Aint replayed the memory orb Fernan had given him.
The stadium overflowed with spectators, their cheers thundering—
— "His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor!"
Every voice, every eye was fixed upon the Emperor.
"…That man."
— So that's the current Emperor.
The Emperor bore radiant golden hair much like Aint's own, and piercing gray eyes.
His broad, powerful frame resembled that of a warrior.
Even through the recording, the aura of power, authority, and majesty was undeniable—he embodied the very word Emperor.
"..."
If he looked this imposing through the memory orb, what would it feel like in person?
Aint swallowed dryly.
The Emperor raised his hand in a slow wave toward the crowd and began his address. Every word carried such weight and dignity that it stirred loyalty where none existed before.
— Judging by appearance alone, I can almost understand why Armians lost the throne if this man is Emperor.
— After all, nine hundred years is a long reign. It was about time to lose the crown. When capable men rose up, it was only natural.
"…Excuse me?"
Aint blinked at the sudden comment. It clashed with everything Gardner had said before.
— Why so surprised?
— Objectively speaking, Schwaben holds the throne simply because they were competent. Or perhaps because the Armians were lacking.
In the end, the reason hardly mattered.
— Even the late emperor never expected Armians to hold the throne forever.
— Three hundred years at most. That it lasted nine hundred was far beyond expectation.
Such was inevitable given how the Armian Empire was structured.
— To unite the fractured kingdoms against the demons, mere promises of spoils weren't enough. Why would any king yield his crown for words alone?
To integrate entire kingdoms into the Empire, something more was required—something worthy of surrendering sovereignty.
A tangible reward, not empty hope.
"You mean… the throne itself?"
— Exactly.
Kings might yield now, but with the promise that one day they—or at least their descendants—could claim the imperial crown themselves.
That was the system.
And thus the present Empire was born.
— Some opposed it, of course. But back then, survival outweighed pride. Humanity needed unity against the demons, and the Armian throne was the price.
That the Armians held the crown for nine whole centuries was a near-miracle.
— It speaks to the greatness of the late emperor's legacy—and perhaps that few Armian rulers since were truly incompetent.
At least, Gardner muttered, none had shamed the first emperor's name too badly.
"…Then why did you call Schwaben usurpers, when they simply claimed what was offered?"
— Because I am not a servant of the Empire. I am a servant of Armian.
The two were not the same.
— Even if Armian was patchwork, and no matter who claimed the throne…
— I wished for Armian's line to endure. I still do.
That was why Gardner had willingly become a sword's ego—
—to one day prevent the demons' return and save mankind.
— If we fail, then the first emperor's legacy, our sacrifice and struggle, will be meaningless.
And if Armian had already lost the throne, then Gardner would fight to restore it.
— So I will make you Emperor.
It was the last, unshakable loyalty he could offer in repayment for the first emperor's grace.
Aint faltered at the weight of such conviction.
"…Why go so far?"
— Because the late emperor saved me. I would have died, starving and diseased in the gutter, had he not intervened.
— What, are you so burdened that you reject me now?
"It is a burden… but I don't dislike it."
A thousand years of devotion—Aint could not truly fathom it. Whether it was loyalty or obsession hardly mattered. As an Armian, how could he feel anything but gratitude?
"Besides… our goals are the same."
And since Gardner's loyalty aligned with Aint's own ambitions, there was no reason to refuse. He needed Gardner's aid to defeat the demons.
— I thought you a mere child, but perhaps not. Truly Armian.
"I want that throne to be mine."
Aint's eyes locked onto the Emperor within the orb.
"And I can't stay a child forever if I mean to claim it."
Even if the first emperor had foreseen this outcome—
Even if the loss of Armian's crown had been inevitable—
Aint didn't care.
Raised on nine centuries of history, he believed with certainty: the throne belonged to Armian.
The orb continued to replay. Soon the Chancellor and Professor Rosalia stepped forward.
"There."
By then, Aint, Fernan, and Aria had arrived in the stands. That was when word spread of the monster horde's attack.
The Chancellor canceled his announcement of the demonbreeds.
With monsters flooding the Empire, revealing the existence of demonbreeds would only fuel panic.
Not, "There were demonbreeds, but they were destroyed!"—instead, the message would become:
"Monsters are rampaging, and demonbreeds were infiltrating the Academy all along! They've begun moving in earnest!"
