Time. (3)
There, in the depths of that darkness, was a blonde child.
Her face remained expressionless as ever. Her complexion was pale and cold, her pupils sunken into shadow.
“Sylvia.”
Gazing upon this young girl, I imagined the Sylvia of some distant future.
This child was one of the story's core named characters. She possessed the talent to become an archmage who would lead the continent. Whether she or Ifrin would reach that pinnacle first was uncertain, but her future seemed assured to some degree.
“It has been some time.”
Sylvia said nothing. She simply stood there like a doll.
I slowly rose to my feet. In that instant, mana rippled through her body. A sharp aura laced with the faintest hint of killing intent.
“Do not approach.”
Sylvia spoke. I halted for a moment.
An empty cavern.
In this place lit only by a single tree, she fell into thought.
I had many questions—how she had come here, why she had come—but I had no intention of asking.
Thud—thud—
I approached her once more.
The air hung stagnant, but Sylvia was not the cause.
Thud—thud—
My footsteps echoed clearly, and Sylvia raised a hand to stop me.
“Halt.”
I ignored her words. Instead, I pressed forward.
“You halt.”
Weeeeng—!
Mukgangcheol stirred. The nineteen lumps orbited me, preheating their mana.
“……”
Sylvia glared at me with eyes full of enmity. But she was not the problem now.
A death flag.
That dark crimson energy flickered behind my back.
“Shh.”
At first, I thought it was Sylvia's killing intent, but if so, it would have lunged straight at me.
Thus, the strange, unmistakable aura of death writhing in the shadows...
“Do not come near—”
Misinterpreting my gesture, Sylvia activated her mana.
Boom—!
I kicked off the ground and charged. In a flash, my body shot toward her like a bullet. I immediately manifested Duct Tape to restrain her.
“……”
“You are still far from sufficient, Sylvia.”
Her talent was immense, of course, but few mages could surpass me in practical combat.
Not unless they wielded overwhelming firepower like Adrienne or Rohakan, or possessed far greater physical prowess than I, like Julie.
“You brought a tail with you.”
“What...”
Sylvia, who had been mumbling something, fell silent. Her expression remained blank, but genuine surprise crossed her face.
I pointed to the shadows. There, the source of the death flag scattered its malice.
It was a grotesque figure.
Or perhaps not quite human.
A massive body, perhaps three meters tall. A gaping maw like a shark's. A face paler than a corpse. Eyes gleaming red.
I had seen this description somewhere before. It was from Ifrin's eyewitness account—the very incident that had put Sylvia under surveillance as a person of interest.
“Is that the 'ghost' you created?”
If it could extend a death flag toward me, it was no trifling nuisance.
“……”
Sylvia ground her teeth.
“Release me.”
“So now you use informal speech.”
“……”
Sylvia pursed her lips and forcibly twisted her arms. However, unleashing her mana would be difficult with the Duct Tape in place.
Even for Sylvia, a magical analysis of the tape's structure would take at least three minutes.
Yet she shook her arms wildly, as if trying to snap her own wrists. I shook my head.
“Have you become hot-blooded in the interim?”
“No.”
I dismantled the Duct Tape. Sylvia staggered, and the ghost suddenly shot out its tongue. The appendage thrust forth like a spear.
Clang—!
Mukgangcheol blocked it.
Though it was steel against flesh, a sharp metallic ring echoed, sparks flying.
Hummm…!
Sylvia's mana then permeated the space. The manifestation of Tri-Color.
The entire area transformed into a barren expanse of sand. Her magical prowess was flawless.
“You have grown.”
“I seek no praise from you.”
Sylvia's eyes darted between the ghost and me.
I said,
“Very well. Then handle it yourself.”
“……”
A furrow creased Sylvia's brow. Her golden eyes looked up at me, a hint of confusion on her face.
“This is your chance to correct your own mistake. Tame that ghost, and it shall become a great asset to you.”
I had no need to intervene. True, the ghost posed a death flag to me, but not to her—it had deliberately aimed its tongue away from her just now.
