"Michelle, once this is over, let's leave here and head to Frieden."
The deep sisterly bond didn't last long, and soon, they were back on the move.
However, the atmosphere within the group had shifted completely. Michelle and Annie now spoke frequently, like real sisters, with none of the earlier tension or restraint.
"Sure, I've been wanting to leave this place too," Michelle answered gently.
Of course, this newfound ease didn't extend to Zane.
His treatment remained unchanged—his hands still bound tightly with ropes, his legs trembling from exhaustion, and his voice had no place in their conversations. The moment he opened his mouth, Annie, with her sweet smile, would likely turn and lash him with the whip.
What saddened him the most was the realization that he seemed to have no one to talk to except the system.
"Try my homemade caramelized fried noodles."
"This noodle's so sweet, it's making my teeth ache…"
Zane interrupted it. "Have you thought of a way to escape?"
The system immediately fell silent.
Zane knew better than to rely on this unreliable system. He only asked it to shut it up.
He muttered to himself, "We need to come up with a way to lure the pursuers here without Michelle realizing. That way, when they arrive, she won't have time to kill me…"
The system interjected, "The success rate is too low. You'd be better off trying to seduce Michelle. At least the success rate would be twenty-five percent."
"…"
Zane seriously considered the system's suggestion for a moment before responding, "Go to hell."
The trio continued on their way. Zane, pretending to be half-dead, followed behind Michelle, letting Annie believe he was too weak to be a threat. Meanwhile, his mind was as clear as ever, carefully plotting his escape.
Suddenly, he looked up at Michelle, and an idea flashed in his mind.
"Alright, let's do it this way. There's no other option."
Annie was pushing him forward, and he continued to limp obediently. However, before long, he suddenly faltered, pretending to lose strength, and collapsed onto the ground.
He closed his eyes, lying perfectly still.
Michelle stopped and turned around. Annie approached to examine Zane for a moment before shaking her head.
"He passed out."
Michelle didn't say anything, looking down as if deep in thought. Zane couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"These nobles are completely useless."
Annie, somewhat irritated, gave Zane a hard kick.
Zane bit down on the pain, keeping himself still.
At the same time, his hand, hidden beneath his stomach, quietly wrote a word in the dirt—treasury.
This was Zane's plan: feign unconsciousness, leave marks here, and let the pursuers figure out Michelle's destination. That way, his family could lie in wait at the treasury's location and ambush them.
Because his actions were discreet enough, neither Annie nor Michelle noticed anything amiss.
"Do you really think this will work? Even if the marks are discovered and the pursuers catch up, Michelle would still have plenty of time to silence you."
The system's voice resonated in his mind.
"It's better than doing nothing," Zane replied silently.
Besides, if the pursuers managed to set up a proper ambush and catch Michelle off guard, his chances of survival would increase significantly. The system's pessimism seemed unwarranted. Judging by Michelle's cautious demeanor, this Riser family had to be competent—hardly as useless as the system implied.
With that reasoning, Zane held onto considerable hope for his idea.
As Zane drew marks on the ground, a strange sound drifted through the air—words he had never heard before and couldn't understand.
It was Annie. She was reciting something, but her voice was completely different from usual. Those deep, mysterious words echoed through the forest as if imbued with magic. Zane felt a strange haze enveloping his mind.
A shiver ran through his soul.
Before he could process what was happening, a sudden burst of water appeared out of thin air, drenching him from head to toe. The cold, jarring impact shattered his ruse.
His body trembled, and he "woke up."
"What a hassle, wasting my magic like that," Annie said, her voice back to normal.
But Zane was still reeling from the shock.
What was that? A spell? Magic?
Though Zane had learned from earlier conversations that this world had such things—and that Michelle and Annie were mages—this was his first time witnessing it.
The moment the spell was cast, it felt as if the entire world flipped upside down.
Time froze. The trees and soil, once within reach, seemed distant and distorted. A strange mix of fear and euphoria surged from the depths of his soul, making everything around him feel… more…
More what?
Zane struggled to find the words.
"More fundamental," the system suddenly interjected.
Yes, more fundamental!
Zane's emotions stirred with excitement. In the moment the spell was cast, he felt as though he had connected with the very core of his being.
The sensation was as wondrous as his first time experiencing intimacy, yet deeper and more profound. It was like a blissful trance that transported him to another realm, intertwined with an endless, abyssal pain that both repelled and enticed.
His body trembled uncontrollably.
"This… is magic?" Zane couldn't help but voice his thoughts aloud.
He needed more.
Just as he was savoring the lingering effects of the spell, a voice broke through his reverie.
"Yes, magic."
To his surprise, Annie actually responded to his murmured question. Her gaze suddenly lifted, and a surge of bitterness flooded her voice:
"What's so special about it? You've never understood even a fraction of what magic truly is, yet you've buried it in a coffin underground. How could you possibly comprehend it?"
