translation by mourningmoor
Timothy Gordon’s car left the outskirts of Dallas and kept driving for a while longer.
It had been almost an hour and a half since we left the concert venue. Whether he was trying to build tension on purpose or not, Timothy Gordon remained silent.
Before I knew it, the city lights had disappeared, and we were speeding down a pitch-black road with not a single streetlight in sight. In American movies, murders always happen on roads like this. The body gets tossed on the roadside anywhere. Then, the police only discover it by chance years later.
Well, if it comes to that, I could always dump that old man by the roadside like this. Even if the police find him, he doesn’t legally exist, so there wouldn’t even be a crime.
Anyway, just as I was thinking about something ridiculous like that, the car left the main road and slowed down on a narrow trail.
Looks like we’ve arrived already.
“There must be more people invited besides me, right?”
I said as I glanced out the window.
Only then did Timothy Gordon finally open his mouth.
“They have already arrived.”
What the hell? That Demon King bastard hasn’t contacted me for days, and now he got here first? My expression naturally soured.
“We’re here.”
Before I knew it, the car had entered a well-maintained gray stone road. After circling around a massive fountain, it stopped in front of the entrance, where a pergola hung over the doorway.
Someone opened the car door.
“This isn’t even a hotel, but there’s a bellboy?”
A young man in a red uniform politely bowed as I stepped out of the car. Naturally, he had a ring on his finger.
I lifted my head and looked up at that old Master’s house.
This isn’t a house—it’s a fortress. Or a castle?
It was built solidly with the same stone material as the ground.
“This way, please.”
Timothy Gordon, having stepped out of the car, spoke as he climbed the stone steps.
I subtly looked around before following Timothy Gordon with slow strides.
After walking down a long corridor covered with a red carpet, a woman in a red maid outfit greeted us in front of a large door.
“He is waiting.”
With that, she disappeared inside first.
That was basically an invitation to enter. Without hesitation, I stepped forward. Or rather, I tried to.
Timothy Gordon suddenly grabbed my arm.
He dares to grab me like this? I frowned and gave him a sideways glare.
Timothy Gordon let go of my arm after clearing his throat a couple of times.
“P-please, be careful.”
Now, all of a sudden? After storming out like that before?
It was just a few days ago when he came to the lodging.
Not on his Master’s orders, but out of his own free will, he came to ask about Natalie Grace.
At first, I thought he was looking for her because she was his wife. But Natalie Grace wasn’t Timothy Gordon’s wife. She was the old Master’s wife.
A being with a magic circle engraved on her body. The Master’s wife and his direct possession.
It was a shock.
If Natalie Grace was the Master’s wife, then that meant Go Dajin was the Master’s son. Apparently, after repeatedly anchoring souls into human bodies, side effects occurred where the souls mixed, and memories became jumbled.
Was that why Go Dajin’s memories were so vague? For a moment, my head throbbed.
But Timothy Gordon—this guy—had an even more shocked expression.
It was right after I told him that Natalie Grace wanted freedom, so I completely erased her magic circle.
[Did she… die?]
Die? She’s alive and well, posting on SNS with pictures and everything, so why would he ask something like that?
[Don’t tell me… is she undead?]
What do you mean undead? That’s illegal.
[So your Master does things like that too? That’s completely illegal—if he gets caught, it’s an automatic death senten… Ah, right. This isn’t our world.]
I made sure to tell him that she wasn’t undead, just a living person. Only then did he let out a sigh of relief so deep it could have split the earth.
Next, he asked if she was injured. If she had burns.
Why does he keep asking these kinds of questions? She’s posting pictures on SNS just fine, face perfectly intact.
[What’s it to you? It’s not like she’s your wife. She’s the Master’s wife. And she’s been that for 300 years. Don’t tell me… you have feelings for her?]
I threw in a little sarcasm. But Timothy Gordon, completely ignoring my jab, was on the verge of tears, practically begging me to tell him. That was unexpected.
[She’s fine. You really think a 9th-circle mage at an unmeasurable level would hurt someone just by erasing a magic circle? Just say the word. If you want, I can do it for you too.]
It seemed like he wasn’t even listening to me.
[H-her memories? Are her memories intact?]
Only then did I start to understand what was going on.
[Whose memories? The Master’s wife’s memories? Or… your wife’s memories?]
That bastard Master. He had stolen the body of Timothy Gordon’s real wife, Natalie Grace. That guy didn’t have a shred of ethics in him.
As I was mulling over how messed up this was, Timothy Gordon shook his head, his bloodshot eyes trembling. He wasn’t just shocked—he was terrified. Maybe he thought I had discovered a secret I wasn’t supposed to know.
Then he shouldn’t have come to me in the first place.
With his blue eyes brimming with regret, he kept asking about Natalie Grace’s well-being. How could I not figure it out?
