Ian stared at the glowing system window in front of him, his expression cold at first, but with each flicker of the text, his composure frayed. One, two, three seconds passed before his patience snapped.
With a sharp movement, he flipped the wooden table in front of him, sending papers and a bowl of tea scattering across the ground.
[Quest 1: Become a student of Elysian Academy.]
For the love of—well, no, he couldn't even invoke that phrase. He was a god now, or at least partially recognized as one. Ian rubbed his temples, his frustration clear in his every movement.
He shifted his attention to a document that had been among the scattered mess. As he picked it up and scanned its contents, his sharp blue eyes widened ever so slightly.
[Invitation Letter: Elysian Academy]
"It is an honor to extend this invitation to such a brilliant mind. Sir Ian Lancaster, your research and contributions to the art of military strategy and monster hunting have already reached the pinnacle of our academic circles.
Your insights are unparalleled, and it is with great excitement that we invite you to join Elsian Academy as a student. Rest assured, any considerations regarding your age or health will be handled with utmost discretion. Furthermore, on behalf of the entire continent, we extend our deepest gratitude for your guardianship over the Forest of Darkness. Your valor is unmatched, but we believe your potential as a scholar could contribute even further.
We await your reply eagerly.
Sincerely,
Headmaster Emond Regalis"
Ian's brow furrowed as he reread the letter, flipping it over to ensure he wasn't imagining things. "Where in the world did this come from?" he muttered, his voice edged with disbelief.
This didn't make sense. In his past life, the Academy was an unattainable dream for him. He'd never attended, though his younger brother, Allen, had so. Ian had always been too busy—training, fighting, or dying, depending on the point in his fractured history.
But this letter... It mentioned research papers he hadn't even written yet. He couldn't deny the content—these theories and theses were his, born of years of experience—but they shouldn't exist here and now. It was as if someone had plucked pieces of his knowledge from the future and distributed them with his name already attached.
The sharp chime of another system notification broke through his thoughts.
[Failure Condition: Death of Allen Winterbell.]
Ian froze. His blood ran cold, and his breathing grew shallow. This was no simple inconvenience. This was a direct threat to his brother's life.
He exhaled sharply, trying to get a grip on himself. "Death of Allen…" he murmured, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
Ian walked out onto the patio, his eyes scanning the peaceful valley that stretched before him. A soft wind rustled the leaves, and the gentle sound of the nearby river offered silent comfort after Theoarize's disappearance.
He didn't want to leave this sanctuary. The world outside was cruel, filled with memories he wanted to bury. But Allen—his little brother—was still in the hands of their mad father, the Emperor.
"I don't want to leave this place," Ian said quietly as if confessing to the stars. "But Allen… Allen is out there. Alone. Vulnerable."
Memories of his brother flooded his mind. Allen, with his bright eyes and innocent smile, always tries to live up to their father's impossible expectations. Allen is blamed by the nobles for failing to inherit the monarch's aura.
And Allen, standing before him on that fateful day, his face twisted with despair.
Ian's fists clenched. He could still hear his brother's voice, trembling with pain and betrayal. "You were supposed to protect me, Ian." The accursed haunting nightmare he always gets until today, mocking and blaming him.
Allen… Ian hadn't seen him since the day he died in their past life.
[Then fix them now.]
The words flickered across the status window, as though mocking his indecision. Ian stared at the message for a long moment. Fix. It seemed so simple, yet the weight of those words crushed him.
He reached for the dagger at his side. Slowly, he cut away the long black hair that had grown wild over the years. The sharp blade made quick work of it, leaving his locks trimmed and neat.
Kneeling by the river, Ian gazed at his reflection in the water. His pale skin glowed faintly in the moonlight, and his sharp blue eyes stared back at him. His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.
"I've been running for far too long," he muttered to himself. "Let's fix everything."
The valley was quiet as Ian rose to his feet, his hair catching the moonlight like a halo. The once-reluctant god had made his decision. He would go to Elysian Academy—not because of the quest, but because Allen needed him.
*****
Ian stood at the edge of the Death Forest, its dark canopy shrouded in an eerie stillness. The wind carried whispers that felt like old friends urging him to stay. Maybe Theoarize was right. Her words echoed faintly in his mind: "Perhaps it's time you step into the world again."
It had been years since he had stepped beyond this cursed sanctuary, years since he had dared to face the world beyond. But now, his resolve outweighed his hesitation. With a deep breath, Ian took his first step out of the forest, each movement heavier than the last. Yet remembering the consequences of his failure scared him more.
