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Chapter 266

A room far too familiar.

I stepped into that room and sat down once more in front of the computer.

Text continued to scroll endlessly across the screen.

The screen itself was not visible.

Yet I couldn't tear my eyes away from the words appearing there.

[‘Seron Parmia’ shouts at the party.]

[‘Isabel Luna’ bows her head.]

[‘Sharin Sararis’ seems to want to say something.]

[‘Nikita Cynthia’ turns away in silence.]

[‘Eve’ tries to stop Seron Parmia.]

[‘Card Velique’ swallows a sigh.]

[‘Seron Parmia’ collapses, weeping.]

[‘Xenia Niflheim’ sets off in search of someone.]

[‘Iris Hysirion’ remains silent.]

[‘Lukraizen Hysirion’ moves alongside the ‘Duke of Whitewood.’]

[‘Hania Rapidedia’ longs for someone.]

[‘Isabel Luna’ begins her final awakening training.]

[‘Ban’ joins the training.]

[‘Rina’ joins the training.]

[‘Foara Silin’ joins the training.]

[‘Beaquirin Monem’ joins the training.]

[‘Aisha Bizvel’ joins the training.]

…

The actions of every character from the Flame Butterfly Arc were listed.

This was a story of a world that no longer included me.

My gaze dropped to my hands.

The calluses I had once developed long ago were now torn away, replaced with soft, bloated skin.

Due to intense exercise and excessive eating to compensate for the calorie loss, followed by a sudden stop in workouts without fixing my eating habits—this was the aftermath.

My hand reached toward the screen.

My name no longer appeared.

No—maybe even if it had, I wouldn’t have recognized it.

Because I had forgotten my own name.

Creaaak—

Leaning back in the chair, I ran my fingers along the edge of my eye.

Things weren’t looking good.

From what I could gather from the scrolling text, Demon Sovereign had taken control of my body.

That realization threw me into confusion.

The line that had come up earlier about Celestial Duke:

[‘Celestial Duke’ fulfills fate.]

Fate.

The moment I read that word, I recalled a conversation I’d had long ago with Midra.

Always suspicious, always entangled with Xenia—Midra.

The things he said still echoed in my head, clouding my thoughts.

Why I had possessed Vikamon.

Why my name had vanished.

Why Demon Sovereign’s possession of my body was called “fate.”

It all seemed to be connected.

‘So... was my possession orchestrated by someone all along?’

And what if it turned out Demon Sovereign had planned it?

Then why did he possess me?

Or if not Demon Sovereign, then who was it—and for what purpose—who wrote this “fate”?

And why… why have I returned to this room?

I pushed the chair back and rose to my feet.

My heavier body felt cumbersome.

I had lived for so long in Vikamon’s powerful, muscular frame, so of course this body felt weak in comparison.

Ryu—my original name, or alias.

That version of me was when I was still training hard, in the midst of transformation.

I had barely looked at myself in a mirror lately.

Because I hated this body.

I didn’t want to lay eyes on a body that had lost its dreams.

Maybe because of that heaviness, my mind felt slower too.

My gaze turned to the door.

A door I hadn’t passed through in a long time.

Because for someone who had lost their dreams, the world beyond that door was a cruel and brutal reality.

So I ran—into escapism.

I believed that within the game, I could live ignoring that cruel reality.

But now, even my escape is in danger.

I don’t know what’s fate and what’s inevitable anymore.

The story that makes up “me” has always been full of mysteries.

And yet, my goal has never changed.

To reach the happy ending of the Flame Butterfly Arc.

To move forward for everyone’s happy ending—including my own.

My hand grasped the doorknob.

A doorknob I thought I’d never touch again.

But I am no longer who I was back then.

Now, I know exactly where I need to be.

If Demon Sovereign lies beyond that door—I’ll defeat him.

Even if something worse is waiting—I’ll overcome it.

That firm resolve gave strength to my grip, and finally, I pushed the door open.

Creeeeak—

Through the widening crack in the door, light slowly began to spill in.

With a determined look, I raised my thick hand toward whatever lay ahead.

“Huh?”

And then, a dumbfounded sound escaped me.

Before my eyes—

Was a scene I could never have predicted.

I stood on a hill.

And down below, flames roared upward.

In the fire stood a massive castle.

Those within fought desperately to fend off an attack from outside forces.

But the enemy was too powerful.

The castle walls finally crumbled, and the people inside were slaughtered one by one.

What the hell am I looking at?

As I stared in stunned disbelief, footsteps approached from behind.

“It never ends, does it?”

From the sky, countless swords rained down.

Amid the swords, a blond man flew forward atop a sword.

His swordplay—was familiar.

The Swordsmanship of the Sky.

A technique passed down through generations of the Parazon royal family.

“Let’s put out the fire first.”

“Wide-range magic takes a lot of energy. Ugh, this is tiring…”

Two women swept past me as well.

