When Peace Blooms
Chapter
Policeman I
- Certainly, sir.
- We will fully respect your rights, but we expect you to give us a truthful account of these events.
- Yesterday afternoon, there was a disturbance on the Champs-Élysées.
- Witnesses reported seeing soap bubbles before they lost consciousness. Our investigation suggests you were behind this.
- Do you have anything to say?
The interrogated man, hearing his native language after so long, raises his head in disbelief.
Diggers
- Hold up, you’re English? No, your accent is French.
- Still, thank goodness, officer! You’re the first proper English speaker I’ve met since arriving in Paris!
The officer taps his pen on the desk impatiently.
Policeman I
- No passport, no record of entry, and no one to vouch for you. So, what exactly are you doing in France? Did you come just to stir up this trouble?
Diggers
- Stir up trouble? No! It wasn’t meant to be trouble, officer!
- I saw it. The people needed a celebration. They were gathered together, surrounded by this low-pressure atmosphere. My God, I can hardly believe it.
Policeman I
- …
The officer wearily rubs his temples.
Policeman II
- Qu’est-ce qu’il a dit?
<What did he say?>
Another officer chimes in.
Muddled words, garbled speech in a language incomprehensible to him. It forms a cluttered mess in Diggers’s ears.
Policeman I
- Je parle dans le vide.
<It’s like talking to a brick wall.>
He grumbles under his breath, before continuing his questions.
Policeman I
- Sir, this is a police station, not a studio. If you feel you must express yourself, I may be able to put you in touch with a newspaper editor.
- I’m sure you can pour out your artistic vision on to that poor soul.
- But for now …
- We must know what happened, without any artistic embellishment.
Diggers’s eyes widen in surprise, delighted to hear the officer’s interest in his art, feigned or not.
Diggers
- You really mean it? You’d be willing to help me get in touch with an editor to spread my ideas?
- What a generous offer. This feels like a dream!
- This must really be Paris. The open, free, and inclusive international metropolis!
Policeman I
- …
- Are you having some trouble understanding me?
He asks sincerely and in plain English.
A sudden knock interrupts the officer’s line of thought.
???
- Oh, this must be Monsieur Diggers? Your outfit is indeed quite unique. He wasn’t wrong when he said you’ll “stand out from the crowd.”
An uninvited guest enters the interrogation room.
Before the officer could react, he whips out a business card from his briefcase and offers it to the officers.
Policeman I
- A lawyer?
- Et alors? Je ne vais pas laisser des avocats perturber l’interrogatoire!
<So what? I’m not going to let some lawyers disrupt our interrogation!>
His colleague, however, takes a calmer tone.
Policeman II
- Oh, un instant. Êtes-vous là à la demande de « ce monsieur » ?
<Oh, hold on. Are you here at the request of “that gentleman”?>
Lawyer
- Oui, monsieur. Si je ne me trompe pas, vous auriez dû être informé.
<Yes, sir. If I’m not mistaken, you should have been notified.>
The officer’s frown relaxes, and they continue their conversation in French.
Diggers looks on in confusion at the scene unfolding before him.
Diggers
- A lawyer? Woah, where did the lawyer come from? What is this, some kind of humanitarian service?
He mutters to himself, as remains completely ignored by the others in the room.
Diggers falls unusually silent, straining to find a hint of what is going on in their unfamiliar language.
Until he catches a single word.
Diggers
- Manus Vindictae?
Meanwhile, the conversation between the lawyer and the officers nears its conclusion.
Lawyer
- Je vous remercie de votre compréhension.
<I appreciate your understanding.> - Bonne journée.
<Good day.>
The lawyer tips his hat to the officers.
Then, he escorts Diggers out from the police station.
Lawyer
- Congratulations, Mr. Diggers! You are free once more.
- Without the help of a lawyer, you may have faced a troublesome situation.
Diggers
- Oh, yeah, thank you so much for your help, but I don’t have any money for you.
The lawyer stares at him in surprise, then suddenly bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
Lawyer
- Hahaha. Monsieur, I believe you’ve misunderstood.
- The matter of money isn’t of such great importance to some people.
- My client is one of those people. He’ll discuss the details with you personally.
- But now isn’t the time for that. Are you ready?
He crushes a small object—some kind of arcanum item—and scatters it in the air.
