Chapter 221 - 3−25
I cried until my tears ran dry. I leaned my limp body against the cold wall, staring blankly at a stain on the surface. After Theodore-sama’s phantom vanished, I tried everything to escape. I used offensive magic to blast the door, called out to the contract spirit he said he’d attached to me, and even reached for the Pendant Nel-sama gave me, hoping to travel to the Spirit Land. But the Pendant was gone. I must have dropped it somewhere.
I told myself not to give up. I tried every method I could think of, even considering asking the dragon for help. But every attempt ended in failure.
"Even if you aren't alone, everyone should do what they can."
Theodore-sama’s words echoed in my head. Yet my body felt heavy, as if all my strength had been drained. It was the same sensation I felt when I first woke up after losing my magic. Then, the sound of a key turning in the lock made my heavy eyelids flutter open.
Light flooded in as the door opened. Whether it was the external light or the sheer presence of the person entering, the brightness was blinding. I stared at the blurry silhouette, unable to focus. But the moment that person stepped into the room, a chill raced through my body as if the temperature had plummeted to zero.
What is this pressure?!
The strange aura of the figure approaching with rhythmic footsteps made me shrink back. The air itself seemed to vibrate, stinging my skin with a sharp, prickling pain. "So, it’s this one," a low, rumbling voice echoed through the room.
The man stood before me. He had only spoken a few words, yet I couldn't stop shaking. I slowly raised my gaze and met a pair of piercing, reddish-purple eyes. My ears began to ring, just as they had when the dragon was near. No, this was on an entirely different level. The heavy, oppressive sound pinned me in place like a sleep paralysis demon.
Is this... him?
"They said you were making quite a fuss, so I came to see for myself... How unsightly."
"Who... are you?" My voice was a pathetic, raspy crawl, squeezed out through sheer terror.
The man didn't seem to care. He knelt before me, observing me with cold, inorganic eyes. As he tilted his head slightly, his hair, a burning, flickering orange that matched the glow of the room’s single lamp, swayed softly. "So, you are the one they call my destiny?"
The man speaking with such disdain was Alec Tratia. There was no doubt about it. This was the young Emperor of the Tratia Empire, the man feared as a blood-stained madman.