Jia felt an urge to sigh in exasperation—as if merely speaking to someone like him would trigger a splitting headache. Ironically, the very thought only intensified the ache; she didn't know him, yet she felt as though she had known him for an eternity.
Jia held his gaze for several seconds, scrutinizing every detail of his appearance.
"He is stronger than Reinhardt, and his aura rivals Yuta Caseral's in sheer intensity. So, he, too, has reached the fourth tier of the Wings... the final 'Venerable of the Board,' Bing Tao Shin."
"He is dangerous, confident, composed, and arrogant—a man who wields significant influence and authority."
Jia mused to herself as she studied him.
"How are you, Bing Tao Shin—the final Venerable of the Board? A pleasure to have you visit."
Jia decided to lean into that strange, déjà vu-like sensation she felt toward him. After all, one must always maintain composure rather than betray any confusion; sometimes, a direct approach is the best course of action.
A faint smile touched Bing Tao Shin's lips as he looked at her, then he set his glass back down on the table.
"Lady Jia Guilford, there's no need for such formality—we are friends, after all."
"Between friends, formalities have no place. And since we've reached an understanding, allow me to introduce myself: I am Bing Tao Shin. I've come to have a little chat with you." Jia stared at him for a few seconds, bewildered.
A friend? What? I don't even know you! And yet, I can't shake the feeling that I do.
These thoughts raced through Jia's mind in a split second before she refocused on the present.
Those are secondary matters; I'll deal with them when the time is right.
"How did things go on Jigwa Island? It seems you've become a ruler at such a tender age. That might be impressive for an ordinary human, but as for you—well, you and your companions are nothing but pathetic."
Jia's eyes widened slightly, and a look of annoyance crossed her face as she listened to the Last Rank Venerable, Ping Tao Xin. His words were insulting, yet a part of her couldn't help but agree—insisting that she was, indeed, nothing but pathetic.
"Ping Tao Xin, I couldn't care less about your words. Tell me why you've come here. Get to the point."
The Last Rank Venerable, Ping Tao Xin, regarded her with surprise for a few moments before bursting into loud laughter.
"How incredibly conceited and arrogant! There's no particular reason. Let's just say I came to satisfy my curiosity—your current strength is truly terrifying."
"You're not far from breaking through to the Boundless rank. You'll know everything soon enough. You're going to love this summer; it's going to be packed with exciting events. Just remember—sometimes things are right before your eyes, yet you always manage to overlook them." Jia's gaze remained calm, maintaining a mask of composure in the face of what lay ahead—though that did not mean she intended to sit idly by.
Events were accelerating rapidly, leaving no room for rest. The millennium celebration marking the defeat of the Demon Realm, the final examination, and the Summer Festival—all were fast approaching, one after another.
Furthermore, there was no guarantee that the next two days would pass without new complications or shocks—perhaps even from a different breed of enemy.
The final "Board Venerable," Ping Tao Xin, rose from his seat and looked toward Jia.
He clasped his hands and gave a slight bow.
"I wish you a pleasant night, Lady Jia Caserford."
Without another word, Ping Tao Xin vanished.
Jia leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling, and let out a weary sigh.
The sheer volume of information was overwhelming—almost unbearable.
Yet, a look of bewilderment crossed her face.
"Jia Caserford? What on earth does he mean? There's no family by that name!"
Rising from her seat, Jia headed to her room to get some sleep—not because she truly needed it, but because she longed to disconnect from the world for a while.
---
At 18:67, in one of the plazas of the city of Yuspeakers, Seok wandered about, replaying the events that had unfolded on Jeju Island.
They had been grueling days, during which many on both sides had perished. Ultimately, neither heaven nor earth shows mercy to anyone; those who survive are either the strong or those most adept at debasing themselves to stay alive.
There are many ways to survive, but their effectiveness depends entirely on the situation—and Seok was no exception to this rule. There is a time to fight, and a time to flee.
There is no room for gallantry or preserving one's dignity when the only choices are to run or to surrender. And why shouldn't one flee, if it grants the chance to live another day?
Seok let out a deep sigh as he gazed toward the setting sun. The sight was breathtaking, yet, at the same time, profoundly bleak.
To him, this sunset did not hold the beauty it might have held for the other inhabitants of the city of Yusbikers; rather, it marked the end of a chapter he viewed as an indelible stain—a disgrace that could never be erased from history.
Throughout that period, he had resorted to every conceivable means to stay alive: he fought, he groveled, he begged, he grieved, and he wept. Those were truly brutal days.
