Chapter 524: Chapter 37: Regret Follows Like a Shadow
It must be said, Palmer is truly inexplicable—even his love story is more outrageous than any ordinary person’s.
Palmer downed several bottles of alcohol in a row, trying to climb out of the abyss of these awful memories, muttering non-stop, "From the outcome, it seems good, but I always feel something isn’t right..."
Bologue comforted, "Well, with your brain, it’s better not to think about these things."
"No, no, no, I’m still a bit angry; this is a major life event for me, after all, and they just dealt with it so carelessly?"
Palmer always felt something was wrong with his life, like the coming-of-age ceremony back then, those evil, crazy stories got instilled in him so easily, and then came this engagement...
It seems every incredibly important event in his life ultimately ended in a casual manner.
"Since then, I’ve been in a cold war with Vasilina for a while. I think I still like her, but not as much as before. My old man doesn’t communicate with me, I can understand, but she actually doesn’t say anything about this to me... It really makes me angry."
Bologue asked, "What happened later?"
It was clear that Palmer and Vasilina reconciled over something, and Bologue vaguely guessed why.
"Later? Then came the event that changed my fate. The Church and I were attacked by the Order of the Fiery Blight, and in a pinch, I became a Debtor."
Palmer often mentioned his experiences back then, mostly to brag, but this time was different; he rarely talked about his psychological activities during that time.
"You all are Undead, perhaps you can’t comprehend these.
I was scared to death back then, enemies everywhere, the cold glint of swords flashing, bullets flying non-stop—I suddenly realized that the death I often joked about was close by.
I was going to die, die in this damned place, quietly becoming a corpse."
Palmer paused for a moment, his cheeks slightly flushed, looking tipsy; besides Serey, Palmer was somewhat a drunkard.
"It’s just... in stories, they say when people are about to die, they reflect on their life’s story, but my mind was empty."
Palmer’s voice became unexpectedly serious.
"If there’s anything to say, it’s Vasilina.
I distinctly remembered her appearance, her voice, her scent, everything about her... She seemed to stand vividly in front of me, smiling at me just as always.
I felt sorry—I shouldn’t have been in a cold war with her; if I had known, I would have definitely talked to her before I left. What we talked about didn’t matter; I just wanted to make sure she was there.
Then I started feeling relieved. Thinking carefully, I was going to die, yet there was nothing to regret.
I started to understand Vasilina’s actions; if she hadn’t kissed me forcefully, the emotions would have faded away with death; if it wasn’t for that damned engagement party, Vasilina wouldn’t have become my fiancée...
It’s as if she anticipated everything, filling all my regrets."
Palmer looked incredulous and surprised.
"I realized I could die satisfied, and there’s nothing better than this."
Bologue nodded gently, earnestly listening to Palmer’s incredible love story, while Wei’Er leaned to one side, occasionally licking her fur. Serey also collected her laughter; as she listened to Palmer’s story, it seemed Serey recalled something too, her ruby-like eyes flickering with countless thoughts.
"I think I can follow the Death God’s will now, but I also feel angry, very angry; I still couldn’t get past the engagement."
As Palmer spoke, he cursed, "It’s like I was being married off! What am I supposed to wear at that wedding, a wedding dress?"
Bologue agreed, "If you want, I think it’s not bad."
Imagine Palmer wearing a wedding dress on stage... this quite matches Palmer’s style.
"I don’t know what I was thinking back then... just feeling it shouldn’t be like this; she kissed me forcibly, I lost that round, so the proposal should be up to me. I need to win back!
As the heir of the Clarks, how could I be married off by another woman? I must survive; I need to see Vasilina, propose to her personally, instead of letting her sneakily go find my old man!
These things should be raised by me, right!"
"Very reasonable yet very strange motivation." Bologue began clapping.
Palmer said aggressively, "You all know the story after that. I seized the ceremony, negotiated with the Devil, and became the Debtor.
I survived to propose to Vasilina personally."
Bologue asked again, "And then? Did you propose to Vasilina?"
Palmer fell silent; the result was obvious.
"Well... how to say?" Palmer surprisingly appeared shy, "I just haven’t had time to go back."
Bologue felt he listened to the story in vain, angrily slapped the table, "You and Church are not much different!"
"Not really, it’s just..."
Palmer hesitated, didn’t continue, and instead turned the topic back to Church.
