I Was Only Trying to Sleep

Alistair stared at the swirling portal, its violet-blue energy humming softly as it shimmered in the frame of obsidian.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Nope."

He turned around and walked away.

"I'm not that dumb."

A teleportation gate built into an ancient structure, activated by fire, radiating spatial heat and raw dimensional pressure? Only an idiot would walk in blind. And despite what some royals believed, Alistair was not an idiot.

He returned to his little house.

The wooden chair welcomed him like a throne built for exhaustion. He dropped into it and let his back slump.

From his inventory, he pulled what little food he had—some cooked meat from the sheep earlier. Dry and unevenly cooked, but it filled the void.

As he chewed, his eyes drifted to the pile of oversized wool he had collected.

The sheep here were unnatural. Their bodies far too large, and the wool unnaturally thick—fluffy, but heavy.

With a wave of his hand, he sliced some of it into strips. It took a little shaping, but he managed to form a passable carpet from the cuttings. Then he laid the remainder on the floor in a spread that barely passed for a makeshift bed.

He stared at it.

"This… this is my life now?"

He let out a slow sigh.

"A Ninth Circle Archmage… reduced to this."

He muttered, sarcastic and bitter.

"Even the beds from the Elfen Empire, made from ancient dream-weave sheep wool, were barely decent for me. And now I'm stuck with a pile of sheep fluff on the ground. Tsk."

He ran a hand through his hair, debating just collapsing there.

But then he paused.

"…Wait."

A frown crept across his face.

"Aren't I dead meat if I just sleep?"

He remembered the monsters. The way they emerged—endlessly—from the night.

"If night falls again… they'll swarm. Infinitely."

He clicked his tongue.

"No choice."

He raised his hand and began casting.

This wasn't normal summoning.

Alistair was notoriously terrible at standard spirit-call rituals. So instead, he developed his own method: Assembly Element Binding—a forbidden hybrid technique where a single, specific spirit or summon was designated as the anchor.

He formed the glyph in the air. The air shimmered. His Exoheavenly Skeleton's inner mana began to drain rapidly.

It only took seconds—too fast, in fact. The backlash hit immediately.

"Hngh—!"

He collapsed to one knee, coughing hard.

That cost more than I expected.

The space in front of him shimmered.

And then—

A small, shimmering silhouette appeared.

Long silver hair. Soft white dress. Bright violet eyes.

She blinked once, then lunged at him.

"DAD—!!"

She crashed into his chest, hugging him tight.

"Where have you been?! Everyone's worried sick back at the mansion! Do you want the royal prince to cut your pay again?! You've been missing for five days, you know that?! Poor Elisabeth nearly fainted! And why did you summon me again?! I told you I'm not doing your paperwork!"

Her voice was rapid-fire, full of cheerful anger.

Alistair winced, voice hoarse from mana loss.

"Stop… my ears are bleeding."

After a moment of coughing and breathing like he'd run a marathon, he finally calmed her down and explained the situation.

She sat beside him on the wooden chair, swinging her legs gently.

"Wow… So that's why I felt so comfortable here," she said. "The mana's so thick. Like soup. It feels great on my soul form."

She stretched her arms wide, sighing happily.

Being half-spirit, she thrived in ambient mana saturation.

"Don't worry, Dad. I've got you covered."

With a cheerful bounce, she summoned a handful of long-range magic dummies, placing them on the roof like silent sentries. A few close-range guardians followed, pacing near the door and circling the perimeter.

Then she sat again, folding her hands.

"So… why have you been absent for 5 days? "

Alistair's gaze sharpened.

"I felt like I've only been here for a day."

She looked at him, eyes serious now.

"It's been five."

He blinked.

She nodded.

"Five full days. The royal family even used the family's inherited treasure to try to track you—and the Dragon King's mana core!"

"…What?"

"I told you they care about you, but you never believe me!"

His expression darkened.

Care about me? My ass.

They only wanted him to create mass-production scrolls. Enchant weapons. Fuel their war machines. And of course… analyze the new crystal mine.

That freakin' mine... That's what sent me here.

He buried his face in his palm.

"Oh gods, I miss my bed."

She went on talking, voice light and full of stories.

Then—

She stopped.

"Dad… do you remember the scary guy?"

Alistair looked up.

"Scary guy?"

"You know… the one we fought with Uncle Holy Knight and Auntie Oracle Mage."

"…The Demon King?"

She nodded.

"Don't tell anyone… but Uncle Holy Knight told me something."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"He said the Goddess gave a prophecy… That the Demon King is going to return. That he's coming back, soon. And that this time, it'll be worse."

Alistair froze.

"…What?"

"Uncle told me not to tell anyone. But I'm telling you, so…"

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME EARLIER?!"

His voice cracked as he stood suddenly.

"No wonder the royal family was searching for me so hard!"

He clenched his fists.

"That changes everything—"

"Dad…?" her voice suddenly trembled.

He looked over.

She was glowing faintly.

"Dad, I… it hurts…!"

She clutched her chest, eyes wide and wet.

"D-Daddy—HELP ME—!! It hurts!!"

She began crying as her form flickered—phased—and slowly began to dissolve.

"No—NO—!!"

Alistair reached out, desperate.

But she was already gone.

Erased.

Not just unsummoned. Not banished.

Erased.

From existence.

His fingers shook.

He dropped to his knees, face twisted in panic and grief.

"I… I only summoned her for protection. I didn't mean…"

"i can't let her suffer anymore.. she have to go through this again because of me.."

He stared at the spot she vanished.

"I saw it. I saw her get wiped clean by this world's rules…"

Completely, irrevocably, erased.Not even divine intervention could recover her now.

Even a goddess's authority would be useless.

For a long time, he didn't move.

Then—slowly—he stood.

Eyes hollow, body heavy.

He raised a hand and wordlessly cast a set of intermediate trap runes—layering detection fields around his home, silent wards in the corners, and one stasis bomb hidden in the walls.

His body walked on its own, drained and trembling.

He laid down on the patch of wool.

Clutched his cloak like a blanket.

Eyes dark wide open.

His thoughts silent.

And then—

He slept.

Holding back the tears like an 8-year-old who didn't want anyone to hear him cry.