Moreover, any assistance on my part would only hinder her magical growth.
“I expect great things.”
Mukgangcheol gathered at my feet like a plank.
“Go.”
She spoke. I nodded impassively.
“I believe in you, Sylvia.”
“……Why would you.”
Sylvia glared at me with an aggrieved expression. At that moment, mukgangcheol lifted me like a platform, and the ghost extended its tongue toward me.
But its attack scattered into dust before it could even come close.
Sylvia's magic—the most basic yet devastating manifestation of Tri-Color: Eraser.
……In the future's most luxurious northern restaurant, the "Deer Antler Charancha," Ifrin sat with Sophien.
Having left the menu choices to Her Majesty, she pored over it diligently, but her melancholy lingered.
And that gloom seemed to afflict the exalted figure across from her as well.
“……”
Sophien's expression was poor, even by the most generous standards. Though for reasons slightly different from Ifrin's.
In truth, even if Deculein died in this future, it hardly moved her.
She could simply kill herself.
“……Truly, this wretched environment.”
Thus, what displeased Sophien now was this environment.
Sophien, who had lived and died nearly two hundred years in a palace tailored perfectly to her every whim.
No matter how exquisite the chair or table, they paled beside the palace's, lacked its pristine cleanliness—and so Sophien felt a profound suicidal urge.
She might as well crawl into a snow globe. At least the air there was flawless.
“Pardon? What did Your Majesty say?”
“……'Tis nothing.”
It itched. It drowsed. It irritated. It discomforted. She endured the greatest trial of this life, yet betrayed no sign.
“Yet how came Your Majesty to join me here?”
Ifrin asked after placing her order. Sophien replied,
“For in this world, We are the proof thereof.”
The words sounded arrogant at first glance, but Ifrin nodded as if it were natural and asked again.
“The horse outside as well?”
“Nay. That beast likely……”
Sophien chuckled softly, trailing off.
No mere animal, however spiritual, could travel through time.
Yet her memory would record this moment in full.
Thus, one deduction: her future self had sent the horse here.
“Hm?”
Sophien glanced out the window and widened her eyes. Ifrin tilted her head.
“……What is it, Your Majesty?”
“Behold. They play go.”
Across from the restaurant. In the chilly park, a match unfolded. On the continent of wood, a war waged with black and white stones.
“Ah. So they are.”
Sophien smiled.
Indeed, go seemed properly established in this future. She now had something to occupy herself.
“……Your ordered dishes, as requested.”
Then Ifrin's food arrived in sequence. One, two, three, four, five, six…… nearly dozens of dishes.
Gulp—Ifrin swallowed and suddenly asked,
“Your Majesty, if I may inquire…… do you have money?”
“We have none.”
“……Pardon?”
Sophien took knife and fork to slice her steak. Grace infused even that small motion.
Meanwhile, Ifrin hurriedly rummaged through her pockets. Fortunately, her paycheck pouch was there.
“Phew……”
As Ifrin wiped sweat from her brow, Sophien lifted her napkin, spat out the food from her mouth, and incinerated the napkin and morsel whole.
“Your Majesty……?”
“It suits not Our taste.”
She said this while sampling another dish. Again, displeased, she grimaced, spat it out, and rinsed her mouth with water.
Fucking hell. Tastes like shit.
“……Tch.”
“Your Majesty, are you well?”
“Remain here and eat.”
Sophien rose. The food's vileness was execrable, but it had sharpened her mind.
She could stay awake and active for a couple of hours now.
“We shall seek to sate Our curiosity.”
To pursue not only go but the traces of Deculein absent from this future, Sophien set forth.
“Ah…… Yes. I shall ponder the Professor in my own way.”
“Do as thou wilt.”
Ifrin dared not follow the Emperor and instead took up fork and knife.
Obeying the command to eat, she would fulfill it dutifully.
……
“Whoa~ What a master! Incredible, gramps!”
Sophien visited Tapgol Park. And played go. She had intended first to visit the library, but these stone players drew her in.
