I Became the Teacher of the Imperial Family’s Bastard

062. The Night Becomes a Cradle (4)

I gasped for breath as I recalled the events that had just transpired.

‘What just happened?’

During the interrogation, the black-clad man’s body suddenly swelled.

I immediately knew it was a self-detonation.

The pattern cast over his eyes twisted urgently.

Before I could even think of a countermeasure, I instinctively wrapped my body in mana.

In the end, I managed to block the explosion’s damage, but all that remained were chunks of flesh and pools of blood.

‘Suicide?’

…No, it was more of an escape.

He died, promising a next time.

It meant he had a way to resurrect from such a death.

Just how far had he prepared?

It was unfortunate that we hadn’t uncovered much, but it was encouraging that we had at least identified the enemy.

‘Outer Scripture, Fate Sect.’

A different faction that follows the Goddess of Fate, unlike the existing Fate Sect.

Their location is in the Outer Scripture, and at this point, they hold the blessing that the Fate Sect of the Holy See has lost.

In other words, the Goddess is siding with the enemy.

But when I delve into the question of ‘why,’ my mind goes blank.

Moreover, considering that these guys have been involved in all these incidents since my previous life, it becomes a situation where too many things need to be considered.

Things too chaotic to sort out right here and now.

It was the moment a sigh escaped him.

Zzzt―!

From a distant place, a familiar trace of mana spread out.

I let out a hollow laugh.

‘Ah, so it finally happened.’

The Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince’s ‘domination’ had been unleashed.

There was no mistaking it.

Having been exposed to that temperament longer and more intensely than anyone else, there was no way I could be mistaken.

Of course, it was somewhat intentional.

Isn’t that right, Crown Prince?

Honestly, he’s too weak.

His talent is outstanding, but that’s it.

To grow faster than the time when he thought only of the sword all day, he needed a kind of extreme remedy.

Besides, that pathetic temperament that easily let its guard down needed to be killed at least once.

The situation was just right.

With Girgoor by his side, he wouldn’t really die, and even so, considering other traps, it was clear the Crown Prince would find himself in a crisis.

That’s why I created this scenario, but still, an absurd feeling arose.

‘Does it make sense to draw out one’s temperament in a crisis?’

It’s really ridiculous.

The reason I use my temperament is because I’ve already experienced that realm and know the sensation.

In the first place, if I had a body, I would be a Sword Master by now.

In contrast, the Crown Prince lacked everything.

Body, skill, enlightenment.

The three main elements of swordsmanship remained at the expert level, yet his temperament burst out all of a sudden.

It was impossible.

This was something that directly contradicted common sense and theory.

So in the end, I muttered inwardly.

‘The world is so damn unfair. Damn it.’

A single talent can deprive a person like this.

* * *

Kallios did not think.

It wasn’t that he had given up on something.

Rather, having reached the pinnacle, the ‘need to think’ had disappeared.

‘It is felt.’

The flow of mana, its form, its structure.

The essence of what encompasses it, called ‘mana.’

Everything entered Kallios’s domain.

Kallios felt an instinctive certainty that he could handle it as he wished.

This was the true appearance of the world that Kallios had always felt only as fragments.

Because it was just that kind of story, the moment Kallios succeeded in observing, he imbued his will into the space.

Then all the magic of the artifact became Kallios’s, and even the mana flowing through the opponent’s body became Kallios’s.

Dominance. The ability to bind, rule, and command everything underfoot was manifested.

Of course, Kallios did not understand such things with his head at the moment.

He used it with the thought, ‘I think I can do this too,’ as he usually did when crossing a wall.

And so he began to press down on the opponent.

Slam!

He drove his fist into the face of the fake who had lost the artifact.

When the fake tried to move the blood to shoot it, he slammed the blood into the ground.

The same went for other magic.

“Is this how you use it?”

Boom―!

The created magic collided and disappeared, or conversely, attacked the fake.

For the fake, it was a moment of terror.

The ability to nullify all assumed possibilities.

A bizarre power unheard of, making analysis and understanding useless.

It was natural not to understand.

