Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 322: See and remember
Chapter 322: See and remember
“See… and remember…”
The words echoed—not through the air, but through Damien’s spine. Like an aftershock of meaning that hadn’t landed yet.
He turned toward the waterfall again.
See?
See what?
It wasn’t water. It wasn’t even light—not entirely. The cascade was a bleeding edge between reality and something older. Something deeper. It shimmered, yes—but not in color alone. It shimmered with impression. With meaning. With some language that his eyes couldn’t speak, but his instincts understood just enough to ache from it.
“What the fuck does that even mean…?” Damien muttered.
But the thing didn’t respond.
It had moved now—sat itself cross-legged in midair like a child at a campfire, floating in front of the waterfall, eyes closed. Hands on its knees. Grinning still, but not moving. As if it had played its part.
And now?
Now Damien was alone again.
No answers.
Just that gaze—not from the creature, but from the world itself.
And inside that gaze, his mind began to stir.
Not with understanding.
With questions.
What did it mean by “see”?
He stared harder at the waterfall, trying to force clarity out of it, as if squinting could break a riddle. But it didn’t change. It just continued, endlessly, spilling the unspoken into a pool that had no bottom.
What was he supposed to remember?
He couldn’t tell if it was memory or madness. Couldn’t tell if the light was trying to show him something or make him something.
The other beings—those eldritch, alien forms—still moved around him. Still unaware. Still uninterested.
What were they doing here?
Guarding it?
Living in it?
Were they drawn to the waterfall like he was? Or born from it?
Was this place even real?
The leaves whispered with soundless voices. The ground pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Nothing had roots. Nothing cast a shadow.
And yet—it felt more true than anything he’d ever walked through.
“What are these things?” he muttered. “Natives? Watchers? Prisoners?”
He didn’t know.
Didn’t even know if he was supposed to.
But the words of that grinning creature still rang in his skull like a bell struck once:
“See… and remember…”
He turned back to the waterfall.
And he looked.
Not glanced. Not watched.
He saw.
The shapes around him—those silent, alien beings that had once blurred like phantoms—suddenly gained gravity. Intent. Some stood. Some floated. Others crawled or twisted or hovered without form. But they weren’t idle. They were doing something.
Their movements weren’t chaotic. They had rhythm. Purpose.
Some lifted limbs, others bowed. A few stood in sharp, almost martial poses—arms forward, spines arched, like channeling conduits. And now, with that fractured light pouring across their features, Damien understood—they weren’t posing. They were funneling.
A cycle.
Energy flowing out from them into the waterfall… and in return, drawn back.
A circuit.
And then—chaos.
Without warning, a tremor pulsed through the landscape. Light twisted. Space folded. From beyond the distant ridges, something surged forward—a beast, or a shape, or a storm he couldn’t name. It struck the edge of the settlement like a clawed hurricane, rending light and sound apart.
The beings moved in response.
Immediately.
No panic. No disorder.
Just reaction.
One hurled a spear of lightning from its chest. Another unleashed a whiplash of water that coiled like a serpent. Fire bloomed from palms. Wind howled like blades. One form cracked open, and from its insides poured a syrupy black mass that burned holes into the ground.
They fought.
Not like soldiers. Not like humans.
Like instincts sharpened to precision. Like spells that had learned to wield themselves.
Damien watched, stunned.
And then, just as quickly, it ended.
The storm-beast—or whatever had emerged—was gone. Dissolved or retreated. The rift it came from folded in on itself.
The beings returned.
No celebration.
No fatigue.
They moved to the edge of the pool formed by the waterfall. Not to bathe. Not to rest.
To channel.
Each one took a position. Familiar now. Repetitive. Geometric.
And the light of the cascade bent to meet them.
’They’re… refilling,’ Damien thought, throat dry.
Mana.
He could see it.
Drawn in like breath. Pulled through their bodies. Recycled. Balanced.
He remembered the void inside him. That ache. That clawing desperation after his surge. The spasms. The whispers.
His body had screamed then. For what it lacked. For what it needed.
He looked at the beings again.
Calm.
Still.
Connected.
