Episode 591

“Barsabe!”

The palace guards stationed at Agiar Castle called out her name in unison, their voices filled with joy.

“We thought you had left to seek glory. It’s so good to see you up and about,” they said, embracing one another as tears glistened in their eyes.

“Are you feeling any better? Can you move?”

“Why did you come all the way here? You should be resting.”

“I heard today was the execution of the Rutherford remnants. I couldn’t stomach missing it. Besides, lying down for days made me stiff. It’s better to keep moving in times like this.”

“You must be crazy. You’re not in your right mind.”

“Is it already underway inside?”

Barsabe waved off their worries and asked, and her comrades nodded. Judging by the healer’s hurried arrival earlier, something was happening, but without any special orders, they were just waiting.

“Captain Jarrett is also observing.”

“Where? Over there? Can I go in now?”

“Yeah. The others are there too. We’re on duty, so we can’t move.”

“Alright. Keep up the hard work. See you later.”

They lightly bumped fists in farewell, sharing faint smiles. No matter how much they risked their lives for Bariel, there were moments when simply being alive felt like a blessing—moments like this.

Creak.

Barsabe stepped into the outer corridor with her comrades.

Behind Agiar Castle was a space once used as a training ground, perfect for an execution. The tiered stands allowed spectators to witness the deaths at a glance, and the dry sand made cleaning up blood easier.

Most importantly, the area was lined with tools used somewhere between training and torture, making the proceedings more efficient.

“There they are.”

One comrade pointed, and Barsabe’s gaze followed.

Rutherford lay unconscious, a healer tending to him, while Ian sat nearby, watching impassively. Barsabe took in the whole scene.

Throb—!

“Ah.”

Again. That strange pain surged once more. Her head felt hollow, as if emptied, yet at the same time, a crushing ache pressed on her nerves.

Gripping the railing, Barsabe groaned, and her comrade startled, steadying her.

“Barsabe, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“My head… it feels strange.”

“In what way? Sit here for a moment. I’ll go down and explain the situation to get the healer.”

What kind of injury could cause such an unpleasant pain? Barsabe had endured countless agonies, but this was new.

She tried to say something, but her comrade hurried down the stairs before hearing her. Barsabe sank down, clutching the railing tightly, teeth clenched.

—Want to look to your side?

The voice was captivating. Like a breeze whispering in her ear, Barsabe’s head turned involuntarily.

Fear gripped her. Now, more than pain, fear and dread began to dominate her. It was like having her body taken over while her mind remained intact. Yes. This was the despair and loss that came with having one’s true self stolen.

“Th-this is…”

Her wavering eyes struggled to focus. Soldiers stood in rigid lines. Officers reported to the minister. Captain Jarrett moved busily. Servants scurried about. A mage organized a stack of documents. And there were Ian and Rutherford…

Every detail of the scene seemed to flow into Barsabe’s mind, into that empty, unknown space.

As she pressed her forehead—

A glint.

Something thin sparkled in the air.

Ian, who had been watching Rutherford with that strange energy, shifted his gaze and spotted the gleam beneath the clear sky. It was the same as what they’d seen during the Agiar battle with the puppeteers—

Piiing!

Swoosh! Bang!

“Ah! What was that?”

“Ian, are you alright?”

“That’s it! The puppeteers’ doing!”

The mysterious attack.

It plunged straight down, aiming for Ian’s head. He tilted it just enough to dodge the surprise strike. The missed attack shattered the training ground’s wall in an instant. Had it hit, it wouldn’t have been just his head—it would have torn his whole body apart.

“Puppeteers? There are survivors?”

“They can attack from a distance, but Ian, please give orders!”

Ian rose and turned toward the source of the attack. The force was far greater than the one that pierced his abdomen before. If before it was a sharp needle, now it was like a massive iron arrow flying at him.

‘According to Beric’s testimony, puppeteers need a perfectly recreated background and a doll representing the target. If they attacked with such precision despite not being in battle, there are two possibilities: either they have a ‘stage’ that exactly matches the interior of Agiar Castle, or…’

They must be watching directly.

It was unlikely the fleeing puppeteers had the first option—they retreated hastily without gathering anything. The puppeteers’ bodies found near the cliff confirmed this; they carried only a Toorun pass and some coins.

‘Then they must be observing directly.’

Through Rutherford? Or the sword mages kneeling beside him? If it were stealth, she would have noticed first.

Snap!

Ian snapped his fingers, signaling the soldiers to fall back. Then he covered Rutherford and the remnants with black cloth. When the mages asked what to do, Ian covered his mouth, signaling silence.

“Stay alert. They might come again.”

“Yes, yes.”

The mages summoned their magic, ready to cast protective barriers at a moment’s notice. Tweller and Jarrett drew their swords and lowered their stances. The palace guards rushed inside to check on the emperor’s safety.

Glint!

“Incoming! Ian!”

Swoosh!

Ian reacted faster than the shout. The attack came from the left, aiming for his heart. He conjured an Idgal shield and deflected it without issue.

Clang!

“The speed’s slower than before. Slower than what we saw at the wall.”

“Yeah, I can see it now that I’m focused. Last time, it came down in the blink of an eye.”

“Maybe the distance from the source affects the speed?”