Yet, there was a silver lining to it all: he came to realize that the world is no place for the weak or the foolish, and that the pursuit of idealized heroism is nothing more than sheer stupidity. To survive even one extra day, one must be prepared to do whatever it takes.
Seok came to a halt, noticing a group of people gathering around him; his expression, however, remained perfectly calm.
They were students from the Versalkin Academy, all hailing from long-established, prestigious families.
Their faces betrayed a mixture of rage, hatred, and envy—a refusal to accept the harsh reality before them. Nothing but useless trash...
Seok knew that some of them would go on to become students in the "Masters' Class" next year, having demonstrated their abilities—abilities that were, at times, truly terrifying.
The problem, however, lay in their mindset: they believed that those in high positions or of an elevated social class were entitled to everything good, while those from the lower classes were expected to submit to the demands of their masters.
It is impossible to convince someone who was raised to believe The belief that one can obtain anything simply by possessing more wealth or higher status is a fallacy; the world does not always work that way.
Seok was well aware of this, so he chose to ignore them entirely.
But one of them grabbed him, his face flushed with intense rage.
"You filthy, lowly peasant! How dare you ignore me—even if you are one of the stars of Jeju Island?!"
"Mark my words! I could have your family in Makindi City killed. Your father has come back to life—I don't know how—but I'll make sure he ends up back in the grave!"
Seok stared at him, his expression darkening for a few seconds before returning to a state of calm—a stillness far more terrifying to them than any outward display of rage.
Seok produced an emblem belonging to the House of De Moliar, bearing the image of a winged lion wearing a pale gold crown.
"Do you truly wish to incur my enmity? It seems you're also looking to make an enemy of the Duchy of De Moliar, aren't you? Whatever your name is—answer me."
Seok's tone carried a hint of mockery as he watched the color drain from their faces.
The emblem served as proof that he was under the protection of the Duchy of De Moliar—that the House itself had taken him under its guardianship.
None of them could utter a single word; it felt as though invisible noose-like cords had tightened around their own necks—and the necks of their families. Ultimately, the killing of Seok was a direct affront to the De Moliar family—or, more accurately, an opportunity for the Duchy to eliminate obstacles standing in the way of its expanding influence.
The Duchy of De Moliar was, in the end, far from merciful; as one of the pillars of the human empire, it had carved its path through a sea of blood and corpses across countless wars.
Power and status came at a steep price, and for the family, neutralizing anyone perceived as a threat to their interests was not merely logical—it was a fundamental tenet.
Seok was caught up in the family's interests, a fact of which he was well aware.
Seok lightly patted the squad leader on the shoulder and continued on his way, a cunning smile playing across his face.
It seemed that the foolish, servile Seok—who had met his end—had given way to someone who was once among the most formidable entities in the world of the "Masters' Curses." How could he possibly be expected to fear a mere group of children, having already unraveled the schemes of the De Moliar family? It would be quite illogical.
"For the moment... something is amiss. The silence is unnatural; I cannot sense the life force of any living thing outside the city of Yusbikers. Could that even be possible?"
"If my intuition is correct, a catastrophe will befall Yusbikers tomorrow. Every single beast has fled the forest surrounding the city."
Seok muttered to himself, his gaze fixed upon the sixty-meter-high walls of Yusbikers.
Then, he continued on his way as if nothing had happened. Ultimately, the world never rests, nor does it grant anyone the chance to pause; to stop keeping pace with its unfolding events is to embark on a one-way journey to the realm of the dead.
---
Two hours later, as Seok wandered aimlessly through the city of Yuspeakers, he tried to make sense of his current situation and process everything that had transpired—even with the memories of two thousand years now restored to him.
It was not enough, however; he had to become stronger.
Upon reclaiming his essence, his *kono*—his internal energy system—had also evolved. It transformed into a unique, four-poled structure, integrating mental, physical, and spiritual power, which granted him *psychic* strength.
Furthermore, his status as a Special-Grade Cursed Being allowed his body to adapt, enabling him to utilize a three-poled system. Even back when he existed solely as a curse, the recovery of his core had granted him this same psychic power.
Thus, he became the second individual—following the Duchy of Reinhardt—to wield a four-poled system. Yet, instead of possessing a "primordial sea" of energy, he held a "cursed core"—a reflection of his nature as a half-Special-Grade Cursed Being, or, in the context of this current world, a "Ruler of Curses."
Despite this evolution, he felt no cause for celebration. His emotions were in turmoil, clouded by disjointed thoughts—though this, in no way, diminished his combat prowess.
Yet, a profound void within him stifled any capacity for happiness; it was a suffocating, unsettling sensation.
