Derailment

Dito's eyes remained fixed on the fading embers of his flame, which had been effortlessly swallowed up. When he finally turned his head toward Ratel, his expression had hardened, completely devoid of even a trace of his usual mockery.

"You. Don't try to dodge the question this time. Give me a straight answer. Who are you? Why did you suddenly appear?"

"You don't need to know who I am. My purpose is simple."

Ratel raised a finger in the air, and a tiny bead of light, no larger than a fingernail, materialized. It floated up and drifted slowly toward Dito. The droplet of light flickered and died right before his eyes, like a candle being snuffed out.

"To take everything from you." Ratel smirked.

"To take everything from you." Thanks to the heavy silence that had fallen since his arrival, Ratel's arrogant, obnoxious voice carried clearly across the room, reaching the door where the children had fled. It even reached all the way behind the shattered stone statue where El and I were hiding.

It was Ratel. The protagonist of the novel, Dark Header. It was deeply ironic that although I knew every nook and cranny of his life as described in the book, this was the first time I was seeing his face in person.

Unsurprisingly, he looked exactly like his description in the book. Or maybe... did he look a bit older than I had imagined? Perhaps it was because of his tall stature or his blank expression, but even though he was a year younger than the Seventh Prince, he didn't seem that much younger than my original twenty-eight-year-old self from modern Korea.

"I knew it! That's him, right? He's the Child of Prophecy!" Thanks to El, who was currently in squirrel form beside me, punching the air in excitement, my evaluation of the protagonist concluded with: He looks old for his age.

I nodded at the voice trembling with anticipation. The squirrel's furry face lit up.

"I knew it! His aura is completely different from yours. You're always so listless and unmotivated!"

He had plenty of room to talk, considering he had spent months following around someone with 'no aura' under the assumption that I was the protagonist. Because this little punk had failed to secure the Young Duke properly, I'd had to drag Duke Fides all the way here in a highly ungentlemanly manner. I'd even broken a sweat pushing the Duke—who had blindly followed a squirrel wearing the Young Duke's ring around its neck—into the secret passage.

Had Priest Anna realized by now that the Young Duke's gold ring, which she had kept so carefully in her pocket, was gone? The Fides family ring, which had served its purpose of luring the Duke, had now returned to its rightful owner. Honestly, considering how hard I'd sweated worrying we'd be late, I wanted to grab this irresponsible squirrel by the scruff of its neck and shake it. But I held back. It was time to say goodbye. Escaping this place was far more important than holding him accountable.

I took one last look at the three figures facing off before their final battle, then turned around. Since the stairs were too steep for a tiny squirrel to descend quickly, I shifted back into my human form and hurried down.

"Where are you going?" El's panicked voice hit the back of my head, followed by the sound of him scurrying after me to the top of the stairs.

"Are you sure you should be chasing after me right now? The fight is going to end soon."

At my words, El looked back toward Ratel and Dito. Conflict flickered across his face. For some unknown reason, he was willing to throw his life away to help Ratel. It was glaringly obvious that he wanted me to stick around and help for just a little longer. But I had no intention of meekly playing along with his plans anymore. Getting stabbed in the back once was more than enough. Besides, Ratel wouldn't need my help after this anyway.

Everything was playing out far more in Ratel's favor than it had in the original novel. Since Rasiah Abaran hadn't died yet, Dito hadn't been able to amass as much power as he had in the original story. Meanwhile, Duke Fides, a major force, was standing in much better shape than before. It would be an exaggeration to call him perfectly healthy, but compared to the original plot—where he had lost a leg and nearly all sight ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in one eye—he was practically pristine. There was absolutely no reason for Ratel to die here.

The loosely patched-together original plot would flow smoothly from this day forward. Ratel would destroy Dito's raw magic stone and set off on his adventure, carrying either a victory or at least a draw.

