Ivan wasn't in a good mood.
“You bastard...”
A harsh curse escaped Ivan's lips as he examined his wound in the mirror.
“Do you dare lay your hands on me?”
And in such a visible place? And with this dirty sword?
Feelings of discomfort flared up inside him. Not only did he hate the fact that the wound had been left in such an obvious place, but what bothered him most was the idea of using a sword – a sword that had probably cut hundreds, if not thousands – against him.
In addition to his feisty personality, Ivan had another persistent problem: excessive hygiene.
Of course, he also suffered from other strange diseases, such as narcissism.
“…”
Ivan expressed his deep displeasure before quickly and carefully applying the antiseptic the boy had brought him to the wound.
“If I could cleanse it somehow...”
But unfortunately, Ivan lacked such ability.
The Mage Tower of Atiluia had been inherited from ancient mages thousands of years ago, and the magic they possessed was only limited to the Dark Arts. Purification was completely beyond their reach. All Ivan could do was whimper as he smeared disinfectant on the wound.
Perhaps the Church, which specializes in holy power and white magic, can help him. But even if a blade were to hit his neck - not once, but twice - he would never resort to them.
“But this is really weird.”
Ivan collapsed on the couch with a tired face, muttering to himself in confusion.
“If he had that level of power, I wouldn't have noticed it at all.”
None of Ivan's attacks affected Fenric. Furthermore, the faint black mist that appeared behind Fenric when he used magic was gnawing at his thoughts.
No matter how he thought about it, there was only one conclusion. Fenric possesses immense power – far exceeding that of Ivan, which itself was rare even once in a century.
The answer was obvious, but it didn't make sense. How could Ivan fail to notice such power?
“Or maybe… he was hiding his power the whole time?”
But was that possible?
If this theory is true, then Fenric must be someone capable of wielding magic as easily as breathing – a master so skilled that his power transcends even the black magic of Atiluia, and reaches to the origins of magic itself. Someone who is like the root of everything.
“…Demon King?”
The ominous being who was said to have lived in the western forests of Atiluia for ages.
Over the generations, witches have shed their reputation as cursed beings. While the Church, which had sacred power, remained their enemy, the witches gained recognition and legitimacy. The royal court even created the Wizards' Tower in recognition of their abilities.
This shift did not stem from good intentions, but from a practical standpoint. Despite their use of dark power, the wizards recklessly refrained from using it and allied themselves with the royal court – a lesson they had learned hard from centuries of persecution.
However, the lineage of magic goes back to that being in the Western Forest – called the Demon King.
“...what nonsense.”
But Fenric was human, and Ivan knew a lot about his background.
“If anything, I thought it would be related to Precipe...”
Before sensing Fenric's extraordinary power, Ivan suspected that all of these events were connected to Precipe – specifically, the deaths of Noah and Atari.
[Thus, there are times when life is born between monsters and humans. Isn't this very funny?]
Ivan speculated that Prisippi was the daughter of Vanessa—a long-executed royal concubine—and a monster, born before Vanessa entered the royal palace.
The widespread mutation stories were not lies, but Precipe herself did not have any superpowers. Maybe she was lucky enough to inherit more human blood.
Ivan had shared the story with Preseppe to scare her and seduce her. Everyone, after all, is curious about their origins. But Ivan was sure of one thing: Presibe bore the blood of monsters.
Contrary to popular belief, monsters never abandon those who share even a fraction of their nature. But she was helping. It realized that increasing its numbers - by any means necessary - was the key to its struggle against humanity.
Thus, Ivan initially believed that Prisippi was behind everything.
She must have known her origins from the beginning. When Dietrich, now Emperor, unjustly imprisoned her in the tower and made her escape impossible, she must have devised a plan.
Furthermore, all of those who died were people who had spoken to Preseppe shortly before their deaths. Prince Atari had unreasonably tried to detain her, and just before that, Noah Vern, who had approached Prisibe and tried to talk to her before Atari had pushed him aside, was killed by the griffon's claws.
