NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 85: Another Quiet Day Alright, what’s next?

After reviewing his plans one last time, Ravien descended to the lower floor of the fortress.

The front of the fortress was littered with cleaned tree trunks; on the other side, dry leaves, branches, and various debris had accumulated. The air was cool, and a light breeze blew, making Ravien’s long hair sway with it.

Asogi’s fourth descendant’s return phase was nearing its end. Ravien moved toward Juuhra, who had just finished clearing the firewood that had been brought in.

Juuhra raised his head upon hearing approaching footsteps. His eyes met his father’s, but his expression didn’t change.

"Did you need something, Father?"

Ravien silently sat down on another stump beside him when he noticed Juuhra sitting on a cut log. A faint creak sounded as he did.

"I finished my work and wanted to take a look down here. How are things going?"

Juuhra returned to his task. His hand moved swiftly as he continued cutting with the black energy blade in his grip.

"Everything’s going according to your plan, Father. If you need anything, just say so."

His voice was cold, his face nearly expressionless.

Ravien turned his gaze to the sky. Colorful clouds drifted slowly above. In his previous life, the sky had only ever been shades of black and white; the clouds here looked almost unreal.

He took a deep breath. Then, focusing on the black energy blade in Juuhra’s hand, he asked:

"How do you form that black blade?"

Juuhra gave a short, direct reply.

"I channel the energy within my capacity and shape it externally. The color and other properties form on their own."

Ravien took out the notebook he always carried, opened a page from the middle, and began jotting things down. He spoke as he wrote:

"So you can create forms like this through your capacity. How much of your energy can you use? In a medium-level exertion, what are your limits?"

Juuhra fell silent for a moment. He closed his eyes, as if measuring his inner world, then opened them and answered:

"It’s hard to say for sure. But by my estimation, my capacity is about six times yours. It took shape based on the energy you spent when you created me. My brother’s capacity is half of mine, so he’s roughly three times your capacity."

Ravien narrowed his eyes, lost in thought.

---

(POV: Ravien)

This was unexpected.

Juuhra didn’t just gauge his own capacity — he compared it with mine and Asogi’s as well.

It’s genuinely impressive. I still haven’t fully grasped my own capacity, yet he’s already made such a precise analysis. This proves his ability to measure things with exceptional sensitivity.

I carefully began noting this information in my notebook. Between the lines, more questions started to form in my mind. Without pausing my writing, I asked:

"Next question... What do you think about me? Or about yourself?"

I’d wanted to ask this for a long time but had been waiting for the right moment. I never truly talked with him. I’ve always wondered what he felt, what he thought — but I never asked openly.

Juuhra shrugged slightly. Either he didn’t take the question seriously, or he already had an answer prepared. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"You’re the one who created me. I’m a created existence. There’s no need for me to think beyond that. These kinds of things are a waste of time."

So that was it.

His response didn’t surprise me much. I’d had my suspicions, but now I was sure: Juuhra lacks emotional capacity almost entirely.

He can think, even make remarkably clear analyses — but he doesn’t care about anything. Not himself, not his existence, not the conversations we’re having.

This reminded me of a concept I once came across in a book. The word came to me now: nihilist.

To him, questioning his own nature or life itself is a pointless distraction. He finds such things tedious. He has no intention of forming emotional or philosophical attachments. And honestly, I think nihilist is the most fitting word for him.

That’s why I didn’t feel the need to ask anything further.

---

Ravien picked up a thick piece from the pile of dry branches next to him. With his other hand, he created a thin, sharp-tipped blade made of bone from his palm.

A clear thought crossed his mind:

"At the very least, I need to slowly improve my hand skills. I can’t just sit around wasting time here."

He carefully examined the thick branch in his hand. The tip was cracked, but the middle was still solid. As he slowly smoothed the surface with his blade, an old memory surfaced — a nearly forgotten detail from his military years.

One of the superior commanders he used to serve with would sometimes sit at the bow of the ship and quietly play a flute. He had made that flute himself, out of a simple piece of wood. Back then, Ravien had found it odd.

But now, suddenly, that silent melody came back to him. After all these years, for the first time...

"Maybe I could give it a try too."

Without thinking much, he measured the branch from both ends. He began slightly thinning one side. He didn’t fully know what he was doing, but he followed what he could remember. Careful not to press too hard.

After roughly shaping it, he started making holes along its surface with the tip of the blade. He tried to keep the spacing even, but didn’t use any measurements — just his eye.

After working at it for a while, the piece in his hand now resembled a crude flute. He hadn’t tried blowing into it yet since it wasn’t finished. Still, he raised it up and examined it closely, as if it were complete.

A faint expression appeared on his face — not quite a smile, but a subtle hint of satisfaction.

In a low voice, he muttered to himself:

"Crooked or not... for a first attempt, it’s decent."

Ravien carefully went on refining the flute in his hand. He tested the holes again, adjusted a few edges with the blade’s tip. He shaved the part where his mouth would touch a little more, aligned where his fingers would rest by sight. Slowly, gently, without applying too much force, he cleaned up the surface.

When he was done, he stared at the flute for a few seconds. Then, without hurrying, he brought it to his lips.

The first sound was short and sharp — cut off and uneven.

Ravien didn’t pull back, he blew again. This time the sound was rounder, weak but consistent.

Juuhra was still watching him. He said nothing, didn’t even show a hint of expression. His head slightly turned, yet he wasn’t looking away — just staring.

Ravien produced a few more sounds. They rose and fell in brief intervals. The flute was playable, though still unfamiliar. Breath control, finger pressure, the positioning of the holes — all lacking in different ways.

He kept going for a while longer. With each new attempt, the sound became a little cleaner, though still far from where it needed to be. The flute worked, but it was nowhere near producing the tones it should when played properly.

Ravien eventually stopped. He took a deep breath, held the flute in his hand for a moment. He didn’t look at Juuhra. Then set the flute down beside him.

He’d try again another time.

For now, it was enough.

---

Ravien and Juuhra sat side by side in front of the fortress, under the sun. There was no noticeable activity around.

A little further away, Asogi was approaching quickly on horseback with new firewood. His brows were furrowed, his gaze distant. Thoughts still clung to the back of his mind, though he tried to suppress them.

"I can’t get Juuhra’s muscle movements out of my head. It was way too similar to Father’s. That’s impossible... because he wasn’t there during the war. Yeah, right; he wasn’t. So this has to be a coincidence."

With those thoughts swirling, he passed through the fortress gates, bringing his horse and the headless wolf to a halt.

His eyes immediately landed on Juuhra.

For a moment, he froze where he stood; his father was sitting next to Juuhra, holding a piece of wood, working on something.

"What the hell? Why is he sitting with him?"

Without wasting a second, he dismounted and headed straight for his father.

Ravien raised his head when he heard the approaching footsteps and looked at Asogi.

Asogi spoke directly:

"Father, what are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be in your study?"

Ravien quietly drove the bone blade into the wood in his hand and turned toward Asogi.

"I just finished my work and wanted to get some air. I see you’ve done your task well; good job."

He stood up, took a step, and reached out to pat Asogi’s head.

"No need to bring more firewood. This is enough for now."

At that moment, different thoughts passed through Ravien’s mind:

"Asogi still has unstable sides. If I handle him carefully, we’ll have fewer problems in the future."

Feeling acknowledged by his father, Asogi’s body tensed, veins rising against his skin. His reactions briefly slipped out of control. An internal ripple stirred within him. His movements turned rigid for a moment, but he quickly reined it in.

Ravien withdrew his hand and quietly sat back down.

"Come, sit with us."

Without saying a word, Asogi walked over and took the closest seat beside Ravien.