Chapter 286
Bergos was vast, yet barren. Its relentless dryness, indifferent to the changing seasons, had stolen away all greenery, leaving behind a forsaken land where beasts—if they even truly existed—lurked in the shadows to survive.
Whoosh.
Before entering the royal palace, Timothy glanced back, following the wind. Thanks to the steep incline, he could see the lands where the people lived, stretching out beyond the palace walls.
“…It’s far too dry.”
Wasn’t this the very landscape the king saw multiple times a day? Even if he only wished to see abundance, what Timothy faced now was a parched Bergos.
This wasn’t merely a matter of climate. The kingdom’s daylight, which had been slowly fading since the reign of the previous king, had now given way to night.
“I’ve come to see His Highness Damon.”
“Please wait a moment.”
Timothy shook the report in his hand, signaling the attendant to announce his presence.
Though not as hectic as Bariel’s investiture preparations, the Bergos kingdom was also in a flurry, readying for the king’s upcoming departure.
Creak.
“Please, have some.”
Following the attendant inside, only the soft click of shoes echoed. The room was spacious enough to serve as a banquet hall, yet utterly bare. If not for the occasional portrait of the late king hanging on the walls, no one would have guessed this was the king’s office.
Timothy followed the carpet to stand before the king.
“Your Highness, Timothy reporting.”
Damon Rankvis, king of Bergos, paused his pen and turned his head.
His black bobbed hair fell to his shoulders, his pale cheeks and deep violet eyes shone vividly even in the dim light.
Without a word, he tapped the desk with his fingertip—a silent command to bring the report closer.
“Is this about Bariel’s visit?”
“Yes. As you instructed earlier, we’ve revised the delegation list. The newly added nobles have selected their tribute items and will deliver them by next week. You can review it then.”
Rustle.
Damon flipped through the documents without a word.
The longer the silence stretched, the more Timothy’s mind wandered. Among his thoughts was Minister Ian Hielo.
The young Minister of Magic, still underage, and the king, now in his second year of reign—there was something about them that seemed oddly alike.
Was it because Ian, though younger, was sharper and more meticulous in his work than anyone else?
“I thought you said to exclude Count Garame.”
“Ah, about that…”
“Is there strong opposition?”
“My apologies. The motion hasn’t passed. If we exclude the count, there will be issues with the transportation arrangements. Currently, no one else can provide the hundred horses required…”
Damon frowned, pressing his forehead, and Timothy swallowed dryly. Everyone knew the king’s intelligence and capability, but sometimes his orders were truly difficult to carry out.
“This is the last time. If there’s opposition again, I will attend the meeting myself. Make sure it’s handled properly.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Still, the reason Damon could enforce his will was simple—not because he was king, but because most of his orders unexpectedly yielded remarkable results.
Muttering to himself, Damon gripped his pen again.
“They should just do it quickly. What do they know?”
Timothy forced a polite smile and bowed deeply. The king didn’t look well today; it was best to take his leave. Besides, hadn’t his family told him to come home early? Just as Timothy was about to step back—
“Timothy.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Any news from the gypsy?”
Creak.
The king rose from his chair and approached Timothy. Already slender, Damon looked even smaller standing opposite the burly Timothy. Of course, Timothy dared not meet his gaze, weighed down by the king’s dignity.
“My apologies. We’re still searching, but there’s been no word yet. Please wait a little longer—I will surely present him before you.”
Damon’s sharp violet eyes scanned the top of Timothy’s head. Though his gaze was filled with a cutting intensity, Timothy didn’t notice.
“Very well. I trust you once again.”
“…I will do my utmost.”
Once again.
Timothy bowed repeatedly, feeling the weight behind those words. The future of their king, Bergos, and the lord he served—all wrapped in reverence.
Damon turned his back, focusing solely on the report.
Beric and Romandro waited at a distance from the main road. Ian and the gypsy’s conversation seemed to be dragging on.
Occasionally, lantern lights flickered nearby—signals from their hidden allies, asking what to do next. Romandro’s orders were simple.
Click. Click.
“Not yet.”
Though winter had passed, the night air remained chilly. As Romandro looked around to shake off the cold, Beric suddenly moved—a reflex.
Startled, Romandro followed his gaze. The gypsy was trembling violently, unlike before.
“Ian! Damn it, the old woman’s acting strange! Be careful!”
“Stay back!”
The gypsy was a strange old woman, muttering about secrets and such. Worried, Beric reached for his sword, but Ian stopped him with a raised hand, not even turning around. His profile was hidden from view. He left the gypsy alone and motioned for Beric and Romandro.
“Fall back further.”
“Seriously! At this rate, she’ll storm the palace!”
“Come on, Beric. Let’s follow orders.”
