The World Mistakes Me for Terminally Ill - Chapter 101

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The World Thinks I’m Terminally Ill Episode 101

“I’m fine.”

What do you mean fine? You’ve really gotten used to lying.

I felt a surge of emotion hearing the whisper in my ear, but I stayed still, afraid that fidgeting might hurt him more.

We remained like that until Shubel’s breathing returned to its usual calm rhythm.

I watched the man carefully release me with what seemed like reluctance, and was about to ask to see his injury when I remembered this wasn’t a safe zone and barely held back.

We proceeded with exploration, making escaping this place our primary goal.

‘We’re underwater but we can breathe.’

It seemed to be because this place was inside a painting.

As I looked around, something glinted on the lake bottom.

It was an old music box.

♩♪♬

When I picked it up, click, the music box began turning on its own and a gloomy whisper echoed from deep within the lake.

I unconsciously frowned.

‘A voice?’

Listening carefully, it was humming mixed with noise rather than a song.

As that eerie humming continued, the surroundings grew darker and visions of the past appeared before my eyes.

‘■■■■! No! No…!’

A painter crying out in anguish at his lover’s tragic death.

When the painter, embracing the corpse of the drowned woman, cursed the world, a man appeared and extended his hand.

A fine gentleman’s hat and perfectly fitted suit, a short cane.

‘Don’t you want to bring her back to life? I’ll lend you that power.’

The painter grasped the other’s hand without hesitation. Even if the other was a demon, it didn’t matter.

With help from the one who claimed to be his patron, he completed his ‘painting’ as if possessed.

However, the painting that fed on human life force took even the painter’s life.

The painter, who had burned his life for his beloved lover, intuited that he would die before completing the painting.

Thus, using the unfinished painting, he succeeded in his revenge by preserving in the painting all those who had contributed to his lover’s death.

But his true purpose wasn’t revenge, but to extract his lover’s soul from the painting and give her a new life.

After the painting was confiscated, the painter searched for a disciple to succeed him.

An orphan boy with overwhelming talent but nothing else, who would willingly burn his life for the painting.

‘Listen well, Ruone.’

That was Ruone.

Incidentally, ‘Ruone’ was a promise with his lover, now impossible to fulfill, that if a child were born someday, they would use this name.

‘I entrust the lake to you.’

♩♪♬…

The music box stopped.

I picked up the only evidence of the ghost story from 30 years ago.

The object that the demon who had lent the painter the power to trap human souls had used to contain the actress’s soul.

It was a token of love cherished by the two, and now recorded all the injustices and evil acts that had befallen the actress at that time.

‘I see.’

There was always a question I had whenever I heard this ghost story.

Why did the painter give his painting of his lover the name ‘Black Swan Lake’?

[Swan Lake]

But that wasn’t it. The truth I confirmed through the music box was different.

The title of this ‘painting’ was originally Swan Lake.

Like the name of the play eternally repeating in the world within the painting.

It had simply become so corrupted through bloodshed, infamy, and rumors that it lost even its original name.

‘That must be the price of selling one’s soul to a demon.’

We took it and emerged from the lake.

Instead of the unrealistically large silver moon, we came to our senses in a space that smelled of paint.

We had come out of the [Black Swan Lake] painting.

The old music box was still in my hand.

As soon as the ringing in my head subsided, I turned to check on Shubel first.

“Let me see your shoulder. Does it hurt a lot-“

Then I saw the wet handsome man lifting and wringing out the hem of his shirt, and all my thoughts came to a halt.

‘Wait.’

What,

…what was I trying to say?

Without realizing it, I stared intently at the well-trained abdominal muscles brazenly revealed beneath his shirt, made semi-transparent by water, then naturally turned my head away.

This was like a natural disaster. What could I do about what was visible before my eyes?

‘As expected of a young master from a secluded region, he doesn’t know how scary the world is.’

An outside woman… ah, I’m not an outside woman. Anyway, who is he being so immodest for?

I suddenly felt very annoyed.

‘So he acts like this in front of just anyone?’

I shoved my plan to remove Shubel’s shirt and check his injury into the mental trash can and slammed it shut!

He was right. Such… things that others shouldn’t see should be done in a different space. Like a bedroom, for instance.

‘Come to think of it, wasn’t he with that actress?’

What did the two of them talk about? Where did the actress go?

I approached him while inwardly mulling over questions I couldn’t ask because my pride was somehow hurt.

For reference, as an ordinary person, I was equipped with outrageously expensive magical tools for any possible situation. When I took out a brooch and held it to Shubel, his blood-soaked shoulder visibly improved. The moisture from his clothes was also quickly removed.

Shubel hesitated.

“Madam?”

“Stay still. Why are you removing moisture with such primitive methods?”

“My mana won’t move…”

Somehow his tricks weren’t working, and Shubel looked at me like a dejected large dog.

He tried to cover me with his outer garment, seeing that I was equally wet.

“You’re cold.”

“It’s fine. You should cover yourself properly.”

Who are you taking that off for! Inwardly fuming, I removed my own moisture, and Shubel became completely deflated.

Regardless, I was busy soothing my inexplicably spiteful mood.

“Didn’t you see anyone in the painting?”

At my voice that came out somewhat prickly for some reason, he tensed up.

“There was someone who copied Madam’s appearance.”

“My appearance? This current form?”

“Yes. Of course, nothing happened and I politely sent them away.”

I smiled at the mention that they had even mimicked my appearance to approach Shubel.

‘So this is how you want to play.’

Inwardly pondering how to deal with the black mage, the actress, and the statues trapped in the painting, I looked up.

I could see a canvas gradually being completed even though no one was painting it.

‘That demon is the black mage. I’m certain.’

The mysterious patron who had given power to the painter.

Though only the face was painted over, a few characteristic clues were enough to identify the opponent.

The distinctive brazen manner of speech, gentlemanly gestures, the attitude of not hiding malice while being confident the other party couldn’t refuse.

An arrogant yet seductive demon.

Considering how he had referred to the ballroom where the painting was sealed as his ‘collection’, it was definitely the black mage.

I glared at the canvas and asked myself a question.

‘What does the black mage really want?’

I heard from Shubel about his conversation with the actress. Thanks to that, what had been vague like fog became clearly visible.

Let me reorganize.

We had entered a scene from a play. Due to the absence of the male protagonist, the play couldn’t be completed and repeated infinitely.

And the painting absorbs the life force of the people trapped in the play and becomes complete. Once the painting is finished, the people here will be preserved in the painting.

The way to prevent this and escape from the ball is to complete the fundamental ‘play’.

Since we rescued Shubel, who plays the ‘male protagonist’ role necessary for completing the play, the play has stopped at one scene like before. The ball will continue to absorb life force.

If this happens, the painting will soon be completed as originally intended, and we’ll be trapped inside this painting.

‘But here’s where a contradiction arises. According to what the maids said, we can get out even if the painting is completed.’

Originally, the only way to escape was ‘completing the play’, but suddenly ‘completing the painting is also fine!’ was added.

When the painting is completed, being preserved in the painting versus being able to escape. A contradiction arose where these two endings clash. One of them must be true, and one must be false.

If what the maid said is true, then we can get out just by waiting until the painting is completed.

‘Would that really be the case?’

Would the ending that the dopamine addict playwright wants be so trivial?

What would happen when a demonic painting that preserves human souls is completed? Why did the 3rd Prince Faction try to complete this painting?

“Shubel, right now.”

Countless complex calculations went through my head in a chain reaction.

I combined all that information with what I had and the current situation, and finally reached a conclusion.

“We need to find Erban.”

Now it was time to bring down the curtain on this play.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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