TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 68

Somewhere on the continent,

Blake, exhausted from the day’s battle training against monsters, had completely drained his strength. His eyelids felt unbearably heavy.

He had barely stepped into the small cabin before collapsing to the ground, falling into a deep sleep almost instantly.

Perhaps he carried his usual, fervent hopes into his dream, for what unfolded was unusually vivid.

In the dream, he appeared to be sixteen or seventeen years old, locked in combat with several monsters.

Blake noticed that they were all mid-level monsters, yet the black-haired youth fought them with ease—far more composed than Blake ever managed in reality when facing even a group of low-level creatures.

Clenching his fists, Blake couldn’t help feeling a surge of unwillingness to lose, even to his dream-self.

The black-haired youth dispatched the monsters effortlessly; within moments, they were all neatly defeated. Behind him, the sound of applause rang out.

Both Blake and the black-haired youth turned their gazes sideways—expressions perfectly identical across dream and dreamer.

The one applauding was a Master in a gray robe, who praised,

“Blake, your strength has improved rapidly over the past few years.”

The black-haired youth’s face remained cool, his eyes unshaken.

“Any news of Albin?”

he asked, propping one leg on a large rock as he sat down. He bit the end of a bandage in his mouth and pulled it taut, his gloved hand rewrapping a broken sword in fresh layers of white cloth.

Though he cared deeply about the question, his tone betrayed little hope—he had already heard too many disappointing answers.

“Yes,”

the Master replied shortly.

Blake’s eyes mirrored those of his dream-self—snapping toward the Master, filled with burning anticipation.

“Where is he?”

the black-haired youth leapt off the rock, disbelief flashing across his face.

Receiving the name of a city, he rushed off in urgency.

Blake’s vision followed him closely.

Even in a dream, he wanted to see Albin again.

If his dream-self had grown up, did that mean he might see what Albin looked like now, years later?

How had Albin been living all these years?

His heart surged with hope, pounding rapidly. The scene before him shifted—day and night passing in blurs, landscapes flashing by.

He understood what that meant: the black-haired youth had reached his destination.

But the northern snowbound city of the Eastern Continent before him was engulfed in a sea of flames.

The fire dyed his indigo eyes crimson. The sky itself was ablaze, devoured by fierce flames that consumed the entire city.

The sight of the raging fire made both Blake and the black-haired youth recall that day—the day everything changed. Their expressions darkened instantly.

If Albin was among the victims…

Through the inferno, they desperately searched for a familiar yet distant face—only to find the cause of the devastation:

a silver-white apocalypse dragon.

Its terrifying aura made their teeth chatter; the scorching fire roared forward, searing their faces.

Even through the veil of the dream, Blake could feel that bone-deep dread.

But then—his gaze fixed upon a white silhouette.

Compared to the raging dragon, that white figure appeared so fragile and small—like snow that should have blanketed the land, ready to be consumed by fire at any second.

No…

At that moment, Blake completely forgot this was only a dream. A dreadful premonition gripped him—an unbearable sense of déjà vu, as if he had lived this before.

He was standing in the burning city again, every bone in his body screaming in denial.

No!

Stop!

Stop!!!

He cried out inwardly for time itself to freeze. Both his dreaming and waking selves were driven by the same terror, rushing toward that white silhouette with everything they had. The world around him blurred and vanished.

In the next instant, the roaring dragon cruelly drove its claws through that white figure.

Hot blood burst forth like blooming fireworks—from the body of the white-haired youth.

“ALBIN—!!”

Chase him! Chase him! Save him! Save him!

He roared, he pleaded.

But as he sprinted forward, a sudden force seized him in place — like a galloping horse being yanked to a halt by its reins, or someone being strangled by an invisible hand, unable to move another inch.

Blake snapped his head around. In the dream, he couldn’t move far from the black-haired youth.

And at that moment, the black-haired youth too seemed to be restrained by some unseen power, frozen in place, his body unbearably heavy, as if sinking into a devouring swamp.

Without hesitation, the black-haired youth drew his sword and stabbed his own thigh. Blood gushed forth, splattering into his indigo eyes.

Move.

“Move!” he growled through gritted teeth.

But no matter how he commanded, his body refused to obey. His legs would not respond, denying him even a single step toward the dying white-haired boy — nor toward the hateful monster that had done this.

It was as if his body itself feared the dragon, defying his will, shrinking back in terror.

Just like that day — the day Albin was taken away, and Blake had wanted to run after him.

That time, he could only watch as Albin was taken.

And this time, he could only watch as Albin was killed.

Rage, despair, grief, fury — the emotions inside him blazed like wildfire, devouring him, burning straight through his soul.

The scene around him twisted under the weight of that terrible obsession. The black-haired youth, just like before, suddenly lost consciousness and collapsed.

No!

Panicked, Blake reached out, desperate to grasp the white-haired boy in the distance.

But the distance between them was impossibly vast — time and space themselves stood as a barrier.

In the blink of an eye, the scene shifted. The black-haired youth awoke, his leg wound properly bandaged.

Traces of blood and tears still streaked his face. His expression was dazed; clutching his aching head, he glanced blankly at the wound on his thigh.