The servants at the Seventh Prince's Palace all believed I had followed the other royals to the temple. In the midst of this chaos, there would be no better excuse than the powerless Seventh Prince getting caught in the crossfire and losing his life. Furthermore, with Ratel keeping Dito pinned down, there would never be a more perfect opportunity to escape.

"Starting tomorrow, I'll be a dead man. There's nothing to gain from staying entangled with Ratel."

"You pretended to help all this time, but do you really not care what happens to the Child of Prophecy?"

"At this point, it's not 'pretending to help.' I've already done more than enough."

When I actually began to walk away, El cast an anxious glance back at the standoff between Ratel and Dito. He was probably terrified that the Child of Prophecy he had finally found might get hurt.

"Don't worry. He won't die in this fight." At my words, El's expression shifted subtly. "How can you be so sure of that?"

Because that's how it's written. Instead of answering, I deflected. "You'd better watch out. When those two clash, there won't be much left of this place."

El let out a scoffing laugh. "Fine. How long do you think I've waited for this moment? From now on, I won't leave his side for even a second."

Then this was where we parted. As if realizing I was truly leaving and deciding not to stop me, El turned his back completely.

"His name is Ratel Loe. He is not 'that guy' or 'the Child of Prophecy.'" Leaving him with those final words, I walked away without a single regret. The stairs going down felt incredibly long.

I couldn't return to the palace right away. I still had one last task: guiding the children, who were shivering in fear at the bottom of the stairs, safely outside.

When I transformed into a wild dog to carry Seya and the kid with the injured leg, they were terrified at first, but they quickly let down their guard. After I repeatedly gestured to my back and tugged at the Young Duke's clothes, Seya obediently placed the kids onto my back and followed me. The other children did the same. Why do most young kids love dogs so much?

The kid named Mir never quite lost the look of suspicion on his face at the sudden appearance of a wild dog. However, he kept his mouth shut after the Young Duke pointed out that a dog's keen sense of smell would be helpful. He probably couldn't ignore the desperate pleas of a child whose father was risking his life upstairs.

This was my final act of conscience and responsibility—a small penance for using their lives as bait to bring Duke Fides and Ratel together in the same place.

I guided them back through the path Duke Fides had taken—the very route through which the Young Duke had been captured. It led to the basement of the half-constructed soup kitchen. I saw Mir, Seya, and the Young Duke talking among themselves, but I didn't listen closely. What happened next was no longer my concern.

Once I finally dropped the Young Duke off in front of the ducal townhouse, everything was truly over. I heard him shouting his thanks behind me, but I didn't look back. The sound of short legs pattering rapidly faded into the distance. He was probably running to find Jack or Tollin. To save his father.

Now that the threads of the story had been reconnected, his life would branch out once more as a minor subplot.

Shifting into my most familiar form—a crow—I took flight. The capital, shrouded in darkness, unfolded beneath me. I didn't feel any particular sentimentality. I certainly hadn't stayed long enough to grow attached. Most of my memories here consisted of tense surveillance rather than sightseeing, so there was no room left for nostalgia.

Even so, I engraved every corner of the capital into my memory. If I failed to escape this world, this land of stagnation and upheaval was a place I would likely never return to for the rest of my life.

"Lord Rasiah Abaran has passed away!"

The screams and shock echoing through the Imperial Palace heralded the derailment of the newly restarted story.

The entire Imperial Palace seethed with chaos at the news of Rasiah Abaran's death. The Seventh Prince's Palace was no exception. In fact, because the Seventh Prince himself was missing, there was no one to manage ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the servants, making the panic twice as bad. At the sudden death of a royal, everyone spilled out into the corridors, murmuring in sheer bewilderment.

Anna was just as panicked, but she showed remarkable composure as she tried her best to shout over the crowd gathered in the hallway. "Everyone, please calm down! We must wait until His Highness returns!"

