Chapter Text
The streets, bustling with preparations for Wichteln, were alive with energy. Discussions on the trivial—such as ‘why the Prussians eat so many potatoes’—were the common background noise of a peaceful day. For a moment, Lukas Askanier laid down the heavy mantle of a Federation member. His steps were light as he wandered, purchasing a potato-shaped brooch, some ribbons, and a music box. At least for today, he believed things would remain tranquil.
Words, however, carry an unspeakable weight. That power often masquerades as a good omen until it reaches its breaking point, where it inevitably twists into calamity. Before his belief could manifest into reality, the group encountered a strange old woman. Leaning heavily on her cane, she straightened her hunched back. Her gaze, sharp enough to pierce through the crowd, fixed onto him. As the onlookers fell into a hushed curiosity, she approached with slow, deliberate steps.
“Beware the red eyes.”
Hear me. Beware the red eyes…
The old woman’s vigor resembled that of a revolutionary reading a manifesto. It was rare to see a white-haired elder raise her voice so fiercely, and a crowd gathered instantly. As the press of people grew, the woman followed them tenaciously. In the split second before the group decided to Warp, Lukas’s eyes met hers. Her wrinkled face tightened. Her eyes, buried under the evidence of time, seemed to perceive the very essence of the world, yet flickered with a dull, detached light. Lukas read the alarm in those eyes. It was no exaggeration. It was a warning as sharp as a cold blade—a prophecy of a future where someone would whet their edge on his flesh and hold a knife to his throat.
No, it is more than just a threat.
Lukas tried to push through his fading consciousness, but the warning soon pierced his carotid artery. A surge of clear mana enveloped his body, and simultaneously, the sickly sweet taste of blood filled his mouth. This was no mere warning. As he fell into a heavy slumber, he realized:
It was the shot that signaled the end of peace.
“Sir Walter, please dismiss all the servants.”
After a silent bow, Walter left the room. A profound silence took hold of the interior.
Lukas had collapsed the moment they encountered the old woman. In the stagnant air, Ulrike Kleist remained silent after sending Walter away, while Leonard Wittelsbach stared down at the bed without a word. Narke Farnese entered through the door.
“I couldn’t find the old woman.”
“Yeah, there’s not a single trace of her.”
“The likelihood of it being Pleroma’s doing?”
Narke gave a faint smile instead of a direct answer. Julia Zähringer, who had been observing the situation, stepped forward.
“We’ve faced countless cases of contamination. It was efficient at first, but one by one, their parishes were dismantled.”
As Julia said, Pleroma had gained much through contamination. But after the launch of Eschette, the leadership must have sought a different direction. Ulrike’s response cut to the heart of the matter.
“Contamination won’t yield any more practical results for them.”
“Exactly. Contamination, temperament, Ismailov—they were all designed for a final goal. Like a coordinate system, we have to dismantle the intertwined means and ends one by one. If this incident is also Pleroma's doing, is it a means, or the end?”
“If targeting Lukas himself was the end goal…”
The atmosphere grew heavy. Julia looked at each of her friends in turn.
“It doesn’t matter which it is. Regardless of how things flow, we’re going to walk with Lukas anyway.”
Everyone walks forward. However, making actual progress is often a romantic, dreamlike concept that remains in the realm of fantasy. Julia was reaching out her hand to break that boundary—to move forward no matter what tribulation struck.
Leonard looked toward the responsibility that would follow in the wake of their steps. It was a burden he was meant to carry. Even if he had to stop for a moment, retreating was not in his nature. Perhaps it was a good omen brought by his resolve, but Lukas, who had been sound asleep, let out a faint groan.
“Lukas!”
At the sharp call of his name, Lukas pushed himself up. Seeing more than three people crowded around his bed, he spoke.
“Stop staring down at me.”
Sighs and dry chuckles broke out around the room. Judging by how he threw out a retort the moment he opened his eyes, he seemed fine. Lukas dismissed their worries with a brief word and looked around the bed. The one person who should have been the loudest was missing. Leonard solved the mystery concisely.
“He’s coming soon.”
It was obvious who he meant. As if on cue, the door swung open. Elias Hohenzollern practically ran into the room and pulled Lukas into a hug. The impact was jarring.
Cough, cough…
A dry cough escaped him. Lukas gasped for breath but allowed the hands clutching his collar to remain. It was only after Leonard, unable to watch any longer, restrained Elias with his innate ability that they could communicate like rational beings.
“Luka, are you okay?”
“Yeah. More importantly, where have you been?”