“The previous puppeteer was inside the castle walls, so it was relatively close. Now, they’re farther away, so the speed might have dropped.”

“Ian, did you hear that? It makes sense.”

“Yes, I agree. It’s unlikely a puppeteer is hiding inside Agiar Castle. This seems to be coming from outside, farther away.”

“Let’s relocate.”

“Agreed. Though—”

If the puppeteer is watching through some ability, moving might backfire. Without blocking their view, they’d be transmitting the castle’s layout and even the status of Bariel’s entire army.

“Ugh, cough!”

Rutherford, covered in black cloth, coughed up blood repeatedly. He was the one who stayed with the dead puppeteers until the end. For now, he and the remnants were suspected as the conduit—but there was one more.

The one who had contact with the puppeteers until the very end.

“…Barsabe.”

“Huh? Why are you calling me all of a sudden?”

“Has Barsabe entered the castle?”

“Wait a moment. I’ll check.”

“No need! Barsabe is here! She just came to watch the execution after regaining consciousness!”

A sword mage coming down relayed the message, looking up at the stands. From their angle, Barsabe wasn’t visible, but Ian could see her clearly. He called out repeatedly, urging her to respond.

“Barsabe! I know you’re in pain, but please answer quickly!”

“…There’s no one above you.”

“What? That can’t be. I just came down.”

The palace guard, flustered, ran to the center of the training ground—and froze. It was true. No one was where they should be.

As everyone tried to make sense of the situation, Ian shouted,

“Find Barsabe! Blindfold her and cover her ears. If she resists, kill her honorably.”

“Ah…”

“Hurry! Barsabe must not see or hear the emperor’s location or appearance.”

The order was clear, but it took a few seconds for its meaning to sink in. The mages’ faces paled, and Tweller and Jarrett realized the gravity of the situation, bursting through the door and rushing out.

Tap tap tap!

Bang!

“Barsabe!”

“Barsabe! Where are you?!”

Had she lost consciousness? Was she no longer herself? Everyone’s minds spun as they searched the castle thoroughly. Most ran toward the emperor’s reception room.

Heh heh, ugh.

Rutherford’s groan turned into a laugh. So this was what the gods had meant. The details were unclear, but did it matter? The fact that everything would end the moment Barsabe faced the emperor was what truly mattered.

Ian descended the platform and grabbed Rutherford’s neck with one hand.

“Rutherford.”

“Gah!”

“Show me everything you’ve engraved about the puppeteers—or rather, about Toorun—without leaving anything out.”

“Why? Do you intend to kill me? How kind of you. Then I shall come for you in my next life. And even if there is no next time, I will laugh with joy—for I will have finally found the peace my soul has long sought.”

“Peace for the soul?”

Ian scoffed at the empty words. Though the figure was shrouded in black cloth, his silhouette barely visible, Rutherford could read the expression clearly: a genuine sneer.

“Ask your god if such a thing is even granted to you.”

He had found a clue about Damon’s next life and Rutherford’s reincarnation. If they could eliminate the underground god and go to Toorun to gather all the black seeds, they could sever the cycle of their repeated rebirths.

Then, the weight of the sins carried by those souls would be judged by the divine.

With a thud, Ian relaxed his grip, and Rutherford’s body collapsed lifelessly. He had been rendered unconscious by sheer will and magic alone. Ian gestured to the startled soldiers.

“Wait here until the situation calms down.”

Ziiing! Ziiing!

Ian’s Idgal rose around Rutherford and his remaining followers, forming a protective barrier. No stray attack would take Rutherford’s breath without Ian’s consent.

* * *

“Hah, hah…”

Barsabe ran blindly, overwhelmed by nausea. Her whole body screamed for mercy, desperate to shake off the torment in her mind, but she couldn’t stop. If she did, she felt certain the mysterious presence would finally catch and devour her.

Tap, tap, tap!

The once-quiet castle interior, silenced by the execution, was growing restless. She didn’t know why—she didn’t have the strength to care.

Tears streaming down her face, Barsabe spotted the Imperial Guard in the distance—her comrades, her friends, her family, the very reason she existed. Desperately, she pleaded for help, begging them to do something.

“Barsabe’s coming this way?”

“Eogumni? She’s awake? Then why is she looking here?”

“Your Majesty! This way! Please move to a safer place!”

“What’s going on, Beric?”

“I don’t know. Something about Eogumni?”

“We’ll explain later—”

“Barsabe must not face His Majesty—”

Swish!

Before she could process the conversation, Barsabe rounded the corner. She wasn’t supposed to see the Emperor, but her body moved on its own momentum. Soon, she met the horrified faces and gazes of the Imperial Guards.

Time seemed to slow. One by one, she recognized their faces, then Beric’s, and then…

‘His Majesty the Emperor.’

Just as Jin’s left side of the face began to come into view—

Crack!

“Barsabe.”

Captain Jerat grabbed her neck from behind and covered her eyes with his other hand. Off balance, she fell backward as the guards drew their swords.

Fshhh!

As expected, the window behind Jin shattered. The attack had missed its mark, unable to pinpoint the target’s exact location.

“…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I truly didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Something was wrong with her body. Tears poured down Barsabe’s face, and Jerat held her head tighter, as if to protect her from the storm inside.