Chapter 409

Damon still remembered the cold edge pressed against the nape of his neck—the final sensation from his previous life, the life he lived not as King Damon, but as a prince, before it all came to an end.

Everything around him seemed to slow down. The faces of his subordinates and soldiers watching him, the continuous roar of explosions—it all stretched out, unraveling his memories.

“Brother, I’m sorry. It’s over now.”

“Wait, just a moment!”

“This is an unavoidable choice for the Kingdom of Burgos. Please, rest peacefully.”

“Do you think you’re the only prince who cares for the kingdom? I am a prince of Burgos too! How dare you—”

“It’s all the will of the gods.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s always been like this. You, my own brother, have taken everything from me—and yet you’re never satisfied. I don’t even know what you want from me! The gods? Fine. Let’s ask them together. Let’s find out what the true choice for Burgos is!”

Damon screamed and drew his sword. Those who supported his brother Daon stepped forward to stop him, but Daon foolishly and resolutely held them back.

In the heart of the palace, they clashed dozens of times, each strike stealing breath, until finally, both Damon and Daon lay dead.

Damon chuckled darkly as he watched Daon’s blood soak the marble floor. Foolish—if only he hadn’t stepped forward, he could have claimed a clean victory!

“Prince!”

As everyone rushed to Daon’s side, Damon, dying alone, watched the scene one last time. Looking up at the yellowed sky, stained by desertification, he made a vow: he would be reborn. In his next life, he would rise as the true first prince and rebuild Burgos anew.

Perhaps his brother’s words about the will of the gods weren’t entirely wrong. That’s why he had been granted a second life—and now, he was searching for a way to secure a third.

He was almost there. He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t stop now.

“…Did you ask what will become of me?”

Damon whispered with a chuckle. The blade pressed deeply against his throat, and every time he moved his Adam’s apple, blood trickled out.

His laughter was out of place. Ian looked down at him and laughed too. Golden hair soaked in blood fell, casting shadows.

“I won’t die. I’ll live a third life.”

His voice was barely audible over the chaos, but Ian’s expression shifted slightly. Damon spoke with the certainty of someone who had already lived a second chance and was confident of a third. Why? What gave him such faith?

“Kill me. Next time, it’ll be your turn. I didn’t know before, but now I do. Next time, you’ll be the one lying face down in the dirt, dying beside me. I swear it with everything I have. Through death, I will take one step forward.”

Ian’s grip tightened on Damon’s hair. The Burgos generals and soldiers flinched, watching every move carefully.

This was a precarious situation. If Ian twisted his arm even slightly, the king’s head would roll on the ground. That would mean defeat—and their deaths.

“A third life?”

“…!”

Ian’s rough grip made Damon wince. Damon was living his second life, and Ian had come from the past, transcending time and space. Different in form, but fundamentally the same.

If Ian knew the secret behind this, he might find a clue about his own situation. To return once more to Emperor Ian’s body, to travel back a hundred years, to his own Bariel, and to some point where he could grasp everything before failure.

“Explain in detail.”

“Why? Do you want to live twice? Why? You’re the empire’s mage, a young minister admired by all. What could you possibly lack?”

“I don’t want to waste time on nonsense. Even now, many are dying. A third life after death? Do as you please. But it won’t be easy.”

“You cut Selena’s throat. I’ll do the same to you. But I’ll only let you reach the brink of death, not beyond.” Ian grabbed Damon’s left hand, twisted it backward, then forcefully bent it the other way.

Crack!

“Ahhh!”

Unlike the calm and cold Ian, Damon screamed in pain. Everyone flinched and stepped back. Ian pressed his knee into Damon’s back to keep him down and nodded to the soldiers.

“You’ve lost your senses. Still holding weapons?”

“Surrender. Otherwise, your king dies.” At Ian’s warning, a general slowly lowered his weapon.

At once, swords and spears clattered to the ground. The soldiers dropped to their knees, raised their hands, and bowed deeply, pledging surrender.

Shhhhhh!

Bang! Boom!

Suddenly, an attack flew toward Ian.

A red, dark arrow sliced through the air, charged with magic. Ian thought it might have come from Eriponi’s side, but the direction was opposite—it came from the slope where the Atan tribe had descended.

Ian reflexively raised his left hand to form a shield, blocking the attack. A long-haired man held a bow and arrow made of light—a magic swordsman who could transform magic into weapons.

“Bringing some decent reinforcements, Damon.”

“Damn it!”

No matter how much Damon struggled, he couldn’t break free from Ian’s grip. Attacks kept pouring in. Unlike the demoralized Burgos army, the Atan tribe still roamed the battlefield fiercely.

Their goal was simple: to cause a fracture in Clifford. And Burgos was the key to that.

“Those bastards better not run! What difference does it make if the king dies?”

“It does make a difference.”

“There’s a next king. Everyone, raise your weapons! Remember how we came down from the north?”

“They say the war ends when the enemy leader is captured.”

