What should I do if the hero is resurrected in the Monster Girl Encyclopedia?

Chapter 78 The Sculptor

The ringtone was fleeting.

Alexander put down his tools, raised his head, and slowly straightened his hunched back, as stone chips fell from his head like snowflakes.

His cloudy eyes were covered with a layer of gray. He stared at the small, exquisite white bell for a long time before realizing that it was the wind caused by someone walking that had made the bell ring.

It wasn't her ringing the doorbell.

So he lost interest and picked up the hammer and chisel again.

"Lord Mirad...you don't need to come."

Alexander's voice sounded like a grinding wheel crushing rough rocks, his Adam's apple bobbing laboriously beneath his dust-covered skin... He had forgotten how long it had been since he'd had a drink of water.

"Everyone else was worried about you and asked me to come and check on you."

Mirad turned his attention away from the bell and looked at the man in front of him, who had one foot in the coffin.

Alexander, holding a hammer and chisel, began to work on the stone in front of him, and the woman's face began to take shape.

"No, no... no need... someone like you should have more important things to do..."

Mirad sighed and placed the stone bowl filled with water in front of Alexander. The latter stared blankly at the bowl of water for a long time before reaching out, picking it up, and drinking it all in one gulp.

Thank you for your concern and kindness.

"I'm very sorry."

Milad's voice was just as hoarse and rough as Alexander's.

He's said that apology countless times these past few days.

He couldn't save a single person... The agonizing self-blame and guilt had numbed him.

"I don't want your apology, Lord Mirad... Everyone knows... that was the Demon King, not some goblin on the roadside... It's normal that you couldn't protect everyone..."

The sculptor carefully brushed away the dust from the statue's brows and eyes, revealing a hollow smile. "Besides, Theano isn't dead, is she? She's just petrified... just petrified... turned to stone, not dead... She'll come back. And aren't you the one who should be resting the most?"

Alexander rubbed his hands on his linen t-shirt and patted Mirand on the shoulder.

"The weight on your back is almost crushing you. We don't blame you... we really don't blame you... I can see that you've also lost your loved one..."

Surprisingly, he could find comfort in the gaunt, sculptor before him. Mirand forced a smile, but failed to manage it.
"I will try my best to find a way to remove the petrification."

"Ha, ha...that couldn't be better. This is the true Holy Sword Warrior of Creteia..."

With a dry laugh, Alexander withdrew his hand and continued carving the figure. "I will rest. After I finish this one... I must live, live a long time, so that Theano can return to my embrace..."

……

Looking back now, Mirad probably shouldn't have listened to that man.

Years later, when he returned to Miradria, Alexander's "corpse" lay in his deserted workshop, waiting to be buried on the cliff.

Lifelike, without decay or maggots.

Except for his entire body and clothes losing their color and turning into a pure white, he looked like someone who had fallen asleep on the floor after sculpting.

...no different from the petrified creatures on the white wasteland.

—I want to live, and live a long time.

Yes, what can outlive a petrified creature?
If there is any possibility of the petrification being lifted, he will be able to reunite with his beloved wife.

To this end, he did not hesitate to climb the cliff and come into contact with the magic left behind by Medusa.

He was eventually found lying on the cliff edge and brought back to the workshop.

People suddenly realized that they could use death to wait for death.

From Alexander onward, the early inhabitants of Miladria were no longer content with succumbing to the death of nature. As they entered their twilight years, they would gladly accept the magic of Medusa, transforming into lifelike, colorless, pale stone statues.

"...This is the origin of those holes in the cliff face. In each hole lies the resting place of an ancestor of Miladria, who voluntarily became petrified, waiting for the opportunity to reunite with their beloved."

The gargoyle 'Dedicated to Theano' walked ahead, explaining to them the cliff face that connected heaven and earth at the edge of Miradria's vision.

Above the cliff lies the former site of the Kingdom of Kreteia, now a white wasteland.