As always, he turned to the gray-robed Master beside him and asked,

“Any news of Albin?”

The Master’s face froze briefly — surprise flickered there.

Still staring toward the vanished scene, Blake too looked up in shock.

He doesn’t remember?

The Master studied the youth’s expression for a moment, then chose not to tell him the truth.

“Not yet,”

he said quietly.

The black-haired youth lowered his gaze, picked up his broken sword, and began to rise for training.

“Your wound hasn’t healed,”

the Master said in confusion.

The youth’s eyes burned with defiance.

“To think a few mid-tier monsters could wound me…

I’m too weak like this. I’ll never be able to bring Albin back.

I have to train harder.”

He wiped the dried blood and tears from his cheek with his sleeve, frowning slightly.

—He had completely forgotten the white-haired boy’s death. Forgotten everything that had happened before.

Rage flared in Blake’s heart. He shouted at his dream-self—

How could you forget?!

How could you forget Albin’s death?!

How could you forget your enemy?!

Overwhelmed with sorrow and fury, Blake jolted awake from the nightmare.

“Albin…”

He curled up, clutching his chest. The searing pain in his heart from the dream spilled into reality, making his whole body tremble with cold.

If this were before, Albin would surely have wrapped him in a warm embrace, filling him with soothing magic.

But now, that warmth was gone — only emptiness and cold gnawed at him, merciless and endless.

“Albin…”

Was that a dream… or reality?

Thorn City.

Albin and Moon returned to the inn, carrying the unconscious Zeman.

Seeing Zeman bound in chains after being knocked out by Albin, Edward — normally good at keeping a straight face — couldn’t help twitching at the sight.

Albin even seriously instructed them to keep watch, not to let Zeman escape.

…Though honestly, if Zeman did want to run, who could stop him?

Edward opened his mouth to speak, then sighed helplessly and took on the task with Padma and Jade.

Meanwhile, Albin, full of anticipation, went with Moon into the next room to finally hear the full story.

Sitting in his brother’s lap, breathing in the familiar scent, Albin smiled and tilted his head curiously.

“So, what did you want to tell me, brother? Why did Father say those things?”

Moon thought for a moment and asked,

“Do you still remember Fatum?”

“Of course! I’m inside that comic now, aren’t I?” Albin said, scratching his cheek with a small grin.

“My name here is Albin — the same as the character you liked.

But… since I came here, does that mean the Albin you liked disappeared?”

“No. You were always him,”

Moon said firmly. Then he continued,

“Do you know the story of the comic?”

Albin blinked, then shook his head.

“I only heard a little from the sea witch sister.”

“In the comic…”

Moon began describing how sixteen-year-old Albin was killed by a dragon.

The first page of Fatum was a pitch-black spread setting the scene. Each line of narration was paired with matching visuals — depictions of the twelve gods, temples, priests, and scenes of faith.

Then came the battle between humans and monsters — the panels showed the Holy Son of the Sun Temple leading crusades, followed by a panel of a white dragon brutally killing a young boy.

To most readers, that boy was a nameless extra, barely worth a glance — perhaps they’d only remark, “Wow, even the cannon fodder looks handsome.”

For them, the real story began with the next character — the protagonist.

But when Albin’s death was later revealed, readers went back to that first page, screenshotting and sharing it online, captioned:

“This background extra was too good-looking.”

In the comment sections, fans teased newcomers, while others posted spoilers.

It was then that Moon had come across that very image.

Something compelled him to search for the character named Albin, and he dove into the comic to read every scene of his brief appearance — including the entirety of his death.

Losing his memory, being taken by “the Rat,” calling the Rat his father, being exploited by him…

Moon paused, glossing over the part about Albin’s blood’s unique power, instead focusing on the Rat’s trap and the rampaging dragon that ultimately killed him.

Hearing that he was pierced through the body by a dragon’s claw, Albin instinctively touched his stomach.

“W-wait, that’s just in the comic, right?” he said skeptically, lacking any sense of danger.

“Is that why Father said he would kill me?”

He couldn’t understand.

“You can think of it as the prophecy of the God of Love and Fate,”

Moon replied.

Albin tilted his head.

“But I wasn’t taken by the Rat, and I never called him Father!

Even if that was a prophecy, that’s about the future, isn’t it?

I already know he’s the bad guy — there’s no way I’d fall for that!”

So that was all?

Albin sighed in relief.

Of course he wouldn’t hate his father over something that hadn’t happened.

What he’d said earlier had just been out of anger — he wasn’t stupid!

There was no way he’d repeat the comic’s tragedy. Father was just overthinking!

He knew it had to be a misunderstanding.

Heh… choosing Zeman as my dad really was the right call~

No.

Moon silently refuted that thought.

The prophecy of the God of Love and Fate could never be wrong.

But Albin wasn’t entirely wrong either — the threads of fate had already shifted.

At least now, with him here, there was no way he’d let his brother fall into the Rat’s grasp.

Unless… it wasn’t a prophecy at all.

But something that had already happened.

Someone had turned back fate itself.

Moon’s eyes darkened.

If that were true — then Zeman wasn’t someone who would harm his brother in the future…

He was someone who already had.

And he had once entrusted his little brother to that man’s protection.

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