Chapter 2

A total of 72.

After collecting all the magical items, Fernan stepped forward.

A massive cavern appeared, and at its center was a small altar.

“Is that…?”

Aint’s gaze was fixed unwaveringly on a single point.

It was an instinctive pull.

At the end of the altar was a sword. A long, rough sword that didn’t emit any particular aura; yet, strangely, it drew the eye. The heart, the soul, felt drawn to it.

Aint slowly approached the sword.

Unlike Aint, Fernan felt no such pull in his soul. And the sword wasn’t there.

That was natural. Aint must have already taken it.

Though the sword had disappeared, there was a mark on the altar that clearly showed a sword had once been embedded there.

Aint grasped the sword. In that instant, a brilliant light banished all the cavern’s darkness.

When Aint opened his eyes after closing them briefly, the place was no longer an altar or a cavern.

“…Where is this?”

It was a secluded alley near the Imperial Academy.

“…So it’s true.”

Traces of magic remained. So faint they would vanish soon, but their mere existence mattered—just like the indentation on the altar where a sword had clearly once rested, and the fact that Aint was no longer there.

Fernan had no choice but to accept it.

“Damn it.”

The Book of Prophecy was real after all.

“That means…”

The Demon Legion would return and trample the continent. And as the fallen imperial family rises again, I’ll face them and be destroyed. My father will excommunicate me to save the family, and I’ll lose my reputation, honor, power, and wealth.

Fernan laughed.

“Ha, what a joke.”

“…What a fucked-up future.”

With bloodshot eyes, Fernan clenched his teeth.

“…Who the hell gave you permission to take my money?”

Money is everything in this world. With money, you can do anything. A future in which he lost that—such a future must not and cannot exist.

He…

“I will never accept a future like that.”

He would make sure of it.

Back in his quarters, Fernan, now fully convinced that The Book of Prophecy was real, began to organize his thoughts.

Of all the contents dormant in his mind, three memories of the prophecy stood out most vividly.

And the key figure linking all three… The protagonist of this world, as acknowledged by The Book of Prophecy.

The one who leads Fernan to ruin. The hero who saves the world from demons.

“It’s Armian.”

A first-year student, newly admitted this year into the knight program at the Imperial Academy.

Currently a descendant of the ancient, now-declining imperial family.

An aspiring knight whose top priority is to become a Royal Knight.

In the end, he achieves that dream and rises to become Emperor through a combination of luck and relentless effort.

“A front-line asset.”

According to the prophecy, Aint was undeniably on the rise. Investing in him and staying close to reap the rewards—that was the hallmark of a true merchant.

If only their personalities weren’t polar opposites—if only Aint weren’t destined to destroy Fernan—maybe he would’ve already run to him, wagging his tail like a dog.

He had made a good first impression by giving Aint a top-quality potion. But what if he kept investing, only for it to turn against him?

That would be like digging his own grave. An unforgivable stupidity.

“What’s the dilemma?”

At that moment, his assistant entered and asked.

“Hyde.”

“Yes?”

“There’s a group of merchants that will thrive if you invest in them. What would you do?”

“I’d definitely invest.”

“But what if the merchant’s personality doesn’t match mine?”

“Is that even a dilemma? Money can buy compatibility.”

“…You’re right. It was a pointless worry.”

Fernan’s eyes widened. It was a surprisingly simple matter. Money could do everything. Personality clashes were trivial in the face of overwhelming wealth.

He had only hesitated because of something as grand as demons and the end of the world, but the fundamental principle remained the same.

Invest, take risks, and reap great returns.

“I need to see him. Right now.”

“Excuse me?”

“Doubting and missing the investment opportunity is the height of foolishness.”

Without even waiting for his assistant’s response, Fernan grabbed his coat and ran out.

“…Um, a guest has arrived.”

A guest summoned by the young master himself, no less. The assistant shook his head.

“I guess I’ll be the one cleaning up the mess again.”

Sighing deeply, he followed outside.

***

The newly admitted students who passed the entrance exam were immediately assigned to dormitories based on their rankings.

“Phew.”

This isn’t it either.

He lay down on the bed. Though the soft mattress couldn’t compare to the ones at home, it was still fairly decent.

Even though he passed the entrance exam, he didn’t score high enough to enter the prestigious Ravidus Hall, reserved for the top students, nor even the second-tier Bless Hall. Instead, he was placed in De Base Hall. But Aint didn’t mind.

There had been a small issue along the way, but he overcame it—and more importantly, he had achieved the first objective that brought him to the Academy.

His gaze drifted to the sword lying next to him. It had once belonged to Gardener Alpenfarsen, the first Royal Knight of the Empire; now it would become Aint Armian’s cherished blade.

A gift arranged by the First Emperor himself—a treasure meant to guide him to greater heights.

— De Base Hall?

Even with Alpenfarsen’s ego housed in the sword.

— A descendant of Armian not placed in Bless Hall, but in De Base Hall at the Armian Academy?

