Chapter 648
“Hello. I’m Darcy from Toorun. Hoho.”
The middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Darcy laughed, her voice ringing unusually loud through the conference hall.
None of the elders or ministers dared to speak up. It was understandable—she looked nothing like what they had expected. To think she could overturn the political landscape of Hawan and command the Luswena mages all at once, yet she appeared so ordinary.
“You don’t seem late. Why the long faces, everyone?”
“No, no, Mrs. Darcy?”
Her curly hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, her build sturdy, and she carried a faint scent reminiscent of freshly baked bread. In other words, she looked exactly like any typical housewife you might see anywhere.
“Excuse me, but you are truly a puppeteer, correct?”
“Of course! I always carry my tools with me.”
Mrs. Darcy pulled a sewing kit from her bosom. Inside were nothing special—just needles, thread, buttons.
The ministers exchanged uneasy glances, silently asking Elderte what to make of her. Could they really trust this woman? If things went wrong, how would they handle the wrath of a mage? Especially one who dabbled in forbidden magic. Surely, the royal palace would fall.
Elderte kept smiling at Mrs. Darcy and asked, “You were the one who dealt with Prime Minister Shatima in Hawan, right?”
“Yes, yes. It was easier than I thought. I wanted to sew a needle through Shatima himself, but never got the chance. So I had to rely on his close aides. They’re still well connected.”
With a flourish, she turned the bag at her waist forward and pulled out small dolls—tiny, adorable cloth puppets. Nothing like the straw or human skin-covered figures they had imagined. She smiled warmly, covering her mouth.
“Hoho! If you’re too worried, I’ll step back. I’d hate to cause trouble by rushing in.”
“No, no. It’s not that we doubt you. We just want to be absolutely sure before we begin. If possible, it would be best if you could ‘take care’ of the mages in the Magic Department first.”
“Oh, yes, yes. I’ll do it quickly. At least when it comes to sewing, I have a knack for it.”
Her laughter was light and cheerful, the kind of woman who seemed kind and talkative on the surface. No wonder Shatima’s aides let their guard down.
Elderte signaled to his ministers to gather the mages.
“If you thread their wills, we can march immediately. We have intel that Hielo is currently undefended.”
“Oh, that’s good news. Then we can move in Hawan as well. If Hielo is open, that means Merelrof is practically exposed too. Well then, let’s hurry. Where are the mages?”
“They should be gathered at the Magic Department. Do you need anything else?”
They were willing to do whatever it took—lure the mages out for interviews, or if necessary, neutralize them in Idgalo and bring them here. Anything to ensure smooth operations.
But Mrs. Darcy waved her hand dismissively.
“No need for all that trouble. Just tell me where the Magic Department is and how many mages there are. Let’s see… I can finish by moonrise. After that, I’ll deal with the ‘problematic’ mage. The Luswena royal family need only focus on preparing for battle. And it’s Hielo, no less. What will you do if the Minister of Magic comes after you?”
Since mages can travel vast distances in an instant, her warning wasn’t empty. The only wildcard besides the central army was the appearance of mages.
But with Darcy, the puppeteer, here—and the forbidden magic forces she commanded—Luswena would not fall easily. In fact, they might be about to write a new chapter in history.
“Well then, that’s all.”
Darcy gave a graceful nod and left the hall with her attendants. The ministers whispered anxiously as they watched her go.
“Is this really alright, Your Majesty? Perhaps we should prepare a contingency plan, just in case.”
“There’s no better plan available. For now, we must rely on Mrs. Darcy.”
“But, Your Majesty, though Toorun and we share a common goal now, eventually there will be a crossroads. When that time comes, all Luswena mages will be in the puppeteer’s grasp. That’s worrisome.”
“Such worries are pointless. The value of a mage ends the moment the Bariel banner falls. Do you think any of them will survive intact against Bariel?”
Before the mages become mere ashes in the puppeteer’s hands, they will have fulfilled their roles. It’s wiser to study how to counter puppeteers than to fret over what cannot be changed.
Knock knock.
“Your Majesty, the Minister of Defense has arrived.”
The Luswena Minister of Defense entered clad in armor, ready to depart for battle at a moment’s notice.
“Martin, you’re here.”
“All preparations are complete. I’ve equipped 500 elite troops in black armor, and 20 dragons are en route from the outskirts. Once they finish night maintenance, we can deploy at first light.”
Elderte patted his shoulder with satisfaction.
“Hielo is undefended. Your mission is to seize the territory and join forces with Hawan. Block any reinforcements from the center and cut off the borderlands completely from Bariel.”
“I will carry out your orders to the death.”