A familiar scent of blueberries stung my nose.

One wore a white dress embroidered with fine lace and a bridal veil.

The other—a small girl, her white hair fluttering beneath an oversized pointed hat.

“Don’t complain just because you're the type who only casts spells from the back.”

“Hehehe, you all look so sluggish from lack of rest. Come on, perk up!”

Following them were a spearman and a spirit conjurer.

The spearman, with dark brown hair and a massive spear strapped to his back, stepped forward.

Beside him walked the cheerful spirit conjurer, whose way of speaking sounded familiar.

“Tsk, what a tiresome job this is.”

A man who had lived long as a mercenary, burdened with various weapons and bags, let out a slight grumble.

And lastly—

“This will be over soon. Hang in there, just a little more.”

A man with neatly cut black hair began to walk forward.

He was the only one without a weapon, yet the aura he exuded was easily the most imposing of them all.

The moment I saw them, I knew exactly who they were.

The Sky Sword Master, Parazon.

The Noble Saint, Narea.

The Transcendent Sage, Zerion.

The Lord of Spears, Ordo.

The Keeper of Spirits, Aquiline.

The Mercenary King, Rosli.

And—

The Great Hero, Wolfram.

Six heroes and the great hero.

They were all here.

To me, it was a profoundly confusing situation.

I had been preparing for a battle with the Demon Sovereign—so why were they here?

When I looked behind me, the door I had come through was already gone.

‘I don't know what's going on, but...’

A strong urge rose up within me: I had to follow the heroes.

I hurried after them.

It seemed they hadn’t noticed me at all.

Which meant others likely couldn’t perceive me either.

Sure enough, once I descended further, no one noticed me at all.

Under Zerion’s magic, rain fell from the sky.

Narea healed the wounded, and Aquiline protected them.

Ordo and Rosli subdued or knocked down those crazed by battle.

And finally, what was Wolfram doing?

Crash! KRAAANG!

He was sending enemy commanders flying.

Both the invaders and the defenders—he blasted them all.

It was a ludicrous method.

Yet, to me, it seemed oddly reasonable.

In the end, war is something decided by those in power.

Sure, there are citizens who clamor for war with neighboring countries.

But most of them are spouting slogans fed to them by their leaders.

They're simply unfortunate souls sacrificed for a justification they never truly chose.

So, if you take out the leaders, war can end surprisingly quickly.

Except for a few deranged individuals, no one who's experienced war firsthand actually wants it.

That’s why I believed Wolfram’s judgment was a good one.

Most of all—

‘Wolfram is a regressor.’

The others didn’t know yet, but I was well aware of this.

A person oddly powerful, always drawing miraculous fortunes to him.

In truth, he was merely someone who had endured countless failures and chosen the best possible outcome each time to move forward.

Right now, Wolfram wore a bright, cheerful expression.

He was someone who could keep going despite all the failures.

“My reputation should’ve spread by now. Why don’t they believe me?”

Wolfram smacked his lips in mock disappointment in front of the two crushed commanders.

His fists were already drenched in blood.

“I told them I’d turn anyone who continued this war into a bloody pulp.”

Wolfram, the Great Hero who ended the war.

Historical records mention nothing about how Wolfram brought the Great War to an end.

They simply state that he persuaded key figures from various nations over and over—until peace was finally achieved.

That’s all it ever said.

Well, it has been a few thousand years since this story took place.

History gets distorted often enough.

But now, I could finally learn how he truly ended the war.

“Fram, are you done?”

At that moment, Zerion descended from the sky, calling him by his nickname.

Her appearance was quite different from what I had imagined.

I had pictured a tall, elegant beauty befitting a “Transcendent Sage,” but she looked very similar to Xenia.

In other words, Zerion was small.

“Yeah, I gave them a passionate lesson on making peace and becoming friends.”

“If it got any more passionate, they’d all be dead.”

“People don’t die that easily. I know it well.”

Wolfram smiled brightly as he patted the backs of the commanders.

The commanders, with their faces battered and broken, nodded enthusiastically.

“Right?”

Zerion sighed.

“Everyone, gather up.”

“It’s already over, huh.”

“Well, the commanders are in that state…”

Wolfram took a step and stood beside Zerion.

Zerion flinched and nervously looked around before raising her hand slightly.

“Rion?”

“I want to hold hands.”

“They’ll tease us.”

“We haven’t had time alone in ages.”

Why, oh why, was I here watching someone else’s romantic moment?

It was now certain—Zerion and Wolfram were lovers.

Crash!

“Eek!”

Just then, their keen ears caught a voice.

Wolfram and Zerion instantly turned in that direction.

There, hiding in a wooden box, was a young boy.

“Ah… ahaha, hello there.”

The boy scratched his head with an awkward grin.

My eyes widened.

That boy’s face was very familiar to me.

Midra Fenin.

A first-year junior—and someone who knew far more than he should have.

He was here too.