— Unthinkable!

— If the late emperor knew, he’d rise from his grave and wring the necks of demons!

“Why are demons suddenly involved?”

— Because only demon schemes could lead to something like this!

“What is this? A roundabout insult? I can’t help it. I’m weak, after all.”

— Incredible. That a descendant of Armian would be this weak…

“If we’re assigning blame, then it’s also the First Emperor’s fault for creating a system where anyone could become Emperor.”

Well… that was the real issue.

The Empire was supported by seven Elector Princes. Their possession of the Golden Decree granted them the right to elect the Emperor.

When an emperor died, new elections were held. Whoever secured a majority of the electors’ votes would become Emperor.

If only he had passed on the throne. Why did he have to donate most of Armian’s territory to the Empire…?

It would’ve been one thing to simply lose the throne, but the First Emperor gave away most of Armian’s land to the Empire.

Of course, while the throne remained in Armian hands, it wasn’t a problem.

But the moment they lost the crown, the majority of Armian’s properties were handed to the new royal family.

In that process, Armian had to fight to survive, and as a result, even parts of the secret swordsmanship passed down from the founding generation were lost.

Thus began the decline.

So honestly, while I respect the First Emperor, I also resent him. If not for that decision, Armian wouldn’t have fallen so far.

— How dare you!

— The idea of losing the throne is absurd!

— To think such incompetents bear the name of Armian!

“Not everyone can be as great as the First Emperor.”

Aint gave a bitter smile. No one wants to lose their throne.

Imperial authority over a patchwork of kingdoms was inherently weak, and the fact that it lasted nearly a thousand years was practically a miracle.

— Well. Luckily, you have talent. I’ll help you however I can to restore that glory.

— Maybe the late emperor foresaw this and left me behind as your guide.

“Thank you.”

It was a welcome offer. After all, Aint had enrolled in the Academy, enduring shame and hardship, because of Gardener Alpenfarsen.

At that moment—

Knock, knock.

“You’re Armian, right? Are you in there?”

“Who is it?”

“I’m your senior.”

“…Excuse me?”

— Expecting someone?

No one. Since the Armian family lost the throne, they’d withdrawn into themselves. Aint didn’t know any nobles.

And yet, someone had come claiming to be his senior.

‘No way…’

Aint cautiously opened the door. Just as he suspected, a familiar man stood there.

A perfectly dressed noble, exuding natural dignity.

“Senior Fernan?”

“It’s been a while. Or maybe not?”

Fernan shrugged.

“Are you busy?”

“No, I don’t have anything going on right now…”

“In that case, I’d like a bit of your time. It’s too public here. I know a quiet place I’d prefer to go.”

“Ah. Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Five minutes. Please just give me five minutes to get ready.”

“Of course.”

Fernan pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled something on it, and handed it over.

“I’ll go ahead. See you here.”

“Y-Yes!”

Fernan disappeared. Aint closed the door and took a deep breath.

“What is this? He said investment. Don’t tell me he’s here to collect for the potion already?”

“Or… did he see me enter the dungeon?”

“No, that can’t be. There was no one around… But could I really hide from Fernan if he wanted to find me?”

Dozens of thoughts flooded his mind, plunging it into chaos.

— What’s wrong?

— Why are you panicking over that guy?

“He’s a pretty important figure at the Academy.”

— But he’s just a student, right?

“Yes, but consider his status. His full name is Fernan Pellenberg. He’s the eldest son of House Pellenberg.”

— Pellenberg? That rich family?

“…Excuse me?”

Aint tilted his head in confusion at the sudden insult. Their first encounter had happened so abruptly they hadn’t had time to truly look at one another.

Now that he could observe him properly, the impression wasn’t bad. Though he looked ordinary, his eyes had a sharp gleam, and here and there, ambition could be seen.

He’s ambitious. If he also has talent and the right environment, he could go far.

It wasn’t a certainty. But Fernan’s instincts told him so. One of a merchant’s most critical virtues was the ability to read people, and in that, Fernan was confident.

Even if it hadn’t been for the Book of Prophecy, he would’ve given Aint Armian high marks.

However, he couldn’t afford to be openly friendly. A close relationship with the former royal family would inevitably create conflict with the current one.

“Senior.”

Perhaps because he had steeled himself, Aint’s eyes trembled less now.

“Sit down.”

“Yes.”

A private room in a tea house located in the center of the Academy.

Run by the Pellenberg family, the tea house ensured privacy in its private rooms—making it the perfect place for this kind of talk.

“What will you drink?”

“Anything is fine.”

“Two coffees, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shortly after, the server brought the coffee and left. They now had complete privacy.

Nervous, Aint swallowed hard. Fernan’s gaze drifted toward his waist.

“You brought your sword.”

“Ah… It just makes me feel more at ease to carry it with me. I never intended to harm you, Senior Fernan.”

“I understand. Most knights don’t part with their swords.”

Fernan nodded.

