I'll retire when I'm done

Getting a soul imprint on your skin isn't exactly a pleasant experience.

Burning, pain, like a burn mark that will never heal, the reason why I have never suffered it personally is because few people can endure this long and never-ending pain. The advantage is that it will not bleed or tear, As long as the traces of bronzing are covered up, no one will notice that the young Patriarch Wutiao has more scars that will never heal.

It has been a long time since Wujo Wu has no one to serve him.

Unlimited spells cut off his connection with the outside world, whether physically or mentally, as the snow-haired, blue-eyed Shenzi became increasingly proficient in powerful spells, his posture tended to return to people's original imagination of him—as proud as he was. The cold winter moon hangs above the sky, cold, lonely, high above, untouchable.

The lively temperament of childhood is gradually fading, and as the boy grows older, his body becomes thinner. In the end, even the maid Aoi who served since childhood did not dare to offend him.

Gojo Satoru put his fingers on the scar on the other arm, and the high temperature burned all the heat in his body.

His body is as cold as frost and snow, not like a mortal creation, only the temperature here is unusually high.

The soul carefully held out by the gods of foreign lands is not a simple contract, but a sword blade of protection left by someone for him. Its intention is not to protect, but to destroy. Extraordinary mark, the boy wrapped a snow-white hair band around his arm to cover up the mark, and only touched it reflexively when the burning pain was unbearable.

To be honest, that movement could not relieve the uncomfortable feeling. The pain on the arm was clearly incomparable, but when the fingertips of the other hand touched the imprint, it seemed that the fingers touched the smooth long hair and delicate cheek skin of the Lord of Soul , so the teenager was able to snatch some false comfort from the pain.

That person was still there, but he couldn't touch her real body.

He draws very little sense of security from his monthly letters, and between the lines is someone's rational to cruel indifference-she doesn't love me enough, she may not remember me at the end, the emotion expressed in every word of the letter It has never been warm joy and longing but the most distinct alienation; Wujo Satoru still doesn’t understand why some people can divide their feelings so clearly. When she stays by her side, she seems willing to tolerate all mistakes and willfulness. When she turned her head to leave, she was so indifferent that she didn't even want to take a glance from the corner of her eye.

It was never Gojo Satoru who was unwilling to reach out to greet the other party, but Bai Hong himself.

The sense of security is gradually disappearing, but fortunately the pain is real enough.

The time when the soul imprint dissipated was an ordinary evening.

The arm that had been feeling the scorching temperature for a long time finally got the long-lost cool relief, but because of the pain for so long, even the moment of relief felt like a trance.

... Or, that is not a relief at all.

It's not that he doesn't know the only reason why the soul imprint will disappear.

So at the moment when the pain disappeared, Gojo Satoru subconsciously attached his palm to the inner side of his arm, and slowly opened his eyes wide.

……Eh?

In a panic, he untied the old hair band wrapped around his wrist. The skin on the inner side of his arm was smooth and white, not to mention the golden mark, not even a slight wound could be seen.

Gojo Satoru touched his arm, and then rubbed it carefully.

……No.

Nothing left.

The skin was empty without leaving any traces, those golden scars disappeared without any warning, the tentative fingers gradually increased their strength, Wujo rubbed his arms repeatedly, the boy's mind went blank at this moment, There is only the disgusting blankness on the arm in his eyes. At this moment, he has no ability to think. There is only one sentence and one question in his mind over and over again——

how could be?

It was fine before, why did it suddenly disappear?

...Is it an illusion?

Maybe it's just too far away to connect...will be back soon...

She'll be fine.

She will be absolutely fine.

——All this is just my own illusion, how could Hong die?

Gojo Satoru scratched his arm a little nervously, as if it only needed some strength to make those imprints that seemed to be hidden under the skin reappear.

He didn't know how long he had been working hard. In a trance, the familiar and unfamiliar pain finally covered his arm again. Gojo Satoru found the long-lost sense of peace from the scorching pain that finally returned, but he heard The screams of the maids and the panicked footsteps, the noise, the chaos——

"My lord, what are you doing—!"

The maid's terrified and shrill screams almost pierced the eardrums of his ears. Gojo Satoru blinked unbearably. He raised his hand subconsciously, but felt his fingertips were slightly cold, with a sticky and warm touch, as if stained with blood. What strange liquid.

The boy blinked, and his vision regained clarity. He stared at his bloody arm, and it took him a while to react.

—Ah, that's my blood.

