"Since then, I've tried everything to uncover what that soul was, but I haven't found a single answer."
Why had it tried to possess him?
Why him, of all people?
How did it carry such memories?
Even now, he didn't know.
"Devoting yourself to something with no immediate answer is a waste."
In the end, Fernan had pushed aside thoughts about the soul and the possession and continued to live his life.
After all, time kept moving forward.
"Where's today's newspaper?"
Fernan, having finished his thoughts, reached out his hand. Hyde placed the newspaper onto it.
"Here it is."
Fernan opened the paper.
[...]
"..."
The moment he saw a particular name printed on the newspaper, a subtle, indescribable emotion flashed in Fernan's eyes.
"Young master? Is something the matter?"
"It's nothing."
Though the servant asked about his strange expression, Fernan brushed it off lightly.
'So he's finally appeared.'
The prophecy book hadn't revealed everything about the future.
Most of it was locked away, and aside from a few fragments, Fernan could only perceive the future up to a certain point.
And among those fragments, the name in the newspaper was the most important figure.
"…He really enrolled."
He'd made good use of it for business purposes, but deep down he had hoped this part wouldn't turn out to be true.
"Who are you talking about all of a sudden?"
"Hyde."
Fernan cut Hyde off.
"Yes?"
"Do you think there's a possibility I'll be disowned and end up penniless?"
"Where is this coming from all of a sudden?"
"Just answer the question."
"Well, nothing in this world is certain, so I suppose there's a remote possibility. Like being struck by lightning on a clear day. But based on what I've seen, I can't even imagine you losing all your money, young master."
"Exactly. Neither can I."
Me? Disowned and reduced to a beggar? There's no way such a future could exist. Ha ha ha.
Crunch—
The newspaper crumpled under Fernan's grip.
"Young master?"
"That's what I'm about to find out."
"Find out what?"
"The southern marsh."
"Excuse me?"
"I'll need to make a quick trip to the southern marsh."
Fernan rose from his seat and threw on his coat.
The moment he was struck by that lightning—he'd been counting down the days ever since.
'Most of the prophecies revolve around the Empire's Armean Academy.'
Through that so-called "protagonist" named in the prophecy book.
He didn't know why the prophecy took the form of a novel, nor why everything centered around the academy.
'That doesn't matter.'
Through countless cross-references, Fernan had concluded that the prophecies were at least partially true—but the truly important part was yet to come.
The moment the protagonist enrolled, the real story of the prophecy would begin.
And verifying that protagonist was the top priority.
"I'll go alone. Prepare my horse."
"Are you sure you'll be all right by yourself?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
The servant brought out a sleek, glossy breed of horse. Moments later, Fernan rode out into the main road.
The Imperial Academy was located on Bardian, an island in the Empire's inland sea—a vast territory in its own right.
Its expansive grounds were magically cultivated artificial terrain, and the southern part of it was covered in vast marshland.
As Fernan headed south, fragments of memories began surfacing in his mind. Three stories that had burned themselves into his memory more than anything else:
The future where Fernan Pellenberg is disowned.
The future where Fernan Pellenberg falls into ruin.
The future where Fernan Pellenberg becomes penni—
"No. No, not that again."
The future where Fernan Pellenberg becomes a pauper.
The future where the 72 demons once summoned by King Colomo a thousand years ago begin to stir again.
And the story of the protagonist from the prophecy.
Among those, the third—the story of the protagonist—was what needed to be scrutinized right now.
[After finishing the entrance exam, Aint didn't return immediately but headed to the southern wetlands.The reason he had come to the academy was to trace the remnants of a map left behind by the First Emperor.]
"Aint Armian. The First Emperor's… argh."
The moment the prophecy's contents came to mind, a splitting headache nearly caused him to fall off his horse. He barely managed to steady himself.
Clutching his throbbing head, he continued his thoughts.
The two people mentioned in the prophecy were figures no citizen of the Empire could possibly not know.
The last king of the Kingdom of Armian, the great founding emperor who established the Empire alongside five surrounding kingdoms.
And his descendant—Aint Armian, who had lost all the former glory of the royal house and was left only with its honor.
If the prophecy was to be believed, he was the most suitable person to save the world from the demons.