[Her memories didn’t change at all, and she seemed incredibly relieved.]
I also told him that after erasing the magic circle, she asked me to take her somewhere in Tahiti, so I teleported her there.
[She’s probably still there.]
That was the last thing I said before I stopped talking.
Because Timothy Gordon broke down, wailing.
He cried his heart out and then disappeared without another word.
That pissed me off a little. I had things I wanted to ask, too.
Well, I should at least take his warning seriously.
“I’ll behave.”
Maybe he was grateful that I didn’t kill Natalie but let her live. He wasn’t speaking much today, but at least he wasn’t being hostile. That was a pretty big improvement.
“If that’s even possible.”
With that, I stepped inside.
* * *
It didn’t seem like an atmosphere where I’d have an appetite.
Mainly because the old mage, who was playing host, was enough to kill it.
This world shouldn’t have clothes designed like that, yet the outfit he wore closely resembled the formal attire of the Parapara.
And then there was the deep purple wallpaper with gold-embossed deer antler patterns, the flickering candlelight from an old-fashioned chandelier, and even the food laid out on the table.
It all reminded me of the reception hall in the Mage Tower.
“How ridiculous.”
That was the first thing I said as I stepped inside.
“A space filled with nothing but familiar and nostalgic things, yet a guest who doesn’t belong in it at all.”
I turned my gaze toward the Demon King, seated to the left of the old mage.
It was as if he was trying to prove that he was, indeed, the Demon King, dressed head to toe in a sleek black suit.
Our eyes met, and he flashed a grin.
I scoffed at him before shifting my gaze to the old mage.
“What business does the Demon King have in the reception hall of the Mage Tower?”
Then, I let a chilling smile creep across my face.
“Bartholomeus-nim?”
For a moment, a similar eerie smile flickered across the old mage’s—no, Bartholomeus’—face. But there was no sign of surprise or panic.
His gaze was calm, as if he had expected this.
“As expected, your insight is impressive.”
Resting his elbows on the table, he laced his fingers together and slowly looked me over.
“But you don’t seem to belong here either, do you?”
Now that I thought about it, I really didn’t fit in.
I’d been dragged here right after finishing a concert, so my outfit was ridiculous—black jeans, a white cotton T-shirt with the L.I.T logo printed on it, and a zip-up hoodie with this tour’s theme emblazoned on the back.
I was the very definition of an idol from this world.
“Of course not. I’m not affiliated with the Mage Tower.”
“…?”
Bartholomeus’ eyebrows slanted in confusion, as if to say, “What nonsense is this?”
“I’m Kang Ichan from Blade Entertainment.”
Silence filled the room.
The first to react was the Demon King, who had been sitting quietly until now.
Kuk—he barely held back his laughter, his gaze fixed on me.
Because of that, Bartholomeus’ expression grew even colder.
More silence followed, making time stretch unbearably long.
Then, Bartholomeus slowly rose from his seat.
“Let’s exchange proper introductions.”
What’s the point of a formal introduction now? We already know exactly who each other is.
“I am Bartholomeus Catraev, the 6th Grand Mage from Aikele of the Armania Continent.”
Bartholomeus Catraev. The 6th Grand Mage of Armania.
So, in other words, he’s the previous Grand Mage of Jesquière.
The very same person who turned to ashes when I was eight years old, after causing a dungeon explosion while trying to awaken this damn Demon King sitting right here.
The very same person who was so obsessed with some prophecy that he completely ignored the peace of the continent just to uncover it.
The twenty years after his disappearance, when the Grand Mage seat remained vacant, were the true dark ages of Armania.
With the loss of a 《Mind Presence》 wielder, a power imbalance arose. The Cleric Faction and the Royalist Faction split and fought brutally, and from there, things escalated further as they divided into Demon King Supporters and Anti-Demon King factions, throwing everything into chaos.
The ones who followed the Demon King took advantage of the Grand Mage’s absence and did everything in their power to wake him up. That was when all kinds of dark magic ran rampant and flourished.
On the other hand, the Anti-Demon King faction hounded the clerics, demanding they find a new Grand Mage candidate as soon as possible.
And that’s how I ended up receiving the oracle and, at the young age of twenty-eight, became the owner of the Mage Tower.
So, the person sitting right in front of me is the one who made a mess of things and stuck me with the massive burden of being the Grand Mage.
“Jesquière Deneuve Alyshica, the 7th Grand Mage—I am none other than the very mage who stamped the approval papers for your entry into Parapara when you were seven years old."
What a ridiculously long explanation. Annoying as hell.
I let out a cold scoff, placed both hands on the table, and leaned toward Bartholomeus.
“Old man. Are you going deaf?”
I already said it once, but he still didn’t get it.
“I’m Kang Ichan from Blade Entertainment, the leader of L.I.T.”