"Do you know about the Empire of Void?" Luna asked, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her galaxy-like eyes gleamed with an edge of intensity, as though the question carried the weight of something far greater.
I nodded. The Empire of Void had been mentioned in the novel, though only in passing. A fragment of lore, a shadow that lingered on the edges of the narrative.
"What do you know?" she pressed, her tone firm but measured.
I met her gaze, steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind. "As Art may have told you," I began, "I have memories of the future. They might be unreliable now—altered by my actions—but one thing I do know is this: in that future, Lucifer Windward faced the Paladin of Void."
The air in the room seemed to still. Luna's expression faltered, her arms loosening slightly. "The Paladin of Void is alive?" she murmured, her voice tinged with something rare—shock.
"Not alive," I said, shaking my head. "At least, not at first. The Tower of Alchemy brought him back."
Her brows furrowed, her confusion giving way to something deeper, darker. "Brought him back? Why?"
I hesitated for a moment, considering how much to say. "For power. He survived," I finally replied, "even after the Tower was destroyed. Lucifer and Archmage Charlotte brought it down, but it wasn't enough. He endured."
The name hung in the air like an unsheathed blade—the Paladin of Void.
A tragic figure, if the word "tragic" could encompass the horror and sorrow that surrounded him. He was no ordinary villain. His power was the stuff of nightmares: cursed, twisted, and utterly antithetical to life itself. The very fabric of reality seemed to warp around him, his mere presence a wound in the world.
The Empire of Void was an enigma—a shadow in history erased so thoroughly that its name had vanished from memory. It existed long before the rise of the Slatemark Empire, but the latter destroyed it so completely that even its remnants were swept from the annals of history.
It became known as the Empire of Void, not because of what it was, but because of what it had been reduced to—a vacuum, a nothingness. Yet, its legacy endured in whispers, in curses, and in the chilling remnants of its imperial family's power.
There was another reason for its name, one far more sinister.
The cursed Gift of the Empire's imperial bloodline.
Just thinking about it made me bite my lip in disgust.
Every child of the imperial family was born to a different mother, a strange edict that served a singular, horrifying purpose. At the age of seventeen, any child who achieved White-rank was compelled to kill the mother who had loved them most, who had nurtured and cherished them. They would then inscribe her soul into their very body, binding her essence to their being.
The process was monstrous—a method of power that stole the souls of those who loved you, turning that love into a weapon and source of strength.
This abomination was possible only because of the family's Gift, Eclipsing Soul, a cursed power so vile it defied comprehension.
Eclipsing Soul was compounding in nature. The more souls one bound to their own, the greater their strength became. It was a pyramid of pain, each new sacrifice adding to the wielder's power in ways that made them near unstoppable.
And then, there was the Paladin of Void.
After the fall of the Empire, the surviving members of the imperial family were not granted the mercy of death. Instead, they became prisoners, subjects of grotesque experiments conducted by a high noble of the Slatemark Empire.
For centuries, these nobles sought to unravel the secrets of Eclipsing Soul, twisting it, corrupting it further. In their greed, they sought to create the ultimate weapon—a being who could harness the fullest, most horrifying potential of the imperial bloodline.
They succeeded.
The Paladin of Void was their crowning achievement, a monster born with the most potent version of Eclipsing Soul his family carried. But they did not stop there. To perfect him, they forced him to kill three people precious to him, binding their souls to his own in a ritual that amplified his already overwhelming power.
He was their creation. Their triumph. Their undoing.
The Paladin of Void did not remain a puppet for long. Freed from his chains, he turned on his captors, wiping out the high noble and his entire house in a single night of vengeance. His power was so great that even the Slatemark Empire, at the height of its might, could not contain him.
Yet, even he was not invincible. The Paladin of Void was ultimately defeated and killed during the reign of Julius Slatemark, the first Radiant-ranker of humanity. His death should have been the end of the story.
But it wasn't.
The Tower of Alchemy, in its hubris, sought to bring him back. To breathe life into the deadliest creation humanity had ever known, for reasons I could scarcely fathom.
And they would succeed. I knew this from the fragments of memory I carried from the future. The Paladin of Void would return, an unrelenting force of destruction. Even after the Tower fell, even after its creators were gone, he would endure—a living, breathing curse upon the world.
His story was not one of redemption, nor even of tragic heroism. It was a tale of horror, a reminder of the price of unchecked ambition and the depth of human cruelty.
And he was coming back.
The thought sent a chill down my spine. The Tower of Alchemy wasn't just playing with fire—they were attempting to resurrect an inferno.
I didn't know how or when I'd face him, but one thing was certain.
The Paladin of Void would have to be stopped. No matter the cost.
If I could stop the Paladin of Void while handling the Tower of Alchemy, it would be ideal. Striking before he regained his full strength would save the world no small amount of trouble. But if Archmage Charlotte, with all her power and resources, hadn't even been able to find him when she destroyed the Tower, my chances seemed slim.
I sighed, leaning back against the headboard. "Why mention this now?" I asked Luna, my tone measured but tinged with curiosity.
"Art told me to tell you to be careful of the Empire of Void," she replied simply, her eyes steady.
I grumbled internally. 'Why didn't he tell me himself?' Art, the original owner of this body, seemed to delight in being as cryptic as possible. He carried an air of superiority, as if every mystery unraveled would simply reveal more questions. Annoying, really.
Still, his warnings couldn't be ignored. He had faced me only once since training me for a year. That meeting had left me with more questions than answers—most notably, why me? Why had he chosen me for this second chance?
And, of course, there was the whole mess with Alyssara Velcroix. That particular chapter in my life had been exhausting. Her descent into obsessive madness over me had created its own unique brand of chaos. I could practically feel the headache returning just thinking about it.
Luna tilted her head, observing me with something between amusement and pity. "He has his reasons, you know."
"For being cryptic? Or for dumping all this on me without proper explanations?" I muttered.
She smirked, an expression that looked oddly mischievous on her ethereal features. "Both, probably. You'll figure it out eventually."
"Great. That's reassuring," I said dryly, pinching the bridge of my nose. The Paladin of Void, Art's mysteries, and Alyssara's… unique enthusiasm for making my life difficult—it all felt like a perfect storm of problems waiting to explode.
But storms were inevitable. And no matter how dark the skies grew, you didn't stop sailing. You just adjusted the sails.
"Fine," I said at last, sitting upright. "If Art wants me to tread carefully, I'll tread carefully. But the next time he decides to 'pass along a message,' tell him I'd prefer it delivered directly."
Luna chuckled, the sound soft but laced with something knowing. "I'll let him know. Though I wouldn't hold my breath."
Somehow, that didn't surprise me.