To You Whom I Don’t Love That Much (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 137

137.

Hastily returning to her room, Ro confirmed Anna was absent and locked the bedroom door from the inside. Still uneasy, she meticulously checked beneath the bed and every corner of the room for anything unusual before finally opening the book.

For half the book, she felt disappointed. Demekaron contained various folktales about the “Legendary Age,” but none seemed to hold the truth she sought.

After all, it merely retold the love stories between gods and fairies—common even in children’s books—in an explicit and shockingly vulgar manner. In fact, it was downright obscene. By the time she had read two-thirds of it, she felt nothing but embarrassment. Perhaps she had misinterpreted Nick’s careless doodle after all?

But if Demekaron were merely an obscene book, there would have been no reason for the Imperial Library to burn every copy. Ro calmed herself and turned to the final pages. Fortunately, from there on, the legends grew darker and more sinister—tales of monsters, vengeful deities, and orally transmitted malicious spells. Some even described cursing with nothing but a few twigs. Ro absorbed these intriguing truths like a dry sponge soaking up water.

[Calypso. A title bestowed upon the most powerful among sea witches. Depending on the era, this figure may be a young woman or an old crone. Some believe the name is not passed down, but refers to a single, unique existence.]

Ro read the passage with keen interest. No one knew exactly when Demekaron was compiled into a book, but judging by the condition of the parchment or leather, it was at least several hundred years old. Deus had begun to rise and Pontos had started being regarded as mere phantoms of the sea a thousand years ago. Could it be that Calypso had wandered the mortal realm since that very era?

[Gods are forbidden from directly interfering in the mortal world due to causality.]

Ro startled upon reading that word. Demekaron was an anonymous compilation, not even authored entirely by one person. Yet whoever wrote this passage must have been someone beloved by the gods—or perhaps the god themselves. Causality. In her entire life, she had only ever heard that term from Calypso’s own lips. Her hand quickly flipped to the next page.

[If a god distorts a predetermined future in any way, they will, by causality, lose all divinity and be cast into a human body. They will then experience the pain and decay of flesh, things they never knew as a god.]

Pain and decay. Ro recalled a recent memory. When Lady Audrey visited her in Montrosa’s territory, the corpse-like skin glimpsed beneath her dress sleeves, and the moment she flinched as if terrified even a drop of water might splash her…

[For a god cast into a mortal body to regain eternal divinity, three offerings are required. A wicked flower bloomed with flesh and blood, the most noble body, and the most precious thing obtained as a human. The last must be purified.]

Ro trembled as she traced the illustration beneath the passage—a fully bloomed flower. Its petals were dark violet, and its center a deep crimson. If the giant bud in the Imperial Garden ever bloomed, it would surely look just like this.

[As the wicked flower ripens, it drains human vitality and induces hallucinations. To withstand its toxicity when fully bloomed, one must cut the root of the wicked flower and place it in the mouth…]

The next part was torn, the paper crumpled and ripped. Someone had torn it out in a hurry. Judging by the carelessness, the person likely wasn’t meticulous—the corner of the illustration remained. Though she couldn’t see the full image, it resembled the upper-left portion of a magic circle. Even from that fragment, she instinctively sensed it was an extremely horrific spell. Ro tore off the remaining paper and shoved it deep into her sleeve.

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