Today, Wednesday, June 10, 675, marks the final day of the Versalkin Academy Festival—a celebration commemorating the millennium since the defeat of the Demon Realm. It honors the victory of the Human Realm over the Demon Realm, a conflict in which both the Demon King and the human hero perished.
The past six days have been a complex tapestry of beauty, strangeness, and sorrow, filled with a whirlwind of events—from welcoming guests and strolling with friends to confronting long-held, flawed beliefs, all driven by motives of vengeance and personal growth.
There were reunions with loved ones and friends, moments spent reflecting on the past, the acquisition of new abilities, and encounters with those held dear.
These six days passed both swiftly and sluggishly; they were at once beautiful and ugly, joyful and sorrowful.
Each person experienced them through their own unique lens—from commoners to nobles, all wandering the same grounds and sharing the same spaces. For some, joy was snatched away, while for others, it remained etched in memory; yet, the rigid lines of social class were never forgotten.
Nevertheless, everyone agreed on one thing: the most beautiful part of any experience is its conclusion. This final day promised to be beautiful—or perhaps, simply ordinary.
Meanwhile, Yuta Caseral wandered the grounds accompanied by Afrius, the ruler of the Dragon Realm. Their calm, composed gazes masked a profound lack of trust, each harboring a desire to exploit the other to further their own personal agendas and interests.
"So, Yutaros—will you bring me the head of the person who took the genes of the first Dragon Ruler?" Afrius's tone remained calm as he glanced around; after all, no one else could hear their conversation, thanks to Yuta's ability to spatially isolate them from those nearby.
Yuta remained silent for several seconds, as if deep in thought, before speaking in a quiet, measured tone:
"Do you possess the blessing of a mysterious entity—much like the ones held by the great powers within the human faction, such as Thali de Molière Mactaire?"
Afrius paused for a few moments, trying to discern the intent behind Yuta's question, then looked toward him with a calm expression:
"Yes. We possess a 'wing' that has been passed down through the Imperial Family of the Dragon Realm ever since the era of the first Dragon Ruler."
Yuta's eyes narrowed as he listened, though he offered no comment on Afrius's revelation, continuing instead in a casual manner:
"Do the Demon Realm, the Upper Realm, and the Lower Realm possess something similar? I'm quite curious—I've never heard of anything like this."
Afrius could not fathom Yuta's true motive for these questions. While he sensed no malice or ill intent, he was certain there was an underlying reason for the inquiry. Nevertheless, he saw no harm in answering, knowing that Yuta would likely find out eventually regardless.
"Yes, you are correct. The Demon Realm, the Upper Realm, and the Lower Realm each possess the blessing of an entity—bestowed upon their respective founders. That said, I am curious: why do you ask?" A look of astonishment spread across Yuta's features as he listened to his words.
"I'm not sure which side I should even stand on. After all, I'm not just a dragon—I'm also an angel and a demon. Have you forgotten that?"
Afrius's expression shifted to shock as he listened to Yuta's bold and candid admission of his betrayal—joining an opposing faction. Is this guy insane? How could he speak with such confidence!
That was what ran through Afrius's mind as he gazed at Yuta, who appeared remarkably calm. Yet, his suspicions regarding the youth only deepened.
Speaking with a grave tone, Afrius unleashed an overwhelming aura—a surge of power that lasted only a few seconds before vanishing. Yuta perceived this as an attempt by a full-blooded dragon to force a hybrid into submission.
"Do you even know why you were made a member of the Imperial Dragon Family, Yutaros?"
A wicked smile spread across Yuta's face. His hair shifted from pale white to a deep, crimson red, his eyes took on the same hue, and two horns—each twenty-three centimeters long—sprouted from his head, curving backward.
"You want to monopolize the 'Legendary Hero' of the Dragon Realm, don't you? After all, you possess one of the four prophetic texts—the ones that speak of a single hero destined to unite the four realms: the humans, the dragons, the demons, and the celestials. Am I right?" "Nevertheless, there are a few things I wish to clarify for you. I do not follow anyone, nor do I follow any prophecy. I do what I deem beneficial to myself—much like you are doing now, by attempting to claim me for your own world; a pursuit that holds no benefit for me. Do you understand, Afrios, Ruler of the Dragons?"
Yuta's form began to shift: his horns turned to crystal, his hair deepened into an abyssal black, and dark, vein-like markings emerged across his face as he fixed his gaze upon the Dragon King.
"You know nothing about me, Afrios. I could erase this entire story—*The Dragon Angel in a World of Fantasy*—whenever I pleased. It is but a single grain of sand in an endless sea of fantasy worlds; whether it continues to exist or not is of no consequence to me. Is that clear?"
Afrios did not utter a word. Yuta's presence, far more overwhelming than his own, forced him into submission—for the law of the dragons was simple: the strong shall rule, and the weak shall be ruled.
Yet, the mention of his world's name left a jarring, high-pitched ringing in his ears.
