Chapter 33: Love of the Past

  (Deo's Perspective)

  Kairo returned after I had incinerated the last remains of Louis and Edith. There were no words. He looked at the rising ash, then looked at me, and nodded. I understood.

  We walked out of the destroyed mansion. We no longer looked back. We started walking, and I knew where we were going. To a place my dream was calling me to. The forbidden Van der Wood forest. The forest only the head of the family enters upon his inauguration. It was devoid of guards and protection. Why would they guard it in a destroyed world?

  We entered. The silence here was different. It wasn't the silence of death that filled the city; it was a solemn, ancient silence, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath in respect for a secret they guarded. We walked a single, clear path, until we reached a circular clearing in the heart of the forest. In its center, there was a solitary rock, carved from white sacred metal, gleaming with its own faint light.

  "It's here," Kairo whispered, his voice carrying an awe I had never heard in it before.

  He began reading the faded runic inscriptions carved on the stone, his trembling voice translating an ancient, tragic melody:

  "To our descendants in the future, The Magic Swordsman, the first and not the last, is not the savior of this world. He is no more than the harbinger of the world's destruction. And no less than a deeply sad, miserable child, cutting into oblivion. The echo of his sadness has reached us, here in the past. And the echo of his sadness has reached his past, present, and future self. And he is one of us.

  Therefore, this is not a request, or a command. It is a plea. Help this child. As for the destruction of this world... it is inevitable, my descendants. Nothing can be done."

  I felt the words pierce me. "Sad child... cutting into oblivion." It wasn't just a description. It was a mirror.

  "A silly story, Deo," Kairo said, trying to hide his emotion. "They are just telling you to accept your fate. I wish they hadn't written it."

  Suddenly, the ground beneath our feet trembled. And from beneath the runic rock, a book slowly began to rise, covered in dirt and tree roots. An ancient book with no title, its pages blank. I picked it up, and felt a strange coldness emanating from it.

  The book opened by itself, and words began to form on the blank pages as if written in invisible ink.

  "I'm bad at telling stories, damn it," Kairo said, looking at the glowing words. "But it seems this book isn't."

  In ancient times, there were five heroes. Five suns in a world that was beginning to cool. They entered the deepest place in the world, the Abyss, to refute the endless creep of monsters...

  There was Van der, with his white hair and golden eyes, his coldness was a shield hiding a heart no one understood.

  And Philanter, the Giant Protector, his laughter shook mountains, and his strength was a refuge for the weak.

  And Eisingard, the Noble, his honor was like a blade, never bending.

  And Rivemont, with her fiery red hair, she was a storm of passion for fighting, and her dance of death was a legend.

  And Knoxville, the Dwarf who was always searching for treasures, her curiosity was brighter than any jewel.

  Their epic journey began. They fought monsters the size of mountains, and laughed around the campfire. Philanter and Rivemont argued like children over who killed the bigger monster. Eisingard meticulously cleaned his sword even in the middle of the chaos. Knoxville got stuck in an empty treasure chest, and everyone laughed at her.

  One quiet night, Knoxville sat beside Van der, away from the clamor of the others. "Why are you always so cold?" she asked him. He looked at the fake stars in the roof of the Abyss. "Because warmth sometimes burns," he answered calmly, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes.

  After two years of fighting, they finally reached the bottom of the Abyss. They found nothing. Only an empty, silent place. "No treasures? Just nothing?" Knoxville shouted in disappointment. "And no powerful monster?" Rivemont said.

  And suddenly, they all fell to the ground and slept.

  And they dreamed. They dreamed of a man who was cutting, and cutting, and cutting endlessly. He was sad. A cosmic sadness. One day he emerged from his darkness, saw a starless sky, and returned to his darkness, and started cutting more and more. He was saying one phrase: 'The Magic Swordsman, the first and not the last.' He was cutting from the outside, manipulating reality itself. This dream lasted for two months.

  They woke up crying, sad for this sad child. They emerged from the Abyss, which sealed itself behind them, as if it had completed its mission.

