A strange laugh escaped from the back of his throat, like he was choking on something. Then he fell silent, tilting his head back to gaze at the dull and hazy mist swirling in the monotonous, noisy wind.
Nova tilted his head back as well, only to see nothing.
“You don’t truly see all of this as an illusion,”
The professor said. “It’s obvious—you care about the Natalin, and about your dragon too.”
The other man didn’t reply. He simply closed his eyes slowly and let out a breath.
“Do you want to know what happened ten years ago?” he asked softly. But before Nova could answer, he corrected himself, “No… Let’s say I just want to tell you.”
The professor stared at him. When those beautiful, imposing eyes were closed, the man looked serene and tired, full of sorrow. He’s showing weakness to me, Nova thought. The realization came oddly, bypassing logic, making the dark-haired young man frown—uncertain of the other’s motives.
Nova had complicated feelings about the Divine Chosen. The man was worldly and indifferent, yet at times showed a boyish warmth and candor. He was like an unfamiliar sea, sun-warmed and transparent—inviting to the touch, yet if one truly dived in, they might sink straight into an abyss.
“…I’ve picked up bits and pieces,” Nova said warily. “Go ahead and tell me. I’ll decide case by case whether to pretend I didn’t hear it or not.”
Azukar shot him a look, fingers twitching with the urge to clamp down on his nemesis’s nape again. But he had already shocked the other enough for one day, and the clumsy attempt at comfort had softened him. He felt a rare pang of guilt—perhaps bullying him now was a bit too much.
Though the early signs of Nova Brody’s terrifying future insight were already showing, at present he was still an inexperienced, somewhat naive and reckless youth. Given Azukar’s true age, he could almost call the man “child.” Perhaps it was this odd disconnect that made the so-called savior unusually indulgent and soft-hearted toward his “lively” rival.
“Ten years ago, I returned to the beginning of the manga,” he sighed, as casually as if he were saying he’d eaten three slices of toasted mara root this morning.
“…Well, that explains it.” Nova muttered. He wasn’t the type to ignore lingering doubts, and since Azukar had openly offered this as a bargaining chip—though Nova refused to dignify that childish gesture as an actual trade—it clearly wasn’t a top-secret matter. With no fear of provoking the other, he easily extracted some information.
Ten years ago, nothing significant had happened—only the death of a woman named Elena.
The poor woman succumbed to a long, strange illness that slowly drained her vitality, day by day, until all that remained was a young child.
No one knew who the child’s father was. The mother, when asked about the sudden pregnancy, only said the child was “a god’s child.”
The child who lost his mother did indeed possess a beauty that could astonish the gods.
Had he been born in the First Century, when the gods were at their most active, a child like him would not have survived unless dedicated to a deity for protection—The gods who cov eted him would chase him, and those who envied him would torment him. Ordinary mortals were too fragile to endure such afflictions; nearly all the famous beauties of history perished young. The Natalin, out of pity, decided to raise the child.
The child quietly gathered handfuls of Langrom—Those little blue flowers his mother had taken for years to dull her pain—The sky-colored petals completely covered her body. Each night, the child would sneak away and sleep before his mother’s grave.The tribe who cared for him noticed but did not stop him; They simply added a few warm garments in secret and allowed him his solitary farewell. Until one morning, he was found collapsed before her grave. When he awoke, swirling markings had appeared on his chest. He could command the winds with ease, tame flocks of dragons—even the Windstrider bowed to him. The “Little Bird” became the Divine Chosen—and overnight, lost all trace of childish innocence.
The Divine Chosen did not mention his mother’s death, nor the soul-crushing grief and despair that child had felt after losing his only family. He simply spoke calmly of how he first awakened, surrounded by his people— how he led the Natalin in taming dragons, how he found a juvenile Windstrider and tamed it with his own hands.
“I tried to change everything,” he said softly.“A child’s body couldn’t bear the full weight of my essence—rushing would only cause it to collapse. Otherwise, I would’ve torn down the Wall of Sighs that blocked the Natalin long ago… the Asachi Valley is too barren. All I could do was use dragons to strengthen our people’s power.”
“…What level of combat power did you reach before your rebirth?” Nova latched onto the critical detail, but even before he got a reply, he realized he’d asked something dumb—How could a protagonist who lived to the final episode not be powerful?
Sure enough, the reply came calm, but tinged with quiet blood-soaked authority:“Before I was reborn, I was already a Saint.All the enemies I knew of had fallen to my blade.”
He had accepted the concept of “rebirth” quite smoothly.
“So you’re not a spellcaster before—got it. A magic-sword dual cultivator.”
