Type-Moon: Star Redemption of Arthur Pendragon

Chapter 6 The Wisdom of the Abyss

Arthur was awakened by a chill.

It wasn't just ordinary cold; it was a chill that seeped from the depths of your bones, like being watched by something.

He suddenly opened his eyes, his hand already gripping the sword in the stone beside his pillow.

There was nothing in the room.

Only the eternal deep purple sky shone through the window, casting a grayish-white light.

There is no sunrise, no sunset, no change in light and shadow.

The Land of Shadows has neither sun nor stars.

The "light" here emanates from the barrier itself, like a glimmer of light leaking from a crack in the world.

Arthur sat up. The wound on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, but it still ached slightly.

He didn't know what time it was.

Here, the concept of time becomes blurred.

There was no alternation of day and night, no crowing of roosters or barking of dogs, and even my own biological clock seemed to have been disturbed by something, becoming unreliable.

All he knew was that he fell asleep and then woke up.

As for how long he slept… an hour? Two hours? Or a whole day? He had no idea.

Arthur put on his armor and walked out of the room. The runes on both sides of the corridor were still emitting a faint red light, just like yesterday.

It neither brightened nor darkened.

The entire Land of Shadows seemed frozen in an eternal twilight.

He walked down the corridor to the training room, where Scáthach was already waiting.

She stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, with a scarlet spear at her feet.

She changed her clothes.

He was still wearing a black, tight-fitting combat suit, but now he wore a dark purple cape, with a silver brooch engraved with runes pinned to his collar.

"You're awake," Scáthach said, her wine-red eyes sweeping over him. "Earlier than I expected."

Arthur walked into the room: "What time is it now?"

"There is no time in the Land of Shadows," Scáthach said calmly. "If you're asking how much time has passed since you fell asleep... about six hours."

How did you know?

Scáthach raised her left hand, and a rune appeared in her palm, emitting a pale golden light.

The light pulsed at a steady frequency, like a miniature pendulum.

"The wisdom of the abyss," Scáthach said. "The correct measurement of time is possible."

She put away the rune, and a hint of emotion that Arthur couldn't decipher flashed in her wine-red eyes.

"But most of the time, I don't bother to calculate it."

Why?

Scáthach did not answer immediately. She turned around and walked to the other side of the training room, with her back to Arthur.

"Because it's pointless to even think about it." Her voice was very soft.

"There is no spring here, nor autumn. Time here... is just a number, and numbers are the cruelest thing."

Arthur was silent for a moment, then he thought of Mary.

That fairy who has lived for over a thousand years.

"I understand," Arthur said.

Scáthach turned around, her wine-red eyes sharpening once more.

"You don't need to understand, you need to train." She raised her hand, and the scarlet spear flew from the ground into her palm:

"In yesterday's first lesson, you learned how to 'see through the trajectory.' Today, we'll learn the second lesson."

She walked to the center of the training room, holding her spear horizontally in front of her.

Lesson Two: The Nature of Loneliness

Arthur frowned slightly.

"What do you think 'loneliness' is?" Scáthach asked. "Is it being alone? Having no friends? Having no lover?"

Arthur thought for a moment: "Is it... a lack of understanding?"

"That's 'loneliness,' not 'solitude.'" Scáthach shook her head.

"Loneliness is... when you stand at the highest point, everyone around you will leave you, not because they want to leave, but because... you are too strong."

Her voice was so calm, as if she were telling someone else's story.

The stronger you are, the fewer people will stand by your side.

The stronger you are, the fewer people will understand you.

The stronger you are, the closer you get to the realm of the "inhuman".

In the end, you'll find that you're neither human nor god... you're nothing at all, just 'loneliness' itself.

Arthur looked at her, and in his wine-red eyes he saw something similar to Mary.

That kind of loneliness, eroded by the long years, that seeps into the very marrow of one's bones.

But unlike Meryl, Scáthach's loneliness contained something else.

It is gentleness.

A stubborn tenderness that says, "Even in solitude, I will protect the younger generation."

“You’re not talking about ‘loneliness,’” Arthur said. “You’re talking about yourself.”

Scáthach's lips twitched slightly, not in a smile, nor in anger, but in a... helpless expression of having been seen through.

"Maybe," she said.

"But this lesson isn't about me, it's about you."

You need to understand that becoming a king means embarking on a path that is "increasingly lonely".

You will have fewer and fewer people around you because you are a 'king,' not a 'friend.'