Mirad gazed in that direction; the intricate cliff tombs scattered at the base of the mountainside resembled wormholes in an antique piece of furniture. "I remember," he thought, "after the turn of the millennium... very few people chose to arrange their affairs this way anymore."

Siolitta whispered, "If you become a Night Demon, your magic power will increase, and your lifespan will also be extended."

"...but people still retain the custom of tending to the tombs of their petrified ancestors,"

Obora poked her head out from behind Mirad. At her height, she had to crane her neck to barely see the top of the cliff. "They believe that the souls of the ancestors and the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Cretia still remain in their bodies, but they need the right time to awaken the stagnant people."

“…You two are right.” The gargoyle ‘Dedicated to Theano’, whose tour guide duties had been taken over, was not angry, but just gave a businesslike smile.

Mirad remained silent.

It is an undeniable fact that the Demon Queen Medusa is about to awaken. Is the time that has been awaited for thousands of years finally about to arrive?
He had learned the lesson that the greater the hope, the greater the disappointment countless times.

He dared not draw a conclusion.

Eventually, they were led by the gargoyles to the center of a small square, where a number of monsters and humans had already gathered. In addition to looking at the newly arrived Mirad and his group, many of them also turned their attention to several objects covered with red cloth in the square.

The podium was ready, and the amplification magic could transmit the speech to every corner of the city.

"Ahem, ahem... You should be able to hear me clearly, everyone?"

Hiolitta skipped onto the stage and took on the role of host. "I've looked around and there are no new faces. You all should know me, so I won't go into too much detail about my self-introduction."

"First of all! To welcome the great resurrected saint back to Miradria after... uh... more than a thousand years, let's give him the warmest applause! As for the other one, I think it might be a goat, so let's not worry about him."

Whether it was a genuine welcome to Mirad or simply following Hiolitta's call, the audience erupted in applause.

Even though he was on edge after being brought to this place teeming with monsters, Mirad still managed to smile and nod in the direction of the loudest applause.

Obora blinked, looked at Mirad, thought for a moment, and then clapped along with him.

"Oh, the response is quite good! So, next! The unveiling ceremony for the saint's sculpture... shall begin now!"

With a wave of her hand, the red cloth covering the object in the center of the square was unveiled, revealing the object's true form.

...five statues that seem somewhat out of place in modern Miradria.

The spirited Milad stood in the very center, the blade of the holy sword, shaped like a stone tool, pointing towards the distant cliff.

Behind him, his four teammates stood in a line like geese, each with a different expression.

The monsters they defeated became part of the base... twisted tentacles transformed into waves of marble, and grotesque bone spikes served as decorations supporting the heroes' heels.

...Opola was quite certain that the goat's head Mirad was standing on was herself.

That guy, Hiolitta…

It doesn’t seem bad.

Startled by her own thoughts, Obora blushed and clapped her hands much faster, as if to distract herself.

Baphomet clapped his little hands together, the first tender applause to ring out, echoing forlornly in the quiet square.

Until the gargoyles began to stomp gently on the ground, the golems' hard arms collided with a crisp sound, the slimes opened their mouths and made a slapping sound, and people whistled, cheered, and raised their hands in applause.

The applause of various timbres blended into a wondrous hymn, which to Mirad sounded like a faint echo from an incredibly distant place.

Mirad stared blankly at the statues; apart from his own face, the faces of the others were not very refined.

...This is inevitable.

He instinctively reached out his hand.

As a result, the nose, which should have been prominent, became more three-dimensional, the lips gained a curve, and the eyes gained a sparkle.

The mischievous grin of an old friend beneath the hood, her haughty expression, and the way the two seniors stared into each other's eyes…

What was swept away by the torrent of time, what he never forgot, what he desperately wanted to hold onto.

Everything took shape under his not-so-skillful carving.

Siolitta lowered her eyes, "...Let us thank Lord Milad for his remarks."

(End of this chapter)