Chapter 58
But he must forget.
‘That world no longer exists.’
“Kraush, I’m a greedy person. That’s why I feel I might get greedy again now that Aslan is like this. So, don’t be nice to me.”
The words she had uttered while sobbing uncontrollably on the day Aslan died surfaced in his mind.
Who did she think she was talking to, acting like she could just hold back her greed?
Kraush found it utterly ludicrous back then.
But later, he understood.
After Aslan’s death, he brought her, the downtrodden Lirina, and took her as his direct maid.
Not long after, the frenzy of world erosion from Balheim took her away just like it took Green Pinegwan.
He realized he was just an idiot who didn’t even know how to be greedy.
‘If only I had been a little greedier.’
Kraush couldn’t shake off the pain and grief he had revisited time and again.
Yet, time has a peculiar way of healing.
Pain gradually fades as time passes.
Lirina’s death occurred during the early stages of the world erosion frenzy.
After going through numerous events in the Age of the Skies, he somehow forgot the pain of losing Lirina.
Was it any wonder he, despite not knowing why, contemplated going out on a date with a woman who had been following him around for a reason he couldn’t articulate?
‘Well, it all turned out to be meaningless.’
Thanks to that damn affair with Mary Diana, he didn’t even get to go out on that date.
And since that day, she no longer said anything significant to him.
Now, everything that had happened, including those moments with Lirina, was mere dust in the wind.
The Lirina in front of him was a different person from the one he once knew.
“Unfortunately, it’s not about being your girlfriend.”
With that said, Kraush slowly smiled at her.
She was Aslan’s direct maid, Lirina.
And she would remain his direct maid in the future as well.
Kraush’s first love no longer existed.
It had been a love that concluded a long time ago.
On the day she died, Kraush quietly ended that love before her corpse.
‘Doll.’
The brief surge of emotion he felt was suppressed into nothing by that doll.
“Lirina.”
Thanks to that, Kraush was now able to call her name in a way different from before.
“Let’s conspire together so that Aslan can keep living.”
In that way, she would also be able to live on.
When Kraush said that, Lirina went silent for a moment, lifting her chin.
“What I said about saying anything was not a lie.”
“Yes, trustworthy.”
“Okay, just tell me what to do. What should I do?”
Seeing her raise her skirt in readiness, Kraush couldn’t help but chuckle quietly.
Then he shared something that would surely make her flinch.
“Tomorrow, Aslan is going to attempt self-immolation.”
Just as expected, Lirina’s body froze.
“While doing that, please break into the auxiliary room along with Cream and find Dorothy’s essence.”
With the follow-up statement, her body stiffened once more.
“…You really say anything, don’t you?”
Her expression looked thoroughly bewildered.
＊ ＊ ＊
Flame Ruler
Agatha Igrit
A mage of the 7th class, Adeptus Major.
In terms of aura, she is a master-level sorcerer renowned in the world.
Now a middle-aged woman with wrinkled skin, she sat in her room, pen in hand, deep in thought.
Recently, she found herself deep in contemplation quite often.
The biggest reason for that was none other than her unfortunate son.
When she first became pregnant, Agatha loved her son more than anyone.
But as he grew up, she discovered something unusual about him.
It was the fact that he had been born with a lunar affliction from the moment he arrived.
Aslan, who possessed the yin-yang of the moon, could not learn the flame magic of the Igrit family.
That meant her son could not only forsake the family’s favor but also would never become the head.
Yet despite that, Agatha cherished her son.
Even at a young age, he diligently studied magic and showed talent.
Aside from his lunar affliction, he was a proudly perfect child.
But that was only her opinion.
The views of those around her were different.
Especially after hearing the words from her father, who was one of the Ten Great Kings of the realm, known as the Flame King, she finally realized how others viewed her son.
“Aslan is to cease claiming the Igrit family legacy.”
“Father!”
The very man she had often addressed as head of the family throughout her life.
But still, both she and Aslan were blood relatives of the Flame King.
“Aslan is my father’s grandson! How can he give up his claim! How is he supposed to live, then?”
Although the Flame King had never treated her with warmth, Agatha understood how difficult that was.
Hence, she felt even more compassion for Aslan.
So she hoped for warmth in her father’s heart toward both her and her son.
“Hah, Deputy Head.”
However, the Flame King was someone entirely different from Agatha.
Prior to being her father, he was the head of the Igrit family.
He prioritized the future of Igrit and the Red Tower over the love for his children and grandchildren.
In the Red Tower, where magic supremacy prevailed, it was unthinkable for an Igrit to wield magic, and even more so, for a descendant unable to use flame magic.
It would be strange if they did not suffer humiliation.
Thus, the Flame King had long since shut out thoughts about Aslan.
“In three years in the tower, even a dog learns magic. Yet Aslan can’t even manage to make it into the tower. To allow such a person to succeed would be to tarnish the name of Igrit.”
The moment Agatha heard that, her eyes widened in shock.