“Every move shines with brilliance. Truly masterful……”
“Where do you hail from? Not from the north, surely.”
Their praise pleased her. Not empty flattery, but genuine admiration for her skill.
Sophien said,
“Know you any nearby go masters of renown?”
“Ah, that old timer was number one.”
A matron pointed to the elder Sophien had just defeated. The bald old man coughed awkwardly, averting their gazes.
“Nothing remarkable. Then, who is the mightiest go master on this continent? One worthy of the title 'go sage'?”
Sophien inwardly anticipated her own name. Something like Her Imperial Majesty Sophien the Great Emperor.
“On this continent…… well, once upon a time, from the Yukline—”
“Enough.”
Sophien heard no more. She had no desire to hear this future's truths. Her features twisted, but she left the possibility open.
They might fear mentioning the Emperor and invoke Yukline instead.
Then.
“Hey! Over there~! Is 'Deus' here?!”
A mail carrier approached, shouting.
“Deus~! Deus?!”
The cry grated at first. A boy not yet in puberty yelling noisily.
But soon she grasped the meaning of 'Deus,' and in the next instant.
“The Deus playing go?!”
Sophien snatched the letter envelope the carrier was waving with Telekinesis.
“Eek!”
The startled carrier tumbled. Sophien silently examined the envelope's surface.
To Deus, who plays go
'Deus' meant emperor in rune language.
It referred to her.
Sophien scrutinized the envelope thoroughly, then tore it open to extract the letter.
Your Majesty. Deculein from the distant future.
From this moment, I entrust my life to Your Majesty.
“……Hm.”
Absurd. Bizarre. Yet as she read on.
A thick smile crept across Sophien's lips.
The crevasse's depths.
Exhausted from battling the ghost, her mana depleted and body wracked with fatigue, Sylvia stared blankly in thought. Her mind brimmed solely with Deculein, Deculein, Deculein.
Nothing but Deculein.
—Grrrrrr.
“Quiet.”
She snapped at the growling ghost. Covered in blood, it coughed once and curled up.
Sylvia had, after some time, fully subjugated the creature she had created from the start.
Success meant...
……Deculein.
Sylvia thought of Deculein again.
The conversation she had just overheard.
Whether it was future Ifrin or present Deculein, their bewildering exchange replayed in her mind.
“Hey.”
Sylvia approached the verdant tree and addressed it.
“Answer me.”
Only silence and stillness. It conversed freely with Deculein, yet gave her nothing.
Sylvia placed her hand on the tree.
“Insolent Ifrin. Answer.”
……Empty.
It exchanged words with Deculein, all manner of things, speakable and unspeakable.
Somehow, she felt foolish.
“Ifrin. It's me, Sylvia.”
As she fiddled with the tree, the ghost approached.
“Sit.”
—Grrng.
The obedient ghost sat and gazed at her. Sylvia fixed her eyes on the tree again.
“I'll wait until you answer.”
She plopped onto a nearby chair.
The very one Deculein had occupied moments ago. Recalling that made her tense inexplicably, her body heat strangely, then suddenly resentful, but anyway.
Sylvia brightened the dark space and called out to the absent one.
“I want to know too.”
She recalled Deculein's face from their recent encounter.
Those ever-beautiful blue eyes. His broad frame and back. His clear, cold voice.
“……”
She clearly hated him so much. Despised him utterly.
Yet merely sharing space with him, feeling his breath upon her—no.
Every such moment set her heart racing madly.
“……Am I the one who kills Deculein?”
That was her question.
Would she, who loved and loathed him so fiercely, kill him with her own hands?
Or perhaps, could it be.
Did Deculein truly wish for her to kill him?
“Tell me.”
But no answer came. Sylvia puffed her cheeks and glared at the tree.
Ziiiing—
She nearly fired a laser, but the silence endured eternally.
“You idiot.”
Ifrin truly was insolent.
Resigned, Sylvia coiled up on the tea table to wait.
Until this one answered...