Mikhail stood still, feeling the strain in his body.
“Tsk.”
He’d underestimated the Professor.
At first, he assumed it was just another Master-rank spell. He had seen thousands like it. Mages loved their flashy, overpowered techniques.
But what he hadn’t expected was how the spell had been tweaked.
Was that even possible? To tweak the spell to such a degree, where the firepower was comparable to the upper echelons of a Grandmaster spell?
The concept of tweaking wasn’t totally unheard of, but it wasn’t simple either. Only talented mages with years of experience were capable of such a feat.
At best, the circuits could be refined and adjusted up to a certain point where it would consume more mana than normal, resulting in an increase in 10% of the usual firepower.
But in this case, the power wasn’t simply 10% stronger.
No, this was beyond that.
110%.
“Ridiculous,” Mikhail muttered, wiping the blood from his chin. “What kind of monster plays with circuits like that?”
His eyes narrowed at Vanitas, slumped against the wall, drenched in his own blood.
“And without incantations, no less,” Mikhail muttered. “Just who the hell are you, Professor—”
———!
A flash of bluish–purple light streaked across his vision.
Before he could react, a powerful force slammed into his chest, launching him backward. His body crashed against the barrier with a loud thud.
“Ukh—!”
Mikhail coughed up blood. His eyes darted to the figure that had just arrived. His eyes narrowed.
She was here.
Her perse cloak, embroidered with white patterns, swayed with each
step she took. Her royal blue eyes scanned the scene calmly.
There was no mistaking it.
What stood before him was the best mage this generation had to offer.
The current Archmage, and a member of the Great Powers, Soliette Dominique.
Her royal blue eyes glanced briefly at Vanitas, slumped against the wall. Her expression remained blank.
“Take him,” she ordered.
“Yes, Archmage!”
Several guards rushed in. Two of them moved toward Vanitas.
One crouched down, checking his pulse, while the other hoisted him onto his back.
Blood dripped from where his arm used to be, leaving streaks of crimson on the cold stone floor.
“His pulse is weak, but he’s alive,” one of the guards said.
“Then move quickly,” Soliette said, her eyes never leaving Mikhail.
The guards nodded and hurried away, carrying Vanitas with them.
Silence lingered for a moment. Only the faint sound of retreating footsteps remained.
Soliette’s gaze shifted to Alaric.
“Warden,” she said. “Why are you still here?”
Alaric wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. His armor still had cracks, and his body was still covered in fresh bandages from earlier fights.
“I figured you might need the help, Archmage,” Alaric replied. “Mikhail may be past his prime, but he’s still a former Great Power. I doubt it’ll be as easy as you think.”
“Hmm,” Soliette hummed. “Fair point.”
Mikhail, still slumped against the barrier, coughed up blood but grinned at them both.
“Ah, so heartwarming,” he said hoarsely. “Two champions of the empire, united against little old me.”
“Quiet.” Soliette’s eyes narrowed.. “I’ll ask once, Mikhail. How are you still able to cast magic?”
Her gaze was sharp as a knife, and her mana flickered around her staff, pointing at Mikhail.
Alaric’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing at Mikhail as well.
“Your core was shattered,” Alaric added. “There’s no way you should be able to use magic.”
“Oh? So you finally noticed?” Mikhail twisted his head. “I was wondering how long it would take.”
“Answer the question,” Soliette said. “Now.”
Mikhail raised his hands. His fingers curled lazily as if surrendering.
“You see,” he began. His eyes darted to Alaric, then to Soliette. “When something shatters… it dissolves… and something new is created—”
Soliette’s alarm bells rang.
“Shadow Phantasm,” Mikhail said.
Darkness erupted from beneath Mikhail’s feet. Tendrils of shadow surged outward and expanded like living serpents in speed.
Alaric moved swiftly to block the attack with his blade.
“Get behind me, Archmage!” he shouted.
“…?”
The darkness seemed to swallow them whole, but Soliette merely tilted her head in confusion. The hell is this man doing? Trying to kill himself?
Tak.
She took a step forward, ignoring Alaric’s warning. Her calm movements carried a presence so intense, it made even the rampaging shadows hesitate.
Her lips parted slowly.
“Dismantle.”
A brilliant, perse-colored glow enveloped her, surging outward in a gentle wave. The glow passed through the shadows like an invisible tide washing over them.
Swish—!
