Chapter 962
Chronie brushed his fingertips lightly along the stair railing. The mansion was impeccably maintained, not a speck of dust in sight. Though it had been empty for over ten years in Bariel, to Chronie it felt like only ten days had passed…
“Sir Chronie?”
“Ah, please come in.”
“This is… how should I put it? It feels a bit strange. It’s been so long since I last visited your estate, Sir Chronie.”
“Is that so? The situation is certainly interesting. To me, it feels like I’ve just returned from a brief yet long journey. Nothing’s really changed, so it all feels so familiar and comforting.”
It seemed his beloved uncle had taken great care of the place, at least when it came to upkeep. Chronie smiled and led the way, with his guests following behind.
“It’s a shame there aren’t any servants here to attend to us immediately.”
“The palace said they’d send some people soon, so just a little patience. By the way, what happened to the butler who used to manage the estate?”
“Well, from what I’ve heard, he left the capital. But once he hears I’m back, I’m sure he’ll return.”
Chronie’s tone was firm and confident. He gestured toward the sofa, inviting his guests to sit. There were no servants to serve tea, but the wine glasses and bottles were still neatly stored in the cabinet. Chronie carefully examined a wine label and chuckled.
“There’s a silver lining to the passage of time. This was meant to be aged and savored later, but it’s just perfectly matured now—ideal for a welcome drink.”
With a soft clink, Chronie set the glass down on the table and poured himself some wine. The guests, still curious about him, watched quietly, puffing on their cigarettes. The subtle gap left by the years was still hard to get used to.
“So, Sir Chronie, what are your plans moving forward?”
“Plans for what?”
“Will you be returning to the palace…?”
“That’s not for me to decide. That’s up to His Majesty the Emperor.”
“Oh! Haha, yes, of course. But surely your own will matters, doesn’t it?”
“What does the Magic Department say about it?”
Chronie’s return to the palace was a foregone conclusion. But now that he had gained magical power, it was more likely he’d join the Magic Department rather than the Imperial Defense. He shrugged.
“Well, I haven’t heard much since leaving the audience chamber. They say they’ll conduct an investigation late this afternoon…”
“There are rumors that the ‘Light of Prophecy’ inspection has been postponed.”
Chronie paused mid-sip at that. Raising an eyebrow, he asked,
“Is that true?”
“Yes. This is unprecedented. They even suggested bringing sacred relics from another temple quickly, but the Magic Department’s response has been lukewarm. It seems they’re looking for another way.”
“Hmm.”
Chronie let out a small snort, deep in thought. If the ‘Light of Prophecy’ was just a verification ritual, then joining the Magic Department—and even advancing beyond that—would be smooth sailing. But the inspection had been delayed?
—Chronie. The Light of Prophecy has already pierced my heart once. That light holds a small gap through which humans can distinguish between monsters and magic. But you are different. You are made of Gaia’s flesh and my soul. From now on, no shadow will ever be erased.
Chronie recalled the darkness rising in his memory. To be honest, he didn’t fully understand every nuance. But one thing was certain—
The Underworld God will grant me what I desire.
The greatest wealth, honor, and power in the world. Not just to be the most precious, but to become a god itself. To have all of Gaia at his feet, to make anything he wishes possible, to wield divine authority.
A shiver of desire surged through Chronie, and he closed his eyes.
—Ian Hadel. Kill him. Tear him apart, stomp his head into the ground, and hang his skin in the square, turning the area into a sea of blood. Then you will gain everything you desire. The power blossoming at your fingertips is proof of that.
His intuition had been right. The Underworld God had revealed why Ian Hadel had always been such a thorn in his side.
Ian Hadel was a massive obstacle on his path. Their fates had already been intertwined by the deaths of the Hadel couple, and all the plans to become his guardian had gone up in smoke.
—I grant you power. I grant you authority. Take my shadow and ascend beyond Gaia to roam the world. You are the chosen one.
Chronie smiled as he looked at the foolish humans before him. With a mere flick of his finger, he could crush their heads. Did they even comprehend the thrill of being an absolute? Such ignorant fools, blabbering away trying to predict the palace’s future or the shifting tides of power.
“Sir Chronie? Is something good happening?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.”
When the others looked at him curiously, Chronie shook his head slightly.
“Coming home makes everything feel joyful, I suppose.”
“Yes, indeed. You’ve been through quite a lot.”
“Ah, anyway. So the Light of Prophecy ceremony has been postponed?”
“Yes. That’s what I’ve heard. You’ll be informed soon as well.”
Geroda had realized the Light of Prophecy was useless. Chronie nodded slightly.
The first step and the last will both revolve around the Magic Department.
If he wished, he could wipe out all the magicians right now, drag the Emperor down by the collar, and throw him into the streets. He had that kind of power! The small fragment the Underworld God had given him was enough to turn the human world into a sea of flames.
But that wasn’t his ultimate goal.