With a sharp salute, Martin pledged victory for their homeland. No matter who stands in their way, they will break through and strike at Bariel’s heart. Whatever it takes.
Rustle.
Every step Ian took crushed something beneath his feet—charred wood fragments, or perhaps even bones.
He paid no mind, using the faint embers flickering in the darkness as his guide. The main street connecting Haiman Bank, the tailor’s shop, and the park… everything he remembered was utterly denied by the reality before him.
“…”
“…”
Beric, following behind, took in the sight of the ruined tavern he used to frequent. The owner was a great cook, but he was dead now.
…Dead. Everywhere, everyone.
“Beric.”
Ian stopped abruptly after walking in silence for a long while and turned back. Any hope that someone might still be alive was completely shattered.
No one could survive here. With that grim conclusion, Ian took Beric and soared roughly into the air.
Ziiing—ziing!
The world was dark. Except for the stars scattered across the sky, there was no light. No oil lamps in the living rooms, no glowing forge fires, no flickering cigarette embers from small gatherings.
All Beric could see was the back of Ian’s head, and even his normally radiant golden eyes were swallowed by the darkness.
Whoosh!
The night wind was bitterly cold. Beric squinted against the sharp gusts. In the distance, the desert at the edge of Hielo came into view.
“Huh? There.”
Something caught Ian’s eye, scattered sparsely in the starlight. He lowered altitude and identified them—warriors of Cheonryeo, fallen in battle, strewn about.
Ian stopped flying and gently brushed sand off their faces. The heat of the fierce battle still lingered; his fingertips felt warm.
“…Nersarn?”
Beric muttered, and Ian turned sharply. Beric had found something and ran across the sand, running his hands through his hair.
“This can’t be…”
It was Nersarn. Like the other Cheonryeo warriors, he had died without closing his eyes. His dried pupils held a universe ready to spill out.
“Hey. Nersarn, no, Lord Nersarn. Wake up.”
Beric sat down, slapping his cheeks and whispering, but how could the dead hear? He looked helplessly at Ian, then stiffened.
“Ian.”
Ian’s face was cold and chilling, like a deep winter lake. A dark rage, as if ready to swallow everything beneath the ice, flowed over the sand. Along with his tears.
“…”
Ian finally lowered his head and sank to the ground.
It was his fault. He should have prepared for everything, using the faint presence of Hielo’s territory in the future as a clue. The fire sparked by Shatima’s death had grown too large, and Ian could barely breathe.
Swish.
Ian grasped Nersarn’s hand. And in that moment, one person came to mind.
‘Mother. I’m sorry.’
Grief is the burden of those left behind. Ian couldn’t even begin to imagine how Philia must feel upon hearing of Nersarn’s death. It was one of the few blessings allowed in her life, and now it was gone.
“…He was right. Hielo fell because of me. If it had been someone else… maybe things would have been different.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Who can beat a mage who uses forbidden magic? Whoever it was, the outcome would be the same.”
It hurt. Ian could no longer bear the weight of someone dying because of him. Naum, the Magic Department, and now Nersarn.
Who would be next?
“Ian, wait. Look at me. Focus and breathe.”
Berrick gripped Ian’s shoulder firmly, matching his breath. It was a scene reminiscent of the strange reaction Ian had during the Cliffford War.
No, this was far more dangerous. Back then, it had been just a side effect of magic, but now, it was a response born purely from raw emotion.
“If your coming here from the future is truly the will of the gods and the flow of history… then death must be part of that as well. Not just because you’re Nersarn—if it were me who died, it would be the same.”
Every life eventually flickers out. Only the timing differs. Nersarn, as a warrior, fought to the very end. Surely, that was a satisfying final chapter.
“So don’t break down now. If you do… Nersarn’s death loses its meaning.”
Ian rubbed his eyes lightly, then grasped Nersarn’s hand once more. He realized, belatedly, that his final words to the warrior would not be apologies, but gratitude.
“Thank you for fighting for Bariel until the very end. I will never forget your spirit, warrior of a thousand talents.”
His quiet words settled over the warrior’s face. Ian’s fingertips traced slowly over Nersarn’s forehead, eyelids, nose, and lips as he murmured,
“And don’t worry. Mother and Roel will protect everything to the last breath. Whoever stole your life—I will take their soul in return.”
Berrick bowed his head, offering his final farewell to Nersarn as well. Memories flooded back—of the day they first met at the mansion ten years ago, and the time they crossed the great desert together.
“Farewell, Father. Until we meet again. Someday.”
Ian closed Nersarn’s eyes, and together, they whispered in unison,
“Demosha.”