Having reached a consensus, the conversation continued.
“I killed six pirates near the Wall of Sighs,” the Divine Chosen said flatly, though he kindly provided the details: “Five suffocated to death, one was stabbed through the chest by his companion from behind.”
The other clicked his tongue softly, as if annoyed by his inability to deduce the full picture.
“Those pirates came seeking the so-called ‘dragon lair’, only for their ship to be destroyed by the draconic horde. After being rescued by the Natalins, they fled in secret and sold information about Asachi Valley and the Natalins to the mercenary guild at the port, leading the Samman family to join forces with the stationed navy in launching a massacre against the Natalins.”
“…Is this a prophecy?” the black-haired youth asked calmly.
“No. This is reality. I lived through it all,” the Divine Chosen replied softly, unsettling in its tranquility.
Thus began a grand tale: a youth who lost his homeland and kin overnight, mired in mysteries, burdened with a vengeance vast as the sea, and setting off on a rugged path toward becoming a legend.
The last of the Natalin fled, and just when he thought his wandering might end, that he might catch his breath, cruel coincidences would take everything from him again and again.
The audience watching his story would only lament fate’s cruelty and unpredictability, never suspecting that the so-called “cruel and capricious fate” had a guiding hand behind it.
“Asachi Valley has been isolated from the world for over three hundred years, and yet the tale of a ‘dragon lair’ only recently emerged.” The legendary figure’s voice grew even softer, nearly a whisper. “Tell me, Professor—where do you suppose such a rumor originated?”
“…Does it have something to do with Cassius II?”
If one were to name an enemy of the Natalin, the most likely candidate would be those in power.
“No, His Majesty the King couldn’t care less,” Azukar sneered. “To him, his royal predecessor who shares his surname and bloodline is nothing but a short-lived unlucky wretch, not worth the effort of taking revenge on a pack of homeless dogs. He’d rather spend his fortune on gambling, theater, and lavish feasts.”
He had once been forced to swallow grief, shame, and rage, until he became strong enough to face the once-unreachable powers that be—only to find that the hedonistic and reckless king didn’t care at all about the “gift” made of an entire people’s lives. The ones who ruined Azukar’s life were nothing more than sycophants who bungled their attempt to curry favor with the highborn.
“What?” Cassius II had said at the time, laughing heartily while directing a few scantily clad jesters in ridiculous poses. “Oh, Samman mentioned something like that once, I think. But how am I supposed to remember such things? Go ask him.”
The wind howled like weeping. Nova, confused and alarmed, couldn’t open his eyes against the sudden violent gusts rising from beneath his feet. Instinctively, he tried to step back—only to be seized by the neck from behind.
Only then did he realize the two of them were standing within the narrow eye of the storm. Bloodstained stones were being lifted and shredded into dust by the vortex at a speed nearly imperceptible to the naked eye. Had he fallen in moments ago, his human flesh would’ve fared no better.
Then he met a pair of eyes that harbors catastrophe—golden streaks radiating from the iris fractured into the deep blue like lightning, like cresting waves, like the cracks of a universe.
“Apologies for startling you, but this way is safer—I’ll be blunt, Professor. I saw all of this with my own eyes,” the Divine Chosen said, his voice soft and clear, gathering by the other’s ear.
“This world is a manga, and I am the protagonist. In the near future, countless disasters and coincidences will naturally befall me, because only then will the story be dramatic enough—interesting enough.”
Nova’s pupils contracted sharply.
The term manga, aka /manhua/ was spoken in Chinese—something he knew intimately, yet something utterly impossible to exist in the world of Ambrose. The absurdity and flood of information froze the professor’s mind momentarily.
“As for you, Professor,” the so-called protagonist said with a slow smile, “you come from the world that watches over my life—don’t you?”
“……”
“Don’t be nervous.” The hand gripping the back of his neck tightened slightly, pulling him nearly into an embrace. Azukar lowered his head, his dazzling golden hair softly falling over the bare nape of the black-haired youth. Cold coral and turquoise brushed against his skin like a fine, delicate net.
He stared at the tiny hairs on the other’s ear, quivering slightly in the shifting air, and speaking gently to comfort him—even though the words were chilling: “I won’t take my anger out on you, nor blame you for hiding the truth… I did consider, if you were just a special puppet manipulated by fate, then I will extract your soul for research—but you, yourself, made me abandon that idea.”
“That reminds me,” he suddenly shifted the topic, “when we signed the soul pact earlier, I discovered your soul couldn’t be bound by the Ockensell River. So the pact has no effect on you—any thoughts on that?”
