Super Righteous Player
Chapter 432 - 429: The Heart of a Madman_1

Chapter 432: Chapter 429: The Heart of a Madman_1

Annan’s breathing became more and more difficult, with phlegm stuck in his throat.

He couldn’t fully open his eyes, and mustering all his strength allowed only a slight twitch of his eyelids.

Annan felt pain throughout his entire body... not in any one place, but under the skin, in the organs, and in the bones was an all-pervasive ache. Fortunately, his Curse Binding was still effective.

It diminished the pain by countless multiplicities—yet, even so diminished, Annan could distinctly feel it.

The role of his Curse Binding was simply to make Annan a bit calmer.

That was an unprecedented sense of weakness...

Far from asking questions or chatting, Annan didn’t even have the strength to scream. Each breath grew weaker, drawing closer to death.

...I see.

Is this the feeling of aging and succumbing to sickness?

Annan had a moment of clarity in his mind.

It wasn’t a matter of breathing out one final breath to end one’s life.

Rather, it was dying bit by bit. Like a flame gradually going out...

Suddenly, Annan saw something—

The most earnest middle-aged woman holding his hand... looking almost like "his" daughter. A bright light suddenly shone upon her.

Even without opening his eyes, Annan could see her form.

(...Is this finally going to end? It’s been tormenting me to death. The old man is about to breathe his last...)

With a slight warmth in Annan’s left eye, a very soft whisper arose in the depths of his heart.

...Is this the "Angel’s Left Eye"?

Annan was startled for a moment before he realized what was happening.

The next instant, the young woman who had been sobbing in the corner finally cried out loudly.

It was a wail that came from straining and holding back until she couldn’t anymore, bursting forth from her throat.

The man beside her sighed deeply, embraced her, and silently comforted her by gently patting her shoulder.

And at that moment, the young man also suddenly radiated light.

(...Really, it would be better for him to die quickly. Jenny has gone several days without sleep. If this continues, her body will definitely break down...)

As the girl named Jenny wept uncontrollably, a tangible sadness spread like a curse throughout the room.

Those who had not intended to cry found themselves choking up.

Unconscious tears spilled from their eyes, yet they did not even realize their own weeping. And those who wept did not necessarily feel only sadness in their hearts.

Even in the corners of Annan’s own eyes, moisture emerged against his will.

A middle-aged man suddenly stood up, his eyes downcast, sobbing, and with trembling hands, he took a handkerchief and wiped the corner of Annan’s eye.

"Teacher..."

He spoke in a choked voice, whispering softly.

That solemn demeanor seemed saturated with grief to anyone who saw it.

But in Annan’s eyes, the man was suddenly highlighted:

(...Good, I’ve finally found the opportunity to express my "filial piety." The teacher’s family has seen my sincerity; later, when I use the teacher’s name to sell paintings and make money, they, out of face, probably won’t expose me...)

Then one after another, people in the room gradually lit up in Annan’s vision.

Rustling, malicious whispers arose in Annan’s heart:

(...I probably won’t get a share of the teacher’s inheritance. I should take the paintings from the studio tomorrow...)

(...I wonder if Uncle’s inheritance can cover little Marin’s gambling debts. It’s obviously an incurable disease; why did they waste so much money trying to prolong his life, tormenting the old man...)

(...It’s really karma; you get what you deserve. If Grandpa hadn’t stopped me from marrying Justin back then, I wouldn’t be lacking money to find a Priest now...)

(...I’ve wasted over a month; he’s finally going to die. Now that’s good, my job is gone too...)

As Annan approached death, the grief of the people around him intensified.

But the malice igniting within them grew even denser.

Perhaps it couldn’t be called malice.

—Just an anticipation for Annan’s death.

The elderly painter who had lain long in his sickbed had already burned through the sadness of his family and students on the lengthy, death-adjacent journey.

The noise in Annan’s head gradually faded.

