Episode 390

It was said that the Emperor had gone into the annex and hadn’t come out since. Naum closed the book he had been reading and looked out the window. The Emperor’s attendants were lined up outside the annex, waiting.

They all urged him silently with their eyes. “Something must be wrong with His Majesty. Naum, you should go in and check. You’re the only one allowed to cross the line the Emperor set.”

“And His Majesty?”

“There’s been no word. He ordered that no one enter until he comes out, so we’re just waiting here.”

“How long has it been?”

“Over two hours now. We’re worried, but there’s nothing we can do…”

“Step aside. I’ll go in.”

“But Your Majesty—”

“If His Majesty calls, I will answer directly.”

Though they pretended to stop him, the attendants welcomed Naum’s presence and cleared the way. The annex was quiet. Naum walked straight inside, as if there was nothing to check.

This was the place he and Ian had shared even before Ian became Emperor.

A place where the changing seasons painted pictures through the large windows.

Creak.

Naum found Ian sitting on his knees, head bowed.

Ian flinched but didn’t raise his head. Only two people in the world would come here, even breaking orders: Crony, or…

“Naum.”

“Your Majesty, why are you on the floor like this?”

“…Leave.”

But Naum sat down opposite him, setting the book aside naturally. What could be wrong? Ian, who usually bore everything well, was now pouring out his sorrow like this. Naum tilted his head and smiled softly.

“Shall I bring you a drink?”

“It’s working hours.”

“So what? The Pillar of Bariel, His Majesty, is drowning in grief. Surely the gods made alcohol for moments like this.”

Ian lifted his head at Naum’s teasing words. His eyes were red-rimmed. There were marks on his cheeks, but they seemed long dried. Ian sighed, washing his face with dry hands.

“What’s wrong? Did that Crony say something again? Shall I give him a good scolding?”

“How could you—”

“We are—”

Naum corrected him. Not “you,” but “we.”

“We are mages. And Your Majesty is the master of Bariel. There’s nothing in this world you cannot do.”

Ian rested his chin on his shoulder and gazed out the window. Fresh leaves swayed in the breeze. The sunlight, already sparkling, shone endlessly with their movement.

The day was so beautiful, yet Ian’s world was sinking. A weight pressing heavily on his chest—the burden of being Emperor.

“…Over a thousand died in the Battle of Welvilla.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Most were children. I couldn’t bear to watch the soldiers picking up the bodies so lightly.”

“Your Majesty, it was an ambush. A massacre.”

Ian couldn’t have stopped it. It was the work of bandits expanding their territory at the border, and by the time Ian left the temple, it was already over.

Though people whispered about the chaos, no one dared mention Ian—except a few opposition factions.

“I asked what there was that I couldn’t do in Bariel, Naum. That means everything happening in Bariel happens because of me. If only I had been more careful, if only I had wiped out those bandits then—”

“Your Majesty.”

“It’s all my failing. The weight of death is unbearable. Naum, the grief of the empire’s people is too much.”

Ian buried his head in his knees again. Only a quiet sigh escaped. Naum sat opposite him, sharing the silence.

Little one, wasn’t it said that the Emperor’s seat is like this? You have done well, you are doing well, and feeling this weight regardless of the outcome is part of being Emperor. You will continue to do well.

Naum had much he wanted to say but held back. Now was the time for Emperor Ian to pour out his sorrow. There was only one thing he wanted to say.

“It’s good to bear the weight. But let the blind criticism of the opposition slide off. All their noise blaming Your Majesty, saying you failed and that the people’s hearts have turned dark—treat it as nonsense.”

“You once told me to be someone who listens to the other side’s opinions.”

“There’s a difference between opinions and nonsense, Your Majesty.”

Ian chuckled softly and lifted his head. Naum smiled in return. Opening the book he had brought, he asked,

“Shall I read to you?”

“There are many waiting outside.”

“Don’t worry about them. They’re doing what they must. But showing a strong face is Your Majesty’s task alone. Your eyes are still red.”

Naum opened the book and began reading the magic tome in a gentle yet firm tone.

The calm rise and fall of his voice made Ian close his eyes without realizing it. The chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind were erased by Naum’s voice.

Until the sun dipped westward, Naum kept reading, and Ian simply listened. Sometimes, Ian realized, moments when time seems to stop are necessary.

---

“Hyaaaah!”

Clang! Clang!

His body shook violently. Ian opened his eyes slightly, dizzy.

Beric was cutting down the enemy soldiers rushing at him while holding Ian. Soldiers from Clifford were helping him guard. The three kingdoms were locked in a fierce battle around them.

But Ian couldn’t even muster strength in his fingertips. He just stared blankly through the blood, shouts, and dust, up at the clear sky.

Not long ago, the sky had been dizzying from his and the old man’s power, but now it was clear and bright, as if nothing had happened. Just like the sky he saw that day in the annex.

“Hey! Ian! Snap out of it!”

“…”

Beric shouted when he saw Ian’s eyes open, but there was no response. Tears kept streaming down Ian’s cheeks, though he seemed unaware.

He hung limply, looking no different from a corpse. Beric forced down the sinking feeling in his chest and swung his sword repeatedly.

“Ian’s awake! Clear the way! Hurry!”

“The Minister of Magic of Bariel has regained consciousness! Move quickly!”

“Kill him now! We must finish him before he regains strength!”

“Get lost! Damn it!”

“Arrgh! Die! Die!”

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Swish!

Ian just let himself be held by Beric, dazed.

