Turning Chapter 1023

Yuder untied the string and unfolded the papers. Sentences written in Inon’s uniquely rough handwriting appeared.

It was said to be the final hidden page where the first Duke of Ta-in had freely recorded his thoughts before his death. The opening lines began like this:

“–Yesterday, I was told by the priest that I may only have a few months left to live. That was a declaration of defeat—that no mystical power, herb, or treatment would be able to prolong my life further.”

He had read this part before. But back then, his mind had been in turmoil, devoid of will or energy, and he couldn’t focus on the content. That was all he had taken in before collapsing by the mana stone heater, closing his eyes, and eventually dreaming a vivid nightmare about the day he killed Kishiar.

Though it hadn’t left a bitter memory—since the man before him had followed the "connection" into the dream and rescued him—it had still left him reluctant to open the journal again for some time.

But now, everything was different. The situation in the South, which had long weighed on him with guilt, was finally resolved. Feeling the weight of Kishiar’s head resting lightly on his shoulder as they read the same page together, Yuder drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

His current state was one of perfect calm and stability. The heaviness that once weighed down his entire body was gone, and his mind was crystal clear.

Confirming that, he continued reading further down the page.

“–There is no lingering attachment to anything else. The West has stabilized considerably, and even without me, it should endure for a long time. I only feel a bit sorry for my mother and kin, who must send both her husband and child away so early.”

“Just one thing weighs on my mind. This research I’ve written down here. I haven’t reached an answer, and I have far too little time. No one will carry it on. Even if someone did, by then, I wouldn’t be around to know whether I was right or wrong...”

So far, nothing seemed unusual. It read more like a personal diary, an honest confession of feelings.

Yuder skimmed through a few more lines until something made him pause. It was a section where Inon had written in an especially bold and heavy hand—clearly emphasizing its importance.

“Throughout all those long years, I only ever desired one thing. I wanted to see my father again.”

The father of the first Duke of Ta-in.

That was none other than the founding Emperor of the Empire.

Yuder had speculated that both Luma and the first Duke had begun their separate research paths due to some unresolved question surrounding the Emperor’s death. But to think this had been the underlying reason?

Frowning slightly, Yuder continued to read.

“My father was a true hero and sovereign. I can say with confidence that no one born in the future could ever match his perfection, greatness, and dignity. But his time was far too short, and just as all his goals were fulfilled, we had to watch helplessly as he suddenly lost his vitality and prepared to depart from this world without knowing why.”

“Ah. How could one describe that pain? Not as a son, but as a human being, awed by a hero’s great deeds and nature, I truly wished he had been granted more time. We had only just reclaimed peace, and to be forced to leave without the chance to enjoy it—that was unbearably tragic.”

“......”

Everyone knew that the founding Emperor had passed away soon after averting ruin and establishing the Empire. But reading about it from the perspective of his family stirred something odd in Yuder. Perhaps it was because the legendary figure, once distant and untouchable, suddenly felt... human.

“But my father himself showed no trace of regret. Even as his vitality waned, he looked forward to the day of his departure, as if he were a prisoner awaiting pardon. How could that be? The answer to that painful question came to me on that day.”

“–The day I decided to pursue this research.”

That was the end of the first page. Yuder stared at the final lines for a long moment, reading them over and over until they burned into his memory, then turned to the next page.

“That day, my father seemed in good spirits for once. The soul-father and I took him into the nearby forest to rest on behalf of others. The weather was lovely; everything was peaceful. Watching the scene with a gentle smile, Father suddenly said he wished to sit and rest here. I had to return to the horses to fetch a mat for camping, so I left for a short while. But when I returned, what I saw was my father in the soul-father’s arms—nearly finished preparing to leave on a long journey...”

“He must have sent me away on purpose so I wouldn’t hear his final words. But in the end, I heard part of it. How could I ever forget?”

There was a blank space of about one line, and then—written in the most careful script so far—Inon’s words continued. His deliberation was palpable.

“–My friend, don’t cry. You don’t have to believe this, but for me, this is the second time. There is no need for grief. But this time is entirely different—because you gave me one more chance. I can’t prove what I experienced wasn’t a [N O V E L I G H T] dream or illusion, but I wanted to say thank you.”

“However, I failed to meet the expectations you gave me. Someday, this brief peace will vanish, and the consequences of choice will come again. But this time, I want to place my hopes in you. Would that be all right? To entrust you with all that I could not discover. The choice that was originally yours.”

......

There could be no doubt—that was the true final testament of the founding Emperor, known by no one else.

Even with limited knowledge of history, Yuder could sense just how incredible and earth-shaking this was. Shivering slightly, he kept reading.

“At first, I thought it was merely the fantasy of someone nearing death—meant to ease our sorrow. I didn’t fully understand what he said, so I told no one. I debated for a long time whether it was okay to even admit I’d heard it.”

“Then, while visiting Gillarndre Hill after a long absence, I met the soul-father again. Only then did I realize he had not only believed Father’s words—but gone beyond them. What I heard was no delusion or nonsense. It had truly happened.”

“If Father had once returned and repeated everything again...”

“Then surely, he could return a second time. There was no rule that said it could only happen once.”

“If so, I had to find out where, how, and through what it had occurred. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to meet my father again and return the glory that had once been promised to him. That became the lifelong mission I was determined to fulfill.”

“My mother and other relatives never understood this question. They said I should not even try to. Though my mother passed on her magical blood to me, her choices were entirely different from mine—and from the soul-father’s.”

“Even the choice made by me and the soul-father eventually split us apart.”

“Some may laugh and say I wasted my life chasing illusions.”

“But I do not regret dedicating my life to uncovering the unseen truths—to seeing what lies beyond the sky.”

“I am certain something exists beyond it. It is not some invisible presence. If we can understand what lies behind the phenomena that split this world, then surely, the answer I seek will one day...”

That was where the hidden page of the journal ended.

Or so Yuder thought—until he let go of the page and noticed a final small line written at the very bottom.

“So in the end, what choice did Father make?”

Yuder stared at that single line for a long time.

Then he exhaled deeply.

“...I see now why Inon said the founding Emperor might have been someone like me.”