  After this event, we ascended and decided to pass on this prophecy. We discovered that the destruction of the homeland is inevitable, but even if the homeland is destroyed, there was a world, and we could create another homeland. Eisingard made this book to appear when it senses the presence of a person who can manipulate external energy. I know you are reading this book, Magic Swordsman. You cannot save the world, but you can create a new homeland. A new hope.

  Kairo finished reading. The story closed itself in the book, and its pages returned to blank.

  I looked at him, then I laughed. "Just that? I thought they would make me stronger or something."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "Do you believe them? That the destruction of the world is inevitable?" Kairo asked.

  I looked at the gray sky. Then I smiled and laughed. "If I'm alive, the world won't be destroyed. I am Deo, the Star of Change. Even my destiny, I will change it. Come on, we must save a world on the brink of destruction."

  We walked out of the forest of secrets, and the silent book disappeared from my hand.

  "Where to now?" Kairo asked, his voice still echoing the story he had read.

  I closed my eyes. The chip in my mind was working as a compass for souls. "I feel weak souls," I said. "On the verge of death. Close to here... in the Van der Wood forest."

  We walked back toward my childhood mansion. But we didn't head for the building; we headed for the forest surrounding it. This was my forest, my place for playing and hiding when I was a child. I knew every tree in it. But now, the deeper we went, I felt something was wrong. The silence was unnatural. No sounds of birds or insects. And the fragrant scent of pine was mixed with a faint, repulsive odor... the smell of sickness and death.

  Then we saw them.

  They weren't in a prison. They were in a much more terrifying scene. They were hanging on the trunks of old trees, bound by runic chains that were slowly draining their energy. They were like a humiliating human sacrifice offered to a dark god. About a hundred people, living skeletons, their skin stretched over their bones, their eyes sunken and vacant.

  "My God..." Kairo whispered in terror.

  I walked slowly among them, looking at the faces that once represented the power and pride of the Academy. I recognized Mattias, who was hanging upside down, his dry tears drawing lines on his dirty face. And I recognized Gabriel, his body that was once a mountain of muscle was now emaciated, but his eyes still burned with a faint defiance.

  Then I saw him.

  On the oldest and largest oak tree in the forest, he was sitting, his back against the trunk. He was almost completely a skeleton, his gray skin stretched over his bones like old parchment. But he wasn't slumped. He sat with regal straightness, his head held high. And when I approached, he slowly raised his head and opened his eyes.

  They were clear eyes, sharp, and blazing with a will that hunger and despair had not broken. There was no trace of madness or defeat in them. They were the eyes of a king.

  It was Jose Philanter.

  He didn't speak. He just looked at me, a calm, assessing gaze.

  Gabriel ran toward him after we freed him. "Sir!" he said in a broken voice. "He refused to eat or drink anything Philip offered him. He lived on his own 'Stone' energy and his will alone. For one hundred and fifty days."

  One hundred and fifty days. Without food, without water. Only will.

  I looked at this man, and felt awe. A genuine awe I had never felt before. This is what it truly means to be a Philanter.

  "You are late, boy," Jose finally said, his voice husky as the rustling of dead leaves, but strong and steady. "But you came."

  I carried Jose in my arms. He was terrifyingly light, as if made of dry branches, but his soul was heavier than the mountain. We began our march back to the Van der Wood mansion. It wasn't a rescue march; it was a procession. A procession of a fallen king returning to his ruined castle, surrounded by the remnants of his loyal court.

  When we entered the mansion, the other survivors, who numbered no more than a hundred, were eating ravenously and drinking eagerly. But when Jose entered, carried in my arms, a deafening silence fell. They all stood up, looking at him with awe and respect.

  After the meal was over, Jose began to speak. "What is happening outside?"

  I looked at him and said: "The world is destroyed. All the family heads are dead and hung. Except Corvus and Philip. They betrayed us."

  He looked at the floor. "That bastard Corvus. And that damned Philip. And you, Deo, how did you survive?"

