“What are you talking about now? If we’d made a different choice, where would that guy have gone?”

“......”

“Where?”

“Reinstatement alone wasn’t enough to reset two lives.”

“Then what else did he put on the line?”

Was he getting exiled or something?

“......”

At Camilla’s question, Havel clamped his mouth shut again. Like he had no intention of saying any more about it, he even turned his gaze away.

Again. Again.

Seriously—Dorman and this guy both never say anything properly. And I’m not even that curious!

“So reinstatement for that man is completely off the table?”

“Yeah.”

“So that means he keeps living like that?”

Seeing Havel gloomily chewing on nothing but his straw, Camilla’s eyes drifted to Dorman.

Watching him deal with customers with that nonstop beaming smile, a quiet laugh slipped out before she could stop it.

The reaper in front of her looked like he was about to die of frustration, but...

Well. It’s not bad.

What would it have been like if he’d gotten reinstated and left? It didn’t feel like it would’ve been purely refreshing. How was she supposed to explain this irritating feeling?

Did I really get attached in the middle of all that?

It wasn’t like she hated that he was staying by her side, like that.

“Anyway, what happened to that bastard?”

“That bastard?”

“John Carter.”

The leader of Eva Faith, dragged off by reapers. She still hadn’t properly heard what happened to his soul.

“Floor 999. Sent to the bottom floor.”

“The bottom floor?”

No, no—wait. 999 floors?

“How can there be that many floors?”

“What do you mean, ‘that many.’ We’re short on holding space, so we’re planning an expansion soon... I can’t believe I’m saying this. Anyway, the bottom-floor administrator was thrilled. Said he was the first human in eight hundred years.”

“What kind of place is it?”

“That place is......”

“...?”

Was it my imagination? Havel already looked unusually ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) bloodless, but now his face seemed even paler.

Huh?

Did you just shiver?

“That place... that place... that place...!”

“...Got it. Sorry. I asked something I shouldn’t have.”

Seeing Havel unable to continue, Camilla hurriedly changed the subject. He didn’t have to answer—let’s stop.

“So he’s staying locked up there?”

That was what she was most curious about.

“Even among those sent to hell, if there’s a chance of rehabilitation, sometimes they’re allowed to reincarnate.”

“What? Then maybe him too?”

“But not the bottom floor. There, he’ll spend his entire existence in pain—his soul torn apart and bursting open over and over.”

“Really?”

So there truly was no chance he’d ever come back into the world.

“You can trust that.”

“That’s a relief.”

Honestly, his soul was so unusual that even after the reapers dragged him away, she’d been uneasy.

She kept thinking he might escape and show himself again.

“He did keep babbling nonsense.”

“What kind of nonsense?”

Why, why! Why won’t you answer me! Give me strength again like before! Please! Don’t abandon me!

“...What the hell? He really said that?”

“He did it the entire time he was being dragged away.”

“Wow.”

What—does an Eva god actually exist? Was he receiving some kind of revelation?

“That kind of god doesn’t exist.”

As if he’d read Camilla’s thoughts, Havel shook his head, firm.

“Then who the hell is he looking for?”

“No idea.”

“Ugh.”

Creepy. Creepy. Creepy.

Why did that bastard keep getting under people’s skin even after he died and got dragged off? Really—some people were just built different.

“So what was that man originally, anyway?”

“John Carter?”

“Yeah.”

John Carter. Back then, when his soul had come out of Bell’s body, it had been pathetically unimpressive.

A scrawny body. A height far smaller than an average adult man.

He looked so puny and ordinary, it was hard to believe he was the one who’d toyed with countless lives for so long.

“He didn’t look like a noble, either.”

Ghosts kept the clothes they’d died in. It had only been for a moment, but John Carter’s outfit back then couldn’t be called high-class in any way.

If anything, it was worse than an ordinary commoner’s.

His clothes were worn past old—hanging in tatters.

Of course, you couldn’t figure out everything about someone just from their clothes. Still, there was a certain atmosphere people had.