’Is this it?’ he thought. ’Is this what it meant by see?’
See them.
And do what they’re doing.
Not for power.
Not for pride.
But because it’s what he needed.
Because if he didn’t… he’d burn himself out from the inside again.
And next time?
There might not be anything left.
He stepped toward the edge of the clearing, quiet.
None of the creatures turned to him. None of them acknowledged his presence. They just continued—rooted in silence, bathed in the waterfall’s light, drawing and cycling and releasing.
So Damien watched.
And then—slowly—he sat.
The stone beneath him was cool, smoother than it looked, pulsing faintly with energy. It almost breathed. He let his legs fold underneath him, mirrored the closest figure’s posture—arms resting lightly on thighs, spine upright but not rigid. It felt awkward. Foreign.
But he stayed.
And watched.
He focused—not with logic, not with technique, but with instinct. He tried to feel what they felt. Not do what they did, because he didn’t know the mechanics. He didn’t need to.
He needed to follow.
So he breathed.
Let his lungs stretch.
Let his skin tingle.
And the first sensation returned—not sharp, not sudden, but faint.
A pull.
Like the air brushing his skin in reverse. Like heat without temperature. Like space bending gently inward.
The thread.
It was there again.
But it was different now.
Not the urgent, fire-hot conduit he’d grasped before in desperation. This one shimmered softer, less volatile. It curved, not surged. It invited.
He narrowed his eyes.
What was it?
The current moved slower. More stable. The way a tide draws in—not to crash, but to fill.
This wasn’t about action. It was about restoration.
He leaned into it.
Breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat.
And the thread stayed.
Close. Real.
Yet somehow altered.
And he couldn’t tell how.
Damien narrowed his eyes.
The thread was there. He could feel it—curving toward him like breath pulled from beneath the skin. Not volatile. Not urgent.
But stable.
Alive.
And yet—he couldn’t tell how.
It didn’t move like the raw mana he’d tapped before. Didn’t rush in like it needed to be seized. It lingered. As if waiting for him to understand a rhythm he couldn’t hear.
So he tried.
He shifted forward slightly, adjusting his posture. Leaned in. Let his awareness stretch beyond his body—through his body. He angled his head. Closed one eye. Focused on the way the energy moved through the creature nearest to him.
Still—nothing clicked.
So he rotated again. Subtle. An angle to the left. A deeper breath. A longer exhale.
Still—just out of reach.
“Come on,” he whispered.
Another angle.
Nothing.
His vision flickered. The thread shimmered—but didn’t change. Didn’t clarify.
Damien exhaled, long and slow, jaw tight.
Fine.
He let it go.
For now.
Instead, he looked outward again—at them. The others.
He watched the insectoid with its shimmering moon-eyes. The thing shifted its limbs ever so slightly with each breath, subtle changes aligning with pulses from the pool. The dinosaur-bone-beast rotated its skull slowly, keeping pace with a low hum from the waterfall. Even the alien flicker-being began to shift now—glitching in sync with the current.
It was choreography.
Not copied.
Felt.
So Damien did the same.
He mirrored one of them—subtle adjustments, keeping his spine open, his hands still. He let his body listen. Not for sound, but for pressure. Movement. Pulse.
And just as the rhythm started to thread into him—
A sound.
A deep, wet growl.
Damien’s head snapped up.
From the far side of the forest, something moved.
No—charged.
He saw it emerging between the trees—twisting, low, massive.
Not elegant.
Not fluid.
Savage.
The thing tore through the underbrush like it hated the concept of growth itself. Its shape was hunched, vaguely lupine, covered in coarse ridged bone. Teeth lined not only its mouth but the sides of its neck. Its breath steamed in thick clouds, and a long spine of cracked chitin dragged behind it like a tail.
It didn’t slow.
It didn’t look around.
It was heading straight to the waterfall.
The other creatures didn’t flinch.
They didn’t turn.
They simply continued channeling. As if the monster wasn’t a threat. As if it was expected.
Damien slowly rose to one knee, watching.
The savage thing stomped past him—didn’t even glance in his direction. Its growls deepened as it reached the pool.
And then—it stopped.
Dead still.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
