Chapter 109
Chapter 109
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: Regression (2)
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1.
Siwoo sat deep in thought, striking the pose of Rodin's Thinker.
The newly acquired knowledge and power.
Dissecting and reinterpreting them piece by piece was more entertaining than any game or diversion.
It was enough to make him forget even the throbbing pain radiating from his left prosthetic eye, as if his blood vessels were about to burst.
-Slosh
After immersing himself in his own world for a long while, Siwoo lifted his head.
He sensed an unnatural distortion in the space around him, warping reality itself.
Looking around, the massive dead tree of Latifundium was nowhere to be seen.
The mana-reflected glow naturally occurring in the dense atmosphere was gone, as was the moss carpeting the ground.
In its place stood a hall-like space paved with spotlessly polished marble. Light streamed through enormous stained-glass windows, bathing the area in a solemn, reverent glow without need for any other illumination.
Siwoo sat in the center, reclining on a plush sofa.
-Click clack
The sound of high heels approached him.
Siwoo slowly raised his gaze to her.
Her face was a smeared blur, impossible to make out.
Colors scattered around her like paint smeared through a prism.
Yet Siwoo felt a profound sense of familiarity with the figure before him.
It evoked the exact same sensation as the fractal tree he had been probing and dismantling.
Siwoo rose from his seat.
He strode forward and planted himself before the witch.
He reached out, grasped a lock of her hair, and inhaled deeply.
"Sniff sniff."
"Fun, isn't it?"
A light chuckle escaped her as a pale hand extended to cup his chin.
It was the touch of someone handling a puppy.
Intoxicated by the fragrance of that soft hand, Siwoo nipped gently at her fingertip.
How exquisite would this woman's body feel?
How fascinating would the knowledge contained within her be?
His instincts screamed out.
All the spells he had devoured until now were utterly worthless compared to hers.
Excitement unlike any before surged through him, bloodshot veins bulging in his eyes.
He seized her wrist and yanked her close, as if to devour her whole.
"Trying to ravage my body too?"
As she had sensed before, he resembled nothing so much as a beast in heat.
Keter had witnessed everything that had transpired that day.
Siwoo's battle with the exile. And afterward, as he violated her and extracted her magic.
It had been an entertaining spectacle, briefly dispelling the tedium and monotony of countless ages.
It would be a lie to claim she wasn't intrigued by this unprecedented application of magic.
But his method was one of self-destruction.
A talent so overwhelming for a mere human body that it bordered on a curse.
Brute-force overclocking that pushed his fragile brain to the brink of abuse.
At this rate, he would likely exhaust his lifespan and perish in under three years.
Just as Siwoo's hand was about to coil around Keter's waist, her finger jabbed his forehead.
His body went rigid in an instant.
As if time itself had frozen.
All things in the world were born only to return to dust in a fleeting moment.
There was no reason for her to pity some unrelated human male.
She favored him and Baron Merrygold because both held their own utility... but truthfully, more than half stemmed from simple amusement.
In the endlessly repetitive cycle of history and events, encountering something "entirely new" held immense value.
"Whether your existence heralds yet another trite repetition masquerading as novelty, or serves as the true spark for something unprecedented... I shall watch with interest."
A magic circle unfurled from beneath Duke Keter's feet.
Behind her, a colossal tree sprouted like an encroaching shadow, strikingly similar to the fractal Siwoo had sketched on the wall all night.
The tree swayed as if in the wind, enveloping Siwoo's body. It soon began to shine with brilliant light.
2.
Duke Keter offered a fitting explanation of Siwoo's current condition.
The transcendental ability awakened by this incident was ultimately one wagered on his very lifespan.
The overload burdening his brain would soon claim his life.
The moment Amelia heard those words, she ceased considering whether reverting him to his original state truly honored his will.
Her words flowed smoothly across the paper, as if anticipated.
No reply came, and the sentence continued.
She had anticipated it wouldn't be humble, but with her as his sole lifeline, there was no room for haggling.
The priority now was finding a way to restore him to his former self.
Twisted alliances and tangled interests could be unraveled at leisure.
But death was different.
The departed never returned.
Amelia went blank for a moment.
Rewind time.
A spell she had never even heard of.
Could Duke Keter defy the natural order to such a degree?
It bordered too closely on a "miracle" to be called magic.
She had many more questions, but Duke Keter severed the exchange abruptly, as if business were concluded.
With those baffling final words, the paper crumbled to ash and vanished.