The tendrils of darkness twisted and trembled before crumbling into nothingness.
Silence.
Alaric, still in his defensive stance, blinked in shock. His eyes darted between Soliette and the empty space where the shadows had once been.
Mikhail, too, was stunned. His spell had been erased—no, disassembled.
His eyes narrowed as he analyzed the scene. His gaze shifted to Soliette’s staff. A medium. Of course, she had a medium. It was expected.
But still….
This wasn’t normal.
In his prime as a Great Power, this kind of scene didn’t exist. He had never seen magic undone in such an absolute manner.
Even among his former peers—the Great Powers—no one displayed this degree of mastery.
Just what happened to this little girl?
Back then, she was nothing more than a private tutor for noble families, using her earnings to fund her education. A nobody. A child clinging to opportunity.
By the time Mikhail was captured and sentenced to life in Index, Soliette was still a highschool student. Talented, perhaps, but not someone worth remembering.
But now?
Mikhail’s eyes darkened as he remembered something.
The Continental Summit.
A grand stage where only the finest mages from across the continent gathered.
He had watched from within his cell as news of the tournament echoed through Index.
In that year’s bracket, Soliette Dominique had swept through the competition and emerged as the undisputed champion.
He thought it was a fluke at the time. Just another prodigy getting their five minutes of fame.
But this? This was not a fluke.
Mikhail’s gaze shifted to the barrier. Without a medium, destroying it properly was nearly impossible.
Grandmaster-level magic was within his reach, even without a medium, but it came with severe risks.
The spell would be wild. The size, direction, and accuracy would be beyond his control. Worse, there was a chance it could implode on itself, taking him along with it.
And at this moment, he couldn’t afford to lose an arm.
“….”
No…. why hesitate?
The grim realization washed over him. He was out of touch. His prime was long gone, and it was clear he couldn’t handle both Alaric and Soliette at the same time.
That single attack from Soliette had been enough for him to see it.
He was a relic of a bygone era.
Mikhail’s eyes darted between Alaric, Soliette, and the barrier.
His fingers twitched, and his breathing grew shallow.
“I won’t die here,” he muttered to himself.
Sovereign-level magic was within his grasp. The risks were immense, but there was no other option.
A deep sense of regret washed over him. He had toyed with the Professor too much. He should’ve escaped the moment he had the chance, even if it meant losing an arm in the process.
But now, he was on the brink of losing his life!
His teeth clenched as he raised both hands.
His left hand aimed at Alaric and Soliette. His right hand, toward the barrier.
“With frozen reign and the tide’s collapse, breach the gate with the call of frost—Glacier Rend!”
Ice-blue energy surged from his palm. It curled and writhed as jagged crystalline blades, launching toward Soliette and Alaric.
A Grandmaster–spell.
“By shadows’ edge and night’s embrace, may fate be severed in midnight’s grace—Void Cleave!”
At the same time, tendrils of shadow crawled along the floor toward the barrier.
A Sovereign–spell.
Sharp cracks echoed through the air as shadowy spikes shot out, slamming into the barrier’s surface.
“Break!” he roared, pouring all of his mana into the spell.
Crack…! Crack…!
Hairline fractures began to spread across the barrier’s surface. His eyes lit up despite feeling both his arms rupturing in the processing.
The arm, responsible for breaking the barrier, was slowly rupturing. He felt his veins being torn off, and his fingers slowly disintegrating.
But he didn’t stop.
“Khh…!”
Gritting his teeth, he turned and focused on both Soliette and Alaric.
The bones in his left arms were crackling, and he felt the tear pierce right through his senses.
But as his eyes landed on Soliette, the world seemed to freeze.
Something was off.
She didn’t move. Not even a flinch.
Her gaze was calm, as if it screamed half-lidded with disinterest.
Her lips parted, and she said a single word.
“Collapse.”
In that instant, reality itself seemed to shift.
Boom—!
An invisible force crashed down on Mikhail like a divine hammer.
His vision blurred as his body was thrown like a broken doll, smashing into the ground with a thunderous impact.
The jagged icy blades melted mid-air. The shadows crawling up the barrier dissolved instantly.
Cracks that had begun forming on the barrier vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed at all.
Mikhail’s breath was ragged as he lay sprawled on the floor, coughing up blood. His head throbbed, and his limbs refused to move. His eyes shook with disbelief.
“….No,” he croaked. “That…. that shouldn’t be possible….”
