Capítulo 545: Chapter 545: The Three Days of Coma (Part 2)
Not sure if it was because the magi deliberately ignored them to make the homunculus drop their guard, or some other unknown reason, Gordes found that he wasn't met with any resistance.
Quietly cursing, "Useless fools, not a hint of vigilance," Gordes walked into one of the large rooms where the homunculus lived.
The scene caught his eyes and made him feel extremely anxious. Although this wasn't a new occurrence, this time the anxiety felt even more abnormal to him.
The room, originally meant for living, had been turned into a sick room. On the floor covered with white cloth, many wounded lay at specific intervals. Several medical homunculi moved among them, continuously performing various treatments. Their sweat showed how hard they were working. However, their effort and the results were not proportional, as most of the wounded's conditions continued to worsen.
...
"I'm fine here, go treat the others."
A badly injured homunculus said with a smile to another homunculus.
"But, but—"
"It's okay, as long as the bleeding stops. I am also a medical model; I know how to handle it. Once I recover, I'll join you in treating everyone."
...
"Sorry, I need to rest for a while. Please wake me in five hours."
A homunculus said, closing his eyes. He had been working for eighteen straight hours.
"Homunculus only need five hours of sleep. But it seems my body has become quite exhausted. This feeling of deep sleep... it's the first time—"
...
"Sorry, I'm really at my limit."
"Don't worry about it, you've done very well."
Like a patient on their deathbed, the homunculus lying on the ground gently patted the arm of the dejected homunculus who had lowered his head.
Seeing such a scene, Gordes' sense of urgency became even stronger. The homunculus lying on the ground was one of those confined to the magic supply tanks.
Because of her congenital defects, she never had the chance to appear before anyone and could only die silently here—
"Fools, fools, fools! Every single one of you is a fool!"
Gordes' teeth were grinding loudly, and he couldn't help but curse out loud.
Immediately, the homunculus assumed a defensive posture.
A tall, dark-skinned man materialized and stood between Gordes and the homunculus.
"Saber, it's fine. He can't hurt me."
Gordes waved his hand, signaling Siegfried to step aside.
Strangely, Siegfried, who always obeyed his Master's commands, did not move this time. Instead, he turned to face his Master.
"Saber?"
"Master, please save them."
"Stop joking around, Saber. Treatment? Why should I—"
As if remembering something, Gordes cut himself off mid-sentence, his face displaying an incredulous expression, as if he had witnessed a nuclear explosion right in front of him.
"Wait—how—how do you—?"
From that long conversation onward, the understanding between Master and Servant deepened. On the night before the battle, Gordes had even seen Siegfried's dreams, deeply experiencing his heavy and hollow life, and consequently fully recognizing what kind of person Siegfried was.
He was a prince of the Netherlands, a great hero who slew dragons.
Brave and noble, he earned countless honors. Men flocked to serve under his name, and women devoted their unwavering love to him.
The hero responded to their expectations as well.
He had almost no time to rest, continuously seeking battles. No, it was not that he sought battles; rather, battles never released him and his immense power.
From the Nibelungen tribe, he received the mythical great sword and bathed in the blood of the evil dragon Fafnir, gaining a body of steel.
An invincible sword and an invincible body—it was only natural that countless battles sought his participation.
His career was spotless, his life dazzlingly brilliant.
However, he was too much of a hero—overly heroic. Whenever someone requested his help, he would respond. Whenever anyone knelt and begged, he would surely grasp their hand.
If someone asked him to slay a dragon, he would kill the dragon. If someone wished to win a beauty without violating anyone's will, he would rack his brain to find a way to fulfill that wish. In this process, there was no distinction between good and evil... it was simply a way of living like a wish-granting machine.
He always believed that as long as he did this, it was enough. Good and evil were ultimately just matters of perspective.
Therefore, even if a corrupt official cried to him about their family being killed, he would take revenge for them.
However, if no one made a request, he would ignore even the desperate poor whose homes were destroyed.
Because if he did not, it would never end. It was impossible to encompass the entire world within his arms. So, he just kept responding to requests, adhering to this decision.
Actions were not based on his will; battles were not his preference. Amidst all this, the hero suddenly realized—he had no idea what he was hoping for. Neither hope nor dreams existed for him. He couldn't even envision his future. While others saw the hero as their ideal, the hero himself had lost his ideals.
—What a deception, like gears that couldn't mesh together. Responding to requests and losing sight of what he sought was, of course, an inevitable result.
Even though he was lost and confused, he still believed that there would be something to gain at the end of this path, that there would be something to find at the finish line. The hero had no choice but to continue fighting.
He had never faced defeat, and he couldn't do so. Since victory was what was sought after, no matter how much suffering and despair he had to overcome, he always firmly grasped victory in the end.
Victory, victory, always victory.
"I hope you can help defeat that monster," "Please save our village," "Please defeat our enemies," "I want that mountain," "I want that beautiful woman," "I want that country"—there were as many wishes as there were people, and only those who made requests saw their wishes granted.
He was basically a "Holy Grail" named Hero. And that was fine—so the hero thought. Because being thanked by others was a joyous thing.
Seeing others beg him with desperate expressions, their hearts moved him naturally.
So he continued doing this—eventually even accomplishing the great feat of slaying a dragon.
But somewhere in his heart, there was always a hole.
A hollow space, vast and empty.
Even though he deeply loved humanity.
Even though he deeply loved the world.
