Chapter 473
Emperor Ian Verosion swore an oath to Bariel.
Before the window where dawn was breaking, beneath the fresh green leaves, atop the dais cooling from the day’s heat, he vowed to give everything—always and only for Bariel.
He pledged to offer a breath, a fleeting happiness, silent tears—anything. He begged Bariel to watch over that precious soul, to remain whole and steadfast, as eternal as time itself.
Emperor Ian Verosion wished to be the will of the gods. Not like those who cried out that he was unworthy, that he should never ascend the throne—no, he wanted to be their divine messenger. So that everything he did would be the path Bariel desired.
Swish!
Heads of the fallen rolled mercilessly across the floor, simply because they had stood by his side until the end.
Blood soaked the crimson carpet beneath them, and Ian, weakened and desperate, struggled fiercely, shouting:
“Stop! Stop this madness!”
“Why? Why do you do this? Stop!”
But the rebels, fueled by their rage, only grew more savage, cutting off his hands and feet.
The pain of losing limbs was unbearable. Some died calling out his name; others let out a single, agonized scream before succumbing.
Those who wailed, those who faced death with calm—none escaped it. All but him. The death Ian Verosion brought stained the surroundings crimson, yet spared only himself.
“Your Majesty.”
A familiar voice. Ian turned to see Naum suddenly standing before him. His soft brown hair neatly tied back, eyes fixed on Ian.
Was it all a dream? The rebellion of Crony, Naum’s death, the journey to Bariel a hundred years ago? Naum smiled faintly and shook his head.
“Your Majesty, this is no dream. You were abandoned by Bariel. Because of that, everyone died—Naum, myself, and now you.”
Slowly, Naum reached out and strangled Ian’s neck. Ian struggled briefly against the tightening grip, but then stopped when he saw Naum crying bitterly.
Yes, he was blaming me. Because of my shortcomings, he had his life torn away—his tears were heavy with sorrow. If killing me could ease his pain even a little, then so be it.
“Die! Just disappear as if you never existed! That’s the only way, Your Majesty, to save Bariel—”
For Bariel, and for you.
My friend, just as you would die for me, I will die for you. Ian Verosion nodded and relaxed his body completely.
At that moment—
Swish!
Something tugged at his collar, lifting him off the ground. Naum, crying out to kill him, followed close behind. His platinum hair had turned golden, and his eyes shifted from pale blue to emerald green.
Ian realized the one pulling him through the air was someone familiar.
“Young Emperor.”
“You are…”
The Gypsy who devours secrets. The old woman’s cheeks fluttered with gills, and the cloth trailing behind her resembled fins, flowing without legs.
Suddenly, Ian understood he had arrived in a strange place. It felt like underwater—buoyant, yet breathing was easy. Darkness surrounded them, with only he and the Gypsy faintly glowing.
The Gypsy smiled gently as she swam forward.
“Welcome to the Abyssal Sea.”
A world beneath the cracks—a hell where the universe’s secrets slumber, and those who recklessly wield divine power are trapped.
Ian looked around slowly. There was no path. Up and down blurred, left and right merged—a space unknown and undefined.
“How did you come to be here?”
“And why are you here?”
“I live by consuming secrets. I could not help but seek this place where the universe’s mysteries sleep.”
Whoosh—
As the Gypsy led the way, a cool breeze brushed Ian’s hair.
Just moments ago, he had been Emperor Ian Verosion, but now he appeared as Ian the Bastard. Not only the concept of space but the very notion of existence was blurred here.
“Then perhaps your form isn’t truly real either.”
The old woman only smiled, offering no answer. Silence was affirmation. Ian understood that was her reply.
“So, what will you do now?”
“There is someone I must meet.”
“To meet in the Abyss?”
“Yes. And we will leave together.”
Ian’s firm declaration made the old woman hesitate, then burst into laughter. Bubbles rose from her gills, scattering in all directions.
“Is it not the one? The brown-haired man who tried to kill you.”
“Naum Obia.”
“Yes, that one. He seems to be one who sank into the Abyss by forbidden magic, but your case is different. You came here by choice; Naum fell. Taking him out means pulling the Abyss into Gaia itself.”
Ian’s heart thudded quietly. He wanted to say with confidence that in his world, saving Naum was possible—but his throat tightened, and no words came.
The old woman circled him, warning:
“The Abyssal Sea holds everything—your anger, fear, pain, despair, loss. All the negativity born from every moment you existed will overwhelm you. Just like before.”