“...Wait a second.”
Lost in his thoughts, Ivan mumbled quietly.
A memory passed through his mind, something from the distant past.
This was at a time when persecuted witches were finally recognized as members of society.
Perhaps it was from writings left behind by the first generation of great wizards in Ateluia—texts that Ivan had retrieved from a secret place accessible only to the great wizard of the time. He needed to check something.
Ivan was lying on the sofa, reaching into the huge pile of documents. He grabbed an ancient scroll, worn out and fragile despite the magic that had been placed on it to preserve it.
-The Book of Prophecy.
Ivan stared intently at the old parchment title.
“He's still out there in the western forest,” Ivan read aloud, his voice low.
"Forever asleep but never truly asleep, unable to die and unable to live. Until a wretched woman, neither monster nor human, finds him, he will remain trapped in a cycle of empty existence, completely consumed by aimless suffering."
Neither monster nor human.
Pathetic woman.
Ivan's gaze stopped at this passage.
“A woman born on the day the moon reaches its zenith will hide her roots and suffer the greatest persecution in the brightest place of the empire.”
Ivan searched for records of Presippi's date of birth. According to those records, Precipe was born on a full moon night, just as the prophecy said.
“A woman will experience hundreds of deaths and resurrections, and after five outcomes, she will finally find him.”
Ivan continued reading the prophecy.
"Without him, women's suffering will never end. Without women, he will never find peace."
Although the exact meaning of the hundreds of deaths and resurrections or the five outcomes was not clear, the intent of the prophecy in the following lines was unambiguous.
“No devout archbishop, no brave warrior, no wizard with similar powers can destroy it. It is only silent, still in place, waiting for its arrival forever.”
The Church's claims about its proud statues or the story of the Blessed Hero being subdued long ago were outright lies. They were nothing more than excuses made up during his period of inactivity to enhance the influence of the church. Ivan realized this instinctively.
Perhaps this was the reason why the Book of Prophecy remained hidden, passed down as a carefully preserved secret within the Wizards' Tower for generations. There is no doubt that revealing it to the public would cause an uproar.
Of course, not even Ivan could understand all the details of the prophecy. Although the text seemed to refer to the Demon King as “he,” the western forests were eerily – unnaturally – quiet.
But still…
“I can use it as I please,” Ivan muttered with a sly smile. “For my own good.”
Ivan put the prophecy book aside, then slowly got up from his seat.
“Evan, where are you going now? I brought more bandages and medicines...”
The boy who appeared at that moment looked at Ivan with a worried expression, but Ivan only shrugged and gave a brief answer.
“I will go to see the Emperor.”
“What? Suddenly?”
“There is an urgent and very personal matter that I need to discuss.”
***
I dreamed again.
Unlike last time, this was not Yoon Joo-yeon's dream from the real world.
Even in the dream, Prisippi remained Prisippi. The events she actually lived through are repeated endlessly – the traumatic moments of her many deaths.
No, I left the Imperial Palace. And things are no longer going according to the game's story.
Presibe was stuttering in her dream, muttering to herself like a mad woman. But all she could hear was the sarcasm of the male characters.
But the nightmare did not last long.
[Everything is fine.]
A low, soft voice broke through the dream, accompanied by a gentle tap on her shoulder.
[Everything will go as you want, Presibe.]
[So don't worry...]
It was amazing and strange. The moment that gentle voice reached her, Precipe felt relieved.
She fell back into a deep sleep.
***
Slowly, Prisippi's tightly closed eyes opened.
As the morning light crept in, she belatedly realized that the warm, bright sunlight was pouring onto her pale face.
Didn't Hana mention that the tea she brought contained a sleep-inducing substance...?
How exactly did you sleep last night?
Presibe sat on the bed with a blank look, then froze for a moment, her eyes wide in surprise.