A wave of dizziness hits first. Then, everything around them begins to distort.
Diggers
- Oh, no.
- What on earth is going on?!
Lawyer
- Hold on tight.
The noise of passersby and honking cars fades, and the surrounding scenery twists and transforms.
A darkened barroom with only a dim light shining from the top of the stairs.
Lawyer
- The client is waiting for you, sir. Through that door, you’ll see him.
Diggers
- You’re not going to introduce me?
The lawyer smiles and shakes his head.
Lawyer
- There are other arcanists like you waiting to be rescued. Too many, so I must be going, sir.
Diggers
- “To be rescued”? Are there that many of us facing issues with our art?
Lawyer
- Ha-ha, an artist through and through.
The lawyer doesn’t argue further; he tips his hat and leaves.
Diggers
- Weird, he’ll help me, but still refuses to say anything.
He walks toward the door, where a bright light re-illuminates his view.
(“The Walden” Bar)
There aren’t many patrons; but those present are chatting quietly, occasionally letting out soft laughter, their language immediately familiar.
Diggers
- English!
- These signs, the menus, decorations. Am I in England?!
???
- Hah.
Someone lets out a chuckle.
Forget Me Not
- Our flamboyant artist.
- The culprit of the chaos on Carnaby Street, the summoner of those reflective soap bubbles. You must be Diggers?
Diggers
- Yes, an artist! You’re absolutely right! It’s great to meet someone who shares my passion!
Diggers’s eyes light up.
Diggers
- As for Carnaby Street, that was a novel attempt to bring pop art into reality! Though the outcome wasn’t quite what I’d planned.
Forget Me Not
- Clearly, your “art” failed.
- The inevitable fate of the projects of a narrow-minded egotist.
Diggers
- What? Egotist?
The sudden accusation leaves him startled.
Forget Me Not
- Is that so hard to accept? “Peace and Love” man.
- The simple fact is undeniable: people don’t appreciate your art.
Diggers
- …
Forget Me Not
- Indeed, a lack of aesthetic sense is a flaw of the times.
Diggers
- Oh, so, what is your organization, a gathering of artists?
Forget Me Not
- “Art” is too narrow a definition for our goals. We seek something more profound.
- We bridge the oceans with nothing more than an arcane catalyst.
- That’s what we are capable of.
Diggers
- So, like an arcanist-exclusive art collective?
- I guess making travel easier would be good for artistic collaboration.
Forget Me Not lets out a derisive laugh.
Diggers
- I don’t want to join you.
Forget Me Not
- …
Diggers
- I’ve heard of you back in London, a bunch of renegades.
- I do like your name though. Manus Vindictae, it sounds cool!
- But I think my art style stands out better alone.
Forget Me Not
- …
The man adjusts his smile slightly.
Forget Me Not
- As a matter of fact, we’re planning a march in Europe with an anti-war theme.
- These kinds of movements usually don’t end well, so I understand your reluctance.
Diggers
- An anti-war art march?
Forget Me Not
- That’s our vision—a world without war.
Diggers
- Oh! Man, I can’t believe I almost turned down something like that.
- It’s the kind of thing I was born to do!
- I’m in!
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
Diggers
- Ha-ha, I agree.
If he knew what the future held, he would never have said those words.
Sticky, foul-smelling mask.
Painful imprisonment spell.
Endless attempts.
Manus Apostle
- Stop this foolishness. Your attempts are futile. No one escapes Manus Vindictae.
- All is set in motion the moment you don that mask.
Diggers
- …
Manus Apostle
- But there is some good news to share.
Diggers
- What?
Manus Apostle
- Don’t worry. This time, it’s really good news. Well, let’s just say, not so bad.
- Our next mission is on a peaceful island. I’ve heard they don’t even have police there.
Diggers doesn’t seem to take the news as any relief.
Manus Apostle
- …
- Come now, isn’t that good news?
(The Island)
Diggers
- Destroying peace—that’s my mission.
The sunset’s glow bathes in vast and open sea, its waves crashing in a steady rhythm, rising and falling.
He sits barefoot on the shoreline, reaching his hand into the gold-tinted waves.
Diggers
- So that I can catch the sunset in my hands.
The tide recedes.
Diggers
- But the golden water slips away so quickly, like the sands of time.