She raised her spear, the tip pointing at Arthur.

"If you can't accept this, you'll never become a true king. Go back to being a minor lord, marry, have children, and live an ordinary life."

Arthur did not answer.

He drew the sword from the stone, its tip gleaming coldly in his emerald green eyes.

"I don't accept it."

Scáthach raised an eyebrow.

"You said, 'The king is becoming increasingly lonely,'" Arthur said.

"Maybe so, but I don't accept that 'loneliness is inevitable'."

I will find a way to keep those around me, not as 'subjects,' but as 'companions.'

"Naive," Scáthach said, but there was no sarcasm in her tone.

"Perhaps," Arthur said, raising his sword. "But I'd rather try naively than be soberly alone."

Scáthach stared at him for a few seconds.

Then, she made her move.

This time, Arthur saw her movements clearly—not all of them, but a little more than yesterday.

He dodged to the side, simultaneously swinging his sword to parry. The sword and spear clashed, producing a piercing metallic clang.

Arthur took three steps back, his hand going numb.

"That's progress." Scáthach sheathed her gun and nodded. "But it's not enough. Let's try again."

The training lasted for an unknown period of time.

Without the sun to mark the passage of time, Arthur could only rely on his own physical sensations to judge it.

Muscle soreness, sweat pouring down, wounds healing and tearing open.

He didn't know how long he had been training, he only knew that every time he was knocked down, he would get up, and every time he got up, he would persevere for a little while longer.

Scáthach used runes to carve marks on the walls of the training room.

It wasn't for her to see, but for Arthur.

Each mark represents a "training cycle," and each cycle is approximately two hours in the real world.

When there were four marks on the wall, Scáthach put away her gun.

"rest."

Arthur knelt on the ground, panting heavily. There were several new dents in his armor and several bloody marks on his arms.

The sword in the stone was stuck in the ground in front of him, and the sapphire on the blade shimmered slightly in the grayish-white light.

"Your performance today," Scáthach stood before him, looking down at him, "was better than yesterday, but not good enough."

Arthur looked up, his emerald green eyes filled with sweat, but his gaze remained clear.

"To be continued tomorrow."

Scáthach gave a soft hum and turned to walk towards the door.

"The food is in the same place. Eat and sleep. Tomorrow... no, the 'next cycle' continues."

She walked to the door and stopped.

"Arthur".

"Um?"

"You said you 'don't accept loneliness.'" Scáthach didn't turn around, her voice soft: "Then go find a way, and don't die here before you do."

After saying that, she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

Arthur, supporting himself with his sword, stood up and limped back to his room. He ate bread, drank water, and then lay down on the bed.

There are no windows in the walls that allow you to see the sky outside.

Even if there were, you wouldn't be able to see the sunrise or sunset.

He could only rely on Scáthach's runes to judge the time, but she had said that most of the time she didn't calculate the time.

"Because it's pointless to even think about it."

Arthur closed his eyes, replaying the day's training in his mind.

Scáthach's every shot seemed precisely calculated; it wouldn't actually kill him, but it would be enough to make him remember the lesson in pain.

"She could have kept track of the time," Arthur thought, "but she chose not to, because...keeping track of the time would only remind her how much time had passed and how many people had left."

He suddenly realized that Scáthach and Merry were very similar.

They are all people who have lived too long, and they all use different ways to cover up their loneliness.

Merry is cunning and sharp-tongued, while Scáthach is cold and stern.

But their loneliness is the same.

Arthur rolled over and looked at the ceiling.

"I will find a way," he told himself. "Not for myself, but for...them."

Then, he fell into a deep sleep.

At the highest point of the castle in the Land of Shadows, Scáthach stood on the terrace, her wine-red eyes gazing into the endless darkness.

She raised her left hand, and the rune reappeared in her palm, its pale golden light pulsating steadily, second by second, and second by second.

She stared at the rune for a long time.

Then, she clenched her fist and crushed the light.

"Never mind," she said softly, a self-deprecating smile playing on her lips. "There's no point in forgetting."

She turned and walked back to the castle.

Tomorrow… no, “the next cycle”, that blond boy will still be standing in the training room, sword in hand, looking at her with those emerald green eyes.

There was no loneliness in those eyes, only a kind of hope that pierced her eye.

"Hope," Scáthach repeated the word, a complex light flashing in her wine-red eyes.

She hadn't seen anything like this in a long time.

She was unsure whether she should welcome it.