Chapter 62: Think, Exist… and Kill

Chapter 62: Chapter 62: Think, Exist... and Kill

’Move forward... Where? In there?’, Victor wondered, staring at the office on the other side of the glass.

There was no way he could completely trust the floating eye. It could be a creation of Richard Graves, after all, so he tried to resist obeying it. On the other hand, the gods were still spouting nothing but nonsense through the System. They weren’t helping at all...

Seeing their messages, Victor sighed in irritation and decided to approach the establishment’s entrance. However, when he looked at himself, he noticed that he was no longer a little Boy Scout. He was now wearing a black trench coat and a matching elegant hat.

The noir aesthetic had become part of him, at least in this memory. He took a few seconds to admire his new appearance, but the eye floated in front of him and said:

[Move forward. Move forward. Cogito, ergo sum.]

’I heard you, you weird-ass eye,’ Victor thought. Then he opened the door and cautiously stepped inside.

It was one of those classic little offices decorated with wallpaper that imitated wood. There was a desk with an old telephone and its coiled cord. Seeing that there was absolutely no one around, Victor approached the desk.

’I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid.’

He reached toward the telephone, and it suddenly started ringing. Victor frowned, and the eye beside him floated closer to his ear.

[Answer. Answer. Cog-]

"Just shut up," Victor interrupted. Then he picked up the phone and brought it to his ear. At that moment, his breath caught when he heard a familiar voice.

It was Brika.

[Victor...]

"Brika?! Is that you?! Tell me where...!"

[You can’t. You can’t win. You’ll die.]

Victor gripped the telephone tightly.

"I can win! You just have to trust me and tell me...!"

Victor stopped. He heard the Wendigo laughing.

[You’re running out of time, Goggles. Hurry up, or your body out there is going to explode.]

"That fucking bastard..." Victor whispered. When he tried to respond with another insult, the call had already ended, leaving only the distant beeping of the disconnected line.

He placed the phone back on the desk and breathed heavily, running his hands over his face. This situation was driving him to the brink of exploding.

"I swear, if I ever see your stupid face again, I’ll kill you."

[The god "President of the Snows" is pleased with your determination to kill your enemy.]

[The god "Serpent That Bites Its Own Tail" celebrates your inner rage.]

Ignoring the deranged deities, Victor examined the newspapers scattered across the desk. Although his anger wasn’t going to subside anytime soon, the contents of those old, black-and-white newspapers made him raise an eyebrow.

"The Wendigo Strikes Again..." Victor said, reading the headline of one of the articles. And there was more: "Suspected Serial Killer Terrorizes the Streets."

He shuffled through the newspapers, reading them carefully.

"Famous Private Detective Richard Graves Takes the Case."

He frantically flipped through the pages.

"The Wendigo Is Someone to Fear, Says Private Detective Richard Graves."

Censored photographs of the crimes lay alongside the articles. Meanwhile, the story of the serial killer known as the Wendigo was becoming increasingly well-known throughout the city due to his bizarre methods.

Initially, there had been compelling evidence that the killer was intimately involved with his victims, most of whom were young women who eventually came to trust him.

"Richard Graves Discovers the Wendigo’s Whereabouts."

He placed the last newspaper on top of the pile and frowned.

"Richard Graves Murdered Under Mysterious Circumstances... The Wendigo Remains at Large."

Although it was already obvious that Richard Graves was the Wendigo and had kept his identity a secret, what was all this about faking his own death? Well, the guy was a psychopath who murdered girls because he was a sadistic bastard, so there was no point trying to find any logic in his actions.

But now that he knew his enemy a little better, he felt that some of the pieces were finally starting to fall into place in this maze of memories.

’Is he making fun of me by showing me all this? Does he think that, just like before this survival game, he’ll get away with everything?’

Suddenly, the eye spoke again.

[Move forward, Victor. Move forward. Cogito, ergo sum.]

Victor looked at the eye again, annoyed, but stopped when he noticed that the entrance had turned completely dark, as if it were a sinister portal to another dimension.

[Move forward. Move forward. Don’t waste time.]

None of this made sense. Clenching his fist, a lump forming in his throat, Victor asked:

"Are... you my ally?"

[Cogito, ergo sum. Move forward, Victor. Move forward.]

"What are you? Answer me."

The eye remained silent for several long seconds. It approached the door and, without looking back at him, said:

[Cogito, ergo sum. Hope. Hope. Victor, move forward.]

"Hope...?"

What the hell was that even supposed to mean? Victor stepped toward the eye, but grabbed it in his hand and forced it to face him.

"Tell me who or what you are. What’s your purpose? Why are you helping me? Are you just a creation of Richard Graves?"

Silence. The eye repeated the same phrase.

[Cogito, ergo sum. Hope. Hope. Think, exist... and kill.]

"What...?"

[Weapon. Weapon. Cogito, ergo sum. I am a weapon, Mr. Hope.]

Victor’s eyes widened at the sound of that nickname. There was only one person in this place who had ever called him that: the same goblin girl he was supposed to save right now.

’How is that possible? But Brika had given up. Why would she...?’

The eye stared at him silently for a moment. Then it floated toward the black door and waited for Victor, remaining completely motionless.

[Cogito, ergo sum. Move forward. Move forward. Victor, you have to move forward.]

[Hope. Hope. Be the hope my master needs.]

After that, the eye disappeared into the darkness.

"Hey! Wait! Tell me everything you know!" Victor shouted.

He ran after the floating eye, crossing through the dark doorway. And so, the noir memory of private detective Richard Graves faded into the darkness as Victor entered the next memory.

The next moment, dozens of trees towered around a small village made up of wooden houses. The floating eye stopped in front of the village and waited for Victor, who came to an abrupt halt when he saw its inhabitants.

"Goblins?"