“…I swear I knew nothing about that until now.” Nova slowly furrowed his brows.
The Divine Chosen nodded slightly, noncommittally. He released his grip and stepped back, causing much of the suffocating pressure to dissipate.
The black-haired youth stood in silence for a moment, then suddenly asked, “Then what about me? In that ‘manga’ you claim to have personally seen—what’s my role?”
“You killed Cassius II and Queen Esméry, seized the throne, and resolved to launch an apocalyptic war to slaughter all believers,” the protagonist said, maintaining his calm expression. “In short, you are my nemesis.”
In other words, the villain—specifically, the final villain who overthrew the previous one mid-story.
Nova: “……”
“…Are you joking?” he asked with an emotionless face. “I’m a university professor. The pay’s not great but it’s stable, and I’m a minor noble with all my basic needs met. Why would I suddenly go destroy the world for fun?”
Nova knew something was wrong with him. In his original world, he had undergone a full examination as an adult: Asperger syndrome[mfn]Asperger Syndrome (AS), classified under Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is a neurodevelopmental condition primarily characterized by difficulties in social interaction and repetitive, restricted patterns of behavior or interests. Children with Asperger Syndrome typically exhibit: Average to above-average intelligence Impairments in understanding social cues and relationships, Communication challenges (e.g., literal interpretation, atypical speech patterns), Intense, specialized interests (often in narrow, highly focused topics). The exact cause remains unclear, though genetic factors are strongly implicated in its development. (Note: The DSM-5 no longer uses “Asperger Syndrome” as a standalone diagnosis, but the term persists in clinical and public discourse.)[/mfn]—enough to make him different from others—but he was certainly no thrill-seeking sadist or some high-functioning psychopath.
“Maybe it’s just a ‘storyline’?” The other man, disturbingly calm even when speaking to his ‘nemesis,’ continued, “Maybe we are all just fictional characters meant to entertain the gods—no different from the heroes or fools in the bards’ lies.”
Nova stared at him—the guy was spewing the most absurd and despair-ridden nonsense, yet still wore that almost frozen smile. It made him seem absolutely deranged.
“No, I don’t believe that.” The black-haired youth replied firmly, “If this world were merely the essence of a comic book, then it wouldn’t exist at all.”
“I’ve read tens of thousands of books and documents from across this world and various disciplines—and I can roughly recite their contents. I’m certain that your world has evolved over time into a tightly structured system of culture, economy, and politics. What kind of existence could create such a complete and mature world just from a book? Your so-called gods?”
He let out a scornful chuckle and shot back quickly, “Pardon my bluntness, but based on all the so-called colorful histories and the fact that no god has ever remained active for more than a thousand years, the only conclusion I can draw is this: gods don’t exist—they’re just a group of people with more power than most.”
He probably shouldn’t be saying this to a religious leader, but this man didn’t resemble the kind who loved to flaunt their gods. Nova decided to trust his instincts.
The god of eloquence once tricked a disrespectful king into raping his own favorite daughter; the god of love and desire, jealous of a mortal woman’s beauty, bewitched her and made her copulate with a beast in full public view. The various sects preached these stories as lessons on “never disrespect the gods,” but the professor found such filthy tactics utterly repulsive.
Jealousy, greed, lust… If all the vices of humankind still clung to so-called gods, then how could they be considered divine?
“…Please continue.” The Divine Chosen’s gaze was deep and unreadable.
“As for my world…” The professor’s tone subconsciously softened. It was a subtle shift most would miss, but the Divine Chosen noticed immediately—it was clear the other man held deep feelings for his homeland.
“Basic logic,” Nova said flatly. “If this comic originated from my country, all of you would be speaking Chinese. If it were a foreign work, then at least it should be in a language I’ve heard of.”
—Instead of making him learn a completely foreign language from scratch.
“…Does your homeland have gods?”
“Various religions are inevitable, but my country is the world’s largest with atheism as the mainstream belief. We typically don’t try to prove whether gods exist—we demand the gods prove themselves. And in the past hundred years of reliable historical record, no god has ever truly appeared.”
Those charlatan cults and tricksters don’t count.
“All things considered, it seems more likely someone used your experience as the prototype for a manga,” the professor concluded, quite satisfied, as if presenting a final report. He lacked empathy but sounded absolutely certain. “I don’t know how you saw that book or reversed time—sounds like the reincarnation-or reborn-novels we used to have. Just believe this: whether everything you’ve experienced is manipulated or not, as long as you can think and act freely, you are still free—and can still change your reality.”
“—We call that the subjective initiative of humanity.”