- Like the height of the moon or a blooming flower, like a moment of joy or laughter.
- Why am I here?
Now, art and poetry have both receded out, with tides moving far from him.
Diggers
- I should be in London, speaking out for the dead in Hue and Saigon. This world doesn’t need more war!
- “War means tears shed by countless mothers.”
- “Life is precious because it’s short. Why do we waste it killing each other?”
- …
The sounds of footsteps gently crunch across the sand.
A red-headed Corrector stares out toward the irrational number before her.
Sophia
- What is going on here? You shouldn’t be here.
Diggers
- Shh—quiet.
He watches the seagulls pacing the sand not far away.
Diggers
- They get startled easily.
Sophia
- You didn’t report your outing at all.
- Several integers were forced to search all night for a missing irrational number, that’s unacceptable.
A brief silence.
Diggers
- Integers? Irrational numbers? Is that what you people call people?
- If I were to give up a sunset over these waves for your numbers, that would be an uncountable loss.
The seagulls flap their wings and fly into the distance.
Sophia
- But it’s necessary. There needs to be an alignment to your overly chaotic soul.
Diggers
- I don’t get it.
His incessant need to argue the point stirs up annoyance in the girl.
Sophia
- You are an irrational number, a collection of disorder and chaos. You must accept the Truth to approach the realm of rational numbers.
Diggers
- Why should people be expressed as numbers, rational or not?
- How come 1 is thought, 2 is opinion, 3 is wisdom, and 4 is strength?
- Haven’t you noticed? All your choices are confined within a tiny number.
- No branching paths, no sights along the way.
Sophia
- …
Diggers
- Miss Sophia, you can’t explain everything with maths.
He points toward the horizon.
Diggers
- Look, the sun is almost gone now.
- The calm night will bring reflection, and although twilight is brief, it brings eternal memories.
- Then, the moon will rise and pull back the tides. The seagulls will return to their nests and sleep with their heads tucked under their wings. Everything will be still and quiet.
- Where are the numbers in all of that? Where’s the maths?
He closes his eyes.
The water laps at his skin.
Diggers
- A seashell just touched my toe. Do you have a number to describe that feeling?
Sophia
- A seashell?
- That’s not a seashell.
Diggers opens his eyes and looks down to his toes.
After a few blinks, his unfocused eyes make out the object before him.
Diggers
- —?!
A black Browning pistol.
Diggers
- Oh no, Bad Civilization is here.
- A gun, why is there a gun here?
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
Gun.
It had been so long the word almost felt unfamiliar.
Child
- Haha!
The child forms a gun with his thumb and forefinger, then flicks the “barrel” upward to blow away imaginary smoke.
Child
- Sophia! Why are you standing up?
- I shot you. You’re dead!
Unable to get a response, the child stomps in frustration.
Child
- Cheater! I’m never playing with you again!
It had been a thing fit only for a childhood game,
back when “death” was still too distant a concept for her to grasp.
Sophia
- …
She silently tightens her grip on the ruler in her hand.
The irrational number beside her is shouting.
Diggers
- Gun! Gun! Gun!
From his reaction, it seems as if the gun hadn’t just touched his toe,
but instead fell from several stories above, hitting him on the head. There is no other way to explain his current state.
Diggers
- Oh, no! &*%￥# …
Sophia
- …
She loosens her grip on the ruler.
Diggers
- Look at it.
He takes a deep breath and crouches down next to the gun.
Diggers
- This will bring Bad Civilization to the island.
- If you ever see something like this on the shore again, make sure you—
He lifts his foot.
Diggers
- Kick it far away!
- Ow—!!!
The gun flies off, and Diggers clutches his foot, howling in pain.
Diggers
- Sophia, did it make it to the sea?
Sophia
- It’s approximately 10 meters away from you.
Diggers
- What?!
- Fine, I just need to throw it farther, or …
- Destroy it!
Sophia
- (Spell casting)
A mysterious arcanum glow flickers on the surface of the sea as he looks at Sophia in disbelief.
Diggers
- Why?
She doesn’t offer an answer.
Sophia
- Sorry.
Diggers
- Don’t you believe in “peace and love”?
Sophia
- In order to protect the peace on the island, I cannot let you touch that gun.
He falls into the water, with both mouth and nose filled by the salty wash of the sea.
