SOTBW - 250

Belshua squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Countless swords tore through soft flesh, plunging downward before surging back up again. Fragments of entrails clung to the tips of the blades. Mackanon shouted furiously at Belshua.  

“Do you understand my pain now, Marquis? Why did you tell my brother about immortals? Why did you bring me back to life?! Why, why, why, why!”  

This was a story from long, long ago.  

A hundred years after Mahilen had taught magic to Hilderund, the dragon hunts began. Humans couldn’t touch fully grown dragons, so they targeted newly hatched ones. What they sought was the magically condensed heart.  

Thus, Mahilen, sealed in a human body and unable to use even a speck of magic, became an exceptionally tempting target for them.  

While endlessly pursued, a king made this proposal to Mahilen:  

“I’ll let you sleep as long as you wish in the labyrinth beneath my palace. In return, teach me how to resurrect my dead brother.”  

At that time, Mahilen had sneered.  

“How can you bring back the dead? How do you plan to hold onto a soul that has returned from the boundary of reincarnation? It’s impossible to place another soul into a living body—there’s already a soul inside, and it would never allow another to intrude.”  

“Is there truly no way?”  

“Well… if you mix dragon blood and flesh into an ordinary human body… perhaps it might be possible.”  

Mahilen had said it offhandedly, intending to dismiss the absurd conversation, but the mad king mistook it as a method to resurrect the dead. The king offered Mahilen the labyrinth. Exhausted, Mahilen didn’t question why the labyrinth was given to him and simply fell asleep within its confines.  

The magical power surrounding the labyrinth lasted for hundreds of years. After a long time, Mahilen awoke amidst the ruins and later learned of someone named Mackanon.  

The king who had asked about reviving the dead was Mackanon’s younger brother, Gilles.  

Gilles had harbored deep feelings of inferiority toward Mackanon his entire life. Hoping that his genius older brother would feel the same sense of loss and loneliness he himself carried, Gilles attempted to harm Astien. However, Mackanon took the poisoned arrow meant for Astien and died instead.  

Mackanon was resurrected once as a sacred ability user. Sacred power manifested as salt. Astien’s tears soaked Mackanon’s face, allowing the sacred power to manifest as salt.  

What was intriguing was that Mackanon retained his memories. While it’s unclear how deeply Mackanon loved Astien, considering that most sacred ability users lose all memory of their previous lives, it was evident that his affection for her transcended the ordinary.  

After being resurrected, Mackanon sought those who had tried to harm his beloved but ultimately forgave them. However, Mackanon and Astien never held their wedding. Astien was murdered by Gilles.  

Mackanon wept for days, clutching his deceased lover, before taking his own life. Gilles believed he had won. He successfully inherited the throne and earned respect as a sorcerer. To him, that was enough.  

But this wasn’t Gilles surpassing Mackanon—not by a long shot. This issue tormented Gilles for a very long time. Consumed by feelings of inferiority, Gilles conceived the idea of “resurrection magic” as a way to outdo his brother.  

Not a resurrection chosen by the boundary of reincarnation, but forced revival.  

If he could forcibly resurrect Mackanon, it would be as though Gilles had overwhelmed his brother.  

Obsessed with madness, Gilles followed Mahilen’s vague instructions and fused a dragon hatchling into his son’s body. If Gilles had failed to summon Mackanon’s soul at that moment, tragedy might have been avoided. But Gilles’ overwhelming inferiority complex and hatred crushed Mackanon Helixier’s waiting soul, dragging it forcefully into the present world.  

Gilles forcibly anchored Mackanon’s soul into a body already occupied by his son’s spirit. His son, worn down by his father’s madness, was completely consumed by his uncle’s soul, vanishing entirely as a result. It was an event with odds of one in tens of billions—a miraculous fortune or catastrophic tragedy.  

Mackanon was ultimately resurrected against his will. Gilles rejoiced wildly, intending to use his resurrected brother like a slave to conquer the continent. However, it didn’t take long for Mackanon to realize what had happened to him.  

Upon realizing that his soul could never return to the boundary of reincarnation, Mackanon was consumed with rage over his brother’s atrocities. Gilles tried to subdue Mackanon, but the dragon’s blood coursing through Mackanon’s veins was far beyond the control of any mere mortal.  

Mackanon’s wrath incinerated Gilles’ body and soul entirely. Unquenchable flames devoured Gilles’ sins.  

As Gilles vanished into nothingness, he cursed Mackanon.  

“All those you love shall meet an unhappy end, just like Astien!”  

Mackanon screamed, gripping his face as if to tear the skin off.  

“That accursed eternity, eternity, eternity!”

The salt blades piercing Belshua’s body came to an abrupt halt as Mackanon’s scream echoed. Mackanon stood on top of Belshua, sobbing like a grieving child.  

But Belshua neither pitied nor understood Mackanon. Mahilen was always such a being—unless it concerned Emaydis, no tragedy could capture his interest. Moreover, given that Mackanon had stabbed him to death hundreds of times, there was no way Belshua would feel sympathy in this situation.  