Skin deeply tanned by the sun, for instance. Rough hands that had never been cared for.

“He was a herbalist.”

“A herbalist?”

“He was originally fated to die while gathering herbs—falling off a cliff.”

“And then?”

“His body was found far earlier than his original fate. But his soul had already run.”

Cases where someone lived longer than their allotted life—or died earlier—were very rare, but not impossible.

So the reapers assumed that soul was just one of those cases and didn’t pay special attention.

There weren’t only one or two souls wandering after death. They figured it would be found soon enough, and only put a name down as missing in the register.

“But that man...”

One of the souls the reapers ignored moved from body to body, grew the operation bigger and bigger, and eventually rose all the way to become the leader of a cult called Eva Faith.

If they’d known it would blow up this far, they never would’ve done that.

“How did someone that ordinary get that kind of power?”

“I don’t know the details, either.”

It seemed there were limits to what an ordinary reaper was allowed to know. Even Havel didn’t know any more.

And really—what was the point of learning more? He was already locked in hell.

“Take this.”

“Hm?”

A moment later, Havel set something on the table. Camilla’s face turned strange as soon as she saw it.

Because what he’d handed her was so unexpected.

“A flowerpot?”

And not even one full of blossoms—just a single plant, with one bud that hadn’t bloomed yet.

“A token of thanks for last time.”

“A token of thanks?”

It was probably thanks for taking care of John Carter—someone the reapers had failed to find for a long time.

Camilla lifted the pot, examining it with fresh eyes.

This was really unexpected. That emotionally messed-up Havel, giving someone flowers.

“What kind of flower is it?”

The bud was still closed, so she couldn’t tell at all.

She wasn’t normally interested in flowers, so she had no idea from the leaves either.

“The flower of death.”

“...The what?”

“The flower of death.”

Thud.

“Hey. Why’d you drop it? Be careful.”

“...What flower did you say?”

“How many times are you going to ask. The flower of death.”

“......”

Did people in this world not understand what a thank-you gift was supposed to mean?

Before, the head of House Hersel had thanked her for finding the divine beast and handed her seeds taken from their own body—someone who’d been poisoned to death. And now this guy?

The flower of death?

Even the name sounded ominous as hell!

“A flower that only grows in the gods’ garden.”

“So what? The moment it blooms, someone dies?”

Is it me? Is it me, you bastard?

“The opposite.”

“The opposite?”

“It prevents death.”

“What are you talking about now?”

If you keep the flower, you don’t die?

“When the bud blooms, a small fruit will drop from inside it. If you eat that fruit, you won’t be erased.”

“Whoa.”

Camilla carefully picked the pot back up—she’d practically slammed it down a second ago.

“You should’ve started with that explanation. So....”

If you ate the fruit that came from this flower, you gained immortality? This was the real “eternal life” item.

“However, humans can’t use it.”

“What?”

Camilla’s eyes had been shining, but her brow creased.

Humans couldn’t use it? What kind of nonsense was that?

“You’re saying people can’t eat it?”

“Yeah.”

“If someone does, what happens?”

Wouldn’t their lifespan increase even a little?

“They just eat a bitter fruit.”

“......”

You’re messing with me, right? Huh?

“Then what is this?”

So I can’t even use it! Why are you giving me this crap?

“You’ve got a lot of strange things around you. I thought you might need it.”

“I don’t have a lot of strange beings arou—”

[Ah. So this is the flower of death I’ve only heard about in rumors.]

A small white dragon that had been looking around the café—Aisla, the Spirit King of Winter—fluttered over and lightly settled on Camilla’s shoulder.

...Right. One of the strange beings stuck to me was nearby.

[Even spirits want it badly.]

“Spirits? Why?”

[Spirits don’t live forever, either. We exist far longer than humans, but we still meet an end someday.]

“Ah.”

[But this flower that blooms in the gods’ garden isn’t something just anyone can easily obtain. It’s an item that can throw the world’s natural order out of balance.]

Aisla looked at Havel with a surprised expression. He seemed amazed that a mere reaper had managed to obtain this flower.