Episode 431
The carriage climbed the steep hill.

Rutherford reclined at an angle on the soft bear fur lining the carriage, gazing out the window. He seemed to enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of the carriage’s movement.

But then, a sudden chill gripped one side of his chest, accompanied by a faint ripple of unease. His steady, skyward gaze wavered.

“Ah.”

“Is something wrong, sir?”

Without answering his subordinate, Rutherford reached for his cigarette. As he inhaled deeply, a frown creased his brow.

The magic he had cast on Damon had been triggered. It felt like the thread connecting them through his sixth sense had snapped. He knew exactly why the magic had activated, but whether Damon was alive or dead remained uncertain. If his head had been blown off, it would be over—but somehow, the feeling was strange.

Rutherford flicked the cigarette smoke out the slightly open carriage window and said quietly,
“We should hurry. King Damon might be dead.”

“Has the magic been triggered?”

“Yes, it has. But it’s not clear.”

“I’ll urge the driver to speed up.”

With a tap on the window by his subordinate, a hand signal was sent to the driver. Tensing up, the driver pulled the reins taut, and the once steady carriage began to jolt violently.

Rutherford didn’t like it. Just as a lowly human walks and runs on two legs, he felt like a mere insect crawling on the earth.

Noticing Rutherford’s change in mood, his subordinate cautiously spoke up.
“Or perhaps, sir, you and part of the carriage should be sent near Bariel first?”

“That’s enough. What’s the point of going ahead alone? Charging into enemy lines unarmed is no different. If Damon’s dead, then so be it. If he’s alive, then things will unfold accordingly. Besides, we need to conserve our men’s strength.”

Rutherford smiled wryly, chastising his subordinate, who bowed his head in response.

Rutherford’s return to Bariel carried significant meaning. It wasn’t just about setting foot on the land, seeing the empire’s people, or surveying the surroundings.

It meant entering the imperial palace, making the royal bloodline see him, and having his name once again etched into the annals of history. Rutherford exhaled a breath mingled with excitement and tension, the smoke from his cigarette trailing behind.

“It’s taken too long.”

Time was impossible to measure. From the very beginning—the start of his memories, the name Bandor—he had lived countless lifetimes between death and life. His subordinate offered words of comfort cautiously.

“The longer it’s taken, the more everything will unfold according to your will, sir.”

Rutherford smiled faintly, grasping his subordinate’s chin and gently parting his lips. A black mark was visible at the side of his tongue—the same as Damon’s. Lightly tapping the chin, he asked,
“Do you really believe that?”

“Of course. Sir Rutherford, by your very existence, you are close to the divine.”

“…How can that be my will?”

Bandor. Rutherford recalled his very first body, now faded into oblivion. For Bariel, for the mage’s creed, he had borne everything and thrown himself into the rift, but all that remained was a cursed immortality.

“I’m sick of it.”

It had been a series of deaths.

At times, a nomad at the edge of Gaia; at others, a wandering fisherman on the vast Blaster Sea. Then a criminal awaiting death with limbs severed, or a nobleman starved to death in a fraternal power struggle…

All these deaths had struck Rutherford in succession. Death after death. And yet, he endured, losing his will to fight at some point, simply surviving what came.

Then one day, he met that person—the “Gypsy who devours secrets.”

“What about Clark?”

“He’s in the carriage right behind us. Shall I call him?”

“No. That’s enough. Meeting a lover makes the heart flutter; no need to disturb that. I understand that feeling very well myself.”

Clark was meeting Lien, while Rutherford was meeting Bariel after countless deaths. As he stubbed out his cigarette, his subordinate knocked again on the driver’s window, urging haste.

Nearly a hundred carriages, large and small, quickly closed in behind Rutherford’s carriage. Leading the procession were dozens of black horses guiding the way.

If the gods above looked down, this would surely be the first sight to catch their eyes.

---

“Gasp! Wh-what is this—”

“Save the explanations for later! Stop the bleeding, now!”

“Y-yes, yes. Are you King Damon? Excuse me for a moment. Bring the hemostatic agent!”

“What about the tongue fragments?”

“I don’t think they can be reattached. I’ve seen cases of tongues being cut off, but never shattered into pieces like this. What happened here?”

The palace doctors looked around the ruined interrogation chamber and laid Damon down carefully. The scene was nothing short of horrific—blood everywhere. An explosion had occurred inside his mouth, shattering his tongue and leaving the interior grotesquely mangled.

The doctors hesitated, unsure where to begin, but brightened at the arrival of the healing mages.

“We’ll infuse his energy. Since he’s an important attendee at the upcoming grand assembly, saving him is the priority.”

“No! How can you present him as a witness in this state? It’s impossible—not because I’m a doctor, but medically speaking, it’s just not feasible.”

“He’s the head of the war criminals and this is a post-war report. It’s more appropriate to bring a corpse.”

“Yes. And keep those tongue fragments carefully. They prove that Ian did not mistreat King Damon. The explosion happened on its own; it would be problematic if Ian were misunderstood.”

“Bring something to store the tongue fragments!”

“The hemostatic agent is here!”

Clatter! Bang!

The noisy footsteps of those rushing up and down the stairs echoed loudly.

At the end of the corridor, Romandro blocked the secretaries, carefully reviewing the documents they had prepared. They gripped their pens tightly, shooting suspicious glances at him.

“If you put even a single dot, we will report you immediately.”

“Come on, I’ve told you not to worry. You’re the one holding the pen, aren’t you? Before this mess happened, as Ian’s aide, I have the right to know what was said between Ian and Damon! Stop making a fuss and just stay quiet.”