The sight of the distant city on the horizon greeted him, its stone walls and lively gates unable to relieve the ache in his chest. Ian adjusted his cloak, pulling the hood low over his face.
Could he ever live a normal life? The thought gnawed at him, as bitter as the air he breathed. He dismissed it quickly. Normalcy wasn't for someone like him. Not with this face—a perfect mirror of the Emperor's, a cruel reminder of the man whom he loathed. But perhaps, if he lay low enough, he can find the answer he wants, and protect Allen.
The gates of Camera loomed closer, their sturdy frame a gateway to memories Ian wished he could forget. The line of travelers moved briskly as soldiers inspected identification. The cheerful banter of the guards seemed alien to him, almost mocking in its lightheartedness.
When Ian reached the front of the line, his heart pounded against his ribcage. The soldier, a man with a friendly demeanor, greeted him warmly.
"ID, sir?"
Ian handed over his forged document, keeping his expression calm despite the tremor in his hands. "Here," he said evenly.
The soldier studied the card, then smiled. "A fellow student? Well, it's going to be a long journey to Glemaria. Good luck to you!"
Ian nodded politely, offering no words in return as he walked past. His steps quickened as nausea clawed at him. This place was suffocating. Every corner of the city reminded him of the past—the screams of burning families, the blood-soaked streets, the orders he had given without hesitation.
The bustling streets, with their cheerful vendors and laughing children, overlapped with those haunting images. His stomach churned violently, and he ducked into an alley, barely making it to the shadows before retching his breakfast onto the cobblestones.
Leaning against the wall, Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his breath ragged. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "A God of Salvation who can't even save himself," he muttered, his voice laced with mockery.
As he composed himself, his sharp gaze caught a group of slum children watching him from a safe distance. One of them, a small boy with dirt-smudged cheeks, met his eyes cautiously.
Ian beckoned to him. "Come here."
The boy hesitated but eventually approached. Ian reached into his bag and pulled out a sandwich, handing it over without a word. The child snatched it and ran back to his group, but before disappearing entirely, they turned and bowed deeply in thanks.
Ian stared after them, the hollow ache in his chest deepening. Did he deserve their gratitude? Did he even have the right to accept it?
Shaking his head, Ian wandered through the city until he found a small, unassuming inn. The innkeeper was a middle-aged man with cold, calculating eyes that sent a chill down Ian's spine. He recognized that face instantly—Salvador Evantheim, one of the Three Great Kings of the Underworld.
Ian forced himself to remain calm as he approached the counter. "I need a room," he said, sliding twenty silver coins across the counter.
Salvador's sharp eyes studied him for a moment before handing over a key. As Ian turned to head upstairs, the man leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "Meet me out back."
Ian's heart tightened, but he nodded and followed the instructions. The moment he stepped into the alley behind the inn, an axe swung toward his neck. He dodged, his reflexes honed from years of battle, and stepped back, his hand instinctively hovering near the hilt of his sword.
"Who sent you?" Salvador demanded, his voice as cold as his gaze.
"No one," Ian replied.
"Young, skilled, and wandering alone? Assassin Guild raised a good seed, didn't they?" Salvador's tone dripped with suspicion.
"I'm not affiliated with anyone."
"Prove it."
Ian reached into his bag and produced the admission letter from the Academy, handing it to Salvador. The man's eyes scanned the document, his expression unreadable. "You recognize me," Salvador said, his tone edged with accusation.
Ian met his gaze, unflinching. "I do. Consider this advice: leave this city and move to another region like Fafalora. The hunting dogs of Aetherian are coming for Winterbell."
Without waiting for a reply, Ian turned and headed back inside. As he climbed the stairs to his room, Salvador's cold eyes lingered in his mind. But when Ian passed the man's family—a woman and a little girl bringing food to a table—the warmth in their smiles was so genuine it almost seemed to erase the tension.
Alone in his room, Ian collapsed onto the bed and pulled out the divine book Theoarize had left him. He opened it, flipping through the first page.
The text detailed the origins of divinity, explaining how gods were not creators of humanity but rather their creations—born from the desperate faith and wishes of humans seeking power, blessings, and authority. The book posed questions Ian had long avoided: why did the demon kings rebel against the demon gods? Why did humanity strive to destroy the faith of their believers?
The answers, it seemed, lay in Glemaria, where the Academy awaited him. The city was the heart of the Aetherian Empire, a land abandoned by gods and overrun with demons.