  "I am Deo, the Star of Change. I will live and I will kill them all. I am your last hope." He laughed and said, "Perhaps yes, you are our hope."

  "I found some wine!" someone shouted.

  Jose looked at me and looked at his friends who had endured this battle and said: "How about we celebrate? A final celebration?"

  And the celebration began. A surreal and moving celebration in a destroyed palace. Jose looked at me. "Have you never drunk?"

  "No, I'm still young." I even forgot how old I was.

  Jose laughed. "Then today, I will be a substitute for that damned Corvus. Drink."

  And I drank. And we laughed, danced, and cried a little. We talked about the past, about the wonderful Academy year, and how short and annoying Layla was. We mocked Philip and Corvus. We didn't understand why we were celebrating, but we wanted to celebrate. We wanted to feel that we were still alive.

  (Corvus's Perspective)

  Corvus Van der Wood sat in the darkness, his face completely obscured by shadow, his hand tightly pressing a faded photograph of a woman. His eyes stared at the photo, as if he wasn't trying to remember, but desperately trying not to forget. Trying to conjure the past in all its details, not as a warm memory, but as proof that the world once contained color.

  Elysian Academy at that time was a sun at its zenith. It wasn't just a school; it was a microcosm, a heart pulsating with life and ambition. And in the center of this sun, there was a star much brighter and colder. Him.

  Corvus Van der Wood, sixteen years old, entered the new Headmistress's office. He didn't knock on doors. Doors were opened for him.

  The office was an assault on the senses. An explosion of pink and stuffed bears. Corvus sat on a giant pink bear sofa, crossing one leg over the other with an aristocratic coolness unfazed by this absurdity.

  "So," Layla Knoxville's amused voice came from behind her elegant white desk. "The new First Ranker honors me with a visit. What, you don't like my office?"

  Corvus looked around slowly, his cold golden eyes assessing the pink chaos as if it were a battlefield. "Certainly not, Madam," he said in a calm, polished voice. "It is beautiful, sophisticated, and... different."

  Layla gave a short laugh. "Cold bastard," she said boredly. "Well, congratulations. Now get out."

  When the lectures ended, Corvus was the first to leave. He walked down the crowded corridor, ignoring the whispers and the looks of admiration and jealousy that followed him like shadows. His inner world was calm, organized, with no place for this external noise.

  "You bastard!"

  The voice came like a storm, and a massive body slammed into his back. It was Jose Philanter, with his messy brown hair and his never-dying smile. "Next time, I'll win! Do you understand?"

  Corvus gave a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Certainly, Jose."

  Before he could reply, another person jumped onto his back from behind, playfully trying to choke him with his arms. "Fight me, you wretch! Don't run from my fight!" It was Gaspar Rivemont, his eyes blazing with pure love of combat.

  Corvus gracefully shook him off, dusting non-existent dust from his shoulder. "Next time, definitely."

  "Congratulations on your victory over Jose, and your change in rank to First Ranker, Corvus." The voice came bright and warm. It was Lucius Knoxville, with his sun-like blond hair, the complete opposite of his dark sister.

  "Thank you, Lucius."

  "As expected of a noble." Ulrich Eisingard nodded with quiet respect.

  They were his orbit. Small suns revolving in his cold sphere. He was used to this. He handled their jokes and friendship with the same calm efficiency he handled his duels.

  He decided to take a shortcut through a side door leading to the gardens, to escape the noise. He opened the door, and took a step outside...

  And collided with her.

  The collision was soft, but it shook his organized world to its foundations. Books scattered on the stone floor. For a moment, all he saw was a waterfall of silky black hair. Then she raised her head.

  And his heart stopped.

  She wasn't "beautiful." The word was too simple, too pale to describe her. She was as if an ancient artist had sculpted her from a star-studded night and moonlight. Skin white as a flower untouched by dawn, lips the color of cherries, and black eyes, deep and calm as a mountain lake that had never been disturbed by a stone.