Chapter 693

Tweller slowly wiped the blade of his axe with a dry cloth.

Countless stains of blood, impossible to erase, marked the weapon in many places. Yet, remarkably, each and every one of those marks was etched vividly in Tweller’s memory.

For a warrior who lives by killing, this is inevitable. Those stains are proof of his survival—how could he ever forget them?

“Minister Tweller.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Minister Ian has requested a meeting.”

The careful movements of his hands faltered for a moment.

Tweller had a vague sense of why Ian had come to see him. But he couldn’t be certain—Ian was a man impossible to read.

“Tell him to come in.”

Finishing his rough maintenance of the axe, the door opened. Ian stood there, casually dressed, holding some documents and smiling politely.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your rest.”

“Not at all. In fact, I was about to ask you—how is it that you never seem to rest?”

Even the Emperor himself had ordered him to recover his strength. Ian stepped forward, offering the papers.

“Rest, after all, is only truly rest when the mind is free of worries. Even if the body is at ease, a heavy heart makes it useless. I’m just finishing up some matters.”

The documents? Nothing important—things that could have been delegated to subordinates, yet Ian had brought them personally. Tweller sensed there was more beneath the surface.

“Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. I just had some on the way here.”

Ian said this as he settled comfortably onto the sofa.

They sat quietly, facing each other. Though one looked like a teenage boy and the other an old man, both held the same ministerial rank. And Ian was—

“Given that we are at war, I understand the heavy burden you bear as Minister of Imperial Defense. Is there something troubling you? If there’s anything I can help with, I will.”

He was the future Emperor.

Tweller’s lips tightened briefly, then he sighed. There was no need to beat around the bush—and indeed, he shouldn’t.

“I apologize for troubling you. Has His Majesty been burdened with worries?”

He spoke as if afraid that his own thoughts might have somehow become the Emperor’s concern.

Ian shook his head lightly.

“Perhaps. But since others have noticed as well, maybe His Majesty is quietly aware too.”

After a long hesitation, Tweller awkwardly pulled out a cigarette, and Ian readily gave permission.

With each drag, the deep wrinkles on Tweller’s face seemed to come alive, like an ancient tree breathing after centuries.

“I’ve grown old, haven’t I? I was already an old man when I took office as Minister of Imperial Defense, and now ten more years have passed.”

“Don’t say that. Your axe is still sharp as ever.”

Tweller gave a bitter smile and continued.

“…It’s made me think deeply. This war will be the last of my career as minister, and the days I serve His Majesty are numbered.”

The Emperor who first took his hand, and the last Emperor he would serve—Jin was that man to Tweller. Though he knew it was disrespectful, he couldn’t help but worry about his future.

Even if he were to be blown away to dust by the wind, he hoped that no obstacle would stand in Jin’s path. He wished for his journey to be free of even the smallest hindrance.

“…Sir Ian.”

Tweller spoke cautiously. This was not the confident, unflinching man he usually was. The matter was too grave and required careful handling.

“Will you return to the future?”

He looked into Ian’s eyes—deep green, like a forest. Within them lay the world: the future Bariel and the present Bariel.

“Is that what worries you?”

Ian’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he had guessed the question. His calm expression was firm.

Tweller did not answer immediately. That question alone had already revealed too much disrespect—daring to worry about two Emperors.

But the old soldier soon chose his words.

“Your presence, Sir Ian, is like a strong light. Among magicians, you are unmatched, and as the future Emperor, you give soldiers and citizens alike a powerful belief that their sacrifices are not in vain.”

But where there is light, shadows fall. Unfortunately, that shadow was creeping closer to Jin’s feet.

Jin, standing alone, was undoubtedly close to a perfect Emperor. He had overcome a tragic past, seized control of the palace, and held Bariel firmly in his grasp without a single flaw.

‘But…’

Not when Ian was around. With Ian nearby, the Emperor’s dignity seemed to dim somewhat, sometimes reminding one of his days as a prince.

Could it be that Ian, who distorts the flow of time, also affects Jin’s time? It felt as if ripples disturbed the straight path the Emperor must walk. Regardless of Ian’s intentions, his very existence seemed to create waves.

“Especially during wartime, this is all the more concerning.”

When the war ends and they return to Bariel, what if the cheers of all nations fall not on Jin, but on Ian?

Of course, Ian was a sacred and noble figure, but not here. Not in this place…

“This may be my last war, but for His Majesty, it is only the first chapter.”

Ash from the cigarette crumbled slowly from Tweller’s fingertips. He stubbed out the barely smoked cigarette and stroked his beard.

“I apologize. I’ve said too much.”

“No, not at all.”

Ian shook his head gently, urging him not to be so formal.

“I am rather glad.”

That someone who cares only for his lord’s safety stands by Jin’s side.

Even if Tweller were to retire, as long as someone who inherits his spirit leads the Imperial Defense Ministry, the future Bariel would be safe. Surely, Ian would stand by his future self as well.

