ā€œ — Scanner!! Are you even listening!?ā€
Dark, barely lit underground ruins.
A room surrounded by walls covered with cryptical paintings. The eerie atmosphere made the air feel heavy.
The beacons lit in the four corners of the room were the only source of light.
It was a place aptly described as ā€œout of this worldā€.
ā€œā€¦shut up. You know I’m using ā€˜Heart Scan’ right now. Any noise will disrupt the memories.ā€
The words came from a man wearing sunglasses, who was holding his right palm over the painted wall. His curt reply was directed at a man wearing a dark green uniform.
ā€œYou say that every time, but how long is this going to take!? You aren’t making fools out of us, are you!?ā€
A month had already passed since they arrived at the ruins. The initial plan was to stay about one week, but maybe because of their lack of ability, or because of unexpected obstacles, their stay was extended longer and longer. They had brought only one week’s worth of supplies too, so they were forced to procure food and drink on site.
A situation that made the man in the uniform feel restless.
Concerned that they might attract outside interference.
ā€œā€¦ancient relics can’t be figured out so easily.ā€
No one knew how the man in sunglasses truly felt. But his words were brimming with cold anger.
ā€œā€¦one more week. We can’t wait any longer.ā€
The man in uniform stated his ultimatum and turned around to leave.
ā€œHow unusual.ā€
A voice echoed in the room.
ā€œā€¦what?ā€
ā€œHow unusual, I said. The all-powerful, all-encompassing empire…seems to have rather timid men among its ranks.ā€
The man in uniform looked back over his shoulder.
The man with sunglasses seemed to be waiting for that. He was about to talk again, when—
ā€œDon’t.ā€
The man in uniform stopped him.
ā€œYou were about to do your ā€˜Heart Scan’ on me, weren’t you.ā€
ā€œā€¦.maybe.ā€
ā€œTch.ā€
The man in uniform seemed to want to say something else, but only clicked his tongue and left.
ā€œPeople like that just don’t get itā€¦ā€
—what a pain.
After the man mumbled this to himself, all stiffness left his expression and he turned again towards the wall painting.
The man’s name was Cohen Socaccio.
Self-proclaimed archeologist, he was also a ā€œHeroā€ better known by the name of his ability, ā€œHeart Scanā€.
The man in uniform addressed him as ā€œScannerā€, a nickname born from the same ability.
ā€œAnger. Hate. Indignation. Resentment. Then — salvation and solitude.ā€
Cohen ā€œHeart Scanā€ Socaccio.
His ability was, literally, to scan or read hearts.
It could be used not only on living beings, however, but also on inanimate objects.
As soon as he placed a hand on the wall painting and performed ā€œHeart Scanā€, a deluge of dark, oppressing negative feelings penetrated his head. In that mass of dark emotions, however, were also scattered cries for help.
Those faint cries, however, were immediately crushed by hate.
Destroyed without a trace.
ā€œā€¦the world’s rebirth.ā€
Cohen understood that there was a limit to the words he could extract and removed his hand from the wall painting. He retreated a couple steps.
He looked at the somewhat familiar monsters painted on the walls and whispered to himself.
ā€œThose monsters are…the same, aren’t they.
Monster weapons that anyone close enough to the empire’s inner workings knew about.
Monsters like the ones painted on the wall, the result of human beings consuming certain substances. Cohen looked at the paintings and whispered in a flat tone.
Their bodies were being pierced by multiple sharp objects.
That was probably the source of the ā€œresentmentā€ he felt. The expressions of the painted monsters were twisted in pain.
ā€œIt looks like they painted the extermination of those monstersā€¦ā€
There was a single painting of a swordsman.
As if it was fighting alone against the monsters.
ā€œOne swordsman against those ā€˜things’…like a hero fighting against evil.ā€
Cohen then looked up at the ceiling.
The dimly lit room made it look like heavy, dark clouds covered the sky.
ā€œā€¦history repeats itself.ā€
Being an archaeologist, Cohen’s words held a particular weight. They felt real. He knew many instances of such repetitions.
ā€œThat is the nature of the world…its fate.ā€
If so…
ā€œIf we have given birth to those monsters, then we are on ā€˜the side of evil’…I suppose. Haha…hahaha.ā€
Cohen understood well how immoral those ā€œthingsā€ were. But it was too late. They couldn’t shift back to the original ā€œcourseā€ anymore.
There was no turning back anymore. The die had been cast.
ā€œā€¦these ruins are really exceptional.ā€
Cohen Socaccio was one of the greatest contributors to the rebirth of the mutated beings he called ā€œmonstersā€. Needless to say, his ability to read memories, feelings and thoughts was the cause.
The ruins he was trying to read were so filled with dark emotions that it was hard to extract anything.
Corrupting, bewitching energy.
The ruins were filled with such unnatural energy, especially rich in resentful energy. Thus Cohen said they were exceptional.
Just like the object of such hateful emotions was right there.
Other than such feelings, there was little to no information to find. Even with ā€œHeart Scanā€, to find one single piece of information from this mass was like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack.
ā€œThere is something, however. I can’t help but feeling like that, staying here.ā€
—There definitely was.
Cohen did not say it out loud, but he was positive.
ā€œI cannot turn my eyes away from this, or I can’t call myself an archaeologist anymore. Even if it will turn into a storm or a hurricaneā€¦ā€
Cohen was fully focused on the wall paintings.
ā€œHaha…hahaha…this is so fun…!ā€
Cohen’s shoulders shook as he laughed.
ā€œHistory is full of mysteries…it’s exciting like nothing else…!ā€
Cohen calmly reached for his sunglasses. Slowly but surely, he took them off.
Cohen’s right eye had lost all light already.
A single sword slash ran down through the middle of his eye.
It was a wound and also a memory.
A wound he suffered in certain ruins.
ā€œLet me know…let me hear. The sounds…the voices…of history…!ā€
Cohen spoke loudly.
His voice echoed throughout the room.
He pleaded to the mute walls and paintings.
ā€œWho is that swordsman!? Who exterminated the ā€˜monsters’!? What happened in the past!? Tell me!! Speak to me — !!!ā€
He didn’t stop.
Too many questions.
Overflowing curiosity.
ā€œHa..haha!! Hahahahaha!!!ā€
For a long while, the room was filled with eerie laughter.