THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 922: The Oracle and the Prophecy (2)

"I find that somewhat amusing."

"You created me with your own hands and granted me all these abilities, yet you remain incapable of giving me this freedom you speak of."

Agaroth found himself unable to understand it.

The man standing before him possessed the power to build an entire world from nothing, complete with planets, stars, and the creatures that lived upon them.

He had even created Agaroth himself.

And yet...

He could not pull him out from between the pages of the book.

None of the other Writers had been capable of doing so either.

In the end, they had all turned their backs on him.

All except Frey.

Arlecchino had been the first to leave.

The others followed one after another once they had all grown tired of Frey’s world.

In the end, Agaroth was nothing more than a word written upon one random page...

One page among millions.

Frey had made him extraordinarily powerful, and Agaroth was no fool. He understood perfectly well that there had to be a purpose behind it, even if Frey had yet to reveal what that purpose was.

At times, Agaroth even wondered whether Frey’s efforts were born from guilt—guilt over creating him as something little more than a tool.

Agaroth was lost.

He did not know what he truly was, nor what he was supposed to become.

"Even if you grant me the freedom to do whatever I want, what guarantees that I truly possess the freedom to choose?"

"What guarantees that you are not the one making those choices for me?"

"Even this desire of mine to see the outside world was born entirely from the stories you told me. That desire came from you, just as everything else did."

Agaroth slowly tightened his fist.

"So where, exactly, is this freedom you speak of?"

"No, Agaroth. You’re wrong."

Frey interrupted him, attempting to ease the weight of the dilemma consuming him.

"I didn’t create you from nothing. We Writers don’t possess that kind of power. If we did, we would be gods beyond anyone’s reach."

Aether slowly gathered around Frey’s arm as he revealed the truth.

"I cannot create something from nothing. All I do is redirect the aether and aura that already exist, and from them, a new life is born each time."

"You are a genuine living being, Agaroth, no different from any creature in the Aether World."

"You are not merely ink upon a page."

"You are a complete living being."

After hearing those words, Agaroth turned his gaze away.

"If that is true... if my life truly has meaning, then what is it?"

"Why do I exist? What am I supposed to do... to prove that I am free?"

It was a sensitive question, one that condensed everything Agaroth felt about his own existence into a few simple words.

In response, Frey smiled faintly.

"I don’t know."

"But you have all the time in the world to search for an answer."

"Perhaps you’ll find it tomorrow, or perhaps a year from now."

"But eventually... you will find it."

It was an overwhelmingly optimistic answer, and Agaroth showed almost no reaction to it.

Still, after a while, he released another sigh, unclenched his fist, and allowed some of the tension within him to fade.

"Then let us begin by finding a way out of the Land of Survival."

"Perhaps the answer is waiting somewhere beyond it... in the Aether World."

"Perhaps it is."

Frey’s smile widened, and the two of them resumed their attempts to find a way for Agaroth to wield aether.

Time passed quickly.

As the war against the Lords of Mist intensified, Frey gradually spent less time inside his own world.

His presence had become necessary on the battlefield, yet he still made certain to return whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Agaroth, meanwhile, became something of a guardian.

He watched the Land of Survival expand little by little, ensuring it remained the paradise Frey had always wanted it to become.

A world worth fighting for.

At the same time, he never stopped searching for a way to escape it.

After searching for an immeasurably long time, neither Agaroth nor Frey discovered a solution.

The only possibility left was to exploit the immense power with which Agaroth had been created.

The power of Devouring.

It was an exceptionally powerful ability, though it still possessed clear limits at the time.

Agaroth could not absorb power endlessly, and his body had a fixed threshold. If he exceeded it, he risked exploding from within.

Even so, he forced himself onward.

He had Frey attack him directly with aether, believing that doing so would allow his body to absorb it more effectively.

The plan was dangerously reckless.

Yet it produced unexpected results.

Each time, the aether Agaroth absorbed from Frey greatly increased his strength.

However, it still failed to grant him control over aether itself.

And so, whenever Frey returned, they repeated the process.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third and fourth time.

Agaroth endured the aether and watched his body collapse dozens, then hundreds of times, all for the sake of obtaining that mysterious power.

According to Frey, Agaroth had been created in a way that made him remarkably similar to the Writers.

That meant, at least in theory, it should have been possible for him to possess aether.

That theory became the sole motivation that kept them moving forward.

They repeated the process desperately, refusing to surrender because each attempt continued to produce visible results.

Little by little, Agaroth became more familiar with aether.

He could feel his body changing, gradually transforming into something entirely different.

He felt it clearly.

More clearly than ever before.

"I’m very close..."

One day, after finishing the process of absorbing Frey’s aether, Agaroth’s body trembled with excitement.

The attempt had left him in a miserable condition, but he paid no attention to the damage.

He cared only about the results.

"I can feel it, Frey."

"I can feel the power flowing through the veins of the Writers."

It was an extraordinary power.

A power Agaroth believed would finally allow him to become a complete being and shatter every chain binding him.

"I’m glad."

Frey’s expression, however, remained troubled.

"But you may die before you ever see the results, Agaroth. Your body is beginning to reach its limit."

He was genuinely worried that Agaroth would collapse after being exposed to so much aether.

"If this body collapses, then that only means you failed to make it strong enough."

"That is all."

Agaroth did not appear disturbed by the possibility of his own destruction.

Dying while attempting to achieve something he truly desired did not seem like such a terrible fate to him.

It was better than doing nothing.

Especially now, when success appeared so close.

Only one final step remained.