How could one who had never experienced it acknowledge and accept an unwavering pinnacle?

Dominance was an ability that did not allow comparison with other natures.

Even Yuren’s “Shattering,” which tears apart the structural arrangement of everything that exists beyond the boundary of the physical and non-physical, was restricted in the face of domination. Can you understand that?

The only reason he could struggle was because Yuren had “eyes.”

In other words, it meant that the nature of domination was so alien and exceptional that one had to possess both “Shattering” and “eyes,” one of the highest properties, to barely resist.

Yuren commented on it like this:

From noble mtl dot com

―It’s an ability that pops out when a brat throws a tantrum in a duel.

―If you don’t like it, you can dominate too.

―Damn it…

Of course, it wasn’t perfect yet, as it was a level forcibly brought to the expert level.

But that didn’t mean it could resist Kallios tearing apart the fake.

Only one thing,

Drip―

Assuming his body could withstand it.

Boom―!

Boom―!

Kallios wielded his power recklessly.

In a situation where he didn’t even know the limits of his ability and body, calculating the usage or distribution of power was out of the question.

He was in a sort of rampage state, driven only by the thought of killing the fake.

The fake was cautious and observant.

Noticing this, it tried to endure.

It concluded that as long as it stood until Kallios self-destructed, it would win.

So it cast another spell.

Even knowing it would be shot at itself, even knowing it would be nullified, it didn’t stop.

To buy a little more time, to disperse Kallios’s attention a little more.

Even in the midst of that, the act of persistently seeking victory was certainly praiseworthy.

But…

“Such a petty trick.”

Boom!!!

…Being praiseworthy was different from being great.

“Ugh…?!”

The fake was stomped into the ground by Kallios.

What he saw was one thing.

The new form of Kallios disappeared from sight, and the next moment, it appeared above him, stepping on his shoulder.

There was no process.

No, it was so fast that he couldn’t perceive the process.

Resistance was impossible.

It wasn’t just because of the injury.

‘The mana…’

The moment Kallios stepped on him, the mana inside his body twisted all at once, crushing the blood vessels below his neck.

It was a horrifying method.

Mana exhaustion, physical collapse.

All means of resistance were broken.

Tears of blood streamed down Kallios’s face.

He had reached his limit, and only now did it happen.

The fake tasted the bitter defeat.

Only his eyes, filled with vengeance, glared at Kallios, but that only fueled Kallios’s emotions.

“Where does a worm like you dare to look…”

Kallios dropped his sword.

Then, grabbing the fake by the collar, he punched him in the face.

“Like this.”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

He didn’t stop.

Half out of his mind, he was only focused on venting his emotions.

He was obsessed with restoring his wounded pride and eliminating the culprit.

That was,

“Oh, in the end, it’s just madness.”

It wasn’t a very good sight in Yuren’s eyes.

“Stop there.”

Thud—

The sacred tree of Yuren blocked the fist of Kallios.

Kallios hesitated, his body trembling, then he lifted his head.

His vision was blurry.

Yet, even in that state, he could see something.

“This temper of yours never changes. If you push yourself any further, your body will break down. Please, rest now. It’s over. Ah, how should I teach you this again…?”

Yuren looked genuinely troubled.

It was the moment he confirmed it.

“…Ah.”

Kallios collapsed and fainted.

* * *

Black magic controls the mind.

Curses gnaw at the spirit.

Girgore, who dealt with both, could do many things related to the mind within his abilities.

First, he pulled out the brains of those he had drawn into the subspace.

He searched through the memories embedded within them, one by one.

Through that, he saw many things.

It was the process of a boy, who had been small, living on after he had left.

―Until the master returns, prioritize stabilization. Halt business expansion. Avoid unnecessary noise.

The boy tried to maintain that policy.

Girgore smiled bitterly.

It was too amusing that he thought it wasn’t his own, even though he had handed everything over.

―Gather the poor. Loyalty comes from a full stomach. Even if some die fighting, it’s better than having anyone starve.

Still, his wisdom should be praised.

The boy remembered what he had learned.

