Chapter 389

It had been overwhelming. Looking back, Ian’s life had always been a struggle.

Born without love, only to serve the family name, his very beginning was marked by hardship. Though he possessed everything, he was never whole. That was how Ian had lived.

He had tirelessly tried to hide his identity as a mage, trusting only Crony’s words. And the moment he resolved to become emperor, he fought to sever the ties that bound him to Crony.

What came after? As emperor, he threw himself entirely into Bariel’s cause, but in the end, he barely survived by sacrificing a close friend.

It was exhausting. Sometimes, he wanted to give up everything and plunge into the abyss of death. Other times, he longed to vanish like the wind, to disappear without a trace.

“My precious little stone.”

Ian’s heart trembled again at Filia’s tender whisper. If it was the illegitimate Ian who had held Filia, then it was Bariel itself who had held the emperor Ian.

The laughter of the empire’s people, the rising morning sun, the roads moving in harmony, those dreaming of tomorrow, the clouds drifting peacefully—and all those who had stood by his side.

Boom! Boom!

“Ian!”

Acorella’s piercing shout shattered Ian’s thoughts. The world blurred and twisted.

The mages behind him squeezed their eyes shut in fear, and the same went for the mages on Luswena’s side. They clung to each other, shrinking from the roar and explosions. Only Ian stood firm, refusing to bow, facing the power head-on.

He turned around. There they were—the ones who had vowed to be his shield, who said if it got tough, he could throw himself forward, or if he wanted to endure, they would endure with him. Ian wiped the blood dripping from his chin with the back of his hand and muttered,

“…Here I go.”

A dark aura thickened around the old man. The Flame God continued its assault, but its power seemed to be gradually held back.

When he thought calmly, the answer came. Though aided by the amplifier and the mage corps, he was still Ian the illegitimate son, and his body hadn’t fully recovered.

Meanwhile, the other side would only grow stronger with forbidden magic. Time was the key to victory. Ian stepped up into the sky and drew his sword.

Swish!

If the Flame God couldn’t reach him, Ian would have to pierce the old man’s heart himself. The sword, forged from a magic-sealing stone, could withstand even forbidden magic.

“Ian!”

“Grandmother!”

As Ian charged, mages from both sides surged forward. They exchanged relentless attacks and defenses, each determined to protect their leader.

Swish! Boom! Bang!

A magic orb aimed for Ian’s left arm. Acorella blocked it, splitting it in two, and Ian took a step closer to the old man alongside the Flame God.

It was the same from then on. The mage corps stopped anyone trying to block Ian, ensuring his steps never faltered.

A dazzling display of light exploded in the sky. From below, no one could tell who was who.

Boom!

Swoosh!

Then, black wings sprouted from the old man’s shoulder blades. Like Ian’s Hwe-rok (回祿), but darker and duller. If Ian’s flames were just beginning to blaze, the old man’s were the ashen remnants after everything had been consumed.

The massive Flame God stretched as if its seal had been broken and rose.

“This is the power of the forbidden.”

The old man reached out in awe, measuring his own strength. Ian’s and the old man’s powers locked in a tense balance—so close, yet impossible to close the gap.

Ian asked,

“…How do you feel?”

“…Sad.”

He had spent years seeking truth, striving to reach the place of gods, yet the limits were so easily surpassed? It was sweet, as always. Destruction was always sweet. The old man waved his hand, and an ashen wind swirled, enveloping Ian’s Flame God.

Whoosh!

Ziiing. Ziiing.

“If you fall into the abyss, you will be sad forever. Why are you in such a hurry?”

Swish!

But Ian’s graceful swordplay severed the flow of forbidden magic. Gritting his teeth, he poured all his strength into the strike. He no longer felt the blood flowing. His heart pounded wildly, his mind spinning as if the world had stopped.

“Kohwa (苦河).”

He had never used two high-level spells simultaneously before. But just because he hadn’t tried didn’t mean he couldn’t.

“…You!”

The old man’s eyes widened in shock. Tears fell.

He had thought Hwe-rok was all Ian had, so he had mimicked him. But how could he wield a higher-level spell? Was Bariel’s mage minister really this powerful? How could this young boy use such magic?

Acorella also faltered, stunned. Was she hearing correctly?

“Kohwa? Ian just used that spell?”

Kohwa was a mental magic that fused the lifelong suffering of both user and target, tearing apart the target’s mental world in an instant. The more hardship and history behind it, the deeper the damage. But the user also suffered the mental backlash of recalling all forgotten pain.

“Ian! Are you insane!?”

Acorella shouted, but Ian seemed deaf to her, focused on the old man. And then she realized—every torment in Ian’s mind was mixing together.

Tears streamed down his eyes. Alongside the old man’s.

Kraaaang!

The old man convulsed as if struck by lightning in his heart. He clutched his chest, screaming for Ian to stop, but Ian didn’t relent. The Flame God’s flames grew stronger, and violet sparks burst from Ian’s hand gripping the old man’s shoulder.

“Stop! Stop! Aaaah!”

That violet light was Ian’s pain—and the old man’s. The burdens they had shared for so long poured out at once, and the old man writhed in agony.

“The abyss will be worse than this!”

“You bastard! You fiend!”

His mind was in chaos, unable to cope. Ian caught her with one hand, and with the other, plunged his magic sword through the old man’s heart. The Kohwa that squeezed the heart burst forth, radiating purple light.

The Luswena mages gasped, covering their mouths, and someone shielded Zaira’s eyes.

“Ughhh!”