“Minister Tweller, I understand your worries very well. Perhaps I even think about them more deeply than you.”

Ian was an Emperor too. He knew all too well the shadow cast by a greater light standing beside him.

“But for now, focus only on what lies before you. Tolrun is right ahead. Even if everyone runs toward the same goal, this will be a difficult war.”

What happens if your mind wanders? Misunderstandings and distrust spread quickly, causing cracks. Even now, Captain Jaret was visibly troubled by sensing Minister Tweller’s mood.

With such important matters at hand, it’s best to set aside anything that might interfere.

“I apologize.”

“It’s alright. Just be careful moving forward.”

“No, I meant to say I’m sorry for asking about your fate.”

“Will you return to the future?”

Ian had not come of his own will, nor did he stay by choice. Knowing the tears and blood mixed in his story, Tweller felt uneasy.

“That’s fine too. Didn’t I say I’m glad? Just keep doing that. Fulfill your role as minister, think only of His Majesty and the present Bariel. That is the path that leads to me as well.”

Ian smiled and rose from his seat. Tweller naturally stood as well.

“Then, let me know when the departure date is set. Until then, the Magic Department will follow His Majesty’s wishes and enjoy peaceful days.”

The door creaked shut. Tweller sank back onto the sofa with a sigh.

Ian, too, walked down the corridor, his faint smile gradually fading. Sunlight streamed through the windows, flickering across his face.

“Will you return to the future?”

A question no one had ever asked aloud, but one he had always carried in his heart.

Shaking off the thought, Ian passed through the main hall and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Halfway up, the raucous noise from the Magic Department was already loud.

“No! Please, Captain Akorella!”

“Wait, this guy has no brain. He can’t feel pain!”

“What if he explodes?”

“If he does, then the next experiment—!”

“Get out of here! Darsi’s eyeball, get out!”

Akorella was confronting Lady Darsi. Ian didn’t expect her to back down quietly. He paused at the door, composing his expression.

Suddenly, the magicians froze at his presence. Lady Darsi’s eyeball, flying through the air, rolled precariously across the floor.

The magicians waited tensely for Ian’s orders.

“W-What does the Imperial Defense Ministry say?”

The Emperor had ordered them to rest, but how the two ministers interpreted that would determine the outcome—whether they would sleep soundly in bed or scribble through paperwork.

“There was no mention of a schedule.”

“Th-Then, finally…?!”

“Rest well until orders come. Those who leave the palace should not go too far.”

“Thank you! Thank you! Yes!”

“Cover it up! Cover it all up!”

“Do not cause a disturbance. Maintain the dignity of the palace magicians.”

“Of course, Sir Ian!”

As soon as Ian gave the command, the magicians cheered and bounced around. Lady Darsi’s eyeball rolled dangerously between their feet, darting toward a corner.

“Ugh, I’m dying. I’m really dying.”

“Let’s get some sleep without interruptions. Anyone who wakes me up will really die.”

Most of them chose to spread out their blankets and lie down right there. Even though Ian hadn’t been around for the past few days, their assigned duties kept their routines much the same as before. Of course, they had some freedom—resting atop the chandelier or clinging to the castle’s outer walls—but only to a limited extent.

“Ian, you should get some rest, too.”

“Right. Everyone needs to fully recover their strength and mana.”

As Ian turned to leave, Tommy cautiously followed behind. Why was he acting so hesitant? Ian looked at him with curiosity.

“Ian, um… I’ve been wrestling with something a lot. I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up…”

“If it’s a decision you’ve made after careful thought, then it’s the right one. Speak freely, without hesitation.”

Ian offered a gentle reassurance, but Tommy kept biting his lip, hesitating. Finally, he pulled a small letter from his pocket.

“This is a dispatch I received from the Hielo estate. It’s from Philia to Nersarn. I’d been holding onto it to deliver it to Nersarn personally, but given the circumstances… it’s a bit late.”

Ian’s eyes widened slightly. Was this a message sent by Nersarn out of concern for Philia’s safety, perhaps warning her not to leave Hielo?

“…Thank you.”

“Well then, please rest.”

Tommy bowed his head and slipped back inside the magic department. Ian stood there for a long moment, lost in thought, before climbing up to the highest railing.

Whoosh—

The wind blew fiercely in this empty spot. Slowly, Ian unfolded the letter, catching sight of a single line through the crease.

“Nersarn, this is Philia. Are you safe?”

Ian carefully refolded the letter, not just because Philia’s image flashed vividly in his mind, but because it was a message from a mother to a father—something not to be read lightly.

Ziiing. Ziiing.

Flare!

Ian set the letter aflame. The ashes caught the wind and drifted upward, as if to reach that endless world beyond.

Leaning against the railing, Ian watched the ashes rise, then furrowed his brow.

Was it the brightness of the sunlight? Or the faint smoke stinging his eyes? He quickly wiped away the tears that welled up and looked back to the sky, certain the letter had reached its destination.