“Making a fuss? You said ‘making a fuss’?”

“Ugh! You keep talking, so I have to reread the parts I already read!”

Romandro’s petulant irritation made the secretaries step back in disbelief. Realizing it was pointless to argue, they fell silent, pens in hand.

The rustling of pages could be heard amid the commotion. Having read everything, Romandro glanced at Ian, who sat a little apart.

What on earth is that remarkable boy thinking?

“Ian.”

At Romandro’s call, Ian turned his head. Romandro stepped closer, tapping the secretaries’ records.

“So, based on King Damon’s reaction, it’s confirmed that Rutherford is a mage?”

“Yes. Otherwise, his tongue wouldn’t have been shattered like that.”

“Alright, let’s say that’s true. But is it common for a mage to lose their magic? I’ve never heard of that. I’m not a mage myself, but isn’t magic imprinted on the soul? Unless they die, how could it disappear?”

“That’s exactly it.”

“That? What do you mean?”

“Death. Nothing can strip a mage of their power except death. So, Rutherford must have died at least once before.”

“Could it be related to necromancy?”

“It’s not impossible, but unlikely. Hasha didn’t mention anything special about Rutherford. Astana has the most authoritative experts in necromancy, and Rutherford wouldn’t have acted without their involvement. Judging by his movements, including Idgal, it’s more natural to say he’s a mage who has experienced death.”

“Ugh, I don’t get it.”

How can someone who’s died be alive and moving around like that? Ignorant of reincarnation and rebirth, Romandro found it hard to accept—unlike Ian.

‘This body is that of Ian the illegitimate son. A hundred years from now, I’m still not sure if I, Bariel’s Ian, will be alive or dead. But one thing is certain—’

If magic remains in Ian’s body, his soul hasn’t vanished. He’s not dead. He and Damon must be running along some timeline somewhere.

After all, Emperor Ian’s possession of the illegitimate Ian’s body happened in Derga’s backyard during a meal. Unless poisoned, there’s no reason for the illegitimate Ian to die there.

“Ian.”

Romandro flipped through the records, spitting on his fingertips to turn the pages. His face was set with determination.

With all the rumors swirling about the imperial family, the creation of Idgal, and the war hero Ian, things were already chaotic.

If Damon’s condition worsened, suspicions would only deepen. To deny and cover up the charges, they might claim Ian harmed Damon.

“You’d better prepare your defense thoroughly. The war just ended, so the officials probably won’t come at us too harshly. But each issue here is no small matter. Don’t give them any reason to pick a fight, got it?”

If the illegitimate son Ian is still alive, where could he be now? Is he running along a different timeline? Otherwise, he’d have come looking for Philia by now. Just as I could, he could too.

“First, I’ll try to pull some strings with the administration. We have stronger ties there than with other departments—in several ways. The problem is the question of King Damon’s safety that Burgos’s side will raise. Since we haven’t received any official word from them yet, it’s best for us to hold the council meeting quickly.”

The abyss beneath the rift. If there’s no space or time in the abyss, could Naum be there? According to the records, Bandor has been beneath the rift. The only way is to meet Rutherford in person and ask him—but to meet him—

“Ian. Who are you talking to right now? Are you even listening to me?!”

“…Of course.”

“What did I just say?”

“To prepare thoroughly.”

“Hey, hey. You were only half-listening and zoning out!”

“No, really, I was listening. But Lord Romandro, could you return the records to the scribes and head to the imperial archives? Please check if there are any more records about this Bandor. And bring back everything mentioning the rift and the abyss—even a single word will do.”

“No! How can I just hand over the records? Do you think the scribes won’t gossip about it in the palace?”

“Then should we keep them?”

“That’s not—”

“Romandro! Lord Romandro!”

Crash! Bang!

Someone tumbled down the stairs. Romandro clicked his tongue, already knowing who it was. The only one who moved so recklessly in the palace was Beric.

“Shut up, you fool! This is an important moment!”

“It’s important to me too! Viviana’s having a baby!”

“Huh?”

Romandro dropped the records onto the floor. His eyes widened like a rabbit’s, then froze.

“She’s giving birth. I saw Viviana collapse, so you’d better hurry.”

“W-Why did Viviana collapse?”

“No idea. Go see for yourself.”

“N-No…”

Romandro hurried to pick up the papers, but Ian gently stopped him. He knelt down and said:

“Don’t worry about this. You should go quickly.”

“Uh, Ian—”

“It’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve attended the council alone. A child’s beginning is something the mother and father should face together.”

Romandro found himself strangely unable to move. Normally, he would have just apologized and dashed off.

For some reason, sending Ian alone to the council felt like asking for trouble. He didn’t know exactly what kind, but the unease was real.

“Ian, then you’ll just see my Viviana and the baby and come right back, okay?”

“I will. Hurry.”

“Ah, well… anyway, see you again, Beric!”

“The carriage is outside!”

“Got it. Thanks for your hard work! Make way!”

Tap tap tap!

Romandro hurried up the stairs with quick, short steps. Ian gathered the records and handed them back to the scribes.

The scribes watched Ian warily, then snatched the papers as if stealing them.

“You’re dismissed now. And whatever you heard or saw here, testify truthfully at the council.”

“…We will. No need to worry.”

“Worrying is never for nothing.”

Ian smiled faintly. The scribes hurried away, weaving through the mages and out of the interrogation room. Wherever they stepped, the floor was stained with fresh blood—King Damon’s blood.