A faint murmuring sound.
Manus Follower I
- His head must’ve been smashed in by that redhead.
The man looks worried.
Manus Follower I
- I had wanted to copy his math homework.
Manus Follower II
- Don’t copy … too many mistakes.
Manus Follower I
- Oh, his eyes have opened.
His strange, exaggerated shouts make Diggers’s head hurt all the more.
Manus Follower II
- Quiet.
The woman hands Diggers a glass of water wordlessly.
The water is cold, matching the chilly appearance of the woman despite her generosity.
Diggers
- Thank you.
Manus Follower II
- There’s … no need for that.
Diggers
- …
Manus Follower I
- Did you find any escape routes?
- According to our previous surveys, occasionally, modern industrial products wash up on the island’s shores. Therefore, there must be a normal human civilization on the other side of the sea.
- Diggers, tell me, is our hypothesis correct?
- You were spotted by that redhead while searching for an escape route.
- Then, it seems you two had a fierce battle, and you narrowly got away, right?
It took him a moment to grasp what his companion was saying.
Diggers
- Oh, yeah, actually, I found a gun on the beach.
Manus Follower I
- A gun?!
The follower’s eyes light up.
Diggers
- Don’t get too excited. It’s useless now.
Manus Follower I
- Alright, did you learn anything else useful?
- The local geography, habits, and most importantly, their duty roster, if they even have one.
Diggers thinks for a moment, then smiles.
Diggers
- The sunset there is beautiful. You really ought to go see it for yourselves.
Manus Follower I
- …
- Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have sent an artist to scout.
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
(The Hall of Apeiron)
The classroom is as usual, with the same mathematics being taught.
And the same teacher.
Thirty-seven
- …
- So, what exactly are you confused about?
Her confusion is evident.
Diggers
- Peace and love.
He mutters, his mind far away from the numbers on the board.
One of the Manus followers raises a hand.
Manus Follower I
- Why can π be an infinite, non-repeating decimal and also represent a precise angle?
- According to your logic, doesn’t that violate the law of excluded middle?
Thirty-seven
- Ah, a flawed argument.
- The premise for using the law of excluded middle is that the two concepts are mutually exclusive. But decimals and angles are not dichotomous concepts.
- A circle’s angle follows its own rules, so it’s reasonable that 180° equals π.
- Still, the fact that you’re attempting to use logic to solve these problems is a significant step forward!
Manus Follower II
- I don’t … understand.
Thirty-seven
- Hmm.
She reviews the steps in the reasoning.
Thirty-seven
- It’s a clear explanation, rudimentary even. What is there not to understand?
Diggers
- Yeah, isn’t it clear enough already?
His outburst isn’t particularly loud, but still draws the attention of the others.
The not-so-eloquent follower glances at him, then responds to 37’s words.
Manus Follower II
- I just … don’t understand … anything.
Thirty-seven
- …
- Very well. I’ll start again from the beginning.
- Let’s take another look at the problem. It asks us to calculate the area of the shadow!
- The area of a plane figure can be reduced to an accumulation of definite integrals.
- We can establish a system, set shadow area as S, then write out the formula.
- This is the most straightforward method!
- However, this solution does lose the elegance of geometry. Even though it’s correct, I don’t find it to be a good process.
Diggers
- Process …
- Yes, people won’t believe an answer without a good process.
- Just like how “peace and love,” without actions to live up to the words, is just an empty slogan.
He admits it reluctantly.
Thirty-seven
- As for solving this problem …
37’s demonstration is interrupted by someone approaching through the stone-lined halls.
Island Believer I
- 37, the leader is looking for you, for Apeiron’s Trial.
Thirty-seven
- But I’m in the middle of …
Island Believer I
- Don’t worry. I’ll take over teaching these irrational numbers.
After 37 leaves, her replacement immediately puts on a stern face—clearly, he is not fond of outsiders.
He glances around, then walks over to a corner and begins studying the scroll in his hand.
Manus Follower I
- It seems like he has no intention of continuing the lesson.
The man whispers.
Manus Follower II
- It’s … too hard.
Manus Follower I
- It’s just about circumference and radius.
He sketches the figure out on scrap paper and begins pondering over it.
Manus Follower II
- …
She extends her pen and draws a large × over the figure. Then, she writes a message to him.