“…What?” The other looked genuinely puzzled, because the last part was said in Chinese.
Someone who could swing a giant sword and shout Avada Kedavra, tank and deal damage, fight close and at range—the standard template of a Qidian protagonist—And this guy probably came bundled with the “tragically beautiful and overpowered” tag too. As someone raised on the overwhelming info-blast of the internet era, even Nova recognized a few tropes, though every time he tried referencing one, it ended in weird, awkward silence.
Professor Brody kept a deadpan face. “It means you’re both a warrior and a spellcaster. I’m saying you’re impressively versatile.”
The versatile and impressive savior gave a helpless smile. “…Thanks for the compliment?”
“You’re welcome,” Nova replied reflexively. Azukar noticed the man seemed to have a peculiar obsession with manners, which, in certain situations, made him all the more infuriating.
With that tangent, the conversation had veered miles off course, and the negative emotions stirred by recalling his childhood were nearly gone. Professor was truly a strange and fascinating person.
“You’re right. At least for now, I still have my rational mind and the ability to act.”Azukar gave a faint smile, but those blue eyes flashed with something chillingly cold:“And I am genuinely curious—who could create a manga like this? And who’s been toying with my life behind the scenes?”
His tone was light, but the unspoken intent was thick with bloodlust:
“I want to find the author—or authors—and get the answers I deserve—”
“But for that, I’ll need your help, Professor.” The Divine Chosen lowered his gaze, calmly watching the dark-haired young man before him. His voice softened, taking on a subtle, almost hypnotic allure: “The other party has ties to your world, and you’re sharper than I am, better at thinking, and far more familiar with things I’ve never encountered…I need your intellect—your mind.”
Praised so directly, Nova stiffened a little and looked away: “…It really is an intriguing puzzle— interesting, but absolutely troublesome, now give me a good reason to leave everthing behind and help you.”
“It’s simple. I can tell you plainly: a war that will affect you directly is about to erupt. You’re neither a warrior nor a spellcaster. Your intellect, your status, your family—none of that will protect you once peace collapses.”His words were blunt, yet the notoriously irritable professor didn’t seem offended—he just frowned in thought:“In the manga, Nova Brody only reappears after a long silence. I don’t know what price you paid, but you were standing against me by then…I won’t allow you to become my enemy again.”
“And my body is gradually adapting to my origin—what could be more secure than the protection of a Saint? You’re safest by my side. The Divine Chosen caught the unconscious tightening of Nova’s pupils and let out a soft chuckle, then bent forward with elegant grace, placing one hand behind his back and extending the other, palm up—a formal ballroom invitation gesture, typically used when a lower-status person invites someone of higher status, or when a man invites a woman.
“Of course, there’s one more reason—do you want to return to your own world?”
“……”
The dark-haired young man paused for a moment, then suddenly slapped his palm into the offered hand.
“Deal,” he said, firmly and without hesitation—enough to startle the other man with the sharpness of his resolve. “I’ll help you find the ‘author.’ You provide me protection—and assist me in returning to my world.”
“…That’s some remarkable decisiveness and execution. Thank you for your trust.”
“No, this has little to do with trusting you,” Nova replied bluntly, and who knew what sort of mental hurricane had just passed through his mind: “It’s just that all the pieces have finally connected. It all makes sense now—And another thing—was that whole dead-eyed, heartbroken act earlier just a way to fish for sympathy and manipulate me?”
The other had been making preparations ever since his “rebirth.” It didn’t look like the actions of someone lost in self-doubt and self-pity.
The man was silent for a moment, then looked at him with a gaze tinged with melancholy—so sincere it was almost unbearable like hell: “I’m sorry. That really was my genuine emotion… but I had to make one last confirmation about your stance.”
From the very first moment he saw his nemesis, he had been subtly probing him. If the test had failed, he would’ve absolutely chosen to kill his still-immature rival, keeping his soul close by to prevent him from becoming a terrifying enemy. Luckily, what he encountered was indeed a radiant soul from another world—intelligent, calm, faithless, and still with a sense of morality. It all satisfied what he wanted.
“For that, I must apologize—for deceiving you,” he said earnestly, and then noticed the other had gone stiff again in that weird, tense way.
“…We weren’t allies before. Given your situation, being cautious was the normal thing to do. No need to apologize.”The dark-haired young man tried to put some distance between them—only to almost fall into the swirling wind again.
Helplessly, Azukar grabbed his rival by the shoulder and pulled him back.
One more thing, Azukar thought: he needed to keep an eye on his dear professor—just in case his precious ally ended up dying mysteriously in some corner, like a stray cat.