[How are you, Seok? What's wrong? Why are you overthinking things?]
Shock washed over Seok's face. He scanned his surroundings, but there was no one to be seen. A full minute passed as he tried to make sense of what was happening, before he wiped his face and let out a weary sigh.
"Overthinking has made me start hallucinating. I need to get some rest."
[Seoooook! What's wrong with you? Have you forgotten me so quickly, you ungrateful wretch?!]
A calm, beautiful voice echoed within Seok's mind, stirring a strange sense of familiarity.
A flicker of shock crossed his face as he stared at his hand, where a peculiar circular tattoo had appeared.
This mark was not merely a sign linked to the curse; it was tied to a ritual.
The tattoos that remained on Seok's body—even hours after he had regained his core—were remnants of the demonic rituals he had once performed in his past life to bolster his own power.
Over the course of twelve long years, thousands of human beings had perished at his hands, before he was finally executed—only to transform into a curse that would terrorize the world for two thousand years.
"You... Suyi? So, you've finally awakened."
Seok spoke with a hint of joy; her awakening signaled the return of one of his core abilities: the power to manipulate matter, space, and energy with full, potent efficacy.
This ability had once allowed him to compress human beings into spheres and detonate them. His mastery over space granted him total awareness of everything occurring within the dome, as well as the freedom to move through it at will, while his control over energy enabled him to discharge and command it as he pleased.
[I am even stronger now than I was in your past life, Seok—though you remain just as gloomy and prone to overthinking as ever.] Suyi spoke with a childlike, mocking tone inside Seok's mind.
Seok remained silent after hearing her words, prompting Suyi to speak again, this time in a calm, measured tone.
[Mr. Seok, listen to me carefully. Life is like a small stream—no matter how long it flourishes, it is destined to eventually dry up.]
[You must always keep moving forward. I know you are confused, but your life still lies ahead of you. You will come to know everything you wish to learn, yet, at the same time, life is fleeting. Two thousand years have passed for me in the blink of an eye;"You were an ordinary human, then you became a curse, and now you are a hybrid—part human, part curse."
Seok sighed deeply as he listened to Soyi, a faint smile appearing on his face as he gazed up at the stars adorning the sky like a jeweled tapestry.
He spoke with a sense of ease:
"You're right, Soyi. For a foolish spirit, it seems that being held captive for fifteen years has actually made you more sensible."
Sensing Soyi's irritation and annoyance, Seok let out a soft laugh, and the two continued their conversation.
After all, Soyi was a spirit who had been six years old—and since curses do not age, her true chronological age was two thousand and forty-eight years.
"Soyi, I've truly missed you."
Seok's words, filled with warmth and longing, left Soyi feeling flustered.
"Of course you'd miss me! Master Seok ought to kneel before his mistress, Soyi, to show his proper respect!"
Her voice carried a mix of arrogance, haughtiness, and a childlike sense of embarrassment.
Seok ignored her remark, which only fueled her anger—though she remained silent, focusing instead on regaining her strength.
This was essential, as it would allow Seok to wield his power permanently, rather than being limited to the brief, fleeting bursts he had been accustomed to. ---
A few hours ago, Yorichi was in an obscure training ground, swinging his sword incessantly as sweat poured from his body.
The sound of his blade striking the training dummy echoed throughout the entire area.
"I must become stronger than I am now. I've been nothing but dead weight, waiting for others to save me—instead of leading the charge and standing at the forefront, where my soldiers could look to me with confidence."
"I just stood by and watched others fight, like a complete fool! Geri nearly died, surviving only thanks to his genetic strength. Beatrice had an antidote, and as for Armin—well, he might have remained trapped in his egg forever had he not hatched."
"Thanks to their terrifying capacity for evolution and adaptation, Jian Yi and Tom led us to victory. Yuta and Jia—the two strongest students at Versalkin Academy—boosted our morale simply by being there. And Seok—an 'ordinary' student—was the very reason we won in the first place."
"And what of me—Yorichi de Moliar, heir to the illustrious House of de Moliar? What did I contribute? Nothing, save for using my family name to negotiate with Seok. It wasn't 'Yorichi' who negotiated; it was the House of de Moliar."
"It's infuriating! I must become stronger. Being an heir comes with so many drawbacks—especially when your family serves as one of the pillars of the Human Empire." "The world is always waiting, with bated breath, for you to fall—just so it can tear a piece away from you."
Yorichi muttered this to himself, his voice laced with bitterness and intense frustration, all the while swinging his sword incessantly.
His aura grew stronger with every passing second, until he delivered a strike against the training dummy—a blow so fluid that he didn't even feel the weight of the sword in his hand.
