Chapter 57: Family Dinner

Chapter 57: Family Dinner

The Kingdom of Aisha was peaceful.

The streets were lined with glowing lanterns, their soft golden light casting warm halos upon the cobbled roads. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread from the bakeries, of lavender from the gardens, of woodsmoke curling up from chimneys as families settled in for the night. The gentle hum of life—merchants packing up their stalls, children's laughter fading into their homes, knights patrolling with measured steps—filled the atmosphere with an almost nostalgic serenity.

It was a stark contrast to the battlefields, the void of space, the ruins of worlds long forgotten that I had traversed. Here, the world did not tremble beneath the weight of collapsing galaxies. Here, time did not splinter and reset at my will. Here, in my childhood home, everything remained… simple.

And yet, as I sat at the dinner table, my thoughts were anything but.

Livia.

Her name still echoed in my mind. A ghost of a memory that refused to fade, lingering at the edges of my thoughts like a whisper just out of reach. Even now, as the comforting sound of my mother's cooking filled the house, I could not help but wonder—where was she now? What had become of her after her betrayal? After all that had happened, did she regret it? Did she even think of me at all?

I exhaled slowly, pushing the thought aside. There was no point dwelling on it now.

Mom had said dinner would take thirty minutes, which meant I had some time. Without much thought, my feet carried me down the familiar hallways, past the old paintings, past the wooden furniture that hadn't changed a bit. My hands brushed against the walls, feeling the cool surface beneath my fingertips. Every step, every scent, every sound—it was all the same.

And yet, I was different.

As I entered my childhood room, a faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

It was untouched.

The bed, still neatly made. The bookshelves, filled with tomes and scrolls of mana theories, battle strategies, and ancient history. The wooden desk, covered in old ink stains from late-night study sessions. It was as if time had stopped here, as if this room had been waiting for me to return.

My fingers ran along the spines of the books, pausing as they landed on one in particular—Mana Management: The Foundations of Control.

I chuckled softly. How many times had I read this as a child? How many sleepless nights had I spent memorizing every single page, tracing every diagram, writing down notes upon notes in the margins?

Even now, I could recall every word written within its pages.

And yet, I sat on my bed, flipping through it once more.

Not because I needed to. Not because there was anything left to learn from it.

But because—

It was fun.

It was nostalgic.

It was a piece of the past that still felt… real.

As I turned another page, my gaze drifted to the window. The sky had deepened into a velvety black, the stars glittering like scattered diamonds across the infinite expanse.

They were… beautiful.

Had they always been this beautiful?

I had never truly looked at them before. Not like this. Not with this sense of wonder.

As a child, I had never indulged in simple joys.

I had not played with Legos.

I had not built sandcastles by the shore.

I had not wasted my time with trivial things.

Instead, I had been consumed by knowledge—hungry, insatiable, desperate to understand, to master, to know. My world had been books, theories, experiments. I had cared little for friendships, for play, for the fleeting joys that others had embraced so easily.

And now—

Now, I was twenty years old in this life.

Fifty-five in my past life.

Seventy-five years, in total.

I was an old man in a young man's body, burdened by the weight of a lifetime that spanned across multiple realities.

Perhaps—perhaps it was time to think of the future.

To build something for myself.

To buy a home. A place of my own.

The thought lingered.

In my shirt pocket, two pens rested—seemingly ordinary, but in truth, far from it.

Crown of the Fallen.

Lance of Velrage.

Disguised, silent, but never absent.

And then—Crown spoke.

"Sir," its voice rang in my mind, neutral yet inquisitive. "Do you wish not to defeat the Demon King of Salvation anymore?"

I blinked.

Right.

The Demon King of Salvation.

A being whose very presence threatened the fabric of existence itself. A force capable of reducing galaxies to nothingness.

Lance of Velrage stirred for the first time, its voice—new, yet ancient—reverberating through my mind. "Would it not be useless? The Demon King of Salvation can erase all that exists with but a thought."

I raised an eyebrow.

This was the first time I had heard Lance of Velrage speak.

I smirked slightly. "Seems like being linked to Crown of the Fallen has given you the ability to talk."

Lance of Velrage responded immediately, its tone firm. "Being linked to Crown has given me the ability to think. To speak. To form my own opinions." It paused, then added, "Weapons without minds are mere tools. I am not a tool."

A chuckle escaped me.

It reminded me of Fog and Lucius, always arguing, always bickering.

"Even if it's useless," I murmured, "some things still need to be done."

Even if the fight was unwinnable.

Even if the enemy was beyond comprehension.

Some things—some battles—were worth fighting.

"Sylas! Dinner's ready!"

My mother's voice cut through my thoughts, grounding me back to reality.

I slipped Crown and Lance of Velrage back into my pocket, rising from my bed and making my way to the dining room.

The scent of roasted turkey filled the air, rich and warm, carrying with it a sense of home that I had long since forgotten. The table was set, plates arranged neatly, the glow of the chandelier above casting a soft, golden light over the meal.

I took my seat, my father sitting across from me, my mother settling in beside him.

And then—

"So, Sylas," my father began, his sharp eyes locking onto mine. "Have you gotten any girlfriends at the academy? Or during your adventures?"

I nearly choked on my drink.

What kind of question was that?

"No," I answered simply.

If Livia had not betrayed me—perhaps she could have been.

Perhaps.

"So," he continued, undeterred, "how were your adventures? Fight any mystical beasts?"

I huffed a quiet laugh. "Ha. I fought more than mere beasts."

"Oh?" My mother raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

I set my fork down, leaning back slightly. "Life has been… dangerous lately. I thought I'd stop by to catch up with you two. What about you? How has life been treating you both?"

"Great," my mother replied, smiling. "It's been peaceful lately. But after you left the Academy of Aurimora, there were a lot of speculations on where you went." She tilted her head slightly. "So tell us, Sylas—where did you go?"

Ah.

The inevitable question.

I had prepared for this.

Swallowing my food, I met their gazes and answered smoothly, "I went to the neighboring country of Sumeren. Beautiful place. I especially enjoyed the sandy beaches and top universities. I've been gone for six months."

At least, in this universe.

Gods knew how many years—how many decades—I had spent beyond it.

My mother didn't question it. Thankfully.

And as I continued eating, one thought lingered in my mind—

That bastard Uhtem.

The so-called Great Miracle of Death had thrown me into another universe just to get fucked.

…

I probably shouldn't call a divine entity a bitch.

But still—

Damn him.