Is this what all mental magic is like? When casting the spell called “River of Suffering,” judging by the mages’ reactions, there were clearly many aftereffects. Noah kept giving orders to the soldiers.

“Clear a path! Evacuate inside the barrier! Then fall back! Retreat! Order a retreat!”

“But, Your Highness, Bariel’s magic swordsmen have arrived! Wouldn’t it be better to add their strength?”

“The captain of the magic swordsmen must have his reasons. We’ll comply if requested, but first secure Ian and all the mages! Never lose a mage! They are Bariel’s, sacrificed for us and other nations! Clifford must repay that!”

“Yes, Your Highness! Of course!”

“Send word to the palace! Gather all remaining mages!”

“There! A mage is being dragged off to the left!”

“Catch them! A mage is crossing to Burgos!”

“Pursue! Don’t let them escape!”

Chaos reigned. The three nations clashed fiercely to seize the fallen mages.

Amid the turmoil, some mages began to regain consciousness. Some were pierced by Idgal spears, some dragged by their hair, others unconscious, unaware of whose hands held them.

“What are you doing!”

Eriphoni urged her dazed mages, but they didn’t move, watching the hell unfold. The way the others treated the mages filled them with endless fear.

Moreover, the old man who led the group had died using forbidden magic, leaving no trace.

They had joined the fight for Luswena, but what did they gain? A child cried, tears streaming down, defying Eriphoni.

“Your Majesty! You said no one would die! That if we went to war, we’d all return to our daily lives! Bring my grandmother back!”

“You brat—!”

Snap!

One of Eriphoni’s subordinates slapped Zaira’s cheek, and the mages shielded the child. Anger flickered in their eyes.

“Do you not understand what war is? It’s killing and being killed. Your grandmother fulfilled her duty and died, bringing glory to Luswena, but you dare defy the king and tarnish that!”

“We only—!”

“And who told anyone to die? The old man chose to give his life to Luswena.”

“Don’t talk nonsense! Choose to die? Here? Do you really call that a choice?!”

“Hush, there’s no time for this.”

Eriphoni cut through the heated atmosphere with her staff, signaling them to stop.

She glanced at the mages and clicked her tongue. Since they weren’t palace-affiliated, she had expected trouble like this. Bariel’s palace subordinates obeyed orders without question. Tch.

She thought she’d have to reorganize the palace structure once the war ended.

“We’ve neutralized the entire Magic Department, including Ian. That’s enough. No time to waste—advance.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

At Eryphoni’s command, the black-armored soldiers strode forward with heavy steps—a formidable force meant to quell the chaos.

But—

KRAAANG!

THUD!

Jaret and the Imperial Guard blocked their path. Their landing was so powerful it seemed to split the earth.

Jaret unleashed his magic, summoning his sword. Dark clouds swirled above his hand, crackling with lightning. Then, a gleaming blade flashed between his fingers—a magic sword.

“Listen up, everyone.”

Shing.

The other magic swordsmen followed suit, lowering their stances and calling forth their own enchanted blades.

“Our current mission is to ensure the safe return of the mages—and to annihilate the black-armored soldiers.”

“Yes, Captain!”

At Jaret’s signal, five magic swordsmen turned and plunged into the chaos. Their swift footwork meant they could reach the mages quickly.

Meanwhile, those left behind faced the black-armored troops with fierce grins. Their eyes gleamed with deadly intent.

“I’ve seen these black-armored soldiers in the Chetur district. They’re always obstructing Bariel’s path.”

“What are you waiting for? The black armor can be subdued by magic swords! Don’t hesitate—advance!”

“All units—!”

Shing!

Jaret knew one-on-one combat with the black-armored soldiers was futile. Magic swords couldn’t pierce their armor; a different tactic was needed. And Jaret knew exactly what that was.

Experience.

Experience was the greatest weapon and strategy.

“If six of us strike two blows simultaneously, the armor will shatter.”

So, centered on himself, Jaret planned to destroy the target all at once. He would revive a tactic born from past experience.

Whoosh!

Jaret led the charge, the magic swordsmen following in unison. The wind sliced sharply through the air. In the blink of an eye, they leapt dozens of meters, landing right before the black-armored soldiers.

With lightning speed, Jaret swung his sword down, followed immediately by his comrades’ strikes.

Ching! Clang! Thud!

From all directions, a coordinated assault rained down—precise and flawless, breaking through the black armor.

Eryphoni watched in disbelief, then shouted to her troops.

“Bring me a new bow!”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Damn those Bariel scoundrels. None of them are worth a damn. Grabbing a fresh bow, Eryphoni scanned the battlefield. Where was Ian? Ian, Ian, Ian…

There!

At the heart of the chaos, Beric was carrying Ian, about to enter the Clifford camp. Eryphoni narrowed one eye, focusing sharply on Ian’s heart.

TWANG!

“Infuse the arrow with magic! Mage!”

Eryphoni shouted, but there was no response. Irritated, she turned and aimed the arrow at the child’s head—Zyra’s head.

“What are you waiting for? Put the magic into it.”

“Your Highness! He’s still a child!”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you twice.”

“I—I will do it. Please, hand Zyra over to me.”

As the mage staggered forward to protect Zyra, the child brushed away the hand. Her eyes snapped open, glowing golden. She clenched the arrowhead tightly, blood dripping between her fingers.

Ziiing. Ziiing.

Her eyes shimmered with a golden hue.

Tears streamed down her face as she whispered,

“Yes. I will give you the magic.”