"I think... no matter what, there should be a result, not left indefinite. Church can’t keep living under masks; he isn’t some ghost living among numerous masks but a living person."
Palmer’s words made Bologue reminisce about the past, and he remembered knowing someone who lived behind a mask like that.
"I agree."
Serey suddenly spoke, "When regrets appear, that feeling of remorse, I think is the worst punishment."
The bright red gaze fell on Palmer, their eyes met, and suddenly Palmer felt like he was getting to know Serey all over again.
The deranged aura around Serey was completely gone, pale skin devoid of blood, and in the ruby-like eyes swirled a thousand sorrows. In a trance, Serey seemed to revert back to the ancient and mysterious Night Race Lord, waiting on the throne in the deep, dark castle for the dawn that would never come.
"Fortunately, mortals have a day to die, and regrets will fade away under the Devil’s scythe. But the Undead are different; regrets accompany us until the end of time."
Serey fell silent after speaking, his gaze lowered to the wine glass, pondering matters unknown to anyone.
Bologue did not disturb Serey. This Night Race Lord had passed countless years. Even now as he plays with the mortals, indifferent to everything, Bologue believed that Serey’s heart had been passionate once.
In his mind’s eye, he couldn’t help but recall Serey’s thick-as-a-brick photo album, which documented all his wives... Over such a long life, there were bound to be regrets.
Then came thoughts about himself, about Bologue Lazarus’s own regrets.
Bologue reminisced about those beautiful moments, deciding he would use his remaining life to make amends.
"Ah..."
Palmer raised his head, pondering, "I’ll find some time to apologize to Church. But after that, I’ll definitely drag him to see Afeiya."
Bologue said, "You really care about Church, don’t you?"
"He’s my partner, my good brother who has been through life and death with me!"
Palmer gave a thumbs up and then seemed to remember something which caused him to become deep in thought, sighing heavily towards Bologue.
Bologue wore a look of bewilderment, as Palmer had been doing this often lately, frequently sighing at him as if he was quite disappointing.
"The ascension ceremony is over. I’ll go take leave from Lebius tomorrow, and then we can head to the Wind Source Highlands."
A smile spread across Palmer’s face. He was about to ask Serey if he wanted to join, but seeing Serey’s somber demeanor, he swallowed the words.
Serey looked somewhat terrible; everyone could see it, and at times like this, it’s best not to tease this Undead.
"Oh, right, there’s one more thing, Bologue."
Palmer suddenly remembered something, vigorously slapped Bologue’s shoulder to get him to listen.
"Aimou didn’t come today, but she asked me to deliver a message to you."
Palmer almost forgot about it.
"She wants to meet you tomorrow at the Sublimation Furnace Core."
...
Watching Bologue and Palmer leave, Serey looked somewhat weary. This time had to do with neither alcohol nor merriment, but a tiredness that came from the heart.
"Youth is good, isn’t it? Always brimming with boundless energy whenever, wherever."
Wei’Er jumped in front of Serey, her cat-like eyes reflecting Serey’s disheveled appearance.
"Indeed, it’s beautiful but also foolish," Serey murmured.
"This sounds like something a lousy old father would say."
"Actually every elder would say something like this, wouldn’t they?" Serey pretended to be deep in thought, "You’re still young. When you grow older, you’ll find these problems aren’t problems anymore."
"They often use such words to justify regrets from youth, but we all know, when we grow up, we haven’t reconciled with our past selves, but have just become numb instead."
Serey touched his chest, "The scars left behind remain there, not healed, just less painful."
"I’m going, going to sleep."
Serey finished speaking, swiftly left, giving Wei’Er no chance to say anything.
Walking up the stairs, Serey hurriedly went, as if fleeing from something, anxiously retreating to his room.
But that abhorrent thing didn’t leave; not even a door could stop its advance, because it was hidden in Serey’s memory, and as the years grew, it grew from a seed to a towering tree, becoming ever more terrifying, rampaging within his body, someday trying to burst through Serey’s body.
Serey lay on the bed, curling himself into a ball with the quilt. Ancient portraits, brand-new photos, colorful group pictures... They were hung on the wall, with numerous faces and many gazes scrutinizing Serey.
Full of love, sympathy, anger, pity...
Serey turned his head away, not daring to look, muttering to himself.
"I’m not ready yet... I’m not ready yet..."