THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 921: The Oracle and the Prophecy (1)

At the same time the Third War between the Writers and the Lords of Mist began, Frey had only just started writing the opening lines of the Land of Survival.

Back then, he had completed no more than a handful of pages, while everything beyond them remained blank, leaving him endless room to create. It was like a vast white canvas upon which he could paint anything he desired.

Whenever his duties in the Aether World came to an end, Frey would hurry back into his creation. He often spent entire days wandering through the Land of Survival, filling it with countless words...

Words that came alive.

Yet he did not undertake those journeys alone.

An old friend accompanied him, remaining by his side more than anyone else ever had.

Agaroth was always there, waiting for Frey whenever he left and returned to the Aether World.

And as usual, the moment Frey entered the Land of Survival again, Agaroth was already waiting for him.

"Agaroth... you never cease to amaze me."

Frey’s feet touched the surface of a random planet where Agaroth stood awaiting him. "How do you always predict exactly where I’ll appear?"

Whenever Frey entered the Land of Survival, his body manifested in a different place each time.

Even Frey himself never knew where he would arrive.

Yet Agaroth always found the correct location without fail, something that impressed Frey every single time.

"It isn’t particularly difficult," Agaroth replied. "The eyes you gave me are rather special."

This Agaroth was not yet the being who would one day become known as the Demon King...

The monster that devoured everything.

He had not yet acquired the threatening presence that would later define him. Rather than oppressive, his existence could only be described as mysterious.

He was calm, and his voice was slightly low, though perfectly clear. His features closely resembled those of the Writers, which was only natural, as Frey had drawn inspiration from them—and from himself—when shaping most of the beings he created.

That was why Agaroth resembled the Writers, as did the creatures who came after him, such as humans, the Light Bearers, and many others.

Agaroth had possessed unusual eyes from the very beginning.

One was the King’s Eye.

The other remained shrouded in mystery, though its power appeared no less extraordinary.

The relationship between Frey and Agaroth was never that of a master and servant.

It was closer to the bond between brothers, and both of them treated it as such.

Agaroth had been the first being Frey ever wrote into existence. Frey had created him at a very young age, then continued granting him more and more over the passing years.

He had grown up beside Frey under the guidance of Frey’s father, Abraham, and had been one of six children who treated one another as siblings.

Frey.

Seth.

Arlecchino.

Audrey.

Agaroth.

And Lea.

Among them all, Agaroth was the only one who could never exist within the Aether World.

He was completely bound to the Land of Survival and incapable of leaving it.

Because of that, Frey built a large house as the first true piece of land inside the world, and all six of them lived there with Abraham for several years.

They had once been inseparable.

But one after another, they gradually began to leave.

Most eventually returned to the real world after growing satisfied with Frey’s creation, which had seemed to them like nothing more than a beautiful dream.

Yet all dreams eventually came to an end.

And so, in time, no one remained except Agaroth.

Frey became the only one who still came to see him whenever the opportunity arose.

The two spent a great deal of time together.

Agaroth was the observer who watched the Land of Survival grow day after day, and from time to time, he would tell Frey how the world had begun evolving on its own, beyond the reach of Frey’s hands.

Frey, in turn, always spoke to Agaroth about the outside world.

He told him of the Aether World and its vastness, of the great powers that ruled it, and of the mysterious lands no one had yet explored.

Those stories consumed much of their time together.

Frey did most of the talking, while Agaroth listened with genuine fascination, displaying an intense interest in every word.

As the Land of Survival grew larger and larger, something else grew within Agaroth as well.

His strength increased at nearly the same pace.

He could wield aura freely and with remarkable efficiency.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, he remained incapable of harnessing aether.

"Hmmm... this is strange."

Frey watched Agaroth closely, unable to fully understand the mechanism behind aether. "I used an enormous amount of my own aether while creating your powers, so you should be capable of using it."

"Aether is different from aura," Agaroth replied. "There is a reason everyone can use the latter, while aether remains limited to the Writers and their attendants, all of whom descend from the same bloodline."

Frey considered the explanation, then nodded in agreement.

"Aura exists everywhere around us, while aether forms inside a Writer’s body before flowing outward through them..."

He sank into deep thought, pacing in circles around Agaroth.

"I find aether extremely difficult to understand. You are special, Agaroth. I tried to make you resemble the Writers as closely as possible, yet something is still missing, and I have no idea what it is."

After giving himself a headache from thinking too deeply, Frey extended one hand toward Agaroth and decided to act upon the first idea that came to mind.

"Try devouring my aether with your ability. Perhaps that will work."

Agaroth smiled faintly in response, a trace of mockery touching his expression.

"That won’t succeed. I’ve already absorbed large quantities of your aether in the past, as well as aether from your siblings. It made no difference."

"Ah... you’re right."

Frey sighed in annoyance.

Agaroth remained silent for a while, watching him with those strange crimson eyes.

Frey was still trying to think of another solution, his expression unusually serious.

"Why...?"

Agaroth asked in a low voice.

Sharp as ever, Frey immediately turned toward him.

"Did you say something?"

Agaroth faced him with a solemn expression.

"Why are you trying to make me stronger?"

With a single sweep of his left hand, Agaroth unleashed a vast wave of aura that erased everything to his left before exploding across the distant horizon.

"My strength has already increased tremendously. I can now contend with the attendants and even defeat them."

His gaze remained fixed upon Frey.

"Yet you still don’t seem satisfied."

"What exactly are you expecting from me?"

"What do I want?"

Frey smiled faintly.

"I want you to become free."

The answer caught Agaroth completely off guard.

"Free?"

He repeated Frey’s final word as though spitting it out.

Then he began to laugh.

It was a deep, heavy laugh.

"And what exactly is freedom?"

His voice had grown rougher, carrying a faint but unmistakable unrest.

Frey stared at him for a moment before answering.

"Freedom means becoming whatever you wish."

"To become the person you choose to be."

He spoke sincerely, understanding Agaroth more deeply than anyone else ever could. "If you learn to control aether, you may finally become capable of leaving the Land of Survival freely."

"And that is your definition of freedom?"

Agaroth interrupted him.

"I find that somewhat amusing."