Manus Follower II
- “Stop studying. Let’s talk about our escape.”
Manus Follower I
- Oh, right!
He sets aside the figures and numbers.
Manus Follower I
- “The question is how to escape? We know almost nothing about this island!”
Manus Follower II
- “I discovered the route where 6 takes his walks. I planted a bomb there. Once it goes off, we can get out of this place.”
Manus Follower I
- “Where in the world did you get a bomb?”
Manus Follower II
- “I made it.”
The man shoots a skeptical look at her.
The sound of writing continues.
Manus Follower I
- “Look, all I’m saying is you copy your homework from me, and making a bomb is way harder than trigonometry!”
Manus Follower II
- “It just hasn’t been triggered yet.”
The man shakes his head.
The writing becomes more frantic.
Manus Follower I
- “Instead of trusting in a bomb, here’s a better idea. Let’s jump the leader while he’s out for a walk.”
- “Trust me. Before joining Manus, that was basically my main source of income.”
- “Besides, fate is clearly on our side. How else can you explain what happened to me this morning?”
- “I found a Browning pistol on the beach.”
Diggers
- No—
Manus Follower I
- Quiet! You idiot!
Diggers
- That Browning is …
Island Believer I
- Browning?
The island believer, who has been flipping through a scroll, looks up in surprise.
Manus Follower I
- No, no, it’s a type of dessert called a brownie.
The island believer approaches them and takes the scribbled note.
Then, a puzzled expression crosses his face.
Island Believer I
- A bomb?
Living in seclusion, far from conflict, they have completely forgotten words associated with violence.
Island Believer I
- And what are you planning to do while our leader is out for his walk?
Manus Follower I
- …
- I heard that 6 is a number representing balance.
- So, uh …
He struggles to find something fitting to say about numbers, but his limited vocabulary fails him.
Manus Follower I
- So, we want to go for a walk with him.
Diggers
- According to your theory, 6 symbolizes harmony, and we happen to need more peace in our lives.
- Still, maybe we should be concerned about the leader’s mental health, too.
- People often walk to relieve stress. If someone is always walking around alone, it could be that there is something making them feel powerless.
- Like an artist trying to learn mathematics.
The island believer gives him a knowing smile.
Island Believer I
- Is that so?
- I’m curious, how have you discovered these insights into human nature without a proper mathematical foundation?
- Your spirit of exploration is commendable, but without the guidance of Truth, all exploration is fruitlessly cyclical.
- In order to help you better bask in the light of Truth,
- I believe we must extend today’s math lesson.
A damp, dark cell.
Manus Follower I
- If he’s a number, he’s definitely a really annoying one. I never want to study math again.
Manus Follower II
- Me neither. My head … hurts.
Diggers
- I think the dream bubble isn’t the solution to our problems. It might just be a fleeting fantasy.
- But, if we don’t use the dream bubble, how can we show everyone that beautiful world?
- I don’t know what to do.
His musings catch the attention of his companions.
Manus Follower I
- What are you talking about now?
- Come up with any creative ideas for escaping this place?
Diggers
- …
He realizes something.
Perhaps “peace and love” would never convince these people. After all, that has never been the creed of Manus Vindictae.
Diggers
- Hmm.
A flash of insight.
Diggers
- We’re forbidden from using arcane skills, and it’s not appropriate to resort to violence.
- But when I was at the beach, I saw remnants of boats and geometric structures.
- It seems that, years ago, they attempted to leave.
- So, they can’t be completely disengaged from the world.
He falls deep into thought.
Diggers
- The first thing we need to do is disguise ourselves as the island’s inhabitants to find a way out.
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
A piece of cloth.
Plain, simple, and smooth.
Manus Follower I
- You sure this won’t fall right off if we wrap it around ourselves?
The followers struggle to arrange the cloth into something resembling a robe.
Clearly, spatial imagination isn’t their strong suit.
Diggers
- Ugh! This won’t work.
- Anyway, their style of dress involves careful folding and binding, not just wrapping like this.
The artist’s aesthetic sense kicks in, and with a little work, they begin to look more like numbers.
Manus Follower II
- What a hassle.
The followers grumble.
Diggers
- So, we need to embrace Truth to achieve the soul’s … um …
- Oh, my, I never thought I find my own language so difficult.