Sensing something was off, Romandro pulled Beric back. As Beric’s frantic protests quieted, Ian cautiously glanced back. They had retreated far enough that even shouting wouldn’t carry. He ran a hand through his hair, pressing his forehead.
“The king of Bergos is living a second life?”
Just like Ian himself. He was quite surprised but quickly masked it with a frown.
The night was short. And wasn’t the gypsy like the wind?
They had to hurry and extract every secret from her depths.
“My goodness, my goodness…”
The gypsy, having swallowed a great secret, murmured in disbelief. The satisfaction swelling within her was deeper than when she was the king of Bergos. The secrets of the world, transcending time and space—surely a gift from the gods. If heaven had a taste, this must be it.
Tears streamed down her face as she trembled uncontrollably. She could die now with no regrets. Clutching Ian’s arm, she whispered.
“The dignity of a hundred years hence. Amazing, truly amazing. Even if I vomited all I have, how could I contain this fullness?”
“Hurry and continue.”
Was there any choice?
The gypsy pressed her forehead to the ground, repeatedly showing reverence.
“The king of Bergos said his first life was a failure. He was trampled by his mother and father, devoured by his younger brother, and everything was destroyed. In the end, the king killed his brother, staining his hands with blood. That blood flowed and erased everything. Thus began his second life.”
To live one’s fate twice.
How old was the king of Bergos? Only two years into his reign, so not very old.
Then, in his first life, was there ‘Ian the illegitimate’? Or was it already ‘Ian Hielo’?
“A gap.”
The king of Bergos was a kind of gap. Depending on his first life, Ian’s existence was newly defined.
What if the emperor himself had been like this back then?
Through the gap, one could see the end.
“He wished his brother… had never been born. The mother and father who oppressed him grew to hate each other, and countless siblings were born.”
“What about the half-siblings?”
That hardly helped strengthen the throne. There must have been a reason.
“…For the sake of a possible third life.”
The gypsy’s voice, once strong, faded. Empty spaces appeared again. Ian tightened his grip on her arm.
“The king of Bergos gave you his secret. So you heard the late king’s secret. But why do they keep chasing you? Do you have any idea?”
The old woman chuckled and shook her head. But eight or nine out of ten pursuers shared similar goals.
Either related to secrets or the future.
“This is all the secret I can give.”
“…”
The gypsy’s crystal orb began to dim. Her gills slowly closed. There were no more secrets left inside her.
She whispered a warning.
“Pray now. If the king of Bergos unknowingly speaks his secret aloud and they realize it’s possible, they will know it has leaked.”
“You should pray too. You will likely be killed.”
“Hahaha! Today has been a truly satisfying day in many ways. How about you?”
Was she asking if the deal was satisfactory?
Ian had detected the other’s return and gained clues about his own fate. By any measure, it was a favorable exchange.
As Ian nodded, the gypsy frowned sadly. Her gaze drifted far away, toward Beric and Romandro.
“After this night, you must never reveal the truth to anyone. No one.”
“…That was my wish.”
In the court of Bariel, he did not want his existence to shine. Especially not the truth being exploited beyond his control, like in the Arsen incident.
Perhaps it was safer to bind and bury it like this.
“Then, that is fortunate.”
Ian slowly rose from his seat and shifted the lantern into his right hand. This was the signal—the business was done, and everyone needed to prepare to surround the gypsy.
“Bearer of secrets, I’d like you to follow me.”
“Oh?”
The deal was a deal, but that gypsy was precisely the one King Burgos had his eyes on. Keeping her under watch was advantageous in every way.
The gypsy carefully wrapped the crystal orb in a cloth and waved her hand dismissively.
“I am a gypsy,” she said. “I roam with the clouds and follow the wind’s path. How could I have a fixed place to stay? Even agreeing on a time and place today was a big decision for me. Otherwise, that petty thug wouldn’t have let me go.”
Berrick, having caught Ian’s lantern signal, was eyeing them as if ready to charge. Had the gypsy caught his insult? She was muttering complaints to Romandro.
Zzzzz… zzzzz…
A presence seeped through the darkness. Ian instinctively unleashed his magic, and from every corner of the alley, hidden mages revealed themselves.
Thwack! Bang!
“Ian!”
Ian fired a magic orb to catch her. The area lit up instantly, but the gypsy was nowhere to be seen. The mages and soldiers, startled, immediately gave chase.
Pat-pat-pat!
“Damn, where’d the old woman go?”
“That way! Keep the shield up!”
“Drive her left! You take this alley!”
“We have to capture her! Move!”
“Damn it, where does a legless old woman think she’s going—!”
Ian’s comrades rushed past him, scattering in all directions, Berrick among them. Ian was about to follow when he suddenly stopped, looking around at the empty streets.
And quietly, he whispered the truth.
“…I was an emperor.”
Swallowing the truth he never spoke aloud, he gave a bitter smile.
And so, Ian stood there—alone.