The Sword Emperor walked across the Garden of Withered Flowers under the speckled sunset, where the dead slept like flowers.
—You’ve done a good job with this place. Well done.
Instead of retorting, “What nonsense are you trying to spout with this build-up now?” I offered a normal answer.
—Thank you.
Rather than asking, “Why are you answering so readily? Have you eaten something bad?” the Sword Emperor continued complimenting me.
—I like how even the soil is dead. On the day I awoke my reinforced aura, I put one grain of soil in my palm to study it. After focusing my aura in my eyes and ears, I studied it and saw that the grain seems calm, though it is, in fact, chaotic. Within that tiny grain, countless things were jostling and squabbling!
The Sword Emperor bent down and stroked the decayed earth with his fingertips. His touch merely brushed the surface, yet a sudden gust of wind scattered the soil, creating the illusion that his hand was caressing the ground itself.
—What I saw and heard that day surpassed everything I had seen and heard until then. But the soil here is so quiet. That stillness is surely what the flowers here need. I’m impressed that you made this place even before you felt that true quietness, Gong-Ja.
He straightened his back and turned to look at me. I didn’t retort this time either, only nodded.
—Thank you.
—You’re welcome.
We walked in silence for a while longer. The place we were now walking through was called the summer zone. In this place, where the air was warm, Estelle clasped her hands and prepared to summon rain.
—This is also good.
—Yes.
As we passed Estelle, who had begun to cry, the Sword Emperor spoke again.
—Gong-Ja.
—Yes.
—Do you remember when I said that if you couldn’t reach the ninety-ninth floor, Gramps Marcus would do that in your place someday?
Of course I remembered that.
—Do you also recall what I added then?
Yes, I did.
—You said calling it “on my behalf” is odd because Gramps Marcus isn’t a replacement.
The Sword Emperor nodded.
—Still, I also added that I believe you’ll still know what I meant.
That was true.
—So, what do you think I meant by that?
My answer came easily.
—I’ve been thinking about the question many times already. Maybe you were cheering for me, telling me to keep going because you believed in me that much. Or maybe it was your way to show that you care by saying that the Sword Star would do better than me, so I could rest if things got too hard. But I think it was neither.
I walked with the Sword Emperor, keeping my eyes on him. My steps were as natural as the words that left my mouth.
—Because I also recall what you said after. “I’ll be honest. It’s okay if you fail. Trust is about believing that both you and the other person will do their best. You determine what your best is, not the other person. Therefore, a trusting relationship is one in which each person decides what is best for themselves and accepts the other person’s decision. That’s all there is to it.” The important part isn’t that failure is acceptable. What’s important is that, immediately after telling me you believed in me, you explained what trust means. You probably meant that either result is fine. I could overcome this test or fail it, becoming a prisoner of the eternal desert. Gramps Sword Star could bear my load and climb to the ninety-ninth floor. Still, even if he died and started his one-way journey to the underworld, you really don’t mind how it turns out. That’s why you said it like that.
The Sword Emperor kept walking. Like in the Truth Heaven Realm, he picked up the pace. Unlike that time, when I had to run to keep up with him, I could now walk beside him normally.
—It’s not because you don’t trust me or the Sword Star. You do trust me.
He trusted me as much as a certain senior gentleman who had left everything behind to go to the Tower.
—You trust Mr. Sword Star.
He also trusted a young jobless man who fled to the Tower and lived alone in the first-floor alleyways.
—You trust the Gray Spider.
As much as he trusted us, he also trusted the resistance fighters under the Magic Tower’s oppression.
—You trust the Assistant Writer.
Surprisingly, he would also trust a child like Charumu, the petty tyrant who hurt the Magic Tower’s resistance fighters and spoke out against the Magic Tower to feed on his own lust for power.
—You say you’re skilled, and you also act so arrogantly that I sometimes want to hit you. But your arrogance is different from the Fire Emperor’s.
It wasn’t that the Sword Emperor was skilled and the Fire Emperor wasn’t. Before my regression, the Fire Emperor had been undeniably skilled. The Sword Emperor, the Fire Emperor, and even I could do and actually did what we said we would do. In that regard, we were the same, but there was a key difference between us.
—The Fire Emperor believed that only he was special. “Only I can do it.” “Only I am special.” “No one else could ever do it like me, not even if they died and were reborn.” This made the Fire Emperor who he was. But you, Mr. Sword Emperor. If I had to say, you believe you are special, too.
That also meant…
—You could be special. There’s no reason others couldn’t do what you did.
Therefore, that was why he had told me those things back then.