Manus Follower I
- You’re doing well, but you missed a part, “avoid letting our souls become excessive.”
Manus Follower II
- Ensure that the soul … does not indulge in excess.
- …
Diggers
- Excellent. Now, say it again.
The not-so-eloquent follower takes a deep breath.
Diggers
- Very good. Now, our next item is …
Seeing the next item on the list, the artist frowns.
Diggers
- Study math?
- Who wrote this?
Manus Follower I
- Undercover agents are often exposed due to small oversights.
- As painful as it is, we have to admit that understanding math will be a necessity here.
Diggers
- …
- I admire your courage.
Sophia
- I admire your courage.
- Explaining the beauty of mathematics to an irrational number is a challenging task in itself.
- But especially under these circumstances, with the “Emanation” approaching—
- You shouldn’t waste your energy on such trivial matters.
37 turns her face away.
Thirty-seven
- Oh, it’s not that they fail to understand the math; they just haven’t yet freed themselves from the trivialities of the world of phenomena.
- Like the golden spiral. That artist may not know its formula or essence, but that doesn’t stop them from using it.
- I believe he’s learned something from the classes. Hopefully, it brings him closer to the Truth!
Seagulls beyond counting swoop down over the shore.
Manus Follower I
- Are we supposed to stroll here like their leader does?
- What’s the point of this?
Diggers
- Oh!
He seems a bit disheartened.
Diggers
- I just thought you might appreciate the sunset.
Manus Follower I
- …
- Sometimes, I feel like we need a translator for your brain.
He turns to his bewildered companion.
Manus Follower I
- Did you understand what he’s going on about?
Manus Follower II
- He’s … an artist.
- But … this path … it feels familiar. I’ve been here before.
Diggers
- Yeah, everyone should come here to see the sunset.
Manus Follower II
- No, I mean … I have a more important … task.
Manus Follower I
- Task? You received orders?
Manus Follower II
- No, one of … my own … ideas.
She points to one side of the beach.
Manus Follower II
- I buried … the bomb … over there.
Diggers
- The bomb?
Manus Follower II
- Because … that’s where their leader … is likely to walk …
- Killing their leader … would solve our problem … at the root.
- Wouldn’t it?
Diggers
- Oh, no!
- Can you still find the bomb?
In this tense atmosphere, any incident, large or small, could ignite a war.
Manus Follower II
- Easier said than … done.
She raises her hand, pointing to the sand stretching out far beyond sight; all of it indistinguishable.
Manus Follower II
- It’s somewhere … out there.
Diggers
- …
He crouches down, starting his search.
Soon, a shadow looms over him from behind.
Diggers
- Did you find it?
Sophia
- Are you looking for this?
In the Corrector’s hand is a bundle of wires, sensors, and a detonator.
Diggers
- —!
- Uh, yes, thank you.
- That is a very dangerous device. Would you give it to me?
Sophia
- …
- You’re asking me to place a weapon back into the hands of our would-be attacker?
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
The sudden commotion on the shore has drawn the attention of the Manus followers.
Manus Follower I
- Hey!
He pulls out a pistol, aiming it at Sophia.
Manus Follower I
- I’m warning you. Don’t move!
Sophia
- …
She sighs softly.
Sophia
- As expected.
- An irrational number is born irrational. It is an insurmountable divide.
Diggers stands up, positioning himself between the gun and Sophia.
Diggers
- Please, I’m sick of your taxonomies.
- Integers, fractions, rational numbers, irrational numbers, real numbers, imaginary numbers …
- Humans are the only creatures that go to such lengths to categorize their own kind.
Sophia remains silent.
Diggers
- Oh! Not that I’m dismissing your ideas entirely. The fact that there’s no conflict here already makes this place better than the world outside.
- Besides, in the world beyond your island, division like that is just as common a thing.
- Phrenology, physiognomy, theories of superior bloodlines …
- Every standard works to make up a class inherently entitled to more power.
- But it’s all a lie! A fabricated, despicable lie!
- We should be like one family, whether on this island or in the outside world.
- The true Tower of Babel was the whole idea of class systems that people have built in our societies.
- We should stand against all of it!
Manus Follower I
- Idiot.
- Is this really the time for a speech?
- Go on, grab her. We have to prevent her from using any arcane skills!