“The Magic Department shouldn’t be too hostile toward me.”
“Why would they be? The magicians are just a bit eccentric, sometimes hard to understand. Once the investigation is over, I’m sure they’ll accept you wholeheartedly.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course. Sir Chronie, you’re the Empire’s hero who defeated the Underworld God—no, the hero of all Gaia!”
From the depths of the abyss, Chronie realized this: whether gods or shadows, the foundation of power was human belief.
If that was true, then rather than beheading and drowning Bariel in blood and fire, slowly spreading his influence was a more effective and certain method.
“It was all the will of the gods.”
“Ah, hearing that again is truly an honor.”
—Chronie. I will give you the whole world. You only need to offer it to me. Don’t let people pray to the heavens; make them bow to the earth. Erase all traces of the gods that have lasted thousands of years, and paint that place in darkness. Make everyone worship me. Then you too shall be worshiped.
Their interests were perfectly aligned. Could there be a better partner? Chronie once again felt grateful for being dragged into the abyss in the north.
At that moment, sounds came from outside. Chronie turned his gaze toward the window.
“Sir Chronie! Sir Chronie!”
“By the heavens, it’s true! He really has returned.”
“Where? Oh my! It’s Sir Chronie! The hero of Bariel who marched north for the Empire! They say he exterminated the monsters—could it be true?”
Before long, the citizens who had heard the rumors gathered near his mansion.
Though the palace had ordered silence, word spread like wildfire. After all, rumors had been swirling even before his arrival, like wisps of cloud.
“Good grief, how did they find out and come here like this?”
“Sir Chronie, regardless of anything else, you must get servants soon. They’re practically ready to storm the mansion.”
“Haha. But isn’t it wonderful to see? Such a warm welcome. Not just from us, but from the entire Empire!”
Chronie curled his lips into a sly smile and raised his glass as if to drink another toast.
How did they find out?
The rumors themselves had been part of his plan from the start. Spreading words, inflating stories, letting them take root—this was the very first thing Chronie did upon entering Bariel. More precisely, it was laying the foundation.
That guy really knows his stuff.
Chronie savored the sweet wine and thought of ‘that guy.’ The first time he truly sensed the distortion of time was when he saw that face here.
He unconsciously lit a cigarette.
“Hm?”
“Is something wrong, Sir Chronie?”
“Oh, no. Nothing.”
Feeling a shift in the air, Chronie glanced toward the palace-side window. His guests followed his gaze but saw nothing unusual.
“The Magic Department must be hard at work.”
“Anything interesting? I’m too far away to see.”
Just because nothing is visible doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Chronie smiled and leaned against the window frame.
They’ve opened a portal.
And Ian himself did it. Judging by the timing, he’s probably going to find Minister Arena.
Chronie couldn’t hold back a loud laugh. His sudden outburst left everyone puzzled, but they soon forced polite smiles to match his mood.
“What did you say? Say that again.”
The backyard of the Magic Department.
The portal connecting to the northern Red Forest near Ian’s location was still active. A fence had been set up around it to prevent anyone from accidentally stepping through.
“The minister Arena and the others? No one’s seen them since they entered the Red Forest on the first day,” said a wizard, half-hanging over the portal. He had just returned from the village, asking around about Arena and her group.
The other wizards looked at him in disbelief.
“What are you talking about? It’s been almost ten days since they left the Red Forest area and started tracking. They went empty-handed, so of course they must have resupplied food at that village at least once.”
“Right. They would’ve packed everything they needed before leaving. No matter how much magic you use to patch things up, if your stamina drops, it’s over.”
“And this isn’t just anything—they’re chasing monsters.”
“Are you sure about this?”
The wizard hanging on the portal nodded. He had already confirmed with the village elder and every resident coming and going.
Ian, who had been quietly listening, muttered softly, “That’s strange.”
Arena’s behavior was becoming uncharacteristically odd. Ian looked around at the captains and suggested, “How about we examine the handwriting?”
The wizards’ eyes widened. Every letter from the Western District bore the Ministry’s magical seal, and the paper was identical to what the Ministry used. The ink sometimes smudged, and the handwriting was occasionally rushed, but given the circumstances of the pursuit, no one had ever doubted the letters were genuine.
“Come on, don’t we know the minister’s handwriting?”
“Still, it’s worth a closer look.”
“Ah, but—”
Ian snapped his fingers, cutting off the wizard’s protest, and pointed at the portal. It was a signal to close it. The wizard hanging on the portal jumped back into the backyard, and in an instant, the portal vanished.
“Ian?”
When Ian didn’t answer, the atmosphere grew heavy and tense. Everyone stared at him, as if silently asking if he was serious.
“Wait, Ian. So you’re saying…”
It was obvious. The handwriting examination meant only one thing—
“Something’s happened to the minister?”
It meant there was a problem with Arena. Not just any problem, but one that concerned life and death.