THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 853 Path to Revelation (2)

Frey's eyes widened in utter disbelief as he stared. They were scattered across the globe—within crumbling ruins, long-lost relics, and enigmatic paintings that had baffled all who attempted to decipher them for ages. Nameless had encountered many of these during his extensive travels.

"It's as though someone deliberately placed them here… leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs for whoever follows… for someone seeking the Aether," he mused, a subtle frown creasing his brow. Frey remained speechless, struggling to absorb the bizarre spectacle before him.

He observed figures shrouded in darkness, gathered ominously at the borders of the artwork. Each figure pulsed with faint sparks, eerily reminiscent of the peculiar energy Nameless commanded. Men and women alike were depicted trailing a singular woman, who was rendered larger and more centrally than any other figure. Shadows swirled around her like living entities, and from her outstretched hand, a potent spark blazed, far surpassing the intensity of all the others combined.

On the opposing side of the same painting, Frey's gaze fell upon something else entirely. A dense, creeping mist, imbued with an unsettling semblance of life, seemed to breathe within the canvas. Eerie golden eyes glowed from its depths, appearing to draw any onlooker into an inescapable oblivion.

Frey shifted his attention to another painting. Here, the same woman reappeared, a faint, enigmatic smile gracing her lips. Seated before her was a broad-shouldered man, his long black hair cascading down his back. His very presence exuded an aura of formidable strength, comforting warmth, and quiet command. Beside him stood two children, one noticeably older than the other, their backs turned, their faces concealed from view. The scene suggested the woman was imparting knowledge to them. In front of them loomed an immense library, its shelves packed with an untold number of books.

Frey's breath caught in his throat. That library… it bore an uncanny resemblance to the one he had glimpsed within Nameless's mask. The similarity was almost absolute.

He turned away abruptly, a wave of inexplicable bitterness rising within his chest, accompanied by an unfamiliar pain that constricted his breathing. Yet another painting captured his gaze.

It depicted a castle, or perhaps a vast, shadowed manor, its interior rendered with haunting precision. A long dining table occupied the center of an expansive hall, its black stone walls constructed in an architectural style completely foreign to Frey's experience. Seated around the table were the same man and woman. Surrounding them were numerous children, but their faces were indistinct, as if intentionally obscured or erased.

The longer Frey gazed upon the scene, the more labored his breathing became, despite his spectral existence within these captured memories. All the figures exuded a suffocating presence, but the woman… she dominated the tableau. She was… utterly overwhelming.

"Endure it," Nameless said softly, his expression mirroring Frey's own turmoil. "These traces… were intentionally left for us."

There were countless paintings, an endless expanse stretching before Frey's eyes. Each one showcased a distinct scene, a different moment—unique, vivid, and each possessing its own unsettling quality. However, what most captivated Frey's attention was that a significant number of these depicted the woman and the older child he had seen previously. She seemed to hover around him like an ethereal specter. Her long black dress flowed across the ground, enveloping him like a spider's silken cocoon, encircling him completely. She whispered into his ear, from his right, from his left… her presence was inescapable. Each time, the child moved in sync with her subtle cues. They walked together, hand in hand, as she guided him through the cavernous library, imparting knowledge that Frey himself found incomprehensible.

Finally, they arrived before one of the most significant paintings Nameless had ever discovered. In this artwork, the child was seated upon a simple wooden chair, his face entirely hidden. Behind him, the formidable woman stood, her shadows engulfing him entirely, her slender hands resting gently upon his shoulders… a pose that conveyed an unbreakable connection. Before them lay a table, and upon it, an open book… dark, strange, and profoundly ominous.

To their right, the man materialized, his hand reaching out towards the child. Though his face was obscured, his posture conveyed something unmistakable… fear, urgency, and deep concern. Behind him, the other children stood at a distance, observing in silent reverence. To their left, the terrifying mist surged once more, extending its reach towards the child as well… Yet the woman repelled it with fierce intensity, as if the mist itself recoiled from her, from her very essence. The painting pulsed with an almost tangible life.

A cold sweat broke out on Frey's body, his breathing growing ragged, unable to pinpoint the source of his profound and overwhelming unease. "What in the blazes is this…? What are these paintings meant to represent?"

He clutched his chest tightly, fighting to maintain his footing, refusing to yield and drop to one knee. "Why… why do I feel this gnawing emptiness… this bitter ache every time I look at them?" Pain coursed through him.

Nameless stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Frey's shoulder. Frey slowly lifted his head… only to realize Nameless was experiencing the same sensations. The crucial difference, however, was that Nameless was enduring it. He was suppressing it… controlling it.

"This, Frey…" Nameless stated quietly, his voice laden with a heavy weight, "…is the evidence that led me… to the truth." Frey's eyes widened in astonishment.

"Did you… uncover it? The meaning behind these paintings… the truth of your existence… and mine?"

They stared at one another, tension thicker than ever.

And everything shifted… the moment Nameless nodded—slowly, heavily, as if carrying the weight of worlds.

Frey was stunned.

The truth… was already within their grasp.

Yet the Nameless before him did not look like someone who held that truth.

He looked… just as lost as Frey.

And there was a reason for that.

"I found it," Nameless said, his voice quieter now. "But I couldn't bear it… not back then."

The memory changed.

Frey watched as Nameless reached into himself… and tore something out.

A fragment of memory. Of power.

Something radiant.

Something important.

"I removed it… and entrusted it to the one person I trusted more than anyone in this world."

Before Frey's eyes, Nameless handed that fragment away.

To the man who believed in him without hesitation.

To the one he trusted completely.

Nameless… gave it to Gehrman.

He entrusted him with it.

Told him to protect it. To hide it… until the day came when it must be returned.

He told him to guard it with his life.

And Gehrman… obeyed.

Nameless let out a faint laugh at the memory.

"I never expected him to follow my words so literally," he said. "He hid that power within his own body… fused it with himself, so no one could ever take it from him."

"He did it… knowing full well what it meant."

"That he would die… when the time came."

Nameless's eyes trembled.

For a brief moment… he almost broke.

"He threw his life away without hesitation… carried out the impossible task I gave him… enduring a suffering no one else could ever understand."

"Perhaps you hated him for most of your life…"

"But he was… the only person I can truly call…"

"A friend."

More than that, even.

Gehrman's death… was necessary.

Only through it could the memory be released ... so it could return to Nameless now.

That memory had become part of Gehrman's very existence.

Which meant… the moment it was reclaimed ...

Gehrman ceased to exist.

Gone.

Even Nameless's mastery over life and death could not bring him back.

Gehrman died… with no return.

And that truth carved something deep into both Nameless… and Frey, who now realized that all this time…

He had never truly understood the blue-eyed man.

The man who made this moment possible.

The man who paved the way… for the truth.

The memory was now open.

The path stood before them.

Frey and Nameless stepped forward ... toward it.

Toward the truth.

A truth bought… by the sacrifice of one man.

At the same moment, both of them clenched their fists.

Their resolve sharpened.

And together…

They walked into the light.

Whatever awaited them beyond it ...

They would face it.

Together.