Chapter 112
The lingering traces of magic radiated endlessly from the center of the sigil.
Those faint remnants connected Belia, himself, and Vain as one.
He didn’t know how he had returned to this moment in time, but it was an opportunity.
At last, Carlton realized that this was already the third time he had arrived at a similar moment.
The memories flooding into his mind, the shattered state of his heart—none of it mattered anymore.
Only one thing mattered: if he could save Belia, if he could protect what was most precious, he could throw away his own insignificant life without hesitation.
He didn’t know why a chance had been given to him through this third rift in time, but now he only needed to remember one thing:
Vain must die for Belia to live.
The moment this simple sentence dominated his mind, Carlton moved without hesitation.
He intended to.
But the light leaking from Belia’s heart stopped him in his tracks.
“What—!”
At that moment, Vain moved.
His expression showed that he had realized something too.
Carlton’s gaze turned toward Belia.
But it was too late.
At that instant, Belia’s body was engulfed in light.
A light so dazzling that it was almost impossible to look at properly—
Everything was drawn into the sigil.
Thud.
And then, everything stopped.
The ringing that had filled his ears, the illusions, even his memories—all vanished in an instant.
And for a while—
Tick-tock.
Everything returned to its original place.
Tracing a circle.
Once again, Carlton forgot.
He forgot that this was not an illusion or magic, but a memory—a truth that had been tangled like a dream, one he must not forget.
Belia’s death repeated once more.
“Ugh—!”
Carlton drew in a breath and opened his eyes.
It was too vivid to be a dream. Before he could even process the confusing events he had just witnessed, he turned his head at the unfamiliar presence he sensed in front of him.
“Ah—.”
In the dimly lit room, darkened by the overcast sky outside, the stranger’s eyes were piercing.
Even at a glance, her eyes revealed deep disdain.
Eyes that could instill sincerity in anyone who looked into them were judging him as if he stood upon a moral scale.
With malice.
“What on earth are you thinking—!”
Only then did Carlton realize that the woman’s hand was placed over his chest.
Thud.
Instinctively, he pushed her hand away from his heart and quickly sat up.
“Argh!”
Grimacing in pain, Carlton turned toward the stranger again.
“You are the Saintess.”
Silver hair that would be noticeable anywhere, silver eyes.
There was no need to deduce her identity.
Carlton studied her fearsomely calm eyes and slowly pieced together the situation.
Why he was lying here.
What had happened.
As his memories rewound one by one, he suddenly lifted his head.
“Belia….”
He had to check if she, who had been in Vain’s arms, was safe.
As Carlton hurried to his feet, the Saintess pushed him back forcefully.
Even though her wrist was delicate, her power—augmented by holy energy—was immense.
Taken aback by the sudden assault, Carlton collapsed back onto the bed helplessly.
Seeing him wince in pain, the Saintess frowned.
“What kind of sigil did you carve here?”
Her pale fingers pointed directly at the center of his heart.
“A sigil…?”
At those words, Carlton recalled the moments of confusion he had felt intermittently.
The unstable magic, the misalignment of his heart.
But now was not the time to dwell on that.
There was something far more urgent.
“Is Belia alright? Is she seriously injured?”
Carlton’s voice was desperate, bordering on mournful.
“With your holy power—! Shouldn’t you be able to heal her?”
At those words, her rough expression softened slightly, yet Frey’s gaze did not waver even an inch.
Within her eyes lay deep suspicion and wariness.
But Carlton, desperate for Belia’s safety, ignored Frey and rose from the bed.
He was just about to leave the room.
“Ugh—!”
Suddenly, a searing heat and pain washed over him.
Carlton collapsed, gasping, gripping the carpet beneath him and groaning.
His heart felt like it was about to burst.
Clutching the side of his heart with his left hand, barely holding his convulsing body together, he sensed footsteps approaching.
“Ugh—.”
“Your body can no longer endure that absurd ritual.”
“What—?”
Carlton retched, expelling blood onto the floor.
Frey looked down at her palm.
Piecing together fragments of fleeting memories, she tried to understand the ritual etched into his heart.
Perhaps it had been reckless to attempt it so soon after awakening; her lips were slightly red.
Though she could feel pain in her palm and in the heat of his heart, her mind was elsewhere—unable to experience the suffering.
“Ugh—!”
She looked down at him, paying a price many times greater than her own.
A man forsaken by the gods.
Or was he being punished?
Frey recalled her life before awakening, dragged through Lebron.
Memories flashed through her distracted mind, gnawing at her.
Whenever nausea struck, she had to release her holy power, which intertwined with the selfishness of that man.
Selfish humans.
Even among ordinary humans, sometimes their selfishness was so great that everyone suffered.
That man, Vain, and now Carlton—were all like that.
Frey squeezed her eyes shut as a tingle ran through her fingertips.
The gods would never allow interference.
Peeking at memories might be grace, but beyond that would surpass divine authority.
She pressed her lips together, swallowing the words she wanted to speak.
Yet one word could not be avoided.
“The one who pioneers fate….”
It was a heavy, desperate prophecy.
Frey pondered her own words, her face uncertain.
The ritual etched into that mutilated heart was a curse.
This man’s soul had already been damaged beyond salvation.
Could the word “fate” even apply to him?
She wanted to lash out in anger, but restrained herself.
Fate flows unexpectedly, and she knew she could not go against its current.
She glanced at her reflection in a mirror tucked in the corner.
Though merely a humble servant of the gods, she was a being praised by all.
Though her original fate had been death, she now stood here.
Her gaze returned to Carlton, still writhing in agony.
Where would this fate flow now?
“To pioneer, huh—.”
Frey, her expression unreadable, exhaled briefly and stretched out her right hand.
Soon, a faint holy energy flowed from her fingertips, soothing Carlton’s pain.
But when black smoke began rising near his heart, Frey quickly withdrew her hand.
“This is severe.”
The ritual had coiled like a serpent around his heart, using his lifespan as its medium.
It had been born from the entangled magic and holy energy of Carlton, Vain, and Belia.
Though it may have begun in chaos, it now resembled a predator, ready to devour everything.
When the heart breaks and the soul shatters, no one can predict what will happen.
The ritual remembered all the time he had endured, and it might consume not just him, but the very existence around him.
Even this world we live in.
For such a being, if the prophecy is to “pioneer,” she must interpret its meaning.
“I must help him.”
Frey gazed out the window at the sky, exhaling deeply.
Carlton, barely able to rise, gasped for air.
“Haa—. Haa—.”
Yet in Frey’s eyes, there was not a trace of compassion.
Did he even understand what he had done?
Did he know that someone he wanted to save was living a hellish life, or that the serpent coiling in his heart would soon devour the world?
Frey shook her head, trying to remain calm.
“Yes, yes, I won’t think like that anymore. Phew—.”
With a light exhale, she looked at Carlton.