―…Slave traders? They’re madmen. Execute them. They are pests that destroy Igrosia.

He was cautious and upright.

Just as Girgore remembered him.

So, how had that child changed?

That much could be known immediately.

―…You’ve returned.

―Haha, you’ve aged quite a bit.

―You remain the same, master.

With a smile, the girl with pink hair and green eyes looked at the boy and laughed.

As if mimicking him.

That must be the demon.

Girgore felt a sense of disgust.

He loathed the wretched creature that mimicked him and destroyed everything they had built together.

Yet, even that anger lost its way.

For the demon had already been reverse-summoned by Yuren and Kallios.

―I tried my best. But it seems it’s still not enough.

―What is?

―I wanted to make Egrocia, which you entrusted to me, a better place.

―You’re already doing well enough! If it still bothers you… well, I’ll help you from now on! Let’s build it together. A better Egrocia.

He could only watch as everything burned inside him.

Thus, Girgore came to know even after the death of that loathsome thing.

―Hmm, sorry. This is all I could salvage.

―…Ah?

The boy collapsed in front of the girl, whose head was all that remained.

It was strange.

He had never seen the boy cry, nor did he think he ever would, but in his memory, the boy was hugging the head and sobbing.

It must have been a testament to his deep loyalty.

Thus,

―…She must be saved. Do you know how?

It must have twisted him that way.

From then on, he knew what would happen.

The outsider, wrapped in a robe, manipulated the boy.

Whispering here and there to bend him to his will, and the boy, having lost his reason, followed him.

Watching the process was surprisingly painful for Girgore.

He was astonished that he could feel sorrow for another’s misfortune.

And that the object of his sorrow was the boy he had sworn to punish and erase all expectations from.

It must have been the bond that had formed.

I tried to think of the reason.

Eventually, Grigor knew the answer.

‘You are my child. You are.’

A body cursed to never grow.

Hundreds of years lived alone had created a loneliness he himself did not recognize.

A loneliness that would surely have created a sense of lack, not knowing when it would end.

It was that boy who had alleviated that loneliness.

Interest had somehow turned into affection, and affection had somehow turned into attachment.

That must be why he held that boy so special.

“Haha……”

It was laughable.

To realize that he had been struggling with a loneliness he had always considered trivial.

To face the fact that he was just an ordinary human being.

The more he faced his emotions, the more his anger swelled intensely.

Then the anger, which had lost its way, found a precise target.

‘It’s him.’

That outsider, and what lay behind the outsider.

At that moment, all memories ended.

Grigor emerged from the subspace, feeling the most intense anger of his hundreds of years.

Yuren was there.

Grigor asked.

“…Is it over?”

“I missed him. I killed him, but… it doesn’t seem like I killed him completely.”

Is that so.

He felt both regret and relief.

Grigor muttered with a cold smile.

“Then I can kill him with my own hands.”

Yuren made a reluctant expression at that.

Grigor ignored him and walked away.

The Crown Prince and the boy lay collapsed.

It must have been a rather intense battle.

Girgore examined the boy’s prone body.

Then he closed his eyes.

‘He’s dying.’

He cannot be saved.

Even if he survives, he will be crippled, unable to move his body again.

No, let’s think beyond that.

‘Should I save him?’

There is sorrow.

There is also guilt towards the child.

Nevertheless, Girgore was an calculating and selfish man.

If he had done something, he believed in clear rewards and punishments, and he applied that standard to himself as well.

So, the standard would not change even for a boy who was like a son to him.

Surely, the boy had sacrificed too much.

“…What should I do?”

He was confused.

It was the first time in Girgore’s life that he faced such a difficult moment.

It was the first time he felt emotions of love and hate towards another person, and the first time he hesitated in the face of guilt.

With a bitter smile, he looked at Yuren.

Yuren glanced back at Girgore.

Silence lingered.

Then, at some moment, Yuren turned his gaze to the boy and spoke softly.

“It’s your choice. If you need my opinion, well…”

“……”

“…I don’t really like executions. They’re too humane.”

Girgore found himself drawn to that voice.