“Searching for the owner of the Golden Apple.”
Elias stared at Lukas while chewing on a leaf. Lukas fell into thought.
In Greek mythology, when Eris was not invited to Thetis’s wedding, she left behind a Golden Apple inscribed with the words “To the fairest.” The three goddesses—Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite—each claimed to be the fairest, leading to a dispute that could not be settled. Eventually, a contest was held, and the apple went to Aphrodite.
The reasoning here can be distilled into two points. First, the verdict that Aphrodite was the fairest cannot hold an objective truth value. Did she receive the apple because she was truly the most beautiful? A foolish question. She became the most beautiful because she possessed the Golden Apple. To Paris, the judge, wealth and power were like mountain goats playing on a peak. Paris sought a spark of love more than authority. Aphrodite saw through the longing that Hera and Athena ignored and offered him the most beautiful woman as his mate. Setting aside the atrocity of using a person as a means to an end, the flaws of such a system are scattered everywhere for all to see.
The second reason is even more trivial. Due to an obsession with aesthetic value, a conflict manifested in the mortal world under the guise of child’s play. If one hears that “a man was blinded by lust, neglected wisdom and power, and ultimately caused a war,” they would mock his stupidity and mutter hypotheticals like, “If I were Paris.” There is no reflection in that hypothesis. The ignorant only crave the ‘what if’ and completely forget that the conflict itself was a warning bell. Considering these reasons, the Golden Apple is known as the ‘Apple of Discord,’ and Elias’s mention of it must be in this context. Then, a calm question follows.
“To find Eris?”
A confirmation clearer than any statement hung on the corners of Elias’s lips.
Whether in 19th-century Germany or 21st-century Korea, the general consensus that ‘Aphrodite is the owner of the apple’ remains intact. It is difficult to forge a new path of usage when the deconstruction of common sense doesn’t happen at once. To one standing on a distant path, the world seems narrow. You can’t see an inch ahead. Yet, Elias shatters the unknown every time, using his forward momentum as fuel to constantly advance.
“Yeah. I’m gonna find it and eat it.”
Lukas faced Elias and threw the following question back at him.
“…The Golden Apple?”
“I can’t just stop and sink into despair because I couldn’t find a single clue. If the Golden Apple causes discord, I’ll just eat it before Eris can hand it to Aphrodite. After all, it’s just a bit of shiny food, isn’t it?”
The moment the Golden Apple left Eris’s hand, the wheels of fate began to turn. Elias was rebelling against fate. At Elias’s explanation, Lukas became aware of a throbbing headache. If you peel back one layer of the veil of fate, a truly trivial reality is revealed. So, let’s either peel it back or devour it. It was a solution exactly like something Elias would propose.
Submit to fate.
What a simple and convenient demand. A life spent waiting for the water to fall while submitting to fate is not a life. It is more like a mere survival. Those already tamed kneel to drink the falling water and argue that the act of opening their mouths was an act of free will. Blood will flow on the path traversed by those crawling on their knees, and the free will ground into the floor will never stand tall again. This is how the erasure of free will begins.
Don’t make me laugh. If this is fate, if this is the ending fate leads to, then I will gladly become Prometheus. Even if my liver is plucked by eagles, I will cling to the rock, embracing my will and intellect. Even if I have to swallow the seeds of discord to make them disappear. Lukas watched the unyielding spirit that stood against determinism.
“Right. It’s just an apple, after all.”
Eyes full of disbelief fixed on Lukas. Ignoring them, he looked at Elias, who was beaming. Everyone in the room exchanged looks of relief. The hour hand was racing toward the top of the clock.
Wichteln proceeded as planned. Strictly speaking, they should have investigated the cause of Lukas’s sudden collapse first. However, Lukas wanted to leave Wichteln as a good memory. The rest they took after resolving a major incident would become the fuel to overcome the great disasters they would face. Above all, one suspicious old woman was enough to pour cold water on the event Ulrike had worked so hard to design.
That didn’t mean he could simply enjoy the festival. While writing down the verses he would give to Leonard, Lukas planned how to glimpse Pleroma’s movements. He intended to gather information in pairs.
The next day, the group set out to track the old woman. Travelers hurried toward their respective destinations in small groups. Lukas idly counted the number of people who brushed past his sleeve before turning to Leonard. He seemed like he hadn't yet escaped the deep emotion brought by the diary.
“We haven’t found a single clue.”
Leonard had returned from being ‘Leo’ to the Captain of Eschette. Lukas sat on the cast-iron fence like an idle wanderer.