"The First Emperor's arrangements are hidden within the academy? No one has uncovered them in the past thousand years…"
Damn it. If I had found them, I could've ripped out the last pillar holding up the Armian family.
Regardless, if the prophecy was true, Aint Armian's importance would be elevated immensely.
He wouldn't just be a remnant of an old royal house, but a dark horse who inherited the First Emperor's arrangements.
[After gathering enough food and weapons to last a few days, Aint reached the edge of the swamp.The first thing to greet him was Croker, the swamp crocodile.It was an unexpected encounter—he had heard that Croker rarely ventured to the outskirts.]
"…Damn it. These headaches that hit every time I recall a prophecy never get any easier."
Croker was a top predator in the swamp. Its hide was tough, its teeth were strong, and its jaw could crush steel.
A monster difficult for even seasoned knights to handle—originally intended for students above third year.
It was a mystery why it had come to the outskirts, when it usually resided in the heart of the swamp, but life rarely follows logic.
Just like when he got struck by lightning.
If the prophecy is right, maybe it's not bad luck… but fate.
According to what flashed through his mind, that guy always got swept up in incidents.
But that wasn't the important part right now.
[Aint had talent, but his family's swordsmanship had deteriorated and couldn't bring it to full bloom.Croker was clearly too much for him to handle in his current state.]
[He barely escaped, pushing through his injuries.]
"So far, it's all real."
Fernan murmured calmly. He wasn't too surprised—he'd already gained a few advantages thanks to the prophecy.
Croker had vanished, but traces remained. The stench of monster blood and rot still lingered in the distance.
Squish—
Still, it didn't feel good.
With each prophecy coming true one by one, it meant his own future—ending up a pauper—was drawing ever closer.
[Aint was badly injured. He used the potions he had brought for emergency treatment, but the scent of blood was already attracting monsters.]
[He ran—not aimlessly, though. Even in his condition, he checked the map.]
[There was a very small hole marked on the map. No trace of magic, and it didn't look like any human could fit inside.]
[He doubted it, but bloodthirsty lizardmen were already chasing him.]
["Don't doubt. Just throw yourself in."]
[Recalling the phrase written at the bottom of the map, he clenched his teeth and threw himself in.And there—was the dungeon.]
Fernan circled around the lizardmen who were distracted by Croker and tracked Aint's trail.
The escape path was clear, and blood stains were scattered along the way.
At the end of it, he found a hole.
A small tunnel no human could possibly enter. It looked more like a rabbit hole—but according to the prophecy, it was the dungeon entrance.
And beside it…
"…Huh?"
"…Huh?"
He came face-to-face with Aint, who was clutching a chest wound and struggling toward the hole.
What the hell?
Why is this bastard still here?
'…Shit, did I come too early?'
That seemed to be the case.
He'd been so eager to confirm the identity of the protagonist, he had arrived too soon.
Totally unexpected.
Fernan's plan had only been to follow Aint after he entered the dungeon and confirm the truth.
He only knew that Aint would obtain the First Emperor's arrangement on the day the academy newspaper covering the new students was published—but not the exact time.
And that had led to the current situation.
He never imagined Aint wouldn't even be inside the dungeon yet.
After a moment of thought, Fernan decided to act confident.
"Aint Armian. The entrance exam should be over—what are you doing here? This place isn't meant for you."
When both parties are caught off guard, the one who strikes first has the advantage.
And from the look on Aint's face, Fernan's tactic had worked.
"…Do you know me?"
"There's no one in the academy I don't know—whether they're a student, a professor, or even a freshman who passed the entrance exam. But even if that weren't the case, you're far too well-known."
Aint shrank back under the cold gaze.
"…If it's not rude, may I ask who you are?"
"Fernan."
"Fernan…? Fernan… Pellenberg…?"
"That's my full name, yes. Though you seem to have left out the 'senior' title."
Aint's eyes widened. He likely never imagined he'd meet him here. Just as Fernan had never imagined he'd run into Aint like this.
"I-I'm sorry!"
"No need. I don't really care. Just answer my question. The entrance exam should be over—why are you here? This place isn't meant for you."
"…Well."
"You're injured."
