Honkai Star Rail: My Death Feeds Their Madness — Chapter 20

Chapter 20: No Regrets, No Lingering Attachments

“First, a toast to you.”

Kagashi set the heavy earthenware wine jar onto the low table, raised his porcelain bowl, and drained the amber liquid in a single, smooth motion.

Obsidian couldn’t quite read the younger man’s expression in the dim light, so he simply abandoned the thought, tilted his head back, and let the fiery vintage burn down his throat to finish his drink as well.

“More than forty years have slipped by in the blink of an eye…” Obsidian wiped his mouth, his eyes tracing the unblemished contours of Kagashi’s face. “You’re still so young. I truly envy the Long-Life Species…”

“You haven’t changed much compared to nine years ago, either,” Kagashi replied, his voice a calm, steady murmur as he refilled the bowls. “Besides, I am not a Long-Life Species.”

“True enough. Even a weary old ghost like me can rely on the Company’s cosmetic procedures to keep up appearances. A Divine Doctor of your caliber must have even more miraculous tricks hidden up your sleeve. It’s a deep pity you refuse to sell them,” Obsidian noted, a wry, regretful smile touching his lips.

Kagashi offered no verbal defense. He merely raised his bowl again in a silent, dignified gesture.

The ceramic rims met with a crisp, clear chime that echoed in the quiet room.

“Refreshing!”

Obsidian exhaled sharply, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. A look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction washed over his weathered features.

“Say, Old Kagashi…” Obsidian’s tone shifted, growing heavier. “Did you see the shadow of death hanging over me? Is that why you were finally willing to unearth this precious Plum Blossom Wine?”

“…” This time, it was Kagashi’s turn to be stunned. His hand paused mid-air, a fleeting ripple of surprise crossing his usually placid features.

Not waiting for an answer, Obsidian didn’t scrutinize the doctor’s face. Taking the quiet as a tacit admission, he let out a low, self-deprecating chuckle and pressed on.

“I didn’t come to you for my medicine last year. I figured… there was no longer any need to delay the inevitable.”

“I refuse to continue swallowing the bitter fruit of artificial life extension. I’ve dragged this decaying body around for over 336 years, and I’ve tasted nothing but that suffocating bitterness for a full 247 of them. I’m tired, Kagashi. Bone-tired.”

“Ah, I should be precise—204 years.”

After all, it was only after tracking down this elusive doctor that Kagashi’s miraculous prescriptions had granted him forty-three years of relative peace.

A high-ranking executive of the Interastral Peace Corporation. One of the esteemed Ten Stonehearts. He possessed boundless glory, wealth that could buy star systems, and authority that made planetary governors tremble. But what did any of it matter?

Only he knew the excruciating agony that waited for him in the dead of night—a torment like ten thousand venomous ants gnawing relentlessly at his heart and marrow.

“…I am sorry,” Kagashi sighed softly, the sound carrying a weight of genuine sorrow. “When it involves the insidious power of the Abundance Path, my hands are tied. I am powerless to cure the root.”

“Pah. I didn’t drag myself all the way out here to listen to your apologies.”

Obsidian gulped down another mouthful of wine, his gaze drifting toward the window as if speaking to the void itself.

“In a behemoth as massive as the Company, even an Emanator of Preservation was utterly helpless to ease my suffering. Yet you, a lone physician in the wilderness, managed to treat the symptoms and give me peace. That is an absolute marvel in its own right, Old Kagashi.”

“I came here today to say my goodbyes. Sitting around and waiting for the reaper isn’t my style. I’ve already chosen the day of my departure.”

“To be able to drink your most treasured brew before I close my eyes for good… I have no regrets.”

“Inside the Company, breathing is just another form of political intrigue. Countless vultures circle above, just waiting for you to make a single misstep. It is an endless, suffocating cycle of life-and-death struggles…”

“I finally understand why you chose to bury yourself in these remote mountains. Seeking peace and quiet. No need to constantly check your back for poisoned arrows, no need to shoulder the crushing livelihoods of millions of subordinates. It truly sounds like paradise.”

“I’m so incredibly tired, Old Kagashi… but scrolling through my endless list of contacts, I couldn’t find a single… friend to bare my soul to. Ha…”

“So, before I die, I brought my thick skin to your doorstep.”

“I figured that even if the great Divine Doctor Kagashi doesn’t consider me a true friend, he is at least a sturdy wall I can vent to.”

“Listening to the final heartaches of a patient who has been lonely his entire life… that falls under a doctor’s sacred duty, wouldn’t you say?”

“…” Kagashi remained perfectly still. He offered no rebuttal, only lifting the earthen jar to quietly refill Obsidian’s bowl, offering his undivided attention.

He didn’t deny a single word.

In the past, the line between friend and patient had been clear. To Kagashi, Obsidian was strictly the latter—a transactional, equal partnership where each extracted what they required.

Kagashi provided the medicinal suppression for the Abundance’s curse, and Obsidian used his IPC authority to procure vital resources and handle matters Kagashi could not. That was all; there were no deeper social tethers.

But in this fleeting, quiet moment, Obsidian was a friend.

Friendships forged between men standing at the edge of the abyss rarely required a preamble.

“My old man and old lady died early. Beaten to death in the dirt…”

“To keep me from starving, when I had barely turned eleven, they resorted to stealing and robbing. Eventually, they crossed the wrong syndicate…”

“In those dark days, order had long since evaporated from our world. Brutal, unforgiving might was the only law.”