Yet, this emptiness could never be filled, no matter what.
Even in death, becoming a heroic spirit, and being summoned back to the present world to participate in the Holy Grail War.
He still carried this emptiness, persisting in his life as a "wish machine" and a "hero."
How sorrowful, incomprehensible, and yet how dazzling. Compared to him, Gordes felt very small and couldn't agree—what's the point of living like a machine? Can such a life truly be called human?
Siegfried didn't respond, because he didn't know how to answer, only stubbornly persisting.
Gordes scolded him, even kicked him a couple of times out of frustration, but the hero silently endured.
In the end, Gordes, helpless and in despair, said—at least find one thing you want to do, unrelated to anyone else's requests.
Siegfried agreed.
"So, this is what you want to do?"
"Yes, Master. After you scolded me, I thought a lot. Although I still haven't found what I'm hoping for, I am certain that stubbornly adhering to my ideals, ignoring the weak who cower in front of me just because they haven't asked for help, and turning a deaf ear to their cries, abandoning them—such ugly and evil behavior is definitely not what I am aiming for."
This was certainly the change Gordes wanted to see—but Siegfried's request left him dissatisfied.
"Why? Why these useless idiots and fools?"
These short-lived, insignificant, foolish beings who can't even handle the simplest tasks have nothing in common with a renowned hero.
Facing the irritable Gordes, Siegfried calmly answered, "Because they are weak, Master. A knight should help the weak. Rider made me realize this again."
"That idiotic knight."
Gordes gritted his teeth again.
"What if I refuse?"
"Then I'll do what I can for them. I have some knowledge about treating external wounds..."
Siegfried said as he picked up a roll of bandages. But before he could take more than two steps, Gordes snatched the bandages from his hand.
"Master?"
"Fools. They are fools, and you are a fool too. This won't work."
Godesr knelt to check the pulse of a homunculus lying on the ground. He then tapped their arms, shoulders, and collarbone sequentially, as if understanding something. He nodded and then ordered the homunculus to open their mouth.
"Although it doesn't show on the surface, their respiratory organs are underdeveloped. The breathing aid is set inside the magic supply tank. Go get it."
"Huh?"
Seeing another homunculus' confused expression, Gordes glared at them and shouted, "I won't say it again!"
The homunculus hurriedly said, "I'll get it right away," and ran into the hallway.
"Um—"
"What is it?"
"Didn't you refuse?"
"I said 'if'—and if I don't help, how would you, a fool who only knows how to fight, and this group of fools who only know how to treat external wounds and resist mental control, know how to treat underdeveloped respiratory organs? I never taught you that!"
Even if they're just tools, it would be a waste to use them so meaninglessly.
More importantly, that way, your life wouldn't be spotless anymore—just a Servant, where's the life in that? I must be out of my mind.
And so, while grumbling and complaining, Gordes treated the homunculus' injuries with incredible efficiency and astonishing skill. Siegfried quietly assisted him, and the two of them worked tirelessly until the next morning, adjusting all the homunculus.
After that, Siegfried would periodically visit the homunculus, sometimes alone, sometimes asking Gordes to come along.
As Siegfried deepened his interactions with the homunculus, he made new requests, such as providing basic guarantees for the homunculus and extending their lifespans.
Although Gordes appeared annoyed, he ultimately "reluctantly" agreed and, under Fiore's witness, established a new contract with the homunculus—a contract of employment.
The work for the homunculus remained the same, assisting magi with various tasks.
In return, the Yggdmillennia family would provide living quarters and basic necessities, ensuring basic human rights, prohibiting casual beatings, and forbidding the use of homunculus for human experimentation. Gordes, the creator of the homunculus, was required to name all surviving homunculus, starting with the current representatives.
Additionally, there were clauses regarding the Servants. The mana-supplying homunculus agreed to share the load, but unlike before, where a single homunculus bore the full burden of mana supply like a consumable, the load would now be distributed in segments among a group to prevent any homunculus from being drained to death. Correspondingly, the Servants were obligated to protect the mana-supplying homunculus from harm.
The contract was formalized with a legally binding document, signed or confirmed by blood from representatives of both sides.
An interesting incident occurred during the signing process.
Those familiar with Gordes knew that he wasn't inherently bad, just had a foul mouth that often got him in trouble.
So, he got hit. The homunculus leader, Toole, hit him because he kept mocking everyone during the signing negotiations. He insulted everyone present, including Siegfried, with terms like "idiot," "fool," and "moron."
It got worse when he tried to use these terms for the homunculus' names. The homunculus leader couldn't take it anymore and struck him in the stomach with an axe, threatening him.
"If you dare to give us lousy names on purpose, I'll use this to trim your belly fat."
Gordes, unwilling to back down, wanted to retaliate but was too close and too obese. The homunculus leader, specially designed for combat with excellent physical abilities, easily overpowered him and even mocked him. In this aspect, she truly was Gorde's "daughter," inheriting his demeanor.
"Although you are a decent alchemist, you should change your arrogant and conceited nature to avoid causing trouble for Lord Siegfried."
Gordes was so angry his teeth hurt.
"This is a nightmare! If I had known, I would have added some restrictions to prevent your rebellion!"
Toole's response was also amusing: "With your skills, you probably couldn't have done that anyway."
In the end, Gordes had no choice but to name the humanoid homunculus "Toole," a plain name, while secretly thinking he would mock them to his heart's content when they were close to death.
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