The old man’s agonized scream shook the heavens. The bones on Ian’s hand holding the sword’s hilt protruded, and he locked eyes with the dying old man, drenched in sweat and blood.

A moment of shared pain. You’ve lived a hard life too. A pang of pity flickered briefly. Very briefly.

“Ian! You can endure this!”

“Yes! Hold firm!”

Ziiing. Ziiing!

The mage corps poured their last strength into Ian, then fell. They had nothing left—not even the power to fly.

Seeing the falling mages, Prince Noah shouted,

“Catch them! They’re mages!”

“Mages are falling! Bariel’s mages!”

“We have to catch them!”

At the same time, the commanders of Clipford, Burgos, and Luswena shouted. Though exhausted, they were still mages. Securing them was the key to victory.

Beric ignored the soldiers running past and fixed his gaze on Ian.

“Iaaan!”

He wished he could share his strength like the mages, but stuck to the ground, all he could do was look up helplessly.

No matter how much he shouted, Ian couldn’t hear. Look at those empty, hollow eyes. Tears, perhaps reflexive, but there was no room for Beric’s cries to break through.

“W-what to do…?”

“What now? What should we do?” Beric muttered in despair, but Hasha grabbed him by the collar.

“Standing still won’t help! Do what you can to aid Sir Ian! Go secure the mages!”

Boom! Boom!

At that moment, the old man’s heart finally burst, unleashing a whirlwind. The ashen Flame God vanished on the wind, and the old man fell, his chest torn and ragged.

Now, only Ian remained in the sky, gasping for breath.

“Huff, huff…”

Unaware he was crying, Ian exhaled roughly, watching the old man fall. Those empty, hollow eyes—the final torment of a life ripped apart.

Ian wiped his tears with the back of his hand, staggering as phantom voices echoed in his mind.

“Uncle Ian, hide your magic. Do you want to fall into the pit of commoners? The late duke will lament and curse you. It’s disgraceful, disgraceful!”

“Ian, emperor? Do you really think you’re worthy? Honestly? I don’t. If you take that throne, Bariel will fall to the cries of the empire’s people. I guarantee it. You don’t belong there.”

“Rebellion! Your Majesty! Crony is—!”

“Look closely, Ian. Those you cherished died because of you. You overstepped your bounds, reaching for the throne and dying for it. Didn’t I tell you? That place doesn’t suit you.”

“Naum!”

“Ian!”

—

“Kill them all! Kill every last one! And make sure they know this—everyone died because Ian became emperor!”

Ian shrank back, his body trembling. Crony’s voice rang out so clearly it felt like a knife twisting in his chest. His heart ached unbearably, like that of a dying old man, making it hard to breathe.

He lost all strength and, like the mages before him, plummeted from the sky.

“Iaaaan!”

“The Minister of Magic is falling!”

“Ian Hielo is down!”

Clack, clack!

Beric, who had been watching, fixed his gaze and sprinted madly toward Ian. He hadn’t been able to help when Ian was struggling, but now, as he fell, Beric was determined to catch him safely.

The three nations reached out, each trying to claim Ian.

“Get the hell out of the way, you bastards!”

Ziiing! Ziiing!

Whoosh!

Beric roared and swung his sword fiercely. The soldiers who had been behind him tumbled helplessly to the ground. Throwing aside even his black sword, Beric threw himself forward.

Boom!

He caught Ian’s body just in time. Ian seemed unconscious, his eyes closed and head tilted back.

Dead? Beric’s heart pounded in alarm as he pressed his ear to Ian’s chest. But no—there was a heartbeat, though irregular. Thump, thump, thump. It was so intense it felt like his heart might burst, like an old man’s.

“Prince Noah!”

Beric called out for help, and Noah immediately nodded.

“Fall back for now! Secure all the mages safely and move them inside the barrier!”

“Protect the mages!”

“This is our chance! All the mages have fallen! We can’t miss this opportunity! Push forward!”

“Waaah!”

A few mages, including Hale, still remained in the palace. If they could bring them and share their magic, recovery was possible.

Clifford focused on protecting the mages, while Burgos and Luswena threw themselves desperately into the fray, either to kill or capture them.

From a nearby hill, Eriphoni watched, clutching her bleeding cheek as she shouted.

“Eldert! What about the Black Armored?”

“Yes! They’re being deployed now! They must be close!”

“This is our chance! Kill them all or take them prisoner!”

The Luswena forces moved chaotically. Behind the mages who had arrived first, soldiers clad in black armor appeared.

Eriphoni smiled, sensing victory. Though the Luswena mages were shocked and losing morale, with these black-armored troops, they could crush those puny Clifford soldiers like ants.

Pointing her bow—its string broken—straight ahead, she gave the order.

“Advance—!”

Then, she regretted it quietly. She shouldn’t have had to say it. They should have just gone and torn the enemy lines apart…

At that moment—

Kraaaang!

From the hill where Maxim Tweller had stood, movement stirred. A small unit appeared. Eriphoni recognized them instantly.

“Ah, damn it.”

Jaret. Captain of the Imperial Guard, and his subordinates—the sword mages who stood at the pinnacle of power in Bariel. Jaret quickly assessed the situation, took a deep breath, and shouted.

“We are the Imperial Guard of Bariel! The main Bariel forces are on their way to support us, but until then, we will lend our strength! Anyone who lays a hand on Minister Ian Hielo of the Magic Department will have their head cut off!”

Whoosh!

His voice thundered across the battlefield.

Beric, still carrying Ian, turned around—and faced countless sword mages soaring into the sky.