She spoke of the inner fear that Naum resented and even cursed him. The Naum he had just seen was but an illusion, a fragment of himself.
Ian grasped the old woman’s sleeve, pleading.
“What must I do?”
“Can a human conquer the sea? You can only surrender to the currents. Be pushed and pulled by the waves, and hope to reach an island someday.”
She glanced down at Ian’s hand and said softly: let go, and fall into the sea. Ride the waves of pain as they come.
Understanding her meaning, Ian released her sleeve.
Swish.
Slowly, the old woman drifted away.
Down, further down, Ian sank toward the Abyss’s bottom, while the old woman watched from above.
Countless arms stretched from the darkness, clamoring for Ian. In an instant, he would endure more than one death. Unaware that he was but a passing bubble in the Abyss, he would be consumed and steeped in despair.
“What a pity.”
An emperor holding a delicious secret. His existence alone was meaningful, but soon he would lose himself. The old woman lingered, unable to leave, staring down for a long while.
How much time passed?
Flash—
From the place where Ian sank, a faint, tiny light flickered. The old woman blinked her gills in curiosity, unable to resist, and dove down.
The phrase “Abyssal Sea” was fitting.
Pain crashed like waves, relentless and suffocating. It was physical agony that seared flesh and twisted lungs, and mental torment that stung like the world itself was collapsing.
…How much time had passed?
Ian Verosion had died countless times at Naum’s hands. Beric was torn apart by the black armor, never to rise again. Jin, trapped by Arsen’s schemes, had taken his own life.
The empire’s prosperity was broken, the earth cracked, and the people cursed themselves as unworthy. Romandro and the Mage’s Guild looked on with bitter eyes, and parents wept, lamenting the children they should never have borne.
“Is it over? Ah, but it’s just the beginning.”
When the visions began, he was completely consumed, unable to tell reality from illusion. Only in the brief moments between visions—when he realized he was sinking into the Abyss—did Ian Verosion exist fully.
But now he was reaching his limit. His mind was crumbling, on the verge of collapse. Though this time felt endless, Ian had no way of knowing it was but a brief moment while the old woman lingered.
Swish.
Then, a gentle touch wrapped around him from behind. The unfamiliar contact, free of any killing intent, puzzled him. Ian carefully turned around, holding the arm that grasped him.
Before him stood a beautiful boy with golden hair and emerald eyes—Ian himself. The boy smiled brightly and embraced him.
“Ian!”
The Bastard Ian. Just as he had first seen him at Count Derga’s manor. Thin and weary, eyes hollowed by exhaustion, skin pale and drawn. Yet his smile, soaked in relief, was radiant.
Ian Verosion was taken aback, simply staring at the child’s face.
“Ian, thank you for coming all this way.”
“Bastard Ian? Why are you here?”
Instead of answering, the boy buried his face in Ian Verosion’s chest and sighed in relief.
Ian had no idea. He had wondered where the lost soul of Bastard Ian had gone, but never imagined it would be here.
Could this be another illusion?
But this vision brought him no pain.
Ian Verosion gently pulled the boy away and bowed. The child noticed his surprise and chuckled softly—a clear, pure laugh that didn’t belong in the Abyssal Sea.
“…You know me, don’t you?”
Ian Verosion hesitated, murmuring softly. The child seemed to know him—knew who he was, even that he had entered the child’s body, and the entire journey that had brought him here.
“Naum Obia asked me if there was any way to save you. So, I willingly offered my body. Like a river flowing toward a destined end, I was meant to guide the course of history rightly. But I judged that you could fulfill that role far better than I ever could.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“You seemed curious, so I thought I’d tell you.”
The child embraced Ian Verosion again, as if overwhelmed by affection. Ian felt awkward but not unpleasant; in fact, the act seemed to soothe the pain that had worn down his body and soul. For a moment, he was free from the illusions that haunted him.
“What exactly am I supposed to be curious about?”
“Whether you exist by divine will. Whether you are the right choice for Bariel.”
“I—”
“Don’t worry. Just exist. You have defied time by my will, arrived here, and will only walk the righteous path from now on.”
A soft glow flickered. The child held out a palm, and atop it blossomed a warm amber gem—the Idgal. Motioning for him to take it, the child’s eyes shone with urgency. Ian flinched.
“Are you saying…”
The Idgal in Ian’s hand began to radiate a brilliant light. The child smiled brightly, pleased. Watching the figure slowly fade, Ian asked quietly,
“…Are you saying that you are a god?”