The muscles are scarlet, the blood is sticky, and the dazzling gold that belongs to the soul is not visible under the hideously opened flesh.

The artisans who are proficient in the inversion technique hurriedly rushed forward and healed the arm of the young Patriarch. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, the young man pushed everyone away, stood up on the ground, and was about to leave. "Master Patriarch, where are you going?"

The servants followed tremblingly, for fear that the young Patriarch would do something that would make them short-lived at a glance.

doing what?

Gojo Satoru thought for a while and answered with one word.

"write a letter."

... Are you angry?

The young man hesitated at first, then thought firmly.

She must be angry, since she hasn't replied to the letter for so many years, even Hong will be angry, not to mention her temper is not very good, she must have been unhappy long ago.

So it was rare for him to show a correct attitude, flatten the letter paper and squeeze the penholder tightly. Although he was somewhat habitually unwilling to compromise arrogance and shyness just before writing, when the tip of the pen fell to write the first word, those suppressed emotions disappeared. poured out like water.

Emotions have real pain.

Before that, Gojo Satoru had never clearly felt that nervous pain.

But at this moment, with the trembling of his rustling fingers, the fine tingling sensation flowed with the blood in his body, irrigating the body that seemed to have been cold and temperatureless.

——It was a kind of long-lost, real and warm living delicate pain.

The young head of the family has never believed that people can rely on thin letter paper to communicate. He only felt that letters were useless and boring. But now he picked up a pen to describe, and was surprised that this letter, this pen, had become the only connection between him and her.

The young man has never felt that the speed of writing is so slow, so that those surging emotions have to be aggrieved and stagnated in the lips, tongue, eyes and eyes, between the limbs and flesh, and flow repeatedly. His body and nerves, he seems to have become a god and never fell into the world, and now he is suppressed by these emotions and has nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and finally condenses into sore eyes and bitter tongue, swallowing empty Throat, it was flat and the larynx was so painful.

— Please answer me.

Like you used to be.

He flattened the letter with some movements, solemnly put the letter into an envelope, and handed it over to those who could deliver it for him.

...and this time, there was no response.

The boy waited for the belated reply from those people, and they told themselves in a helpless tone that the communication channel was closed over there, and even the most familiar people among them could not be contacted again, probably never again. There is a way to help deliver the letter.

Ah, so.

Gojo Satoru was unexpectedly calm, just nodded, and then went back to the Gojo mansion without looking at him, leaving a rather ruthless and determined back on the other side.

After returning, he sat in the house all night, calmly persuading himself to accept the fact.

—she died.

Bai Hong, the Bai Hong who seems to be able to face anyone and everything at any time, the Bai Hong who should stay in this house and hide behind him to spend his life peacefully, the one who does not turn his head away from his side, go to Bai Hong, who had gone to a place he didn't know... died in a place he couldn't see.

... nothing to regret, nothing to be sad about.

The conjurer is always in the company of death, and the place she goes is not close to peace. Death is a common occurrence for the conjurer. Since Gojo Satoru is the strongest, he is destined to watch the people around him die one by one. And as those who serve themselves say, "This is something that can't be helped."

Because he is the strongest, no one will pose a threat to him, and others have not reached their height.

Gojo Satoru, who has not officially become a magician, has already started the work of a magician, and the pure Gojo Satoru himself began to welcome the additional "gift" belonging to the work of a magician in the year of his 13th birthday-the death of a familiar person .

Fortunately, he and that person are separated by mountains and seas, thousands of miles and oceans, and have never witnessed the death process of the other person, and because the whole Wujo mansion seems to have forgotten the girl who once stood beside Wujo Wu with him, and no one even created a corresponding one for him. sad vibe.

——Because I forgot.

Including those domestic servants who used to love that girl, they seem to have forgotten Bai Hong back then.

Dangerous, intelligent, and inhumanly beautiful, she almost became the most childish wife in the history of the Gojo family because of the young head's insistence on going her own way; There are so many ordinary little girls, and there is no reason why they can't forget it for so many years, so when everyone has forgotten Baihong, it seems that even he himself has been forgotten.

When Gojo Satoru was 15 years old, the clan began to select for him a girl of suitable age and good family background, and came carefully to ask his opinion.

The Patriarch of Wutiao, who is slender and has long hands and feet, is being forced to feel the growing pains of normal human growth. His bones and joints are sore and numb, and he is terribly uncomfortable. He hangs lazily on a chair and sits lazily, like It's a boneless cat.

