One-Eyed Monster

Oha was contentedly counting his newly acquired gold coins. His haul for the day was quite generous, and he hadn't found time yet to thank his generous customer.

Oha's heart was filled with sudden joy, leaving no room for other trivial matters. The amount of gold coins he had would certainly last him a good while.

Night had fallen, bringing with it the onslaught of cold. The chill and darkness gradually crept over the land, threatening to consume everything. People had already wrapped up their day's work, instantly shaking off their fatigue and the day's fleeting concerns, carefree as they whistled and headed with light footsteps toward the brightly lit places. The little time before sleep was precious to them; they were going to dedicate this precious moment to the taverns that were just starting to liven up.

Fine liquor, accompanied by an abundance of stories, was the favorite pastime for these folk who had toiled all day.

"It's cold. Drink a glass of ale to warm yourself, so you can sleep better at night," the tavern owner personally poured a pint of ale for Oha.

"Thank you, it really is cold." Like everyone else, Oha also liked to have a few drinks before bed. Firstly, the aroma of ale could help him process the joy or sorrow in his heart; secondly, he could share or listen to many stories over a drink.

Some of these stories came from afar, some happened right in their midst. In any case, there was never a shortage of stories in the tavern at the foot of Guru Mountain. It's just that some stories were long and tedious, while others, like aged wine, had an enduring appeal.

Oha liked to listen to stories and to tell them. If he didn't know how to tell a story, he probably wouldn't be able to sell many of his warming bags.

"Haven't you got those warming bags of yours? Still afraid of this little chill?" the tavern owner joked. Business at the tavern had been exceptionally good these days; his staff were overwhelmed, so he had to step in himself.

No wonder. The two large taverns at the foot of Guru Mountain had been occupied by some mysterious people. Concerning the origins of these mysterious people, the tavern owner had already heard no fewer than five different tales in his own tavern. As for which of these stories were true, no one could say for sure.

"The warming bags are all sold out," Oha said, deliberately raising his tone as if the tavern owner wouldn't hear him otherwise.

"Selling out so late? You're really pushing yourself," the tavern owner remarked, seemingly misunderstanding the true meaning behind Oha's words.

"Er, I mean all of my warming bags are sold out."

"Oh? In that case, I might be losing a regular!" The tavern owner's expression was quite animated: initial surprise, then composure, and finally a hint of regret. This range of expressions was conveyed entirely by his facial muscles, as his eyes were always droopy. No matter what, the tavern owner's lifeless eyes always seemed to lack spirit.

"Heh heh heh, even if I'm not selling warming bags, I'll still come for a drink every day. When it comes to wine, the more the merrier!"

His lifeless eyes still droopy, the tavern owner poured Oha another pint of ale. "Go on then, tell me. Which unlucky soul did you manage to talk into buying so many warming bags at once?"

"It's not like that. I feel more like *he* fooled *me*. What he said made me question my entire life," Oha replied, taking a sip of ale and picking up a peanut before starting the story he wanted to share.

Oha's story was not particularly unusual: just a small vendor with goods to sell encountering a strange Treasure Hunter.

The Treasure Hunter wore a cloak of an indistinguishable color, held a long wooden staff like a walking stick in one hand, and a rattling chain in the other. The chain was clearly tethered to some kind of Beast.

Dusk was falling, and Oha was just about to pack up his stall and head to the tavern for a drink when this peculiar Treasure Hunter stopped him.

The Treasure Hunter simply sat down in front of Oha without uttering a word.

What happened next was a bit strange—not the outcome, but the process. To this day, Oha still didn't understand how he had sold all those warming bags.

"Actually, I'm not really sure. I feel like he didn't truly listen to anything I said." After a few more drinks, the initial joy in Oha's heart had somewhat faded, giving him space to reflect on the whole affair. He felt that although he had made a good amount of gold coins this time, there was a large element of chance involved.

More specifically, he had gotten incredibly lucky...

"Sounds like you really lucked out then," a drinker at a nearby table chimed in.

"These newcomers these days are stranger than the last. So strange, it's not even surprising anymore. We're drinking here every day thanks to them, you know," another patron remarked upon hearing Oha's story, a surge of bitterness and resentment welling up inside him.

"I feel like he was talking to himself the whole time, and I was just an observer," Oha said, paying no heed to the others' interruptions and continuing his tale.

"And I was a very attentive observer at that."

"Huh? You don't think that fellow actually tricked you, do you?" The muscles on the tavern owner's face twitched again.

"I don't know. I felt like I kept talking about the night, the cold, things like that, but he kept going on about darkness and power."

"Anything specific?" another patron leaned in to ask.

"He said that on this continent, people always fear the coming of winter, but nobody fears Extreme Summer. That's because people always associate cold with darkness, and heat with light," Oha recalled.

"He also said that hypocrites always like to deceive themselves. In truth, light and darkness can both conceal unsightly things, but this world has always been ruled by a bunch of self-righteous phonies."

"Well, that... actually seems to make some sense."

"So, as I was saying, I was almost swayed by him. He said that darkness isn't actually frightening. Many of us make our living in the dark, yet we never take pride in it."

"I can admit that. I run this tavern, and we do business at night. If nightfall never came, or let's say, if darkness never descended, I suppose no one would come to my tavern." The tavern owner refilled Oha's glass.

"Then tell me, why do we always use 'darkness' to describe bad things? For instance, calling Alien Species 'monsters of the dark world,' or labeling wicked people 'servants of dark demons'?"

"Well, perhaps it's like you said earlier—everyone's afraid of the dark," a nearby patron, now engrossed, chimed in.

"He said that darkness is unknown to us. We can't see clearly what lies within it, nor do we know its true extent—unlike bright daylight, where everything is plain to see and no secrets can remain hidden."

"So, we fear it because we can't see into it?" someone else asked.

"He said it's because it's unseen that people perceive it as the unknown. For some, this unknown makes them feel helpless, and when helplessness reaches a certain point, it becomes fear."

"But after all that, did you figure out what any of what he said has to do with us?"

"Of course, it's relevant!" Oha exclaimed, somewhat agitated, as if provoked. "In the face of the unknown darkness, we should revere it, not fear it or reject it—"

"Friend!"

Oha's impassioned sharing was cut short by a voice from a corner of the tavern.

The voice was so resonant it instantly silenced the entire tavern.

"Friend," the voice declared, "you encountered a Dark Wizard. You were nearly brainwashed and dragged into irredeemable evil."

"Huh? But I think what he said made a lot of sense! We *should* revere it!"

"Darkness and cold mostly bring stagnation and death, while light and warmth bring new life. This isn't about what can or cannot be seen." The patron in the corner, who also looked like a new Treasure Hunter, finished his fruit wine and was now stacking copper coins on the table.

"But..." Oha still wanted to argue, but he was at a loss for words.

"You encountered a Dark Wizard. They study the arts of death. Go back and look at the place where you met him. I wouldn't be surprised if that spot is now withered and dead, completely devoid of life." Having finished stacking his copper coins, the man rose, put on his hat, and prepared to leave.

"Don't forget the Aura of Death that lurks behind the darkness. That kind of death is not something to be revered."

These words did not fade with the man's departure but continued to echo, resonating throughout the tavern...