Deciding to shift the subject—for Yuta was not only stronger but possessed blood of a far purer, more ancient lineage—Afrios chose to pivot. He sensed something peculiar about the youth; there was an unusual, unfamiliar scent to him—something that did not align with the genetic makeup of an ordinary hybrid.
"Shall we go get something to eat? You look quite exhausted, my adoptive father, Afrios—don't you think?" Yuta's quiet words—tinged with concern—were enough to snap him out of his daze. He cast an annoyed glance toward Yuta, then let out a sigh, attempting to steady himself.
"Fine, let's go. How about the 'Ain al-Sultan' restaurant? It'll be a good place to grab a bite and unwind for the rest of the day."
Afrius spoke in a calm tone, his gaze fixed on the Ain al-Sultan restaurant just a few paces away. Without another word, he headed straight toward it.
Elsewhere, Hinataku's eyes were fixed on Seok, who remained unconscious—the result of breaking through several ranks in a single day. Had it not been for the unique laws of his world, his nature as a half-curse, and the trauma he endured—coupled with a "gluttony" path designed for constant evolution—he would have been dead long ago.
She gently stroked his hair, a beautiful smile gracing her face as she said, "Oh, my dear Seok, you've become so handsome—far better than in your previous life as a curse."
She then rested his head against her chest, inhaling his scent—a fragrance so lovely that it made her forget she was fifteen years old, rather than two thousand.
Seok climbed into bed, a faint smile on his lips and a light blush of shyness coloring his face. She embraced him, resting her head against his chest, and drifted off to sleep. In a voice filled with longing—tears streaming from her eyes—she whispered:
"I love you, you fool—do you understand? Even if we die a million times over, you will be my husband and my beloved in every single one of them. That's an order, not a request."
Three hours and thirty minutes later, Seok opened his eyes—waking up hours past his intended time. He had been in a deep slumber for four days, though, as the King of Curses, he managed to wake sooner than an ordinary curse ever could.
His eyes snapped shut instantly as electrical surges struck his head, sending searing pain through his entire body.
He muttered, annoyed, to himself:
"What in the name of the Creator of Hell is going on?" "Why does my head hurt like this?"
Several minutes passed before he could open his eyes and begin to sense his surroundings.
His expression shifted to one of surprise as he felt a warmth spreading across his chest and throughout his entire body; Hinatako was fast asleep, clinging to him with great intensity.
He sat up, which stirred her awake. She found him looking at her with clear annoyance—though she couldn't have cared less.
She puffed out her chest, feigning an air of haughty superiority, her gaze demanding that he grant her wishes. To him, however, she looked nothing more than an adorable, tiny child.
"Listen well, Seok—take my words to heart. I am your wife, whether you like it or not. Among curses, marriage is eternal; our souls are bound forever. Even if we die, we remain a married couple—after all, curses eventually return, even if it takes as long as fifty years."
Seok said nothing to refute her; what she claimed was the truth. The heart-shaped mark she had placed upon his own heart remained, just as the bite mark still lingered on her shoulder.
He fell back onto the bed, visibly irritated. She watched him with a smug, arrogant smile, yet Seok's expression remained entirely unchanged as he settled back down to sleep.
Then, with excessive enthusiasm, she placed her hand upon his chest—right over his heart—and said:
"How about we renew our marriage vows while..."
Seok turned toward her, his face flushing red, and flicked her on the forehead. "We're still minors, you idiot!" "And the 'cursed marriage' rituals are not available at this time."
Hinatako wiped her forehead, looking puzzled for a few seconds, before approaching him once again. Highly annoyed, Seok shoved her right off the bed, shouting angrily:
"Get away, you damn fool!"
Hinatako hit the floor with a heavy thud. She scrambled back up, fuming, and glared at him:
"Lord Seok, how dare you do that?!"
She was absolutely furious.
Yet, she climbed back onto the bed, staring at him with intense annoyance and clear murderous intent. She sat beside him, frozen in place—a reaction that left Seok bewildered.
He leaned in and kissed her cheek; a smile spread across his face, while a faint blush appeared on hers.
He immediately left the room, only to realize that his clothes had been changed. He looked toward Hinatako—who had already vanished—feeling deeply irritated.
"That damn woman... what a wretch!"
Some time passed. At 8:56 PM, in the courtyard of the Versalkin Academy—a beautiful yet ominous place teeming with terrifying figures—Julius, the ruler of the Upper Realm, stood observing the surroundings, while everyone else kept their eyes on him. The same was true for Afrios, the ruler of the Dragons.
Meanwhile, Noriana, Empress of the Angels, and Veronia, Empress of the Elves, were walking alongside Yuta. They considered him one of their most trusted allies, largely because he was the wielder of the Sword of Kamish—a blade that could only be carried by a true hero. ...their legends. However, Daniel was not the hero of the legend, and that is why he did not obtain it.
"Lord Yuta Caseral, Verselkin Academy is truly beautiful." "The six days flew by at the speed of light; and yet, I must say one thing: in the end, they were truly wonderful days."