Diggers
- My friend, the answer we seek is blowing in the wind.
He inserts a rose from his sleeve into the barrel of the gun.
Diggers
- People of different colors, who speak different languages, raised in different cultures …
- So much of what we are isn’t chosen by us, and they should never have become barriers!
- We’re all born into the same world, and we’ll all die in the same world.
- I wish you peace and love, my brothers and sisters.
- Now, brother, don’t use that waterlogged gun.
His voice is full of concern.
Diggers
- It might misfire.
Sophia
- (Spell casting)
A geometric construct descends from the sky, binding his limbs.
Diggers
- Why?
Why does the road to spreading peace and love have to be so difficult?
It shouldn’t be this way.
Diggers
- From England to France, and from France to this island, I’ve said so much, but it feels like my words never turn out right.
- What do I have to do to keep conflict and strife away from this world?
Sophia
- …
- It was an impressive sermon. For a moment, my resolve wavered, and I almost believed in the world you described.
- Which is precisely what frightens me.
- Rhetoric often obscures the essence. That’s what the School has taught me, and now I’m passing that truth on to you.
Diggers
- Are you saying I haven’t done enough?
Sophia does not give him the answer he is hoping for.
Sophia
- I’m sorry.
- As for this bomb, I’ll report it to the leader and let him decide accordingly.
- Until a judgment is made, neither you nor your companions will be harmed.
Under the influence of an arcane skill,
he gradually loses consciousness.
The light before his eyes flickers and changes, and scenes flash by.
It is as if he were drowning in a spiritual current,
as the last rays of the sunset fade away on the silent shore.
Newsboy
- Breaking news! Breaking news today!
- U.S. Faces Conscription Crisis, “Medical Correction Conscription Plan” May Be Implemented!
Diggers
- Are today’s newspaper editors feeling nostalgic?
(Regent Street ?)
Diggers
- Wait, this is Regent Street! I’m back again!
- But I’m supposed to be on the island?
- Is this a side effect of their arcane skill? A dream? Memories? Or, am I dead?
???
- Dead?
A familiar voice.
He turns to the source of it.
Diggers
- Oh, Mr. Leonard. Are you on parole now?
The voice belongs to Leonard Evans, a notorious charity scammer, who is supposed to be serving time in prison.
Diggers is another of his victims, though he doesn’t realize this at the moment.
Leonard
- That’s quite a sense of humor, you’ve got.
- Just three minutes ago, you were telling me how bad you felt for not donating more. I was just about to tell you that it’s not the amount that matters, but the thought.
Diggers
- Three minutes ago?
He remembers.
Diggers
- Right! I was just about to ask. Will you personally deliver those supplies to the victims?
Leonard
- Of course, you can trust me.
Diggers
- Splendid.
He reaches into his pocket, then makes a troubled expression.
Leonard
- If you don’t have any cash, a check will do.
Diggers pulls out a handful of coins, totaling 5 pounds and 13 shillings.
Leonard sighs.
Leonard
- Sir, before you engage in charity, perhaps you ought to buy yourself a meal.
Diggers
- Wait, Leonard, is there nothing else I can do?
- I could paint posters or even some graffiti.
- Or, I could create dream bubbles with my arcane skills, allowing people to glimpse a brighter future.
Leonard
- Yes, certainly.
The charity scammer pauses, a smile spreading across his face.
Leonard
- In fact, we’re planning a charity gala.
- It’s sure to be attended by some very influential people.
- I believe your dream bubbles might enhance the atmosphere, and if we can make those ladies and gentlemen happy, they’ll be sure to donate even more.
- Of course, you’ll be compensated. How does £50 sound?
Diggers
- What?!
- No, I won’t do something like that. Maybe you didn’t know, brother. But those upper-class rich people are the ones behind all the war and suffering in the first place!
- They make their fortunes and then use these so-called charity events as a way to avoid taxes.
- My bubbles are not for their enjoyment!
Leonard coldly chuckles.
Leonard
- You’ve lost your mind, mate.
With that, he strides away.
Diggers
- Oh!
The artist wanders aimlessly along Carnaby Street.
Diggers
- Hmm? This place … I used to love eating here, but didn’t it close down?
- And these posters.
The increasing number of anomalies raises his suspicion more and more.
