Hunter's psyche. A strange smile crept onto Hunter's face as his gaze darkened like an unfathomable abyss, his eyes glinting with a chilling light.
"Think about it: is all that so-called history merely recorded as it happened? Or is it crafted by those who wield power and secrets according to their will?" James's voice slithered through Hunter's ears like a cold serpent. His tone fluctuated with an eerie charm that was impossible to resist.
Hunter felt cold sweat bead on his palms; he sensed himself ensnared in an invisible trap as if James's words were a finely woven net tightening around him. He wanted to step back and distance himself from this oppressive figure, yet an insatiable curiosity compelled him to listen further. Swallowing hard, he attempted to steady his rapid breathing. "What... what are you saying? Are you saying... we can change history?"
James observed the uncertainty flickering across Hunter's face and smiled even wider, a deep madness lurking within that grin as if relishing this psychological game. "No, Hunter; I'm not saying we can change history. I'm saying—we can create history. How will future generations view us? That is for us to decide, not those ignorant bystanders." His voice dropped lower still, laced with an irresistible allure.
A chill crawled up Hunter's spine as goosebumps erupted across his skin; he wanted to look away but found himself unable to tear his gaze from James’s shadowed face, as if drawn by some dark force. At that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if he had unwittingly stepped into an inescapable abyss.
Listening to James's whisper-like words stirred a strong sense of resistance within Hunter. Each sentence from this professor dripped with a strange temptation, like an unseen hand reaching out from some unknown darkness trying to pull him into the depths. Yet the notion of "creating history" was something he couldn't entirely dismiss. Conflicting emotions swirled within him—one part repulsion at James’s bizarre arrogance and another part yearning for something more.
He glanced down at his phone; the screen had dimmed long ago, casting a faint glow that reflected his bloated, oily face. The reflection revealed acne scars and uneven skin clearly visible; his double chin subtly emerged beneath the surface—a visage marked by fatigue and lethargy as if years of mundane existence had left their trace. Hunter knew he was just a night security guard with unfinished college studies and only a high school diploma—a job too simple and dull to even claim any particular interest or expertise. Most nights were spent sitting in this security room playing low-level mobile games while consuming instant noodles and soda, passing time through countless meaningless hours.
Suddenly overwhelmed by intense self-loathing, he felt as though a sharp blade was slicing through him repeatedly. He despised his ordinariness and ineptitude even more for willingly remaining trapped in such a comfortable quagmire from which he could never escape. Before him sat James—no matter how insane his words might be—at least they represented a call for change, a summons to break free from the status quo.
Hunter gripped his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white as he took a deep, trembling breath. His gaze darted back and forth between James and the screen, as if he were engaged in a fierce internal struggle. The emotion surged within him like molten iron, burning too hot for him to remain calm—he knew he was not the kind of person who could change the world, yet he suddenly yearned to be that person, to possess a life imbued with meaning beyond the mundane.
"I..." Hunter's throat was so dry that no sound emerged. He couldn't articulate where this desire came from, but the weariness of his current existence and the anger at his own impotence ignited a wave of impulse within him. He stared at the bloated face reflected on his phone, a surge of inexplicable guilt and rage rising in his heart—guilt for his mediocrity, anger at this inescapable fate.
"Is it...?" Hunter's voice dropped to a low murmur, heavy with suppressed emotion, as if he were lost in some indescribable contemplation. "Is it only those who can change history that can truly escape this damned life?" His voice was barely audible, almost a whisper to himself.
James's gaze flickered with a subtle smile; he sensed the nascent desire stirring within Hunter—a yearning for power, for liberation from the status quo. This sparked a newfound interest in James's eyes—an ambitious person, even from the lowest rung of existence, could become an incredibly intriguing piece on the chessboard once ignited.
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