Chapter 4
Sharmin moved silently, her senses razor-sharp.
One who has waged countless wars inevitably becomes soaked in blood and steeped in an emotion close to madness.
Sharmin’s mind wasn’t weak enough to be consumed by such madness, but the long years of battle had left her perpetually on edge.
That’s why she could sense someone loitering near the entrance of her shop.
‘…A thief? Or an ambush?’
The presence hovering nearby was anything but ordinary. A powerful magical force, strong enough to pierce the body, radiated from the figure.
Such potent magic was rare…
‘No sword.’
All she had was a dull kitchen knife in the kitchen—so dull it could barely slice a tomato.
With no other choice, Sharmin grabbed it and cautiously approached the door.
“Sharmin Pepe. Open the door. I’m here to pick up the item I requested.”
Even though she’d concealed her presence, the man spoke as if he had sensed her anyway.
‘A client?’
Sharmin suppressed her killing intent. She hid the knife in her clothes, unlatched the door, and opened it.
“As expected, you’re still awake. I should’ve come this morning, but I got caught up in research. I’ll compensate you for the delay.”
The man’s voice grew clearer.
And in that moment—when their eyes met—Sharmin’s knees nearly buckled.
Standing before her was Aheil Derf, the master of the magic tower in Elium—the very man she had killed on the battlefield.
* * *
“The continent now belongs to Ruentvel. Congratulations. But why the long face?”
Sharmin, leaning against a rock and gasping for breath, looked down at the man who spoke so casually.
Both of them were exhausted, covered in wounds, teetering on the edge of collapse.
She didn’t know much about swordsmanship, but the man who stood before her, with his stormy gray-blue eyes, radiated a magical force far stronger than her own.
Even under the overcast sky, those eyes glowed vividly—eyes that betrayed no emotion, even at the doorstep of death.
His jet-black hair, damp with sweat, clung to him like a shadow.
Disheveled, sharply defined eyes with faint double eyelids—he was captivating, even in his ruin.
She had thought it when they first met: “How can a person be this beautiful?”
Regardless of anything else, this man was undeniably a rare talent.
“…”
“You don’t look like someone basking in victory. I’m the one dying—why do you look like you’re the one crying?”
Aheil Derf’s breath grew faint.
Sharmin had successfully brought the genius mage of the century to his knees.
It was also the day Ruentvel succeeded in swallowing all the nations of the continent.
Had she faced him head-on, she would be the one clinging to a rock and gasping for breath.
No matter how powerful she was, he was a once-in-a-generation 9-star mage—and even dared to reach the mythical 10-star realm of immortality.
Of course, if he had truly reached it, he wouldn’t be lying here dying.
Because of Elium’s significantly smaller forces compared to Ruentvel’s, he had fought countless warriors alone, and in trying to save an ally, had left his back exposed to Sharmin.
That brief, inexplicable hesitation had been her chance.
This was war. Personal feelings only brought death.
And that had led to Aheil Derf’s defeat.
They won, but instead of satisfaction, she felt disgust and self-loathing threatening to consume her.
Then again, it wasn’t surprising—Sharmin had never once been proud of herself. She felt closer to self-hate.
And those eyes…
Those eyes, for some reason, made her feel even more exposed.
“…You talk too much.”
At her words, Aheil Derf chuckled.
Sharmin found him strange.
How could he laugh so freely in the face of death?
She’d heard he was eccentric, but not like this.
And yet… why did she find herself jealous?
She felt a sudden urge to steal that easy smile from his face.
Just then, Aheil Derf coughed up blood. His magic was depleted—he couldn’t hold on any longer.
“I didn’t expect a monster like you in Ruentvel. You would’ve been reassuring to have in Elium. Pity.”
“Nonsense.”
“Haha… If I knew this would happen, I’d have had a proper breakfast. Do you have a favorite food?”
The question was wildly out of place—this was no time for jokes.
Sharmin frowned.
“…”
“I guess not. Still, you should try to find at least one thing you love. You’ll regret it otherwise.”
“…”
Sharmin gripped her sword tightly again.
She’d hesitated long enough—it was time to plunge her blade into his heart.
“You don’t belong in Ruentvel. That’s why it’s… such a shame. At the very least…”
Those were Aheil Derf’s final words.
“…”
Clang!
Her sword slipped from her hand.
Maybe, just maybe, she had waited because she didn’t want to take his life with her own hands.
With Elium’s supreme commander gone, and now Aheil Derf, the “Treasure of Elium,” dead—it was another flawless victory.
Sharmin knelt beside his half-lidded eyes.
Blood gushed from the wound in her side. Her vision blurred.
Looking only at the man before her, she gently closed Aheil Derf’s eyes with her hand.
“Consider that a reply to your nonsense.”
She should’ve taken his body—or at least his head—as proof. But… she just didn’t want to.
Surely, after all this, she could defy orders just once.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Rain began to fall, first gently, then harder. The air was thick with the stench of blood.
“You weren’t suited for war either.”
He should’ve been doing something better with his life. He was a completely different kind of person from her, from birth.
Sharmin removed her cloak and laid it over his body. Then she poured the rest of her magic around him.
In an instant, Aheil Derf’s body vanished.
She had cloaked it temporarily with her magic.
Once Ruentvel’s troops withdrew, his body would reappear.
Then, his comrades would come retrieve him.
He was a man praised as the treasure of Elium. This much was enough.
Exhausted from expending her last strength, she staggered.
She barely managed to pick up her sword and turn to leave.
It was the end of a long, long war.
* * *
Sharmin returned from her thoughts.
That had been her last conversation and meeting with that man.
She had known of him for over ten years, but had only met him in person during the war—three times.
And in the final battle, she had won.
But now, Aheil Derf stood before her, alive and well.
He looked a bit younger, but still just as beautiful—those unclouded eyes that were hard to face, his unruly hair, and his effortless smile.
Ah… of course. Time had reversed. Naturally, he’d be alive again.
Still, she hadn’t expected to face him so suddenly.
Confusion. Panic.
Sharmin felt a rush of emotions she couldn’t name. Her palms were sweaty.
Even though she knew he wouldn’t recognize her, it still felt like standing at death’s door. Like she’d been stripped bare.
Right now, she just needed to get this man out of here.
“Pepe?”
Sharmin shook herself and opened her mouth.
“Ah, the requested item…”
But she had no idea what it was.
She turned and looked around quickly, then turned back, her face full of unease.
There was no way she could find something she didn’t even know the contents of.
“It seems the item hasn’t arrived yet. You should come back lat—”
She stopped mid-sentence and corrected herself quickly.
‘Polite Pepe? Has the sun risen in the west?’
She remembered the half-elf’s muttering earlier.
She couldn’t let him, of all people, think anything was off.
When they had investigated him in Ruentvel, Aheil Derf had been more or less a guardian of Elium.
That meant he likely hated Ruentvel as much as Elium’s king did.
So she had to be especially careful.
If he noticed the Ruentvel accent, it’d be a disaster. She broke into a cold sweat.
Aheil tilted his head.
“What are you talking about? Isn’t that it? The black box.”
He suddenly stepped closer.
Sharmin panicked and backed away.
Aheil casually grabbed the doorframe, leaned inside, and immediately spotted the item himself.
“Ah.”
So that was it.
Without checking, Sharmin quickly handed him the box.
“Well then… you should be going…”
She turned to shut the door with stiff politeness, but Aheil’s hand stopped it again.
“Wait.”
