Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Regression Confirmed
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Darkness descended, and Damian's mind plummeted endlessly downward.
His previous life flashed before his eyes like a montage.
The memory of holding his mother's hand—now faded from recollection—as they walked through the detached palace garden.
Anna and Felix, who had cried in his place at his mother's funeral.
His childhood, despised for his pitiful talent.
The unrecognizable corpses of Anna and Felix.
The moment he first contracted with a demon.
The days wandering aimlessly across the continent.
The days dancing on the edge of death with his guerrilla comrades.
And finally, his death.
It was said that those who learned black magic returned completely to nothingness.
They were denied the chance to be reborn like others, their existence utterly erased.
Even if that were true, he wasn't afraid. He had steeled himself for it to some extent.
Moreover, he had no desire to be reborn.
Right now, he was just tired.
He only wished these thoughts would stop as soon as possible.
“Mm...”
Then, at some point, a soft sensation enveloped his entire body. As surrounding sounds reached his ears, his eyelids fluttered open once more.
“Felix! Felix! The young master is awake. Hurry, come quick!”
At the familiar woman's voice, Damian's head naturally turned to the right.
The last time he'd seen her, fine wrinkles had begun forming around her eyes and mouth, but now, not a single one was visible—her skin was smooth.
It was like looking at her from the past.
“Anna...”
As Damian called her name, Anna gripped one of his hands tightly and buried her face in the bed. A warm sensation melted both his body and heart.
Sobs accompanied the dampness spreading across the blanket.
“Oh, I was so worried. Why did you have to push yourself like that...”
The door burst open with a clatter, and butler Felix rushed in, panting.
“Young master, are you alright? Is there anywhere you're uncomfortable?”
Felix knelt by the bedside and asked.
“Thank goodness, truly thank goodness.”
His voice choked, and he turned his head away. A few tears welled up in the eyes of his angular face—it was quite amusing.
“Ishtar... You never give up until the end...”
Propping himself up, Damian nodded with a bitter smile.
“W-Wait, what!?”
“His mind must still be affected from that duel...”
As Damian continued muttering incomprehensible words, Anna and Felix's faces turned pale.
“Y-Young master! Lie back down first. You need to rest.”
“Anna is right. I'll fetch the healer right away.”
It was a dreamlike situation. No, it was a dream.
Ever since seeing their corpses, he'd yearned for a day like this every time.
Yet when such a life had been his daily routine, he hadn't truly appreciated its value.
“It's fine, it's fine.”
He waved them off, and the two looked at him with puzzled expressions.
“Both of you, come closer.”
As Anna and Felix approached, Damian spread his arms and pulled them both into a single embrace.
“I missed you. So much.”
They stammered in surprise, but it didn't reach Damian's ears. Right now, he just wanted to feel this warmth.
“Thank you for everything until the end. And I'm sorry.”
Anna and Felix had been with them since his mother had captured the Emperor's heart and entered the palace.
His mother, a dancer by origin, had earned the Emperor's favor but faced persecution from the Empress's faction in return.
Anna and Felix were the ones who stayed by her side, protecting her and sharing her joys and sorrows.
When his mother died in a mysterious accident at age four, they honored her dying wish and cared for Damian with utmost sincerity.
In the past, he hadn't understood their true feelings. He'd even lashed out at them over trivial matters.
The fact that they alone were his only family dawned on him only after they had passed from the world.
“Even tempting me like this, no means no.”
What a persistent demon. To strike at his weakest point like this.
On the other hand, he was grateful.
In his final moments, even if it was just an illusion, he could convey the words he'd always wanted to these precious people.
But he wouldn't yield. If he broke down at this vision, it would be an insult to them.
He would burn it all now—this illusion, and himself too.
“...Why isn't it working?”
Releasing his arms, Damian blankly stared down at his hands.
The first black magic Damian had learned: Hellfire. He intended to incinerate this entire space with it.
But no matter how hard he focused, the green flames didn't rise. Rubbing his hands, exhaling deeply—nothing.
Even if this was Ishtar's illusion, as long as his soul was intact, he should be able to use black magic.
Black magic was manifested through contracts with demons, and those contracts were etched into the soul.
He tried other black magics, but the result was the same.
“No way...”
Seeing Anna and Felix, he'd naturally assumed it was an illusion. He was wrong. He should have looked at the situation from a broader perspective.
Damian bolted upright from the bed, ignoring their protests, and stood before a large mirror.
Pale skin, lowered line of sight, and a youthful face. There was no trace of the black mage who had roamed battlefields.
“What is this...”
His voice and speech were off too. Not the gravelly tone of a war-hardened man, but that of an immature boy.
And most tellingly.
“Gone, gone, gone! The contracts—they're all gone, not a single one left.”
To grow stronger, Damian had made contracts with countless demons. But now, not a single one remained.
“It must be from that head injury back then! I told you we had to stop him somehow, Felix!”