“I know.”
There is nothing more redundant than making noise about what one already knows. Leonard could perceive ten things even if only one was said.
Now, let’s think. No matter how high and mighty Pleroma is, they cannot move without leaving a single trace. As long as they operate in the human realm, the illusions they cause are based on complexity. Since it isn't a state of complete disorder, if you can pick out the hidden order, the confusion will end. This was why cases could be solved through the Extra Chapters. Now, I must reconsider the possibility that ‘complete disorder’ actually exists when all complexity lacks order. Since I have witnessed incomplete disorder, let’s discard all previous hypotheses and return to the beginning. Wandering in chaos only adds mental fatigue without allowing one to gauge the rows and columns. Whether the old woman is Pleroma or not is not the issue here.
“Let’s go back.”
Leonard nodded. It was better to regroup and completely revise their strategy. Light blue mana wavered in the air. At that moment, Lukas let out a sharp gasp. The man who had been fine just a second ago was now panting in agony. Leonard instinctively scanned the surroundings. A few people sensing the commotion cast sidelong glances. It felt as if an invisible web of swords would slash his throat at any moment. Panic was brief; Leonard shielded Lukas and accelerated the deployment of the Warp formula. He loosened the reins of his anxiety, anticipating the change in scenery.
But the scenery did not change. Rather than asking “Why?”, Leonard immediately drew up more mana. The ‘New Humans’ sitting in the middle of the street were curious enough that people began to gather. Passers-by shed their individuality and became a crowd. The crowd, weary of their daily routines, welcomed the disturbance with open arms. They stood back, peeking into the center of the commotion. On the other hand, warning bells rang in Leonard’s head. His mana failed to discharge and subsided again. This time, failure sat before him in the form of an inescapable reality. The semi-conscious Lukas had absorbed the sky-blue mana.
Leonard looked at Lukas calmly. Without hesitation, he embraced the fallen man and placed a hand on his cold cheek. Under his sharp fingernails, his own flesh was torn hideously.
“Lukas.”
The one called out to writhed in extreme pain. Cries that couldn't form words leaked through his teeth. Leonard’s face contorted, but he bore the wails that grew louder with every call. Terror gradually crept onto the faces of the crowd. Fear soon manifested as a reality. The struggling Lukas bit into the back of Leonard’s hand, drawing blood. His lips glistened with fresh gore. As if by magic, the surroundings fell silent.
“W-what on earth is this!”
The silence didn't last long. When a man in a Homburg hat let out a shrill scream, shrieks erupted from all sides. It’s Pleroma! Don’t push! Mommy, Mommy…! People trying to flee and people who had collapsed became entangled. A wave of oblivion crashed silently before his eyes. The formless wave swallowed the screams and approached softly, leaving Leonard in the middle of a vast ocean.
A child sobbing after losing their guardian’s hand. An old man dragging his legs… Everyone waved their raised hands. The wailing pierced his eardrums. Leonard’s reason stemmed from the chaos.
While everyone else was in an uproar, Leonard lowered his head. All the escapees were excluded from Leonard’s heart. He did not grasp the flailing hands. In this moment, the only thing alive was Lukas. As he caressed Lukas’s cheek with his blood-stained hand, the gore soaked into his sleeve. Lukas’s colors were embroidered there. He looked at the one who still wouldn't respond. The eyes, open like thin cracks, were hazy. Leonard moved his dry lips.
“Come back.”
He whispered a call more vivid than any sanctuary.
Lukas, barely clinging to the thread of consciousness, breathed heavily. The fleeing people and the blood dripping from Leonard’s hand made his mistake clear. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, the tragedy remained the same. Grief strangled his throat.
“I told you, didn’t I? The one life you lost is mine.”
Leonard slowly pulled up the corners of his mouth. It was a strange expression, neither smiling nor crying. In that single sentence he exhaled like a sigh, grief finally loosened its grip. Lukas felt a sudden sensation of his head clearing. He spoke haltingly.
“…I.”
“I suppose I have to take responsibility too. If the vow I made to save you no matter what wasn't just empty words.”
Something transparent gathered in Leonard’s azure irises. The tears that teetered on the edge of overflowing fell the moment Leonard blinked. His eyes, which held the sea within them, flickered.
Whenever Lukas met Leonard’s eyes, he felt as if he had been dropped onto the shores of the beginning of time.
