Episode 602
Once upon a time, there was a poor girl who lived all alone. Life was so hard for her that she had to scavenge scraps of food others had discarded just to survive.
One day, a mysterious purple deer appeared in Purpato. The deer staggered weakly and collapsed right in the middle of the town square.
The townspeople thought the deer must be starving, so they offered it food. But the deer didn’t move an inch.
“If I die, the entire nearby forest will perish as well.”
Fear slowly crept into the hearts of the people. The deer’s purple fur seemed to be melting away.
It was death itself, creeping over the land, the sky, and all living things. Panicked, the people emptied their granaries to feed the deer.
“Please, try this.”
“And this, too!”
But the deer’s condition did not improve.
As despair settled over the crowd, the girl cautiously stepped forward. Among the piles of food, she placed what little she had—leftover bread crusts and apple slices others had discarded.
The people were furious. How dare she offer such scraps to the sacred deer when only the finest food was worthy!
“Finally.”
But the deer’s reaction was unexpected. After refusing all the precious food, it ate the girl’s humble offerings and began to regain strength.
Its purple coat regained its luster, and the creeping death transformed back into life.
“You have given all you have. I am satisfied to the depths of my heart. In return, I will forever watch over the nearby forest. And child, I will grant you one true wish.”
With those words, the purple deer vanished.
The people rejoiced. If they had kept feeding the deer, they themselves would have starved. They hailed the girl as a hero and treated her kindly. For the first time, she felt warmth and happiness.
But that happiness was short-lived.
Soon, worry returned. Because they had given everything to the deer, there was little food left to survive the coming winter.
Winter approached, and the people faced starvation until spring.
“What should we do?”
“Let’s pray to the deer. It saved us once; surely it will help again.”
The villagers banded together to find the deer, but it was no use. They faced winter with little to no harvest.
As they suffered through the bitter cold, they suddenly remembered the girl.
“What if we ask her to wish for plenty of food?”
“Right. After all, she only survived because of us—eating what we threw away!”
“Let’s go! Let’s ask her to make a wish!”
The villagers swarmed to the girl’s home. She was embarrassed but eventually nodded in agreement.
“Very well. I will wish for a warm winter for all of you.”
She clasped her hands and prayed, but nothing happened.
Puzzled, the people soon realized the truth: the girl did not truly wish for their comfort and abundance. Enraged, they beat her mercilessly.
“How dare you! A beggar who scavenged scraps, ungrateful for our kindness!”
“Please, no! Please!”
“Let’s sacrifice the girl in prayer. Then the deer will appear. Kill her!”
“Kill her! Strip her!”
After the brutal beating, they tied the girl to a platform. But some among them shouted in protest.
“Put her down!”
“She’s done nothing wrong!”
“Who gave you the right to kill a person?”
Tied up and crying, the girl watched the people argue. After a long while, she closed her eyes tightly and whispered a prayer.
“Please, bring painful death to those who harm me.”
She repeated the names of her tormentors over and over, praying to the deer.
Then—
Boom! Crash!
A sudden thunderbolt struck from a clear sky, and those she named dropped dead on the spot.
The stunned villagers were shocked but secretly relieved. With their enemies gone, they could survive the harsh winter safely.
Spring came again. The people sought out the girl to offer thanks and apologies, but she was nowhere to be found.
No one ever learned what became of her.
Rautan hesitated. For a brief moment, the legend of Purpato flashed through his mind. Though many stories existed, the core remained unchanged.
“Is your silence your answer?”
Not Ian Hielo, but another name? Was the Minister of Magic using an alias?
Bariel’s side showed no sign of agitation. They must share the secret of the author. Rautan snapped, telling them to stop their nonsense.
“…The Guardian is a transcendent being. No matter your name, the fact remains that I will die by your hand.”
“Then let us test that. I am curious myself. I will cheer for your death.”
He said the curse could not be avoided but was manageable. And if there was a loophole in the oath? Rautan could not be sure his death would have the intended effect.
With Purpato’s fate hanging in the balance, if he were to die, he would have to take the Minister of Magic with him. But if the Minister had a secret true name…
“You seem to be overthinking.”
Snap!
Ian snapped his fingers, drawing the attention of Rautan and his men. It was a gesture of mercy—if they wished, they could turn back. No blood had been shed yet; there was still a chance to retreat.
This was reasonable for Ian, too. Even if the curse was bearable, avoiding it if possible was the right thing to do—and a courtesy to the benevolent Guardian.