Fernan's gaze fell on Aint's shoulder. Blood was seeping through the fractured armor.
"Did lizardmen do that?"
"…I ran into Croker."
"Croker was at the entrance? Unlucky. That only happens once or twice a year."
Pretending to ponder for a moment, Fernan took a potion out of his subspace.
"Take it. It's a top-grade potion."
"I don't have the money to buy a potion from Lord Fernan."
"Do I have to spell it out? Call me senior."
"…Yes, senior."
"No payment needed. But it's not free, either. Consider it an investment, Aint Armian."
"An investment?"
The sudden statement made Aint blink in surprise. Fernan, watching him, explained nonchalantly.
"Your house may have fallen, but royalty is royalty—even if it's former. You're not likely to become a worthless man."
"..."
"Are you taking it or not? If you lose much more blood, you'll be kissing the ground soon."
"…I'll repay this debt one day, no matter what."
Aint accepted the potion and poured it over his wound. His flesh bubbled and regenerated rapidly.
Money really was powerful. If it had been a lower-grade potion, he would've needed ten bottles.
"I won't ask why you're here. Everyone has at least one secret."
"..."
"But don't think you'll get lucky twice. Go back. This place is still too much for you to handle."
"…Yes. But senior Fernan, why are you here alone?"
"I came to gather herbs. There's a rare and expensive herb that only grows in this region."
"You collect it yourself?"
"Only a mage can properly harvest it."
"Ah…"
"I'll see you again next time. Now leave quickly—it's dangerous."
"Thank you for the warning, senior."
Fernan rode off on his horse.
Once he was out of sight, Aint let out a sigh of relief.
"…That was close."
To think he'd run into someone just before entering the dungeon.
"Fernan Pellenberg."
The eldest son of House Pellenberg, widely known as a money-hungry devil.
"He didn't seem that greedy, though."
Rumors were like that. Exaggerated, malicious, and made to ruin people.
Aint knew all too well what kind of gossip and scorn had swirled around House Armian after they lost the throne.
It had been engraved into the family's bones for generations.
"In any case, I'll make sure to repay this favor."
Even if the investment was made toward his house rather than himself, it still felt good. It meant he had value.
Above all, having his injuries healed before entering an unknown dungeon was no different from having his life saved.
Aint checked his surroundings again, then dove into the hole.
He vanished.
"So it really is a dungeon."
Fernan, who had been hiding his presence, peeked his head in.
"But man… why is he so scatterbrained? He's nothing like the guy I saw in my dream."
Just what had happened between then and now to make him change so drastically?
Tsk. Fernan clicked his tongue and shook off the thought, turning his gaze back to the dungeon entrance.
"You fall straight down once you enter."
[Aint stifled a groan from the impact of the fall. His whole body ached, but he drank all the potions he had left to survive.Even so, his wounds were severe, and the potions were such poor quality that he wasn't fully healed.]
[He pressed on, enduring the pain.]
After this, Aint would move forward while injured—but now that he had met Fernan, the story would be a little different.
"Top-grade potion…"
It felt like a bit of a waste, but if the prophecy was true, the investment was well worth it.
From the very first impression, things had shifted. It felt like the first button to changing the future had been fastened correctly.
A long time passed. When the sun was setting on the horizon, Fernan finally jumped into the hole.
The world flipped with no resistance.
"Clear."
If a dungeon that responds only to royal blood reacts to anyone, that meant it had already fulfilled its purpose.
Tap. Fernan landed lightly and looked ahead.
There were no enemies. No traps. Just a long, straight corridor.
The soft glow of magical lamps lit the passage more than expected.
"So many magic lamps, yet there's barely any trace of mana?"
Fernan floated up and examined one of the lamps.
"Never seen a sigil like this before…"
He noticed it was subtly drawing in ambient mana. Then he realized—it was a semi-permanent magical lamp.
The finely carved engravings gave off an elegant, antique air.
Fernan frowned.
"So Aint Armian is really the guy from the prophecy? I'm starting to doubt it."
He plucked one of the lamps out of its place. Yet it didn't stop glowing.
"And the fate of the world lies with some fool who would just leave these behind?"
All that remained in Fernan's wake was darkness.