“Calm down, Anna. There was nothing we could do. The duel with the 4th Prince was started by the young master.”
‘The duel with the 4th Prince... I remember.’
At sixteen years old. When even his last magic tutor abandoned him.
—Seeing her son like this, that wench won't rest easy even in death.
Damian, who had stayed silent until then, finally snapped. He challenged the prince to a duel to pay for the insult but was utterly defeated.
Afterward, he suffered a high fever and spent weeks bedridden.
It was a story from the distant past. But Anna and Felix spoke of it as if it had happened just weeks ago.
Which meant.
“Young master! Where are you going!?”
“Don't stop him, Anna. The young master has a mental affliction now. Best to just watch for the moment.”
“You want me to just watch him wander around in his pajamas, barefoot!?”
Ignoring their calls, Damian headed out of the detached palace. He needed to organize his thoughts.
A youthful body. Anna and Felix's reactions. The vanished contracts.
Ishtar's final words.
—So struggle all you want.
Damian had regressed to the past. To sixteen years old, the powerless illegitimate child who merely existed day by day in the detached palace.
‘So that's what she meant—struggle from here on.’
Ishtar, mistress of hatred and affection.
As one of Hell's highest-ranking lords, she could certainly turn back time.
The question was why.
Every demon's action stems from a transaction. They couldn't wield their power without the other's consent.
Damian had rejected Ishtar's offer. There was no way he'd agreed, even unconsciously.
Yet Ishtar stubbornly wanted to possess him. So it couldn't have been mere goodwill.
There was surely a scheme. And it likely wouldn't benefit Damian.
But.
“...It stings.”
Looking back, blood stained his footprints. In his deep thought, he hadn't even put on shoes properly.
It hurt. It stung. It was painful. But that's exactly why he could sense this wasn't a dream.
Snapping out of his reverie, Damian surveyed his surroundings. Before he knew it, he'd passed the imperial palace and stood in the middle of the plaza.
The place where bounties had been placed on Damian and his comrades' heads, where Michael had proclaimed himself the Empire's new Emperor.
The warm sunlight was just as radiant then as now.
“......”
Looking up, he saw the throne where Michael had sat.
The sacred relic symbolizing the Emperor's authority across generations.
With Damian's birth father, the current Emperor, in seclusion and the Imperial Council handling delegated rule, that seat was vacant.
Meaning anyone qualified had a chance to claim it. This sparked a brutal civil war between reformers and traditionalists.
Countless lives, including Anna and Felix, were crushed in that war. Far more grieved through sleepless nights over lost families.
‘All for that one stone chair.’
Damian returned to his initial resolve.
He didn't know the method, but Ishtar had undoubtedly pulled some trick. Clearly to possess him.
But did that matter now?
He had returned to the past. To his weak, pitiful self before learning black magic.
But he had gained an opportunity.
‘Revenge.’
Before dying, Damian had wished for revenge.
Not entrusted to Ishtar, but carried out by his own two hands.
‘Anyone can sit there, right?’
He reached out toward the throne. A right he'd never once considered.
Though illegitimate, Damian too held the inherent right to that seat.
Of course, he was last in line. But if Damian alone remained as the Emperor's intact male direct descendant, no one could deny that right.
To ascend the throne with black magic, forbidden by the Empire.
That would be the ultimate revenge against Michael, Rubia, and those who ignited the civil war.
His goal was set. Then what did he need to achieve it?
‘Overwhelming power.’
The traditionalists had rallied nobles, but all died spilling blood on the battlefields.
Because the reformers centered on Michael and Rubia held overwhelmingly superior strength. No schemes meant anything before them.
To claim the throne, Damian had to surpass Michael and Rubia.
The Empire's Greatest Swordsman and the Archmage.
Those at the pinnacle of aura and magic. To stand above them required power several times greater than what he'd wielded before regression.
Comparing his talent to theirs was like man versus insect.
Before regression, Damian never even dreamed of surpassing them.
Even with black magic, he felt pathetically small before their brilliance.
Not anymore.
He wanted to surpass them. He had to.
And he possessed the knowledge, experience, and time to do it.
“Young master! Your feet—what happened to them!!”
Unable to bear it any longer, Anna ran up in quick steps. She tore her skirt hem without hesitation and wrapped it around Damian's feet.
“Seeing him mutter to himself like that, the illness runs deep. What are we going to do...”
Felix, standing behind, pressed his temple and pondered.
Whether to summon the palace healer for a diagnosis or search for another physician himself.
If Damian obtained the power to rule over all.
Then those two wouldn't have to die.
His guerrilla comrades wouldn't have to be dishonored.
Countless people wouldn't have to suffer in the flames of war.
That was enough.
This regression wasn't by his choice. He didn't know what lay at the end of this path. But he had ample reason to embrace it.
Damian gave the throne one last glance before returning to the detached palace.