Noriana spoke with overwhelming joy, her gaze sweeping across her surroundings.
The atmosphere was charged with happiness and delight, amidst lanterns and fireworks that erupted in the sky every few seconds.
A loud voice boomed from speakers all across the Versalkin Academy plaza, drawing everyone's attention toward Reinhardt, who stood upon a podium overlooking the entire square.
As the son of the hero Daniel de Moliar—the man who defeated the Demon King—he had been granted the honor of delivering a speech on the final day of the festival.
[People of all races and origins—humans, orcs, dragons, Celestials, angels, elves, dwarves, and barbarians—gathered here on this joyous and happy day, where all our hearts are drawn together in unity.]
[A thousand years have passed since the first battle against the Demon Realm, initiated by my father's ancestor, Luther de Moliar. That legacy was carried forward by my grandfather and my father, Daniel de Moliar, who ultimately slew the Demon King—granting us the freedom we live in today.]
[Yet, we must remember our brethren—the angels, elves, orcs, barbarians, and dwarves—who stood by our side, just as we stood by theirs, to secure our liberation from the tyranny of the Demon Realm. A thousand years of ceaseless struggle, all so that we might live in peace.]
Everyone—with the exception of Yuta Caseral, a few figures from the human faction, and Julius and Afrius—was deeply moved by Reinhardt's words; so much so that the Empress... Nuriana the angel wept, deeply moved. Though highly intelligent, she was also quick to be touched and prone to tears.
Reinhardt, meanwhile, maintained an outwardly indifferent expression, while inwardly smiling with satisfaction at everyone's reaction. He then continued:
"Soldiers of various races—humans, angels, elves, orcs, and barbarians—the battle has ended, and our common enemy is gone. We have fought side by side for two hundred long years."
[After this battle, the choice remains yours: either mutual peace—with each of us living apart from the other—or a return to your former folly, fighting without purpose, solely to prove who deserves to rule the world we inhabit.]
[The decision is yours. I, Argon of the Barbarian race, swear by Flahara, the God of War, that I hold all my comrades—those who fought alongside me for the past two hundred years—in the highest regard; I expect the same from you.]
[Do you recall these words, spoken a thousand years ago by Argon, the symbol of peace? We still stand by them, and we shall continue to do so. To abandon them is to dishonor the heroes: Daniel, champion of the Humans; Argon, champion of the Barbarians; Ektarville, champion of the Orcs; Yusail, champion of the Angels; Starfall, champion of the Dwarves; and Noriana, champion of the Elves.]
Absolute silence descended upon the entire arena of the Verselkin Academy as the audience listened to Reinhardt—whose words were, in fact, the very speech delivered by Argon, the Barbarian hero, just before he and the other heroes vanished in the wake of the war.
The mention of these heroes' names stirred a sense of shame within the listeners; their own desires for territorial expansion at the expense of other empires stood as an affront to the legacy and pride of those legendary figures.
Yet, their admiration for Reinhardt only deepened. He possessed a formidable intellect and terrifying diplomatic acumen—wielding control over the entire Kingdom of Athrias (having replaced William, son of Akater) and several other realms from the shadows—making him the most dangerous adversary one could ever face. Nevertheless, Reinhardt never cared for their words; to him, power and status were everything, and his actions were merely a means to attain them—praise for the means itself struck him as utterly trivial.
Continuing in the same tone, he went on:
[The six-day celebration marking a millennium since the defeat of the Demon Realm has reached its end—a pity, indeed. Today is the final day: Wednesday, June 10th, 675.]
[I wish you all a wonderful celebration, and I hope you have enjoyed the festivities. Let us conclude this festival by unveiling a statue of the heroes who shielded us from the forces of evil.]
The crowd turned their gaze toward the source of a brilliant light, revealing a statue draped in a red cloth—adorned with the likenesses of the heroes. The organizers were left stunned; they had not arranged this.
Suddenly, the cloth transformed into a cascade of pale yellow flowers, filling the air with a delightful fragrance—a sight that even caught Reinhardt off guard.
Yuta offered a faint smile, his inner thoughts laced with a touch of irony:
"Kingston, you always have a way of making things so... eccentric."
Elsewhere, the crowd erupted into enthusiastic applause—not only for the clever way the heroes' faces had been spared from hitting the ground, but for the sheer beauty of the statue, which immortalized their names within the greatest academy in human history.
As the final day of the millennium-commemoration festivities unfolded, the revelry reached a fever pitch. In the white void, Kingston, the Venerable of the Final Smile, stood gazing into the nothingness—a faint smile upon his face as he waved cheerfully.
"Twenty-one chapters and a day have passed since these events began. We have reached the end; I wish you a year filled with happiness. I am Kingston, the Venerable of the Final Smile—wishing you a beautiful year ahead."
The white void began to shrink, drawing itself into the palm of Kingston's hand, where it transformed into a black void before vanishing entirely.