It's just that this cat has such a bad temper that everyone can coax it. The people of the clan are so frightened that their heads are about to be pressed to the floor, and finally coax the ancestor to look down.

Gojo Wu took the time to respond to them for a while, randomly picked the photos in front of him, and picked out those ladies with delicate makeup and gentle personality, so that none of their bodies looked correct, either their hair was not black enough or their figure was not good enough, from head to toe He was so mean that the curvature of the hair was not right, and even the color of the eyes was not good enough, which became the reason for him to be picky. In addition to the appearance conditions that were completely beyond the range of normal human beings, he made a lot of weird requests:

It’s best not to be a lady raised by a magician family who was raised in captivity, because such a guy is too boring, and it’s better not to be someone from the magic world, because there’s no need to pick up these few, but even if you’re not from the magic world If you have the same level of strength as yourself, it is best if your temper is good enough to follow his request, but don’t have a bad temper and always follow him. You should be able to help him deal with all kinds of mundane matters with knowledge and interest... Crackling After talking a lot, the ancestor rarely showed a good face, and asked patiently, do you remember?

……remember.

The other party nodded like a pounding garlic, desperately responding.

The servants in charge of this work held these photos as they went in, and they carried them out. The others piled up the harsh conditions that Gojo Satoru casually recited, and after a long time of gestures, they finally came to a conclusion——

No one in this world grows up like that.

It's as if Gojo Satoru, who has both six eyes and no lower limit spells, and has a god-given appearance, is already the best match in the world. To a large extent, he can no longer be expected to be good-tempered, good-natured, and even internally perfect. They are impeccable, and there are always shortcomings in human creations. They already have a deep understanding of this; and if they piece together an ideal type according to the conditions picked out by Wujo Wu, then probably only immortals can meet his requirements.

They brought this conclusion back to Gojo Satoru himself, and it turned out that the Patriarch himself who put forward the conditions seemed to have thought about the request seriously, and he looked even more shocked than them when he came to the conclusion that it was impossible.

How can it be impossible?

I know what she should look like, and you can just look for it, why do you say it's impossible! ?

The young Patriarch yelled, rolled up his sleeves and went back to the room.

wait!

I'll draw you what it should look like!

As a result, Gojo Satoru didn't move at all after three days. The servants tried again and again and there was no sound. Finally, he bravely pushed open the door a little bit, and saw that the room was full of paint and half-painted crumpled discarded paper.

... Patriarch?

No one responded.

The content of the painting is the same, a female image with black hair and long dress with a blank face, but the paint marks are more rough and rough, and the blood splashes on the canvas, hidden in the wet paint.

Someone noticed something was wrong and hurriedly opened the paper door, only to see the owner himself standing in front of the easel with his sleeves raised, the inside of his arm dripping with blood, being scratched by himself again, the blood dripped down on the ground along his slender fingers.The painting in front of him is still a bust of a woman with black hair, five blood-red fingertips are pointing at the position of the lips on the canvas, and a scarlet scar runs across the canvas, which is extremely abrupt on the entire canvas.

The servants of the conjurer's family recognized Gojo Satoru's carelessly wasted drawing paper for what it was.

...that is no ordinary drawing paper.

That is the special paper used for the spell-imbued charms—this is the work left by the magician who used the magic spell in the family many years ago. The only function of this kind of rune paper is to summon the powerful spirit of the dead. The soul uses mantra to catalyze the transformation of the dead soul into a mantra, and concludes a contract with it to use it for its own use.

It's just that the sorcerer himself couldn't control these powerful marksmanship spells well after being forced to transform, and finally suffered backlash and died. Therefore, this kind of spell is not advocated, and it has been repeatedly asked to be taboo. In addition, even based on the vague moral sense of the magician, the act of cursing the soul of the dead is too offensive, so even the Gojo family, one of the three royal families, is not willing to use this kind of spell.

Wujo Gojo, who had dotted his own blood on the canvas, stood there stiffly, his fingers resting on the canvas without moving.

……How to do.

His expression looked a little distressed, a little dazed, and he felt a little guilty that he might be punished by someone for going too far. Gojo Satoru turned his eyes away from the canvas after a while, and turned his head to look at the person rushing into the studio. Group of people.

It's all your fault for disturbing me, I can't remember what she looks like.

Patriarch... what are you doing...?

Gojo Satoru turned his head away, tore up the ruined portrait in front of him, and replaced it with a new one.

Didn't I say it?

I forgot what she looked like, and I couldn't even draw a picture.

"So I'm going to call her back and see what she looks like now."