Illusion of the Strong

Albert holds immense importance to my plan so much so that I believe it's better to gain him as a close ally rather than manipulate him as a mere puppet.

With that thought, I decided it was best to present a tainted truth about my past, using it as a foundation to shape the future.

After all, lying to him would be pointless in the long run.

"I'm a lost soul," I began, my voice steady as I closed the red book. "One that has never truly seen this world before. Yet its truths reveal themselves to me as clearly as ink on paper."

Albert nodded thoughtfully, his expression showing no sign of doubt.

It was as if he understood that I spoke only the truth or at least, the truth as I intended him to perceive it.

"And because of this," I continued, "I know much, yet I'm ignorant of more. I am weak but hold the potential to transcend that weakness."

Albert's eyes narrowed as he studied me. "So you're limited by this body, but you possess the means to surpass those limits?"

"More or less," I replied. "I can't provide all the details as to why I'm so weak now, but one thing is certain: I'll grow stronger. That's my goal."

Albert seemed to mull over my words before shifting the conversation. "In what context would you revive the First King? Do you intend to ally with him or something else?"

"I only wish to ask him a question," I said firmly, meeting his gaze. "One I'm confident he would answer given my status."

I turned my attention to the passing scenery outside the window, exhaling deeply.

"But if he wished to become an ally, I wouldn't refuse. After all, the more allies I have, the better my chances of protecting this place."

Albert's expression shifted slightly, his tone carrying a trace of indignation. "Protect it from what? We're not weak."

He wasn't wrong. Natalie had trained them all to be strong very strong, in fact.

But that strength was preparation for battles of their own world, not the calamity that awaited.

"Not weak," I agreed, though my tone carried a broader implication. "But none of you could hope to defeat even the weakest of those who hunt us. Not unless the First King is revived."

Albert's gaze darkened, his voice steady but firm. "And you can?"

I shook my head slowly, opening the red book again and flipping to its first page.

The ancient, faded text seemed to shimmer under the light. "Of course not," I admitted, my voice quiet but resolute. "At least, not in my current state."

The book's power resonated with me the moment I began to read.

It was as if the very world had come to a halt, the passage of time itself frozen in reverence to the knowledge contained within.

Lucius, the words began. A boy born of nothing, a child of the barren plains where gods had turned their backs.

He was frail, his hands too small to wield a blade, his voice too weak to inspire.

And yet, his eyes held a fire that even the heavens would come to fear.

He lived among the forgotten, watching as the world crumbled under the weight of divine neglect.

Droughts starved the earth. Wars tore families apart. Prayers went unanswered. But Lucius did not despair. Where others saw ruin, he saw resolve.

He began his ascent. Not of mountains or glory, but of vengeance.

Lucius sought not an audience with the gods, but their thrones.

One by one, he uncovered their relics, ancient tools they had long abandoned: the Blade of Exuro, forged to unmake creation itself.

The Chalice of Vitae, which devoured mortal essence; and the Scroll of Aeterna, a fragment of the Veil's own design.

Each relic demanded a sacrifice, and Lucius gave willingly.

He poured his blood into the chalice until his veins ran dry. He inscribed his soul upon the scroll, leaving his mortal ties in tatters.

By the time he claimed the blade, there was nothing left of the boy who had begun the journey only a shadow in his place.

Lucius descended not to save, but to conquer.

The gods, awakened by his defiance, descended upon him in their splendor.

They brought storms and fire, they split the earth and bent time itself, but Lucius did not falter.

The Blade of Exuro sang in his hands, carving through the fabric of existence.

One by one, the gods fell. Their names were erased, their thrones shattered.

Their blood stained the heavens, raining down upon a world too broken to understand what had transpired.

But Lucius did not stop. His gaze turned upward, beyond the ruins of the divine, to the Veil itself.

He raised the blade high, its edge catching the light of dying stars, and reached out with his free hand.

His fingers stretched past the sky, toward the Veil a thin, trembling boundary between all that was known and all that lay beyond.

The Veil shuddered at his touch, the heavens screamed, and then... silence.

I studied the very last lines of the novel and smiled with grim thoughts behind it.

"As the world felt his fingertips and quivered as its arch, the beings from beyond all mocked him as if what he had accomplished was nothing more than killing the flock."

I looked up at Albert who seemed confused at my sudden bursts of words. "Say, do you want to know the previous name of Johan?"

"Enlighten me."

"Lucius, and with his power he became a god, not a fool."

Albert seemed to think about my words and then spoke in an alluring voice. "How noble of Johan, to think even he was once a fool."

"No he is still a fool, he thought that godhood was the peak, and he had a misguided viewpoint on power."

Albert chuckled. "You mock the God of Knowledge as a fool? Even more so the god most scholars adore?"

"I have been tainted with the knowledge that he is not someone worth praising I only should invoke his name."

I looked at the falling sky and looked at a hanging clock, exactly six, and the train came to a complete halt.

The moment the train came to a stop, the doors hissed open, and a flood of people poured out.

Some hurried off, eager to escape the confines of their journey, while others pushed forward, desperate to climb aboard and continue their travels.

The platform buzzed with life, the clatter of footsteps and the hum of conversations blending into a steady, rhythmic symphony.

I stepped off the train, taking a moment to glance around.