The artist counts out a few coins and stops the newsboy selling papers.
Diggers
- One paper, please.
He skims past numerous sensational headlines and quickly finds the date of publication.
Diggers
- What?
- February 7th, 1966?
(TO BE CONTINUED…)
Night falls, and Diggers sits on a bench by the river, holding a cheap takeout box.
He stuffs his mouth with food.
Diggers
- *munch*
- Could it be that Sophia can reverse time with her arcane skill?
- Or is this just a big illusion that I’ve conjured up?
???
- Woof, woof!
Diggers
- Aww! A puppy!
The puppy’s wet eyes are fixed to the meat on his fork.
Diggers
- Go on, eat up.
In the quiet night, the evening star twinkles above the dark purple horizon.
Diggers
- I guess it doesn’t really matter how I’m back here, no strange languages, no strange doctrines.
- So, for now, I’ll continue spreading my art, speaking out for those who pursue “peace and love.”
- But …
He falls silent, an unusual occurrence.
A gust of night wind blows a crumpled poster to his feet.
Diggers
- “A grand art gathering coming soon to Carnaby Street!”
- “An unprecedented arcanum feast, an unparalleled grand march.”
- “Against war, against everything!”
The exaggerated slogans pique his interest.
Diggers
- Oh! I need to do more. People trust actions more than words.
- This is where I’m needed.
This is what he excels at.
There is no need for preparation. It all flows naturally and seamlessly.
Diggers
- London needs imaginative art parties. It needs street fairs for everyone to get their voice heard.
- London is utopian.
- I will throw a feast for more people to have fun. By then, our philosophy will hit the headlines of all newspapers and become a new tidal trend. Everyone will get to know and fall in love!
Countless dream bubbles float in the air, reflecting rainbow colors under the sunlight.
Dreamlike visions bloom within them.
Diggers
- Everyone will see that world.
- No violence, no hatred.
He is lost in his own fervor.
A flamboyant artist, and a narrow-minded egotist.
The culprit who caused utter chaos with his Reflective Bubbles.
Until a car speeds up to him.
Car
- *beep*
The brakes screech, but it is too late.
Diggers
- Whoa!
The artist’s frail body is flung high into the air, crashing down hard.
Diggers
- Ah!
The panicked scream echoes off the cavern walls.
He sits up abruptly, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with trembling hands.
Diggers
- Huff—huff—
- It was just a dream!
- I even came up with the newspaper headline.
- “Pioneer Artist Dies for Peace and Love.”
- Or maybe it should read: “Chaos Instigator Dies, Peace Restored to London.”
- If I’m lucky, they might even include some of my ideas.
Sometimes, he envies the famous; all they have to do is speak, and their thoughts are spread far and wide by their followers.
Diggers
- *sigh*
He gets up, almost tripping over the fabric.
Diggers
- Oh, the islander’s robe.
- I guess I should put this on, then get out of here.
- Leave this island, leave Manus Vindictae, leave all their organizations and hierarchies, and continue my art.
He dons the white robe.
The escape from the cave is surprisingly straightforward.
All the critical checkpoints are unguarded.
Diggers
- Hmm, where is everyone?
- Are they all at another maths class?
???
- Aren’t you leaving?
Diggers takes a deep breath.
Diggers
- Hey, my friend.
Island Believer II
- …?
Diggers
- We bathe in the light of Apollo’s star, following a fixed rhythm, balancing the excess of our souls.
His acting skills have slightly improved.
Diggers
- So, could you point me in the direction of the ferry?
- I want to … um … go to the real world … to find those … uh … fragments.
Island Believer II
- …
- I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.
- But if you want to leave, you can come with us.
Diggers
- Wonderful. You must be a very generous number.
The believer gives him a strange look.
Island Believer II
- We’re not numbers.
- Those gathered here are either fractions or those who haven’t yet discovered their soul numbers.
- That’s why we’re leaving this place, where only integers can live with full rights.
Diggers
- Then we’re on the same page!
- It’s rare to find like-minded people on this little island. So, where are we headed now?
Island Believer II
- Forward.
- A lady promised us that the envoy would be waiting ahead to meet us.
- At the end of the cape.
Diggers
- Take me with you. Please take me with you.
Diggers
- I believe that art isn’t dead yet!
(THE END)