She could not believe her grandson was being treated like a common mutt.
“The fault of bringing such a child into this world lies with you. Did I not warn you countless times? That man you brought home will surely sire a child incapable of aiding the Igrit family.”
Agatha’s eyes, now wide open, quivered with anger.
The Flame King had objected several times to the man Agatha had brought home for a marriage.
Yet, despite her father’s disapproval, she had fallen in love and ultimately bore Aslan.
But her husband, though not afflicted with a lunar condition, had a frail disposition from the very beginning.
As a result, he gradually fell ill under the burden of the Igrit family’s pressures and glares, eventually dying young.
Knowing her husband’s death was perhaps due to her greed, she could not bear to accept her father’s words.
Yet now, both the Igrit family and her father sought to condemn her son.
Rage surged through her, and she gritted her teeth.
“You claimed you would never bear another’s child. Then there is a girl at the Red Tower. She seems to have the qualities of flame magic. I shall adopt her.”
Stunned by the succession of shocking statements, Agatha nearly collapsed.
The Flame King had truly abandoned Aslan.
Afterward, she learned about the girl her father had mentioned.
Her name was Abella. Though not yet officially adopted, her talent was unmistakable.
Even at her young age, she wielded flame magic with unparalleled finesse, a rare genius even for the Igrit family.
After getting to know her, Agatha grew restless.
The thought that her son might really be cast aside by the Igrit family loomed large.
Especially since her father was bound to do just that.
He was all about the family’s well-being.
After that incident, Agatha began to change.
The hand that had once gently caressed Aslan’s head turned into a harsh reprimand, forcing him to master magic.
Determined to cure his lunar affliction, she scoured for every elixir in existence, feeding him until he nearly vomited.
“Stop being weak! You’re the future of the Igrit family! Get up! Aslan! Use your magic now!”
She shouted at the exhausted Aslan, who was collapsed from draining his mana.
If she left things as they were, her son would be abandoned by the Igrit family forever.
Agatha couldn’t bear it.
Out of respect for her late husband, she couldn’t let things end this way.
So she was ruthless.
She taught him harshly, reprimanded him, and forced him to change his body.
Still, Aslan persevered.
After all, he was a strong child who took after her.
Yet she was oblivious to the fact that his spirit was slowly rotting away.
And likewise, her own heart was also decaying.
In the end, their relationship culminated in catastrophe.
The day she witnessed Aslan being attacked by a spirit in the burned-down academy dormitory, she threw herself at the spirit and burned it to cinders.
Without a shred of hesitation to save her son.
But after that moment, Aslan was left utterly shattered.
Only later did she realize the kind of connection Aslan had forged with that spirit.
Because afterwards, she learned that Aslan was frantically scouring books related to spirits.
But she could not accept it.
In the Igrit family, spirits were taboo.
A relationship with such spirits could well destroy Aslan’s life.
If her father ever caught wind of that, she knew better than anyone what awaited them.
In her eyes, spirits were nothing but erosion types that ruined Aslan’s future.
So she reprimanded him repeatedly, but he remained unfazed.
Only when he realized he couldn’t resurrect that spirit did Aslan spiral into complete despair.
He effectively stopped eating and locked himself away in his room.
Agatha attempted repeatedly to drag him out and feed him.
By now, she didn’t know how to be kind to him.
She had spent nearly a decade treating him harshly.
Yet there was no spark of life in Aslan’s gaze when he looked at her.
He resembled a marionette with its strings cut.
And that was when Aslan’s suicide attempts began.
“Ah, ah.”
Agatha covered her face with her hands.
What was she supposed to have done?
The world is vast and dangerous.
To live without the protection of the Igrit family was akin to a death sentence for someone like Aslan, who had the lunar affliction.
So, even if it meant being hated by Aslan, she wanted him to stay with the Igrit family.
But the outcome birthed the worst of scenarios.
‘Where did it all go wrong?’
She didn’t know.
Too much time had passed, and so much had gone awry, she could no longer discern.
Her gaze fell upon the drawer.
Inside it was the crystal she had found amidst the ash of the spirit she had burned.
She had picked it up somewhat randomly but hadn’t shared that information with Aslan.
“Deputy Head!”
At that moment, the door burst open without a knock.
Agatha flinched and looked up to see a maid with a pale face.
“Head maid?”
“A-Aslan!”
Seeing that, Agatha’s face went pale too.
The maid had rushed in frantically, making it the second time this month alone.
By now, she could tell just from the head maid’s expression.
Aslan had once again attempted to take his own life.
“He’s going to self-immolate!”
But this time, the news was of a different magnitude.
Self-immolation—setting oneself ablaze in suicide.
Unlike other methods, even if it failed, self-immolation left severe aftereffects.
Hearing that her son had chosen such a horrific path drained all color from Agatha’s face.
“Lead me there, right away!”
She bolted from the room with determination.
Having dashed out, she was blissfully unaware of someone quietly appearing in the corridor just outside her door.