Everything around him suddenly became quiet, the pain in his body vanished, and he entered a state of complete tranquility.

...He remembered.

In the early stages of his illness, they had not been like this.

—Neither had he.

"Don’t waste any more money on my treatment, my illness is incurable..."

"Don’t talk like that! How could it be right to not spend money treating an elder when you have it?"

Like a film rewinding, Annan saw the scene from four months ago, when he first fell ill.

In people’s eyes, there was anxiety and urgency, and in their words and actions, there was fervent, tangible "love".

However, not long after that, this love completely burned out.

The trifles of life, the energy, heart, and financial resources spent beside the sickbed, gradually equaled and even surpassed the former "love".

Somewhere along the line, the hope that he would "ultimately pull through" slowly turned into a wish for a "sooner death".

Maybe ten percent, thirty percent, or fifty percent.

The love they expressed was still the same as in the past, yet in the eyes of the elderly, their true thoughts were completely transparent.

...To rekindle that love,

—the only way was to die.

To cleanse all the exhaustion, irritation, pain, and sorrow and turn it into remembrance,

—the only way was to die.

To be hated by people, to not be disliked by them, to not trouble others...

—the only way was to die.

...Is this what you wanted to show me, Denton?

Annan thought this as he watched his life play in reverse in the old studio.

It wasn’t just about dying in a nightmare.

It was to blur his understanding of "life" and "death".

It was to plant the thought "my living is a mistake" inside Annan, to make him think "people are looking forward to my death".

...Then what would Denton do?

Would he ignite this suicidal desire on the outside?

"—How boring."

Annan let out a deep sigh, "The last trap was more interesting."

In front of Annan, the nightmare suddenly shattered into pieces.

He reopened his eyes.

The brilliance in his eyes dimmed slightly, but was quickly overflowing again.

"Too weak, really too weak."

Annan sighed, "Why is this the coup de grâce? What kind of person do you take me for?

"This level of fear, it’s really too weak... I don’t have even an ounce of the thought ’I should die’."

"...Actually, really..."

The white-haired boy opposite Annan furrowed his brows in incomprehension, "Do you have no heart?

"When those who love you detest you, don’t you feel a shred of guilt? You don’t even want to let them give up on saving you..."

"—Of course. What does it matter to me if people detest me? I don’t live for them."

Annan sighed and shakily stood up.

The ruined walls beneath his feet suddenly shook.

Seven fear fragments assembled... the whole nightmare suddenly trembled.

The scattered pieces of buildings began to rotate and gather together, forming out of the void, filling the gaps in the broken walls.

The ship, once ruined and broken, became neat in the blink of an eye.

At last, Annan recognized it.

The full picture of the ship.

That was... the very first nightmare he had experienced.

The artificial nightmare crafted by Benjamin using John’s soul and all of Tan Juan Geraint’s Curse Bindings.

—That ship.

"Hey, don’t get it wrong, Denton."

Annan looked down at the white-haired boy still leaning against the wall and spoke very calmly, "I’m not a Saint, nor am I a god, or a king.

"What outsiders think is irrelevant to me. I can’t manage so much; the only thing I can manage is myself.

"Just like the spider web nightmare before— I told them to follow me. But did I look back and wait for them? Did I have any expectations for them? Did I command or direct them?

"Did I set a rule that they must keep up with me? Did I demand that they must not betray me? Did I say a single word when they hesitated?"

Annan laughed heartily, "Stop joking, Denton!

"There’s only one abnormal madman here, and that’s me; they can do what they like. My sacrifice was not because I wanted to respond to their requests, but because I wanted to achieve this goal, so I did not require compensation; thus, when I’m detested and unneeded, I won’t respond to them either.

"They enjoy playing this game called ’life’, so I play along with them. But when I don’t want to lead, nobody forces me to help them; if they don’t like it, they can return to their own lives. After all...

"Their expectations have never been my concern."