— There's nothing you can do right now. Best to lie low, like the merchant brat advised.
"I know."
That had been Aint's intention anyway.
Though the shocking news cast a warlike tension over the Academy, students would not be mobilized. The Empire was not so weak as to need them.
— Still, you never know.
— They might recruit volunteers in the name of 'experience.'
"That's possible, I guess."
At the Academy, such a move wouldn't be unthinkable.
The Inquisitors' approach had been predictable. Even Girard the Inquisitor-General speaking directly to Aint was within expectation.
But the monster wave spilling from the Taklakan Desert was not. And certainly not the inclusion of magical beasts.
For monsters and magical beasts were very different. Their incursion carried a shock far beyond a simple wave.
So—they mean to act openly now, instead of hiding?
Better to unleash a horde that razed entire lands than to be caught and displayed as prisoners.
To the humans, it made a twisted sort of sense.
Was this how it happened in the original history? Or is this divergence my doing?
Were the demonbreeds retaliating because history had changed—or was this always destined? He had no way of knowing.
If only he did, planning would be so much easier. His last prophecy was complete. Wasn't it about time the next one came?
Not that it matters. There's nothing I can do right now, anyway…
It was a matter far removed from the Academy. A war of that scale was for his father to handle directly.
And his father would surely make a fortune. War was money.
"I envy him."
That money should have been his.
No—this wasn't the time to be greedy. The war would only grow larger. There would be plenty of chances to profit.
"Maybe I should establish a separate trading company for this sort of thing…"
But whenever he thought of the Golden Turtle Merchant Guild, he tucked that idea back into its shell.
There was no need to abandon its protection just to scrape by in a barren wasteland again. His father wouldn't allow it anyway. Why bother?
"For now, I'll just use the Academy branch to purchase as many weapons, armor, and artifacts as possible."
Since his father had given him full authority in matters related to demons and demonbreeds, this much would surely be permitted.
With war set aside, Fernan's thoughts shifted to another matter.
"Gismond wasn't a demonbreed. Really? Not at all?"
Aint had said so. He must have confirmed it through Sir Gardner, so it was certain.
Then what was he? He didn't appear in the prophecy. Why had this boy suddenly emerged, disrupting everything?
"Not empowered by demonic energy, but stuffed with elixirs until the brink of collapse?"
Madness? Or some kind of death wish?
No—his actions didn't fit that. Which left only one explanation.
"He just happened to stumble upon rare elixirs, devoured them out of greed, and by sheer luck survived until just before his body burst."
But even that didn't add up.
"And they weren't even the same kind."
It wasn't as if he'd found them all at once. Nor was it from the Count of Barmond's patronage. There were no traces of such wealth flowing to the Baron of Ert, and the Count didn't have that kind of fortune to begin with.
Then what?
"Damn bastard. A complete mystery. I can't figure him out."
— Kkung?
Fernan snapped from his brooding when something tapped against his cheek.
Wooden, shrunk down to doll size, was staring up at him from his necklace with worried eyes.
"…I'm fine. Not sick—just had a lot on my mind."
— Kku-ung?
"Yes. No one else is around, so you can run about a little if you like."
At that, Wooden hopped down onto the floor. Thud! The impact cracked the marble tiles.
"Stop that! Do you have any idea how expensive that marble is—"
That was when it hit.
──!
A thunderclap split through his mind.
His skin crawled, his head seared with agony.
"Khhk…!"
Fernan knew instantly—this was it.
At last, the prophecy had come again.
Perhaps because he had been waiting for it, the pain felt bearable this time.
The book of prophecy unfurled within his mind.
[
Rumors of the monster and magical beast horde rampaging out of the Taklakan Desert swept across the Empire.
The Academy was no exception.
"The Chancellor has decided to allow students to volunteer for deployment to the battlefield."
The Academy had resolved to formally send students to war.
"Choose carefully. Professors will accompany you to assist, but in battle, your life is your own to protect."
At the warning that their lives would truly be at risk, the students stirred uneasily.
— Go. This is a chance you cannot miss.
'Yes, I know. I can't afford to let this slip by.'
Yet amidst the fear, some steeled their resolve.
]
"So that's how it unfolds."
It made sense. The Chancellor was one of the few who knew that the last incident had been tied not to mere demonbreeds, but demons themselves.
