The Stranger in Magic Tower

Froilan and Koko sat facing each other, the atmosphere thick with tension. The silence between them was almost unbearable, laced with awkwardness. Froilan's intense stare never wavered, his eyes locked onto Koko as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

Koko, unable to read his expression, finally decided to break the silence.

"What do you want to say to me?" he asked.

Froilan sighed, crossing his arms while keeping his gaze fixed on him.

"Who are you—really?" he asked.

Koko frowned. "The barbarians already told you about me, didn't they?"

"Yeah… but I don't believe you're just an ordinary person," Froilan said calmly. "I saw your duel with Ragnar. No ordinary man could match his attacks like that. So tell me the truth—are you a knight? A warrior from another kingdom? Or…" His eyes narrowed, sharp with suspicion. "Are you part of the enemy's forces?"

Koko scoffed. "Are you accusing me of being a spy?"

Froilan's expression darkened. "I just want you to be honest."

Koko crossed his arms. "The barbarians told you the truth. I don't remember how I ended up here. I woke up in this place with no memory of how I got here and no idea where I should go."

Of course, that was a mix of truth and lies.

Koko had to keep his secret—he wasn't from this world. When he first woke up, he immediately realized he had been transported somewhere completely different. This world was unlike anything he had ever known. Barbarians? In his country, such things didn't exist—only mafia clans and illegal syndicates.

This land was torn by war, and being an outsider could put him in serious danger. If they thought he was an enemy, they might try to kill him. So, he pretended to have lost his memories.

Froilan clenched his fists. This young man was too mysterious, too secretive. But if he pushed him too hard, he might run—and Froilan might never see him again. And that was the last thing he wanted.

"Tell me… do you remember your parents?" Froilan asked, his voice tinged with desperation. "Does the name Maximilian mean anything to you?"

Koko raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what you're trying to get at, but that name doesn't ring a bell."

Froilan exhaled heavily, disappointment clear in his face. "I see."

Koko furrowed his brows. He was confused. First, why was this man so desperate to know who he was? Second, who was Maximilian, and why did Froilan think he might know him? And lastly—

Why did this man look so much like his father?

Damn it. He was in another world, and nothing made sense anymore.

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....

Princess Beatrice had just returned to the Magic Tower, her assistants—fellow mages—following closely behind.

"Have you prepared the materials I requested?" she asked as she strode toward her laboratory.

"Yes, Your Highness. Everything is ready," one of the mages replied.

"Good. And what about the update from my brother? Did King Froilan send a letter today?" she inquired again.

"Yes, Your Highness. We received His Majesty's letter early this morning," another mage said, handing it to her.

Beatrice stopped in her tracks and took the letter, unfolding it swiftly. As her eyes scanned the words, she let out a weary sigh. Still no sign of Prince Hendrik.

Frustration tightened in her chest. When will this war finally end? When will everything return to normal? And when will her two brothers be found and healed?

She entered her laboratory and immediately collapsed into her chair, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. She was exhausted.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

"Your Highness!" A mage rushed in.

Beatrice sat up with an irritated glare. "What is it? Do you not know how to knock? Can't you see I'm resting?"

The mage quickly bowed. "Please forgive me, Your Highness, but I came to inform you... the unconscious man we found days ago—he's awake."

Her expression instantly turned serious.

"Alright. I'll go see him."

The mage bowed again and hurried out.

Beatrice rose to her feet. It was time to interrogate that man.

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Hajee looked around, his gaze darting across the unfamiliar room. Where the hell am I?

This wasn't his room. The space was filled with antique furniture and strange artifacts on display. The walls were adorned with intricate designs, giving the place an undeniably old, almost medieval atmosphere.

Before he could process everything, the door suddenly swung open. A woman in a mage's robe stepped inside, followed closely by a group of other robed figures.

Hajee tensed. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The woman's sharp eyes studied him. "I should be the one asking that question," she countered. "Who are you, and why were you found unconscious outside my tower?"

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....

Matias stood by the window, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon. Another day was ending. Another day spent waiting.

Beatrice had just left for her tower, determined to perfect the spell she was mastering for him. Now, once again, he was alone in this vast palace.

Since the war broke out, his siblings had been scattered. Arash remained in his kingdom, Targaryen, fortifying it against possible attacks. Beatrice came and went, spending most of her time in the Magic Tower, creating spells. Froilan was still away, searching for Hendrik.

And Hendrik… was still nowhere to be found.

Charlotte… was dead.

Matias clenched his fists, frustration and grief twisting inside him. If only he had been as strong as their father, none of this would have happened.

But there was something else weighing on him. Something he couldn't ignore.

The Regent.

He was missing, too. The last time Matias saw him was on the battlefield—the day he had sacrificed himself to protect them. He had cast a massive barrier spell, teleporting Matias and the others to a safer part of the empire. Matias had witnessed it with his own eyes—how the enemy's swords pierced the Regent's body, how dark magic surged against him.

The memory made his chest tighten. The Regent wasn't just their protector—he was like a father to him. He wasn't just the Regent. He was his great-grandfather, the Emperor Emeritus.

Matias exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes. The Regent had been cursed, just like him. That meant he had to be alive. He had to be.

But where was he now? Was he safe? Or had the enemy captured him?

Matias was lost in thought when a sudden, sharp crash shattered the silence.

He spun around.

A young woman stood in the middle of his chamber, frozen in fear, her eyes wide as she stared at the broken shards of a flower vase on the floor.

Right. This maid was assigned to clean his room today. And now, she had managed to break something.

She dropped to her knees, trembling.

"P-Please forgive me, Your Majesty!" she stammered, bowing her head in terror.