Zane snapped out of his thoughts, looking at Annie with confusion.
It seemed she had been struck by a nerve. Resentful words spilled out of her like a dam breaking:
"You're all just cowards. You fear anything and anyone who's different from you. Only when everyone is as mediocre and useless as you are can you feel satisfied. Yet, instead of shame, you dare to brand your ignorance as righteousness and label brilliance as evil. You use the so-called 'normal' as a passport for your incompetence!"
Annie's voice grew louder and more impassioned with each word.
"Annie, enough!" Michelle's sharp voice cut through her rant. "What's the point of telling him any of this?"
Annie froze mid-sentence, startled by the interruption. Realizing her outburst, she glanced uneasily at Michelle.
"Sorry, I let my emotions get the better of me," she murmured.
Michelle nodded, seemingly unbothered.
"We've wasted enough time already. Don't forget, we're still fugitives from the Church," Michelle said coldly, throwing a glance at Zane before urging, "Let's move."
Annie nodded and complied, turning to Zane and giving him a swift kick to the side. "Get up, you useless thing! Hurry and follow us!"
Zane didn't react with anger. In fact, he showed no response at all to Annie's tirade. He simply looked frail and submissive, quietly trailing behind Michelle.
No one could have guessed how ecstatic he felt inside.
"Again! Play it again!"
He shouted at the system in his mind.
Half an hour ago, he would never have imagined feeling this exhilarated by the monotone voice of a cold, mechanical system. Nor would he have believed that he'd be begging it to talk more, not less.
The perpetually talkative system now seemed strangely shy, hesitating for a long moment before finally responding, almost bashfully.
It uttered a single sentence, not a word of which Zane could comprehend.
But that didn't matter. Because that sentence? It was the incantation Annie had used for her water magic spell.
The system had perfectly simulated it, word for word.
In other words, he could replay the incantation as many times as he wanted!
When the system played it back, the incantation sounded like the ramblings of a madman—devoid of the mystery and power it carried when Annie first cast it. But Zane didn't care. He understood one crucial thing: the words only needed something more to unlock their true potential and unleash incredible power.
And he was determined to find that something.
From the moment he first heard the spell, Zane had made up his mind—he would become a mage.
It wasn't just about gaining power, nor was it about achieving fame or greatness.
Ever since his arrival in this world, he had been pondering one question: why had he been brought here? What was the purpose of his journey? Perhaps it was all a coincidence, but coincidence often hinted at inevitability.
Now, he thought he'd found his answer.
Magic had been calling to him.
He had escaped the mundane and trivial life he once knew, crossing untold distances through time and space to reach this place—not to remain a cog in the endless machinery of a society factory, but to rise above it. He refused to be just another ordinary person.
The butterfly had flapped its wings, and with that came an obligation—to make this world irrevocably different because of his existence.
For now, his only focus was the incantation.
"You can repeat this phrase all day long. I'll never ask you to stop again," Zane said to the system, brimming with excitement.
"…Sir, I suspect you may have developed Stockholm syndrome," the system replied, its cold, mechanical voice somehow laced with a hint of unbearable.
As Zane immersed himself in dissecting and memorizing the spell, the world continued to turn.
On the other side of the horizon.
The inner city of Havenwright slumbered under the night's embrace, its streets tranquil and dignified.
In the heart of the city stood St. Peter's Grand Cathedral.
Hurried footsteps echoed off the white marble columns, halting in the cathedral's silent hallway. Though the grand hall lay empty in the dead of night, it carried an eerie weight, as though packed with invisible worshippers.
"Your Grace, it is stirring again!"
A young priest stopped short, his voice tinged with panic.
"It has been decades. Every year, it causes some disturbance. There's no need for alarm," the bishop replied nonchalantly.
The bishop stood at the pulpit, his back to the great doors, head lowered as he leafed through a tome on the altar. His crimson robes were immaculately pressed. Around him, black chairs and ivory walls were arranged in perfect symmetry, framing the deep red at the center with austere precision—a tableau of striking contrast.
Moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, illuminating intricate patterns with soft, silvery lines.
"Your Grace, this time it's different!" the priest insisted, unable to steady himself. "It's not just it—even the relics are reacting. And we've received a divine revelation!"
Beads of sweat glistened on his brow.
The bishop finally turned. His aquiline nose cast a sharp shadow, and piercing eyes emerged from the depths of his sockets.
"Has the revelation been translated?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
The young priest nodded, though his terror shone clearly in his trembling gaze. "The translation is complete."
The bishop's tone remained flat. "Speak. What does it say?"
The priest swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to steady himself. Opening his mouth, he struggled for composure, but the words that escaped were hoarse, rasping, like a heretic dragged through the purifying sands after days without water.
This is what he recited:
"God said: The bell of the seventh day has tolled its final chime."