In a country surrounded by the sea on three sides, many people yearned for the ocean. He didn’t know if it was because they remembered the moment they first stepped onto land, or if they simply desired to be submerged. But either way, they all traveled periodically to find the sea. Those standing before the source of life looked beyond the horizon. Only after observing them for nearly ten years could he guess their gestures and gazes. Like a fish out of water pining for the sea, they too were sick with nostalgia.
The dampness of the sea. A certain summer where he stood to one side, waiting for the tide to recede. A longing, yet unperceived, an unfelt heaven… Slowly, very slowly, the seawater was returning to its primitive state.
A fierce sea breeze circles his ears. A black-tailed gull perches on a buoy. Lukas measures the depth beyond the buoy. When will the submersion, the flight from the light, end? What is coiled at the bottom of the blue sea? Can I float again after hitting the bottom?
Ah, I’d rather just drown in the swell…
“Lukas.”
An intense voice pulled his consciousness up. Leonard put strength into the hand supporting Lukas’s head. He looked at Lukas with a steadfast gaze.
“I have no choice but to rely on your omnipotent power and wait for you to save yourself.”
“…”
“I know how irresponsible that sounds. You probably think the promises I made were nothing but lies. Even so, Lukas.”
Lukas glanced at the blood dripping from Leonard’s hand. Like the day the light had pressed down on the back of his hand, a vibrant warmth was etched into his skin. Their eyes met.
“Save yourself, so that I can save you.”
So, come back.
A quiet wind rises. He welcomed the wind that detained his flickering consciousness. Lukas grasped the hand with dried blood and closed his eyelids. The sickly sweet scent of blood muddled his reason. He whispered in the silence.
Rewind.
The morning sun streaming through the window brightly lit the room. As he sat up, he saw golden eyes shining even in the early morning. The last Check Point was the morning after he had discussed the Golden Apple with Elias. Since they had continued the interrupted Wichteln only after sleeping for several hours, Narke would normally have had no reason to visit Lukas at this hour. Lukas spoke nonchalantly.
“Narke, what brings you here so early?”
Narke kept his eyes lowered and offered no explanation. Even if one shouts alone in a void, an echo is bound to return. Instead of urging an answer, Lukas allowed Narke’s silence to remain. Soon, a flat voice echoed.
“How can one only move forward?”
It was a voice that sounded like it might fade away at any moment.
“Anyone is bound to be blocked by reefs many times. But you dig your nails into the reef and climb it anyway. Even if your fingerprints wear away and your nails break and bleed, you don’t give up, you just keep going…”
The sentence trailed off without a conclusion. A dry voice hovered in Narke’s throat. His curly hair resembled a veil. Just as Moses had covered himself with a veil before the children of Israel, Narke let his dark brown veil hang low. His golden eyes shimmered dimly through the gaps in his hair.
“What on earth are you…”
“I’ll be going now. See you this afternoon.”
He couldn't get an answer because Narke had already left the room. Lukas stared at the door where Narke had disappeared with a complicated expression, then checked his remaining points.
7 Points.
The situation wasn't good enough to be complacent. The power to manually set a Check Point was useless in times like this. As long as he didn't know the reason for his sudden collapse in the street, it wouldn't be an ultimate solution. The key was how to use the three remaining opportunities. It would be best to resolve it this time, but he had a hunch that it wouldn't be easy. While he was lost in thought, the door opened.
Leonard burst into the room looking completely disheveled. Leaves were stuck all over his clothes, as if he had been somewhere frantic. Lukas lowered his gaze. Leonard’s hand was clean, without a trace of blood. Lukas felt his breath catch.
“Leo, I…”
“There is no day I want to lament my incompetence more than today.”
“…”
“This is an opportunity you created. Using your life as a sacrifice again…”
Leonard did not cry. He simply confessed his sins, suffering in a sea of grief—that he had failed to keep his vow, and that he had let what he wanted to protect at the cost of his own life slip away into the flowing water. Lukas’s gaze rose again. Leonard was drowning in a guilt more terrible than blood.
The fishy scent of blood stung his nose. Lukas closed his eyes against his flickering vision. 5 Points. That was the remaining balance he would face in a few minutes. It was hard to even open his mouth because of the blood caked around it. He barely managed to squeeze out a word. Rewind.
The second time Leonard visited the room, he smiled as if he were about to cry. Lukas narrowed his eyes in a small smile back.
The third time Leonard visited Lukas, he was more like a wax doll than a human. Lukas prayed that Leonard wouldn't drown in the river of guilt that had overflowed in the meantime. Sorrow filled his red eyes.
“That artifact we put in your arm. Let’s just take it out.”