‘So that’s the sword. The one said to house the ego of the first Royal Knight, Gardner Alfenparsen.’

It looked relatively old and unimpressive, which raised some doubts.

But when they met in front of the dungeon, he’d been carrying a different sword, so this one was likely the real deal.

The Book of Prophecy also described its appearance as worn.

‘The Book of Prophecy was right after all.’

Despite having checked it multiple times, Fernan continued to confirm it again and again. It was a compulsive habit of merchants.

Of course, a more important reason was that he didn’t want to believe in a future where he fell into ruin.

“Are your wounds okay?”

“Yes. Thanks to you… If it was a top-quality potion, I’ll gather the money and pay you back as soon as I can.”

“No need. Didn’t I say it was an investment?”

“…Yes.”

“By the way, have you eaten?”

Fernan, reading Aint’s expression, refrained from bringing up sponsorship.

People like him didn’t easily succumb to temptation—unless they were in utter desperation or given an irresistible offer.

Fernan had neither at the moment. A hasty proposal could only offend Aint’s Armian pride and turn him into an enemy.

“Not yet…”

“In that case…”

The conversation that followed was nothing more than idle chatter. After a good while, Fernan stood to leave.

“Well then, I’ll see you again. Oh, and don’t act like you know me in public. There could be people watching me.”

“Yes.”

Left alone, Aint tilted his head in confusion.

“What was all that?”

‘Did he really just come to chat?’

— He was just trying to understand you.

“Understand me?”

— To figure out what kind of person you are.

— That’s how rich people operate. Before doing anything, they always assess the person first.

“So he was checking if I’m useful or not?”

— Exactly. What a pitiful world we live in.

— To think someone would dare treat an Armian like that.

“…But it’s not necessarily a bad thing, right?”

If he had mentioned direct sponsorship as an extension of the potion investment, it probably would’ve felt like an insult to his house.

People would’ve looked down on Fernan. But he had stayed within the proper bounds. If all he wanted was to build a good relationship, there was no reason to reject it.

“Because the Pellenberg family’s money isn’t something you can ignore.”

— A wise thought.

— If it’s about money, the Pellenbergs have the most. Get one of them as your patron, and you’re set. The late emperor used to say that too.

Gardner let out a hearty laugh.

***

“Hmm..”

Most of the conversation with Aint had been trivial talk. But it is often in the mundane where a person’s true nature is revealed.

And with the Book of Prophecy in hand, Fernan had gained a fairly accurate understanding of Aint Armian.

His will was firm, and he placed great importance on his family’s honor. He possessed a deep sense of pride and a clear desire to restore the house’s former glory—an ambition rooted in nobility.

‘A hasty move would only provoke hostility. Better to approach gradually, like water seeping into stone.’

Fernan had decided on the course to take with Aint. Their personalities didn’t quite align, so forging a relationship that was too direct didn’t seem wise.

Maintaining proper distance, keeping a suitable level of relationship, and extracting just the right amount of benefit: that was the best course of action.

At least that was the conclusion for now.

“Well then…”

“Young Master, have you returned?”

“What is it?”

“Where have you been?”

“I had to meet someone, briefly.”

“That someone wasn’t Luina Bercheff, was it?”

“Luina Bercheff? Why bring her up all of a sudden?”

Luina Bercheff was second in the Faculty of Knights. And her family was deeply indebted to him.

“You asked to meet her today.”

“I did?”

“Yes, Young Master.”

“…Right, I did.”

The Pellenberg family had lent money to the Bercheff family in hopes of gaining access to their secret swordsmanship.

He vaguely remembered arranging the meeting to apply pressure, now that she and her house were beginning to feel the weight of the debt.

“That was today?”

“Yes. I was going to inform you that she was waiting, but you suddenly left.”

“…Where is Luina now?”

“She waited three hours, thinking you’d return soon, and then left. She probably suspects you did it on purpose—to intimidate her.”

“…If she’s in debt, she should at least be able to handle that—”

Then, a terrible headache struck him, and suddenly, fragments of memory from the Book of Prophecy surfaced in his mind.

[That’s right. Her talent is enough to reach the rank of Royal Knight.]

Declared by the soul dwelling in the sword—none other than the great First Royal Knight, Gardner Alfenparsen.

[It seems there’s some kind of heart-bound demon…]

If only the shackles binding her could be broken, she would spread her wings and soar.

These fragments reached him because they were connected to Aint Armian.

‘A Royal Knight?’

One of the ten strongest knights on the continent, officially recognized by the Emperor?

[Her loose chestnut hair and aquamarine eyes were just part of her charm.]

[Her sword was noble, beautiful, pure, and alive.]

[Aint was completely captivated by her sword dance under the moonlight.]

[He wanted to free her from her chains—that is, from the Pellenberg family.]

Was she even Aint Armian’s first love and the first reason their relationship would fall apart?

“…Damn it.”

Fernan realized immediately.

‘Why is something this important only coming to me now…?!’

He had fastened the first button wrong.