NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 59: Strange thought

Ravien stood still, silently watching the formless, dark opening in front of him.

He just stood there, tracking every subtle movement of that grotesque thing with quiet intensity.

---

(POV: Ravien)

I didn’t create this thing.

But... it’s connected to my capacity somehow. I can feel it deep inside—this being was born from a piece of me I unconsciously used.

I wasn’t aware of it. But still... it came from something that belongs to me.

What the hell is this?

I could partially make out the voices rising from within the mouth.

Broken. Inconsistent.

But the message was clear:

"Create us."

My gaze locked onto the still-open, shapeless gap.

Without changing my stance, I raised my voice slightly:

"Who are you? Why do you want me to create?"

No answer.

The mouth suddenly trembled.

Its edges began to pull inward.

I watched, unmoving. That distorted hole, along with its eyes, slowly faded.

And then—it vanished completely, as if it had never been there.

No trace of capacity remained.

I let out a deep, slow breath.

"Strange things are starting to happen. First the dreams, now... this mouth."

I ran my hand through my hair and leaned my head back.

There was a stirring inside me.

But it wasn’t unpleasant.

Quite the opposite... it was thrilling.

Could it be?

Could things finally be getting interesting?

Since I arrived here, I’d been drowning in papers, theories, creatures, and calculations.

Trapped in monotony.

Maybe...

Maybe something fun was finally starting to happen.

Ravien paused before finishing his thoughts.

His gaze froze, locked on the empty air ahead.

For a brief moment, his eyes looked like they’d caught a spark—then he murmured in a low voice:

"Wait... before that... I realized something important."

He turned his head slightly to the side, absentmindedly tapping his fingertips on the sides of the chair.

It was rhythmic, but unconscious.

"The mouth," he said, almost like talking to himself. "It appeared right when I was thinking about how to increase my capacity reserves. And what it said was... ’Create.’"

Beams of colored light filtered through the window, washing over the space around him in a pale glow.

"Maybe my ability is trying to send me a message," he whispered. "But... is it also something alive? Is it self-aware enough to deliver a message?"

He shrugged, but a flicker of curiosity sparked in his eyes.

"Why not?" he continued. "Maybe... it lives somewhere inside me. Strange, but not impossible. That automatic rewind sensation—maybe it was its doing."

A laugh slipped through his lips. It wasn’t cheerful—low and sarcastic instead.

"Ahahah... I’m pulling all these theories from a few scattered details..."

He shook his head slightly. "Still... it’s not entirely illogical."

He slowly leaned back into his chair again, casually swinging his legs up onto the table.

The surface gave a soft knock as the weight shifted, a nearby ink bottle wobbled but didn’t fall.

Running a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath.

Something had shifted—he couldn’t name it, but he felt it at the tip of his nose.

The air was the same, but his thoughts were no longer what they were.

"To be honest," he said, eyes drifting along the ceiling, "I wasn’t planning to create any new entities. But the villagers won’t recover for another week. Until then... I could produce something more useful than them."

He brought his fingertips together, gently tapping them.

His eyelids had lowered halfway—he looked half-relaxed, half-deep in calculation.

"If it’s true... I mean, if my capacity increases with creation... then maybe things developed this way for me because of that. I’ve always created.

And the ability simply evolved in that direction. That would explain why my reserve expanded."

He slouched a little in his seat, posture growing more indifferent—but the shadow behind his eyes betrayed the weight of his thoughts.

A shaft of light from the table’s edge struck across Ravien’s face.

His smile slowly took shape.

Not entirely warm, not purely arrogant—there was something disturbingly deliberate about it.

And Ravien didn’t notice.

Something inside him was shifting—slowly, silently, from deep within.

A change had begun. Unseen, irreversible.

Even if he didn’t realize it, his mind had already started operating on a different rhythm.

Maybe it had begun long ago—and only now were the results beginning to show.

Ravien was changing. Gradually, unknowingly.

Ravien was lost in the silence of the room.

---

Elsewhere—

Jiho walked along the village path, casting brief glances around.

The people were still weak, traces of exhaustion lingering on their faces.

But at least, they were still standing.

Those who met his eyes bowed their heads quietly, offering a silent greeting before quickly looking away.

At the edge of the road, an elderly man crouched near a small fire, tossing in a few dry twigs.

His clothes were worn, and his hands were marked with the cracks and scars of age.

Noticing Jiho’s approach, the old man slowly stood, placing a respectful hand over his chest.

"mister Jiho... Welcome," the old man said, his voice cautious but respectful.

"Are you headed somewhere?"

Jiho gave a brief glance in return and nodded slightly.

"I’ve come to pick up Nornara," he said in a plain tone.

The old man’s eyes softened with a faint glimmer of understanding.

He gestured toward an old shack on the left side of the path.

"That’s her home," he said. "I won’t keep you any longer, sir."

Then he quietly stepped back and turned his attention to the fire once more.

Jiho gave a small nod and continued walking.

He stopped in front of the hut and knocked on the door twice.

There was a brief silence from within.

Then the door cracked open.

A man in his forties peeked out—pale-faced, patchy stubble along his chin.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw Jiho, and he froze with a flicker of surprise.

"master Jiho... It’s you?" he asked, his voice hoarse, surprised, and a little uneasy.

Jiho got straight to the point.

"The young master wishes to see your daughter again. I’ve come to take her."

The man hesitated for a moment.

His expression tensed, then he gave a slight nod.

He opened the door wider and turned inward.

"Alright... I’ll let her know," he said.

---

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

Nornara stepped out.

She was around 160 centimeters tall, with messy blonde hair and a faded dress.

Her eyes still looked tired, but there was no fear on her face.

Looking at Jiho, she asked:

"We’re going back to the castle again?"

Jiho smiled faintly.

"Yes," he said. "This time, the young master is waiting in his room."

Then he turned to the man standing near the door.

"If you’d like, you can come as well. The young master might want to speak with you too."

The man paused.

A brief hesitation crossed his face, but he didn’t answer—he just nodded silently.

Jiho turned and began walking, his steps calm and steady.

The man approached Nornara, placing a hand on her head and gently tousling her hair.

Then he rested his hand on her shoulder, pulling her in close.

"You alright?" he asked, lightly patting her back.

Nornara nodded.

"Yes, Father," she said, lowering her eyes with a faint smile.

The man gave a confirming nod.

Then, the two of them started walking behind Jiho—quietly, together.