The strike did more than just cleave the dummy in two; it tore through the training grounds and carved a path deep into the surrounding forest.
Exhausted and completely drained of energy, Yorichi collapsed to the ground, losing consciousness.
---
In the darkness, Yorichi lay unconscious, drifting through a void where nothing existed.
A golden glow began to emanate from his body, lingering for a few seconds before fading away.
"What is happening?"
Yorichi asked, his voice filled with bewilderment. He struggled to open his eyes; a sharp, piercing headache made the effort nearly impossible.
Several minutes passed before he finally managed to open them.
He gazed around, attempting to assess his situation. His body felt lethargic—he was unable to tap into any of his abilities or strength.
He was left with no means of defense, yet he strove to keep his expression composed—or, at the very least, to feign a sense of calm.
*So, I must face whatever comes my way—even if I lack the power to resist it.*
*Perhaps I can negotiate. I only hope this place is free of hostility, and that I might resolve matters peacefully, in a way that proves mutually beneficial.* That's not necessarily a bad option... or, at least, I wish this place were truly that.
Amidst the darkness, a man—appearing to be in his thirties—gazed calmly at Yorichi as he approached.
Yorichi took a deep breath, looking at the man, and muttered to himself—the kind of words any grown man might utter when finding himself in such a predicament:
"I love you, Mother. Sometimes, I wish you were by my side. Life is rather repulsive, and dying in one's own bed is, at times, the wisest choice of all."
Yorichi slapped himself across the face, drawing blood from his nose.
"Focus! Now is not the time to whine or feel the urge to cry... though, gods, I want to cry so badly!"
The man watched Yorichi's internal struggle for several minutes before bursting into such loud, boisterous laughter that the entire space trembled.
"Hahahahaha! You're still just as eccentric, even after all these years! Hahahaha!"
Yorichi stared back, bewildered.
*My name isn't... whatever he might call me—it's Yorichi de Molière!*
The thought raced through his mind, but he dared not voice it aloud.
The man's power was utterly terrifying; Yorichi felt certain that even the mere thought of provoking him would inevitably lead to his own death.
"Who are you? I don't know you..."
Yorichi's expression shifted abruptly as he studied the man.
"Wait—I've seen you in my dreams! With Grey and Lucy. You have a strange name... Amokran, right?" "You were our companion in those dreams!"
Amokran looked at Yorichi with a hint of surprise, before a faint smile appeared on his face.
"I am not him. I am merely a fragment of him, forged from your shattered memories of Amokran. He died long ago—he no longer exists, in the end. We all perished, didn't we, my friend?"
A look of sadness crossed Yorichi's features. He turned his gaze back to this version of Amokran, studying every detail.
"Then how do you exist at all? And how were you created from my memories, when they ought to be so hazy?"
Amokran rested his hands on his chin, feigning deep thought, then turned his eyes toward Yorichi, who was watching him with suspicion.
"The reason is you. You have been pushing yourself to the absolute limit, in a desperate attempt to discover who you truly are."
"There is a saying in our world: spring always follows winter, summer follows spring, autumn follows summer, and winter follows autumn. In the same way, power follows merit. He who does not know himself is not worthy of aspiring to absolute power."
"You must be in harmony with yourself, rather than pressuring your own being by fixating on the achievements of others while forgetting what you have accomplished yourself."
Amokran spoke calmly, his gaze drifting into the void around him.
He continued without giving Yoricchi—who had remained silent the entire time—a chance to respond.
"In the first era—the 'Pre-Beginning'—I was just like you; I constantly compared myself to others. I paid for that with my very existence. Envy and greed are capable of bringing down even the most powerful of entities."
"Did you grasp any of what I just said? ... It seems you did. Good."
A faint smile appeared on Yoricchi's face as he looked toward Amokran, then said in a calm tone:
"You are right. In this world, one needs three things to survive: strength, knowledge, and wisdom—along with self-knowledge."
"It is much like a journey to seek and understand one's lost self, through questioning and engaging in discourse with others. Everyone must come to understand who they truly are."
"A person's nature determines their destiny. One who is calm, patient, and possesses leadership qualities may become a king or a figure of great authority; conversely, one who is arrogant, impatient, and lacks the spirit of a leader may well end up as a subordinate to others." "Thank you, Amokran. I've come to realize something about myself after hearing just a few words from you."
Yorichi's body began to fade away as he spoke in a calm tone, gazing toward Amokran—who was, in turn, vanishing into the distant horizon.
"Take care of yourself, Yorichi. Come to know your own self truly, so that you may attain the strength you seek."