“Bullshit. War only ends when everyone’s dead.”

“If you don’t raise your weapons, you’re enemies too. We warned you!”

“We called you here to fight, and you want to end it like this? Let’s make you taste real blood!”

Shhhhhh!

The Atan tribe shouted irritably, swinging their swords. Their threat was real—several Burgos soldiers fell under their blows alongside the Clifford troops.

As Ian turned toward the commotion, a general noticed Damon repeatedly reaching out with one hand. What was he doing? Looking closely, a small Idgal pendant lay at the end of his outstretched fingers. The general quickly grabbed it and tossed it toward Damon.

“Your Highness!”

Clink!

What was it? Damon stretched out his hand with all his might, but Ian was faster. He caught the pendant attached to a string and the Idgal began to glow.

Ziiing… Ziiing!

Countless concentric magic circles spilled from between Ian’s fingers, weaving intricate patterns that wrapped around him. Ian was startled but soon realized the magic felt familiar.

‘…It’s mine.’

More precisely, it was the magic of Ian the illegitimate son. A spell that had originated from him.

Mages in the sky gasped and tried to approach, but Ian raised his hand to stop them. He felt his strength draining, as if invisible holes had opened in his body, sand pouring out to one side.

Clink!

Ian quickly threw the pendant away, but the magic circles didn’t disappear. Instead, they glowed brighter, as if waiting to be unleashed, enveloping Ian in light. His golden hair almost looked white in the radiance.

Ian frowned at the blinding light, and the mages in the sky shouted.

“Ian! Are you alright?!”

“What’s happening?”

“Please tell us! We beg you!”

“Tomirang, Yen, and Kanchi have all been safely moved. Three are currently praying, ready to do anything! Give the order!”

Damon watched closely from beneath Ian’s knees.

The pendant given by Rutherford was supposed to indicate when a fracture would occur and provide aid if needed, but Damon hadn’t known such a device was hidden here. Even now, watching it unfold, he didn’t fully understand what was happening.

Ian grabbed Damon’s left arm and asked,

“Damon, have you been in direct contact with Rutherford?”

“Why? Curious? Something seems off?”

“Answering a question with a question is unwise.”

Crack!

Damon’s already broken left arm twisted again in the opposite direction. Even as this happened, Ian’s magic continued to leak out, as if an invisible hole had formed.

Ian wiped cold sweat from his brow and looked at the pendant he had thrown. The Idgal glowed golden, as if about to burst into flames.

Shatter!

It soon cracked into pieces, unable to withstand the heat. Only Damon understood the meaning: it signaled that enough force had been applied to cause a fracture.

A faint smile appeared on Damon’s lips despite his writhing pain, and Ian staggered, feeling dizzy.

‘Is this our chance?’

The generals and soldiers reached for their weapons again, but the mages forbade it.

Boom! Bang!

“Everyone, stay still.”

Despite Ian’s command to stay back, he cautiously descended, never lowering his guard. Ian, his face pale as death, braced himself against the ground.

With the leaders of both factions tangled and collapsed together, no one could tell how the situation was unfolding. Damon tried to crawl away from Ian using his uninjured right arm, but—

Crack!

“Ughhh!”

Ian’s dagger pierced through Damon’s Achilles tendon. Regardless of the Idgal pendant’s activation and the leakage of his own magic, war was war. Now that the enemy leader was bleeding, the outcome was all but sealed.

“Ian!”

“Secure Damon first.”

“Are you alright? You look terrible.”

“…I’m fine. Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

Ian, swaying as he tried to steady himself, suddenly noticed something dripping down. Blood. He had vowed never to shed his own blood in battle, but fortunately, mixed with others’, it wasn’t immediately obvious.

“Should I give you some magic? If you collapse again, we really—”

“No. It’s like pouring water into a bottomless pit right now.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Return to the camp and deliver this message. First, make sure to raise the white flag from Vargas’s side high for all to see. And let Luswena see it clearly as well.”

“As for Luswena, that’s one thing, but what about the Atan tribe? They’re completely unreasonable. Their behavior feels all too familiar.”

“That’s Beric. Beric.”

“Ah!”

The two mages bound King Damon and lifted him into the air, while the others supported Ian. Though the battle had reached a lull, the Atan tribe remained noisy, seemingly eager to prolong the endless war.

Pressing his throbbing brow, Ian spoke quietly.

“Tell the chieftain named Efdiram.”

“They don’t seem to understand that the war ends when their leader is captured.”

“Regarding the rift—specifically the supply of monsters—we now hold the upper hand over Damon’s side. Tell them to discuss this over a meal. Also, announce Damon’s capture loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.”

“Yes, understood. Ian, can you walk?”

“I’ll need a horse…”

“A horse! Bring a horse!”

He clearly wasn’t in any condition to fly.

Ian closed his eyes, staring at the shattered, powdered remains of the Idgal pendant. The shackles of his illegitimate birth felt like they were tightening around his neck across time and space.