Belshua wrinkled his nose as if to say Mackanon should stop overdoing it. Still covering his face, Mackanon murmured softly between sobs:  

“If Astien were by my side, I would have stopped the flow of time in this world… Eternal life without her is unbearable. I want to destroy this world together with her…”  

Finally noticing the wriggling sensation beneath his feet, Mackanon glanced down. Dozens of swords had pierced Belshua, who glared up at him with unrelenting fury.  

“Oh.”  

Mackanon gave an awkward laugh, as though he’d just remembered something. His sudden shift in demeanor—from wailing despair to casual indifference—was so extreme that it defied belief.  

It was yet another sign of Mackanon’s madness. He cried one moment, laughed the next, sank into sorrow after joy, and flew into a rage without warning.  

Scratching the back of his head like a mischievous child, Mackanon stepped off Belshua’s chest. He paid no mind to the honeycombed wounds riddling Belshua’s body, brushing away the scuff marks on his chest with a muttered apology.  

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to step on you—it was disrespectful. Truly sorry.”  

The salt sealing Belshua’s mouth crumbled away. With a snap of Mackanon’s fingers, the shackles binding him shattered. The battered Belshua struggled to rise, his recovery slowed by the cursed salt embedded in his wounds.  

Mackanon gazed down at Belshua, who clutched his punctured chest and gasped for breath, before breaking into a faint smile.  

“I’ll take this.”  

The magic crystal gleamed in Mackanon’s hand. Belshua’s expression froze instantly, cold and rigid. As Belshua tried to leap up, Mackanon kicked him back down. The once-pristine salt field turned crimson with Belshua’s spilled blood.  

After being kicked and rolling several times, Belshua clutched his bleeding abdomen and glared at Mackanon.  

“Give it back.”  

Belshua ground his teeth in barely contained fury. Mackanon lightly floated into the air and swallowed the magic crystal whole. The salt covering the surrounding earth vanished rapidly. This time, even Belshua couldn’t hide the despair welling up inside him.  

Mackanon grinned and pointed northward.  

“Well, if you run nonstop from here, you’ll reach Noctis in ten days. By then… the fortress will likely be reduced to ashes by the Seriths. But if you want to save Najane, you’d better hurry.”  

Mackanon’s words triggered a memory in Belshua’s mind—a prophecy spoken by the Pope. Najane wasn’t in any condition to fight. Struggling against his pain, Belshua limped toward the retreating Mackanon.  

“Wait!”  

His desperate cry seemed to catch at Mackanon’s heels.  

“…She won’t die, right?”  

Clutching his bleeding wound, Belshua asked with an expression far too human for his usual demeanor.  

“…Najane will never die… So… My reasoning is correct, isn’t it? She won’t die, right?”  

“Hmm.”  

“Answer me, Mackanon… Please!”  

Mackanon tilted his head thoughtfully before curling his lips into a cryptic smile.  

“That’s something no one can know.”  

With those enigmatic words, Mackanon vanished completely. Belshua stared at the endless horizon before forcing himself to run in the direction Mackanon had indicated. Blood dripped from his wounds, carrying grains of salt with each step. Despite limping painfully, Belshua pressed on, his face twisting in despair.  

---  

Mackanon skillfully transformed his reflection in the glass window into Belshua Chernon’s face. From the color of his hair to his eyes and every feature, the disguise was flawless. Gazing silently at his altered appearance, Mackanon gently stroked his cheek.

Though he could meticulously alter his body shape as well, it was far too troublesome. Copying someone’s physique required more magical energy than one might expect, and using magic for such purposes felt wasteful—even to Mackanon, who used sacred power as freely as water. He knew better than to squander magic unnecessarily. Fortunately, Mackanon and Belshua were of similar builds, so their appearances didn’t differ much without additional adjustments.

Mackanon marveled at his own skill as he stared at the perfectly copied face, stroking his chin in admiration. After tossing his shredded, black-thorn-pierced clothes into the fireplace, he opened Belshua’s wardrobe and pulled out a random outfit. The plain, unassuming design and colors made him look even more like the real Belshua once he put them on.

Stretching out on the sagging, almost-collapsed bed, Mackanon subtly released a trickle of magic. Dozens of magical circles instantly appeared, covering the entire room. They were all designed to detect magical energy. Through these intricate circles, Mackanon could clearly read that Belshua had been fully intent on hunting Kieron. Chuckling at Belshua’s naivety, Mackanon effortlessly erased the densely packed magical circles from the walls and ceiling. Such measures were meaningless. Belshua was likely chasing Kieron to ensure Najane’s safety.

But their true enemy wasn’t that fool.

Reaching toward the bedside cabinet, Mackanon retrieved the soul compass. The moment he gripped it, the needle spun wildly, losing all sense of direction.

With an indifferent gaze, Mackanon watched the erratic needle for a moment before casually dropping the compass onto the floor. Belshua had mentioned Kieron and the soul compass to him. Apparently, Kieron had used it to latch onto Emaydis’ final reincarnation. Honestly, though, Mackanon couldn’t care less what happened to Najane.

Belshua was wary of Kieron, but that guy was truly insignificant—a mere impurity that would eventually be filtered out.

In fact, Belshua should have been grateful to Mackanon.

When half of Sainth’ soul had safely entered the newborn’s body, Mackanon was the first to notice the distortion in fate.