“I slaughtered those bastards to avenge my parents. To ensure no loose ends remained to haunt me, I burned their entire compound to the ground. I didn’t even spare the children who were younger than me…”

“I should have died in that fire, too. But I was pulled from the ashes by a blind woman.”

“When the Company’s recruitment ships finally arrived in our sector, I signed a life-long servitude contract without a second thought. From that day forward, I clawed my way upward, sacrificing everything I had to climb the ranks.”

“Because I learned the hard way that only by ascending to a higher social stratum could I ever hope to control my own destiny.”

“In the eyes of the universe, I suppose I succeeded. But looking back at the summit now, I find that all I’ve left behind in my wake is a trail of ashes and a pathetic mess. Heh…”

“You might think I’m just an old man being overly sentimental, but I swear to you… from the exact moment that blind woman who saved me died right before my eyes, the real me probably died alongside her.”

“I never even got the chance to tell her that I liked her. To love her. To marry her…”

“I promised her… I promised her…”

“I swore that I would take her across the galaxy. That until we found a way to heal her eyes, I would serve as her vision, describing countless beautiful sights across the cosmos for her.”

“But I broke my promise. Hahaha—”

“It’s a painfully cliché story, isn’t it? But this is my life. I am a grand winner, and I am an utter, miserable failure.”

“In my twilight years, I searched like a madman for any method to extend my life, driven purely by the fact that I was unwilling to let my failed, pathetic self die so meaninglessly.”

“…But I see it all clearly now, Old Kagashi.”

“I’ve liquidated and donated every last credit of wealth to my name, sending it to worlds as turbulent and broken as my hometown. I am going to find her, with no strings attached and no burdens holding me back.”

“It’s just that… after all these long centuries, she has been gone for so long. She probably won’t be waiting for me anymore…”

Kagashi lowered his eyes, the long lashes casting shadows over his pale cheeks. He offered no judgment, feeling he possessed no right to weigh the value of another man’s soul.

The only fragment he could deeply empathize with was the agonizing suffering endured during childhood.

“…At the crossroads of fate, I suppose I was a bit luckier than you,” Kagashi murmured softly, breaking his long silence.

“Let’s hear it,” Obsidian prompted, leaning forward slightly.

“When I was on the verge of dying in a pile of rotting corpses, my teacher found me and picked me up. Unlike the blind woman you mentioned, she is an exceptionally formidable biologist.”

“Those rare materials you have me send out every single year… they’re for your teacher?”

“Then you are indeed vastly luckier than me. At least you have no regrets.” Obsidian threw his head back, caught somewhere between weeping and laughing, and gulped down the rest of his wine with zero regard for his dignified status.

Kagashi’s lips parted slightly. A faint tremor touched the corner of his mouth as if he wanted to speak, to correct the assumption, but in the end, he only slowly closed his eyes.

Compared to the blood-soaked, centuries-long tragedy of Obsidian’s experiences, what kind of regret could his simple inability to persuade his teacher truly be considered?

But why?

Without warning, a sharp, suffocating agony pierced his chest. It felt as though an invisible hand had plunged straight through his ribs, closing its brutal fingers around his beating heart and squeezing without mercy.

Extremely blurry, fragmented visions violently flashed through his mind, the phantom pain so intense it was almost unbearable.

‘I can’t see… I can’t see anything clearly.’

“Obsidian.”

“Like you, I have also chosen a day for myself.”

“Don’t tell me you…”

“Yes. My time is up. I do not have many days left in this world.” Kagashi opened his eyes, his gaze serene and unfathomably calm. “In fact, that is precisely why I switched to the Plum Blossom Wine to entertain you today.”

Obsidian stared blankly at the tranquil doctor. The silence stretched thick and heavy between them. After a long, breathless moment, the executive let out a sudden, booming laugh.

“You stingy old geezer! You’re only willing to bring out the good vintage you usually hoard like your own life now that you’re about to kick the bucket!”

“Aren’t you exactly the same? You only remembered to do good deeds and donate all your worldly belongings when you realized you were about to die.”

“Hahaha! True enough!”

Obsidian laughed heartily, the sound echoing off the wooden walls, then slowly reined in his mirth. His expression shifted into one of solemn respect as he asked, “So, tell me. How many days do you have left?”

“I will depart on the day of the Great Cold,” Kagashi replied softly.

“Heh. I am exactly one day earlier than you. But I suppose this way, neither of us will have to bear the burden of seeing the other off.”

“Saying goodbye to you today… I truly have no regrets.”

“True,” Kagashi agreed quietly. “But Old Kagashi,” Obsidian leaned in, his eyes searching the younger man’s face. “Why do you have no more lingering attachments to this world? Have you really left absolutely no regrets behind?”

Kagashi looked out toward the snow-draped mountains, his voice light as a falling feather. “Precisely because I have no regrets, I have no lingering attachments.”

Obsidian studied him for a moment, then shook his head with a wistful smile. “Is this the mindset of a doctor who has completely seen through the illusion of life and death…? Never mind. Drain this bowl! My friend!”

Life may stretch for centuries or be cut brutally short, but in the vast expanse of the cosmos, it is always fleeting. Countless souls never get the chance to utter a proper goodbye.

But at the very least, on this quiet, snowy afternoon, these two weary men—whose true friendship had lasted a mere half-day—could finally say their last farewells to one another.