Surely he guessed that Andromalius was not the end, but the beginning.
Sending students was preparation for the great war to come. The difference between experiencing it early or not was vast.
[
"…Infuriating."
"Your Highness?"
"That Aint Armian, the descendant of Armian, marching to war against magical beasts. The people will revel in it. The perfect rallying cry."
Ludger Schwaben's eyes chilled. This was no exaggeration.
Magical beasts returning after a thousand years—and an Armian heir heading to face them.
Leaving it unchecked would be disastrous. The outcome was too easy to foresee.
"Bring me the application form. I will go as well."
Thus, he resolved to erase Aint by his own hand.
Noblesse oblige. As Crown Prince, second only to the Emperor, he would march to the battlefield himself.
]
"Of course. If Ludger isn't a fool, that's exactly what he would do."
Aint's actions had led inevitably to this. Fernan felt little surprise.
[
"What is this…?"
"Spirit grass?"
"There's spirit grass here!"
The plant glimmered faintly with mana, pure and pristine.
"I found it, so it's mine."
It was Ludger Schwaben who discovered it. By custom, a spirit grass belonged to its finder, so his claim was natural.
He pocketed its fruit. The plant, stripped of its prize, looked pitifully bare.
— Just the fruit? That's absurd!
'Absurd?'
— Yes! The fruit of an Itarium is fine, but the roots are far greater. Itarium absorbs mana of the earth into its roots. Even after a thousand years, they don't know this? All the better. Aint, you should secretly claim the root.
— Besides, the presence of Itarium means there's an ore vein nearby. It grows by feeding on the ore's aura.
]
"An ore vein…?"
There was no such thing as an unwanted vein. Despite the pounding headache, Fernan's eyes gleamed with excitement.
Then the prophecy shifted. Even its timeframe changed.
[
"The Academy has brought students to the battlefield under the guise of 'experience.'"
"Experience? How decadent."
The man chuckled darkly.
To dismiss this as mere coincidence was far too naive.
"And among those students is Aint Armian."
"…Aint Armian?"
The man's eyes widened.
Armian. Foe of demons. That cursed bloodline.
"This is my chance…!"
Bang! He slammed the table. Papers, inkpots, and a golden ashtray embossed with a star tumbled to the floor.
"A perfect chance to devour not just Aint Armian, but the Empire's very future!"
The Academy was often called the cradle of the Empire. Its brightest hopes were nurtured there.
That was why they had summoned even the 72nd demon, Andromalius, to destroy it—yet failed.
But if he succeeded now?
"I will be granted even greater favor!"
The man's voice rang with mad glee.
"Send word to His Excellency immediately! Even if it costs us everything, slaughter them all! Especially Aint Armian—that cursed brat!"
His frenzied roar shook the chamber.
"Khhahaha… I've been rotting in this place long enough, but at last, such bounty comes."
He flung aside a curtain.
Through the gap loomed a massive bell.
Once, that bell had tormented the demons. A cursed weapon.
Its destruction was why he had made his lair here.
]
It was the first time the prophecy had shown another's perspective.
"..."
And for it to be from a demonbreed? Even more shocking.
What did it mean?
"So the prophecy unfolds around Aint, but not solely through his eyes?"
It was possible.
A prophecy was a book, after all. Even with a main character, few stories were told entirely from their view.
"…Wait."
Fernan replayed the words.
The demonbreed's chamber. The description of the window beyond the curtain.
[ Through the half-drawn curtain stood a great bell. A cursed weapon once feared by demons. ]
[ To destroy it, he had nested here. ]
A bell. A cursed relic. Destruction. The details were vague, but enough.
"I think I know where that is."
For the Empire held a great bell forged by the first Emperor, a weapon crafted solely to strike against demons.
When Fernan opened his eyes, Wooden was wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
— Kkuuung?
Nervous, the little golem stomped its feet, cracking the floor again.
"Stop that, Wooden. You'll break the table next."
The fine hardwood might have been sturdy, but not against an ego-golem's stomping.
— Kkung?
"Yes, I'm fine. And thank you for wiping my sweat."
But that wasn't the point.
"Wooden, this might give you the chance to rampage again. Didn't you want to return to your full form and fight once more?"
Fernan's eyes glinted murderously.
— Kkung-kkung!
Wooden nodded furiously.