No further details on the healing were provided.
In truth, it felt more like a decree than an explanation.
The shredded scraps drifted across her desk, forming a distinct pattern.
To Amelia's eyes, it resembled no magic formula—yet it glimmered and faded, replaced by a small glass vial.
Within swirled a milky white liquid, a crude tag affixed to the mouth.
A dazed haze settled over her.
She had written to Duke Keter diligently, clutching at straws—yet harbored no real hope of reply.
To receive not just a response, but a firm commitment to treatment...
Was her despair so profound she'd conjured a hallucination?
That almost felt more plausible.
Should she rejoice? Grieve?
She stood blankly, unsure what emotion fit.
Her gaze dropped to the vial—the proof this was no dream.
-Flap
The tag flipped, revealing writing on the reverse.
No need for further deliberation.
Amelia bolted at the fastest speed of her life.
She moved like a cheetah.
3.
She flung open the mansion door as if to shatter it and bounded up the stairs.
No one could precisely gauge Duke Keter's capabilities.
All they could do was trust that she stood closest to the realm of the Creation Witch—and wrought incomprehensible miracles with ease.
Had she completed the healing in that brief span?
Could they converse as before once more?
Poised to kick down the door, Amelia froze the instant her hand touched Siwoo's doorknob.
Terror gripped her.
She yearned to see him, yet dreaded it equally.
No assurance on what the restored Siwoo might say—or how their relationship would unfold thereafter.
The abrupt progression overwhelmed her with vertigo.
"Huu... ha... huu..."
Amelia took deep breaths.
She straightened her disheveled hair and clothes from the sprint, then quietly turned the knob.
Her eyes fell on the wall inscribed with his magic formulas.
The bed positioned for swift condition checks at any moment.
Upon it lay Siwoo, blanketed.
Heart pounding, Amelia drew close to the bedside.
A faint incongruity nagged at her.
His body under the covers... had it always been this small?
Her trembling, anxious hand eased back the blanket to reveal...
"Ah...?"
An adorably cute little boy.
Amelia gaped blankly, staring.
Siwoo was a hale 28-year-old youth.
Yet the child curled sideways on the bed, slumbering soundly, appeared no older than ten.
Still, they had shared five years together.
His nose bridge. The shape of the eye opposite the eyepatch. His mouth.
Any close inspection revealed it: this boy was Siwoo.
Childhood Siwoo, to be precise.
She had assumed "rewinding time" meant back to before his injuries.
But this was too far.
"U... uung..."
The boy Siwoo stirred before the dumbfounded Amelia.
He frowned, displeased at the absent blanket.
Clad in sky-blue polka-dot pajamas, he blinked awake and scanned the room.
Spotting Amelia, he froze solid.
His face betrayed unfiltered fear and wariness.
The spitting image of Siwoo.
Those eyes, once vacant stares into nothingness, now gleamed with sharp intelligence.
The impassive face, unmoved by all things, now bore vivid emotion.
Amelia's chest tightened painfully.
He was back.
Siwoo had returned.
The form mattered not.
"Siwoo..."
Unbidden, her hand reached out to caress his cheek.
Plush and yielding, it radiated warmth.
"You're awake."
"Yes..."
Even his voice was boyish.
Far from puberty's change—a slender timbre that could pass for a girl's.
"Do you know who I am?"
Siwoo glanced warily between her burdensome stroking hand and her face, too near for comfort. He stammered.
"Lady... Amelia."
Tears pooled in Amelia's eyes and spilled over.
This was wrong.
She must confess her sins without turning it into melodrama to coerce forgiveness.
Yet unthinkingly, she swept Siwoo into a fierce embrace.
So many words she longed to say.
Vows not to err this time, rehearsed and refined endlessly—yet phrases she couldn't condense remained.
Words tangled in her throat like knotted threads; none emerged properly.
Amelia barely managed a single atonement.
"Sorry... I'm so sorry..."
Tears blurred her vision.
Clutching him as if he might shatter and vanish, confirming his reality, she simply sobbed.
"I'm sorry... truly, I am..."
A smile crept unbidden.
Amid such sorrow, joy, guilt.
Tears streaming ceaselessly, yet the smile lingered.
"Thank you... for coming back... thank you so much..."
After clinging tightly in her arms for a time, Siwoo spoke cautiously.
Words that scarred her heart anew, in a different vein.
"Lady Amelia... did I... do something wrong?"
In a voice of pure innocence.
Asked with evident fright.