However, her voice was drowned out by the clamor, and those who did hear had no intention of listening to a mere child. Realizing she couldn't handle this alone, Anna squeezed through the crowd and headed toward the medical room where the Seventh Prince's physician stayed. Sein had long since abandoned his duties, but she hoped the servants might listen to the elderly doctor.

Moonlight streaming through the corridor windows lit Anna's path. She hurried along, but just as she stepped onto the descending staircase, the hallway plunged into darkness, as if the moonlight and the candles had been suddenly snuffed out. Startled by the abrupt change, Anna looked up at the window to see what had blocked the light.

"Aaaaah!"

Spotting a dark silhouette standing on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠windowsill, Anna shrieked before she could even identify who it was. She nearly fell backward in terror, but a hand caught her arm, its owner panting heavily.

"Is it true that the First Prince is dead?" At the familiar voice, Anna squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of a blow, then slowly opened them. It was Ran Abaran.

"I asked if it's true that Rasiah Abaran is dead," he repeated, his breath ragged.

Only after my second inquiry did Anna snap out of her daze and nod rapidly. "How did he die? Was he assassinated?"

Even though it was just a question, the mere suggestion of a royal being assassinated seemed to shock Anna, and she shook her head vigorously. "No, absolutely not! They say it was an illness. When the servants entered, they say his bed was covered in blood."

Unless their heads were severed and kept apart, or their hearts were completely destroyed, royals did not die easily. There was no poison in this world capable of killing a royal. Since neither had occurred, they must have concluded it was a natural death from illness.

I left Anna behind and stepped out. I had been treating him all this time to ensure his death wouldn't come too early. Why did he die so suddenly? No, when did he die?

The Seventh Prince's Palace was located too far from the main palace. When I entered the Imperial Banquet Hall, where we gathered once a month for formal dinners, the hastily assembled royals stood in visible disarray. Their numbers were significantly fewer than during the regular rituals. They must have only summoned those who could gather immediately.

Despite this being the death of the First Prince—the most prominent candidate for the crown—the matter was being handled with such haste and sloppiness because his passing was so unbefitting of a descendant of the gods. A sudden death far short of his natural lifespan, preceded by nosebleeds and coughing up blood. It was a mundane death, an illness, the likes of which had never been seen among the imperial bloodline.

The ripples of this bizarre death spread rapidly through the vast hall. For once, my black hair failed to draw any attention. From my seat, I quietly observed the head of the table. The seat of the deceased Rasiah, as well as the seat of Dito—who was likely locked in a life-or-death struggle with Ratel at this very moment—were empty.

The murmurs quieted down. The Emperor emerged from the front doors. Six servants carrying a golden coffin followed behind his expressionless figure. Everyone knew what lay inside, but no one dared to speak of it. If the First Prince's seat hadn't been conspicuously empty, one might have believed the coffin contained dishes for a feast.

The Emperor did not look around the hall. "Bring him out." At his cold command, the servants hesitated for a brief moment before carefully reaching into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠coffin. With movements as cautious as scooping up spilling water, they lifted the contents of the coffin.

Rasiah's pale corpse was revealed. It was carefully laid upon the Prasa. Resting his head on the apex of the triangular stone, Rasiah looked clean, as if all the blood he had coughed up had been wiped away. This was a stark contrast to the original novel, where he had collapsed onto it drenched in blood.

Once the corpse was positioned, the Emperor placed his hand on the Prasa. At this, a faint flicker of curiosity and excitement rippled through the royals. It was the sort of anticipation one felt before a rare spectacle. Soon, the Emperor channeled his power into the relic, just as he did during the rituals. A beautiful stream of light surged forward, rapidly crossing the center of the table and reaching all the way to my seat at the very end.

That was all. The Emperor's Manis slowly faded away, just as it always did. Then, a clamor of whispers erupted from all sides. Voices laced with confusion and contempt filled the hall. It was only natural.

It was exactly like the original novel. He had already been plundered. That was nothing but a corpse drained of all its power. There was no way any remaining Manis could possibly exist within it.