“I will give you two hours. Use that time to confer and return with your decision. Bariel will respect whatever you choose. If you want death, you shall have death. If you want to live, you shall live.”
“Lord Rautan, it would be best to withdraw for now.”
“Yes, our primary objective is achieved. We have confirmed the Guardian’s oath.”
“Taking time to regroup will work to our advantage.”
“Lord Rautan, please sheath your sword and come this way.”
When his men pulled at him, Rautan reluctantly lowered his blade. As he slowly turned his horse toward the castle gate—
“Take this.”
Ian tossed him a broken branch. Proof that the legendary forest was real, and a warning from Bariel. Rautan tucked it away, unwilling to discard it, and rode toward the gate.
As they departed, the mages maintaining the protective barrier relaxed their grip on their magic, and the soldiers exhaled in relief.
“Lord Ian, do you think the authors will surrender within two hours?”
“I don’t know. Whether they resist or surrender, both paths suit them. Which is more effective or aligns with their goals is a question for later. History will tell in time.”
Ian glanced at Tweller, signaling a brief rest. Two hours wasn’t much, but enough to ease the soldiers’ fatigue.
The mages gathered around Ian, whispering.
“But Lord Ian, what exactly is this curse?”
“The Guardian’s blessing was that those who pray for me receive good fortune. Their luck flows to me, creating a beautiful cycle. The curse is tied to that.”
The curse was a balance: the misfortune that Ian must bear in exchange for the luck others enjoy.
If someone’s fortune saved their life, then at Ian’s moment of life and death, misfortune would strike. He might die when he shouldn’t, or things might go awry unexpectedly.
How much misfortune would return was unpredictable. Luck seeps invisibly into their lives and then fades away.
“Then wouldn’t it be better to break the oath first? Not much time has passed; how much luck could those praying for Ian have really gained?”
“Yes, I agree. Luck grows over time, and so does the burden of the curse.”
“I understand luck is needed during war, but the price is too high. Better to end it.”
Despite the mages’ concerns, Ian remained silent.
Unless the curse was triggered by the death of a Purpato resident, he could not give up the blessing first. After all, those receiving the luck were the ones praying for him.
“Naum. And…”
“…Philia needs luck.”
“Ah.”
Wherever they were and whatever they faced, these were people whose lives had been shaken because of Ian. So this was the only way to grant them a little fortune.
“…Understood. If that is your will, Lord Ian. I hope news of Lady Philia reaches us soon.”
“Surely it will help her. Small moments unnoticed by others can shape fate.”
Ian gently patted the mages’ shoulders in thanks.
At that moment, far off, the gates of Purpato swung wide open. Rautan and his men had entered.
“They’re inside! Two hours start now!”
A mage checked his pocket watch and announced.
Meanwhile, behind Purpato’s walls, an urgent meeting was underway. Before Rautan could even dismount, the townsfolk had gathered, each shouting their concerns.
“What happened? What does Bariel say?”
“It’s clear there was an oath sworn in the forest, but since we don’t know Ian Hielo’s real name, we can’t use it. Damn it. Lord Rautan, what should we do?”
“We surrender. If we resist with force, it’ll only end in a senseless death. Purpato’s survival is guaranteed, so it’s wiser to plan for the future.”
“But if we open the gates here, it will affect the other cities as well. Is there anything more dishonorable than giving up without a fight? We’d be aiding the fall of Burgos.”
“Yes, I agree. I’d rather die a senseless death. And honestly, it’s not just a senseless death—it’s a show of unwavering resolve, a defense of Burgos.”
Rautan suddenly wondered if this was the very scene the child in the legend had witnessed: people fiercely debating life and death. Their voices buzzed in his ears, then abruptly stopped.
Without realizing it, Rautan raised his hand, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Isn’t the consensus to minimize casualties while demonstrating Purpato’s will across all of Burgos?”
That was the compromise between those who wanted to surrender and those who wanted to fight.
Everyone fell silent, looking at Rautan. He pulled a broken twig from his cloak. Ian Hielo’s words echoed vividly in his mind.
“Then let’s test it. I’m curious about the outcome, so I’ll be rooting for your death.”
“…Alright. Let’s do it.”
“Lord Rautan?”
“Those who wish to surrender, open the gates and lay down your arms. Pretend to accept their terms so Bariel can pass through Purpato. I will go somewhere no one can see and die on my own, shouting Ian Hielo’s name.”
Rautan muttered as he stared at the tattered Burgos flag.
“And if other cities blame Purpato, then let them know of my death. That there were those who resisted with death under these circumstances. And that opening the gates was part of the plan and orders.”