The station was grand, its arches stretching high above, adorned with glowing lanterns that flickered softly in the cool breeze.

People moved with purpose, many dressed in formal attire tailored suits, flowing gowns, and polished shoes.

The air was thick with the weight of expectation and purpose, more refined and structured than I had anticipated.

Beside me, Albert adjusted his coat, his gaze sharp as ever. "First time here?" he asked, his voice calm yet knowing.

"Yes," I replied, nodding. "This is the first time I've set foot in the capital."

We moved forward, leaving the bustling station behind, threading through narrow streets that led us into the quieter, shadowed alleys of the capital.

The vibrant energy of the city seemed to dim here, replaced by a stillness that carried a different kind of weight one that pressed on the back of my mind like a foreboding omen.

I felt distinctly out of place in this town.

The capital was filled with people who either looked rich, as if they could buy the world, or strong, as if they could take it by force.

Meanwhile, I trudged along with my worn bag slung over my shoulder and a sword dangling awkwardly at my hip.

I tugged at the collar of my shirt and chuckled dryly to myself. "Alright, now that I'm here, I can start with my business."

Albert, walking just ahead, cast me a sidelong glance but didn't respond to my words. Instead, he sighed, his voice dropping to a deliberate, measured tone as he spoke.

"Don't get comfortable. Those in this town aren't as weak as the ones we've encountered before."

He glanced past me, his eyes narrowing as a grim expression settled over his face.

"We're already being followed," he muttered, his hand shifting toward the gun holstered at his side. "Damn it. Did they catch wind of my movements this quickly?"

I tightened my grip on my sword's hilt and turned to look behind us.

A figure emerged from the shadows a man with long, sky-blue hair that caught faint traces of light.

His eyes were pale as freshly fallen snow, hollow and heavy with exhaustion, framed by dark circles that seemed to drag his face downward.

His fitted armor gleamed faintly, and he carried a long, curved blade, its edge whispering promises of precision and finality.

Albert froze briefly, and I saw his hands tremble not from fear, but from a tightly coiled anger.

The man stopped a short distance away, his lifeless voice cutting through the silence. "Albert. Did you think your presence in the capital would go unnoticed? How brazen."

Recognition hit me like a sudden gust of icy wind. That appearance it was unmistakable. This was Baltier, one of the Forgotten Knights.

When the novel begins, Baltier is nothing more than a rumor, a ghost said to have perished in the aftermath of the kingdom's collapse.

Yet here he stood, very much alive, and the weight of his gaze seemed to carry all the bitterness of a man who should've stayed dead.

Of course, I knew the truth.

He was the one who would kill Albert. Not here, not now, but later in this very memory when the echoes of this flashback catch up to their inevitable conclusion.

Albert's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and cold. "Baltier. You seem well. Have you been enjoying your life in the shadows?"

Baltier sighed, his hand resting lightly on the pale blue hilt of his sword.

There was a reluctance in his movements, as if he would rather be anywhere else.

Slowly, he drew the blade. Its surface gleamed a pure, unbroken white, a contrast to the tarnished aura he exuded.

"No," he replied, his tone hollow and resigned. "In fact, the opposite."

The Snow-Knight Order, tied to the pathway of Knight, is among the most common in the northern regions.

In fact, it's so widespread that many assume its members are relatively unremarkable a sturdy but predictable cornerstone of the realm's warriors.

And yet, despite its prevalence, one man's name eclipses all others associated with the Snow-Knight Order.

In every account, he's described as the strongest to ever live within its ranks.

Not just strong in the physical sense, but terrifyingly so because of the sheer assortment of abilities at his command.

His mastery was unparalleled, elevating an otherwise ordinary Order to unimaginable heights.

You see, in this world, people are sometimes born with unique gifts, and rare abilities that shape the course of their lives.

I know I possess one of these gifts. It has something to do with my eyes these peculiar shatter pupils.

But what it does, I can't say. Not yet.

He, however, knew exactly what his gift was and he wielded it to devastating effect.

His mastery over it was so complete, some said he relied on it too much.

Readers even joked that he "spammed" it throughout the novel.

And yet, for all those complaints, he remained a fan favorite.

His power, his presence, and his legacy endured because he wasn't just a knight he was the founder of the Forgotten Knights, a title that still echoes across the ages.

His gift was called Shatter, and true to its name, it allowed him to break apart anything as though it were brittle glass or, as he often described it, ice.

It was this very ability that sealed his fate in the novel.

He attempted to shatter the concept of mana itself, a force so fundamental and immense that it consumed him entirely. Still, his death was a noble one.

He made that ultimate sacrifice while defending against a god who claimed to embody mana incarnate.

As for how one might defeat him… I don't really know.

At this moment, he's undoubtedly stronger than Albert, which makes the idea of fighting him feel like sheer folly.

"I say we all just drink instead of fighting," I said, chuckling softly in a futile attempt to lighten the mood.

They both turned their gazes on me, cold and unyielding. The looks they gave me felt like the digging of my own grave.

Baltier raised his pristine blade, the pale blue hilt catching what little light there was in the alley.

He leveled it at Albert, his voice sharp and emotionless. "I've come to end your pitiful life. I hope you don't resist."

Albert responded with a defiant smile as his finger rested firmly on the trigger of his gun. "Of course I will."