Endless Debt-Chapter 822 - 271: The Great Rescue from Within the Story

Ewen was already an old man, but still confessed as passionately as a young man. Yet to Ewen, this was more like a warning from the depths of his soul rather than a confession. After years of asceticism, he finally saw his Holy Mother, and in that moment, released all the emotions that had been repressed in his heart for years.

The emotions accumulated over the years burned like fireworks, and Ewen’s cold body became warm again, with the remaining blood seemingly boiling, invigorated anew.

Youth draped over Ewen once more, and he felt an unprecedented ease, as if his soul was about to leave his shell and ascend into the blissful Celestial Kingdom.

He laughed joyously, his voice hoarse, as if gravel and friction were caught in his throat, like an old gramophone singing.

"My Muse..."

Countless Demons roared and howled fiercely outside the grand library, while Hunters wielded swords to spread death. Darkness voraciously consumed every space, and the twisted, shattered reality was on the verge of annihilating everything.

On the eve of the end of the world, Ewen witnessed true beauty and was almost moved to tears.

The Muse placed Ewen’s hand upon her bosom, skin pressing against skin, bringing waves of warmth to this decrepit body, as if in front of a warm fireplace. The warmth seeped into his bones, and if possible, Ewen wished time would stop there, making it eternal.

"Would you like to leave with me?"

The Muse suddenly approached Ewen as if to kiss him, her warm breath, with a hint of honey, brushed past Ewen’s cheek.

Ewen did not respond, nor did he show any expression. His gaze lay hidden in his deep-set eye sockets, like two dark caves leading into the Abyss.

"Are you still hesitating?"

The Muse did not insist. Unlike Asmodeus, composed purely of wickedness, she possessed more humanity; she was the warm sun.

"Noble people live difficult lives, Ewen. You should rest."

"Indeed," Ewen nodded in agreement, "being a noble person is really exhausting."

"But, though it’s tiring, it’s also wonderful," Ewen never doubted this, "My body is heavy as a boulder, but my heart is light as a feather."

Ewen carefully caressed the Muse’s palm, like a blind man understanding an object through touch. He could sense the warmth beneath the flesh, perceive the barely visible creases between the skin, feel the smoothness of the nails, the softness of the palm...

Ewen withdrew his hand from the Muse’s bosom. Though reluctant to leave the warmth, he resolutely departed.

The Muse showed a hint of surprise, but she did nothing excessive, continuing to smile as always. At this moment, she truly seemed to become the warm sun, almost making Ewen forget her Devil nature.

"Are you going to leave?" the Muse said, "If you leave, you’ll never see me again."

Ewen said, "A single meeting is enough."

"Is that enough to satisfy you?"

"No... I’m never satisfied," Ewen’s fiery emotions cooled down, as he placed his hands on the typewriter and continued writing the story, "I’m merely at peace."

"At peace?"

The Muse thought she heard wrong, "You’ve worked so hard, given so much, all just for a... peace of mind?"

Even she couldn’t understand Ewen’s thoughts at that moment. He seemed like a climber who, after countless hardships and dangers, just glanced at the snow-covered peak meeting the sky before turning away.

"I’m a stubborn person."

Ewen tapped on the keys, "This stubbornness troubles me like a disease, like a Curse. I understand that only by seeing her again could I reconcile with myself and let peace descend upon me."

"Now I’ve done it. I’ve let her read the story I wrote, let her know the accomplishments and brilliant life of the unlucky guy she saved years ago.

I’ve seen her again, felt her warmth... There’s nothing to regret anymore."

Ewen flexed his hands, the warmth lingering at his fingertips, "Sometimes you don’t have to hold on to everything tightly... you can’t catch a flying bird."

The Muse felt an emotion she had never felt before. She was so noble, the ultimate cherished by Ewen, having witnessed his whole journey of pursuit. Yet just before achieving fulfillment, Ewen suddenly seemed to find her worthless.

She blocked the typewriter, interrupting Ewen’s work, her delicate face showing moving sadness, and she asked, confused.

"Why, Ewen?"

The woman was the Poet’s Muse, the omnipotent Devil, the absolute will that influenced Ewen’s whole life. She was so powerful, exalted, yet at this moment she suddenly felt a sense of defeat indescribable, because even if she had exhausted all means, she couldn’t alter Ewen’s choice. No matter what she promised, she couldn’t make Ewen pause even for a moment.

She was like a god walking the earth, yet she could never have a mortal’s affection—despite this mortal indeed harboring fervent emotions for her.

For a moment, the Muse seemed to understand, and she asked.

"Because it’s not real enough?"

The thunderous sound of shattering echoed, as the grand library’s precarious door finally collapsed at this moment. Broken bricks crushed rows of bookshelves, and tiny stones, with slender ash, crackled as they fell around, yet none fell on Ewen.