The Unplugged Ring

Autumn rain pattered outside, while a warm fire blazed within.

Reyn was utterly submerged in the sofa, a half-finished cup of coffee resting on the table beside him.

It had been a long time since he’d subjected himself to such intense mental exertion, yet he was relieved to have resolved one pressing matter today.

He intended to announce a tax reduction tomorrow, though he couldn’t predict how many people he would inevitably antagonize.

The thought alone caused his not-yet-empty mind to throb with renewed pain.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The sudden ring of the telephone exacerbated Reyn’s already profound weariness. He felt no desire to rise; as a Count, such conveniences as servants answering calls were among his many privileges.

However, the insistent ringing showed no sign of stopping. Reyn couldn’t help but frown, his voice deepening as he called out, “Ark! Are you slacking off?”

No one responded, but a hurried set of footsteps approached from upstairs, accompanied by the increasingly loud telephone.

Steward Ark descended the spiral staircase from the second floor, his face ashen, like that of a corpse. He presented the landline phone he held in his arms to Reyn, his voice trembling as he said, “Master, something terrible has happened!”

Reyn cast a quick glance, noting that the receiver was still properly cradled on the base. A surge of displeasure rose within him. “Couldn’t you answer it?”

Ark offered no reply, merely gazing silently at Reyn. Half a minute later, Reyn suddenly shot up from the sofa, fixing his gaze intently upon the landline phone in Ark’s arms.

The model was ancient, even coated in a fine layer of dust, suggesting it hadn’t been used in a very long time.

But these details were not the most crucial.

If the landline wasn’t plugged in, how was it ringing?

Reyn’s complexion gradually paled, his voice hoarse as he instructed, “Put it down.”

He watched Ark place the phone on the table, his brows deeply furrowed as he stared at it, teeth lightly biting, lips slightly parted.

‘An Aberrant?’

They were entities that did not belong to this world. They knew no death, only containment.

Reyn took a deep, deliberate breath, then slowly extended his arm and lowered it, grasping the receiver.

“Hello?”

He had chosen to answer the call, and from the other end, he heard a voice.

“Are you home?”

It was a female voice, and surprisingly familiar.

Reyn’s eyelids twitched. With a sense of uncertainty, he tentatively inquired, “Mother?”

No one responded. Only a dial tone.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Urgent knocking suddenly echoed from the main door. Reyn’s expression grew solemn as he lowered the receiver, his eyes fixed on the vibrating door.

‘A B-rank Aberrant, the Voice of the Deceased.’

He felt an inexplicable sense of relief. This particular Aberrant appeared quite frequently, yet its harm was minimal, and it never directly injured others.

Reyn’s voice was low as he said, “Ark, open the door.”

Ark’s eye twitched violently. With a heart full of trepidation, he approached the door and reached out a trembling hand for the doorknob.

As Ark tightened his grip, the main door slowly creaked open. Standing outside was a shapeless, muddy mass that vaguely resembled a human form.

It moved like a person, stepping into the house and advancing steadily towards Reyn, its voice soft and gentle: “Reyn, my child.”

Reyn silently observed the entity before him. The B-rank Aberrant, the Voice of the Deceased, was not a mysterious entity to the world; countless legends surrounded it, and previous generations had compiled effective countermeasures based on their personal experiences.

Namely, never answer the phone in the first place.

Yet, such a precaution was unavoidable, for no one could predict that a sudden call might, in fact, be from the Voice of the Deceased.

Even in Reyn’s current situation, where he already knew he was dealing with an Aberrant, the inability to determine if it was a new, unknown type left him in a dilemma: to answer or not to answer.

If one answered the call, then only a powerful will could resist the temptation deep within.

It had now reached Reyn, extending its hands to gently cup his face, its voice tender: “Reyn, my child, how you’ve grown!”

The viscous touch reminded Reyn once more that what stood before him was merely a monster possessing all the memories of his biological mother. His gaze suddenly became profoundly sorrowful, observing it with pity.

It seemed to sense Reyn’s unusual gaze, its voice filled with utter desolation: “Reyn, my child. I am your mother, why do you look at Mother with such eyes?”

Reyn suddenly sighed softly, then turned to Ark and instructed, “Bring another cup of coffee.”

Ark, whose body had been tense since the entity entered, was utterly bewildered by Reyn’s command, but he immediately carried it out. When a fresh cup of hot coffee was brought over, Reyn pushed the cup towards the entity and said gently, “Drink.”

It seemed to be touched. As it picked up the cup, Reyn suddenly spoke again, “Will you remember?”

It appeared to look up at Reyn with some confusion, met by his pitying gaze.

Reyn’s lips twitched, as if in mockery, yet also regret. “You won’t remember at all, will you?”

It ceased all movement, as though its mind had crashed.

Reyn gently shook his head, his voice soft. “But I will remember. That is the greatest difference between you and me. Ultimately, you are just an afterimage of the past. What does it matter if you possess all the memories of the deceased? You can only remain in the past, while I am destined to move towards the future. Mother? Don’t sicken me. You can’t even remember having a cup of coffee with me, face to face!”

Reyn looked at the still unresponsive entity and casually remarked, “The Holy Church claims your danger lies in making people struggle between illusion and reality, leading to mental collapse? In my opinion, your true danger is keeping hearts forever in the past, sealing off the path to the future.”

It finally began to react, its voice turning cold: “Reyn Rheinhebo, I will remember you.”

In that instant, its physical structure began to collapse, yet it left no trace, as if vanishing into thin air.

Reyn stared blankly at the spot where it had been sitting, a situation he had not anticipated at all.

According to the Holy Church’s records, the B-rank Aberrant ‘Voice of the Deceased’ only possessed all the memories of the deceased and therefore only acted according to the deceased’s habits.

That last sentence should never have been uttered!

Reyn’s face gradually became exceptionally pale, and with a forced, humorless smile, he squeezed out, “Damn it all!”

That sentence, he realized, likely came from the core consciousness of the ‘Voice of the Deceased’ itself!

Ark, who had been standing by, could barely suppress his frantic heartbeat. He completely failed to understand why Reyn Rheinhebo would deliberately provoke an Aberrant.

‘Could this, perhaps, also be part of Reyn Rheinhebo’s plan?’