He raised his head slowly, his eyes locking on Soliette. His right arm was completely gone, and his left arm wobbled and flailed.
“….”
She didn’t say a word. She only stared at him. No gloating. No anger. No amusement.
Just apathy. Pure, cold apathy.
Soliette didn’t hesitate. Immediately, blue chains of mana lashed out from her staff like whips, twisting toward Mikhail with blinding speed.
“Khh…!”
Mikhail gritted his teeth, refusing to look away. His eyes blazed with defiance.
Confined and detained? Never again. He would rather be executed.
For that reason….
“Return me to the shadows,” Mikhail said.
His lips moved, blood trickling down his chin.
“Stop!” Soliette screamed.
The chains latched onto every limb, locking him in place. His mouth had already been covered, but it was too late.
Boom—!
A shockwave of black energy erupted from Mikhail’s body. The air around him distorted and twisted like a vortex as the ground cracked beneath him.
“Fall back!” Alaric roared, grabbing Soliette’s arm and pulling her away.
“No—!” Soliette’s gaze locked onto Mikhail.
The vortex of shadows spun faster and consumed everything in its radius.
Chunks of stone crumbled into dust. The temperature dropped, and the once-dim corridor was drowned in absolute darkness.
Mikhail’s voice echoed one last time.
“If I were you, Soliette,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d keep my eye on that Professor.”
The vortex collapsed into itself with a deafening crack, like glass shattering.
When the smoke cleared, the only thing left behind was a deep, black scorch mark on the ground.
No body. No blood. Nothing.
Soliette lowered her staff slowly, her eyes locked on the mark.
“….Self-destruction,” she muttered under her breath.
Silence.
***
Vanitas woke up groggily. His head pounded as if he’d been struck by a hammer.
“Ugh….”
His senses returned slowly. The first thing he registered was warmth—soft, comforting warmth. His fingers brushed against the fabric beneath him.
“Uh…?”
His eyes widened. Blurry shapes of white and pale blue filled his vision. The ceiling above him was plain, with faint cracks running across it.
His gaze lowered, focusing on the blanket covering his body.
Vanitas blinked. He wasn’t in Index. Nor was it the Astrea estate.
The smell was different too. The air lacked that faint metallic tang of blood and stone.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly, feeling his body heavy.
He expected the aches and soreness to return, especially after the beating he’d taken from Mikhail.
“….!”
Immediately, he checked his right arm.
“Wha….”
It was intact.
That wasn’t right. He clearly remembered his arm being cut off. The sensation of his arm getting torn off made his skin crawl.
He flung the blanket off his body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
Then, it hit him.
The bed didn’t feel the right size. His feet dangled far above the ground. His legs were a lot shorter than before. His arms were tiny. His hands were small, soft, and smooth, like a child’s.
“The fuck…?”
He touched his face, running his fingers over his cheeks, nose, and chin.
Smooth.
His breathing grew shallow as he looked around the room. It was familiar. Yet, so unfamiliar at the same time, like a memory he didn’t want to remember.
Because it was his childhood bedroom. Not as Vanitas Astrea.
But as Chae Eun–woo.
He threw himself off the bed, stumbling slightly as his legs struggled to keep up. His bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as he looked for the nearest mirror.
There.
He approached the mirror, feeling his heartbeat rise like a drumroll.
Ba… Thump! Ba… Thump!
And there it was.
Short, black hair. Pale, smooth skin. Large, sharp, slanted eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line as his fingers traced the reflection.
It was a face he knew all too well.
It was his face, after all.
But not Vanitas’s.
“Chae Eun-woo….”
However, it was him as a child. He could never forget the innocent look he once had.
His heartbeat drummed. The sound of it echoed in his ears, louder and louder with each second.
His fingers shook as he glanced down at his body again. Small hands. Short legs. A frail, childlike frame.
This wasn’t possible.
He was supposed to be Vanitas Astrea.
His mind raced in desperation. What the hell happened? Was this the afterlife? Did he go back in time?
Why?
For what reason?
And then, he realized something. If this was his bedroom…. and if he was back as Chae Eun–woo in his childhood….
“Oppa?”
“….!”
He turned around with wide, fearful eyes.
A little girl, about five years younger than him. With short black hair that flowed down her chin, and slanted eyes, the distinctive Korean look.
“….Eun–ah?”
It was his little sister, Chae Eun–ah.