138 - 24 Hearts

Chapter 4: The Land of Entertainment and Culture, Urun --- ## Setting 8: "A Blessed Yet Fallen Nation." Urun is a land blessed by the gods. It's a fertile, expansive territory with a population that thrives, boasting nearly double harvest yields. Its majestic peaks pierce the sky, and abundant rivers flow between them, making it akin to a paradise on earth. The only downside is the scarcity of mineral resources. With plentiful food, warm climate, and nothing lacking, the people lived leisurely, taking pleasure in the natural splendors around them. This lifestyle indulgently made them complacent. However, the people of Urun were not foolish. Observing their neighbor, Philoria, they realized long ago that they needed to be strong to preserve what they have. Recruiting and maintaining soldiers was difficult due to the low mineral resources, and they had to purchase quality iron from neighboring countries to produce elite forces like knights. Thus, they turned their gaze to magic, which offered the merit of a small group of magicians countering larger forces. Becoming a magician required innate talent. In Urun, a magician was a power figure, naturally replacing nobility. With newfound power, they gradually immersed themselves in entertainment. They built grand structures, indulged in delightful music, fine wines and food, surrounded themselves with beautiful slaves, gambled, and admired the breathtaking natural views. Urun became renowned for its entertainment and culture, attracting the continent's wealthy nobles and merchants. If you were born into this world, Urun is unmistakably one of the must-visit places. Whether old or young, just the fact you visited Urun would provide endless tales for nighttime gatherings. Start saving money. Come to this earthly paradise, Urun. Experiences of unparalleled culture and entertainment await you. Ah, but of course, money isn't everything. You must be cautious not to engage in crimes like murder, arson, or robbery, as your life would be the price for such actions. --- "Where am I?" He opened his eyes in the darkness, scanning his surroundings. He could see nothing. The endless, directionless darkness was terrifying. It felt like he was flailing in thin air as if levitating with magic. Trying to manipulate his mana yielded no response—it refused to answer his summons as it always did. "Is this a dream?" His consciousness was sharp, and he could still speak, even moving his limbs. Frowning with frustration, he looked down at his hand. The fifth fragment, Valentine, was securely fastened around his finger. Despite possessing the fragment, the mana was unmoving. Even if it was a dream, it was an incomprehensible situation, drawing a sigh from him. Powerless, quite unlike himself, he crossed his arms and drifted in the darkness. "What in the world is happening?" As if in response to his question, the darkness began to reveal something to him. He felt a sudden pull from beneath his feet, transporting him instantly to the interior of a luxurious mansion—a familiar wallpaper, familiar furniture arrangement, familiar maids. Everything was known to him. Yes, this was the mansion of Count Lava. A bitter chuckle escaped him. "This is too vivid for a dream, isn't it?" There shouldn't be anyone capable of casting an illusion on him, and he couldn't fathom their motive in showing this vision. Then, footsteps echoed in the hallway behind him, and the maid cleaning in front looked up at the sound. 'Aira.' Yes, this child—a maid who cleaned the hallway every morning. As she began her respectful bow, attempting to greet him, an unexpected sharp ice spear flew and pierced her body. With a dull thud, she was flung against the wall. Pierced through the heart, the maid bowed her head, lifelessly. Her frilled maid uniform stained with blood, dripping to the floor. My god. What just happened? His heart pounded unpleasantly—not because of fear at witnessing death, but the shocking reality that the one who wielded the ice spear was none other than himself. Staring blankly at Aira impaled against the wall, he turned around to see himself walking past, the man he was. Count Genure de Lava. In his pajamas, swaying as he walked, he witnessed himself roaming the mansion. With mana activated, he conjured ice spears the moment anyone within the mansion appeared in his sight, flinging them through the air. It took a mere second or two for the mana to complete the formation, gathering ice particles to forge a spear. The spear unerringly struck the vital points of those visible to the count's eyes. "What are you doing!" Rushing forward belatedly to grab his shoulder, only to have his hand pass through the count’s body, clutching nothing but air. - I can't interfere. As an illusion, this was of course expected. Helplessly, forced to observe his rampaging self from a third-party perspective. Who could possibly project such an illusion to someone like him, the owner of a fragment and a top-tier magician among the highest ranked tower lords? The atmosphere was loathsome. In mere moments, the mansion became a blood-soaked inferno, resonating with screams. Those working in the mansion who heard the cries and witnessed the massacre rushed to escape, but with a simple wave of the count's hand, all doors in the mansion locked themselves. Bang, bang! Windows that were wide open suddenly shut, and doors that were ajar slammed closed. The locks engaged forcibly, protected by magic, making them impervious to any attempts to break or shatter. Those without strong magic couldn't escape the mansion. "Please save us, Count! Count, ple-" "I'm sorry, I don't know what I did wrong, but I'm sincerely sorry! Count, please! Aaaaah!" The count ruthlessly killed those pitifully calling his name. The fact that they were dispatched swiftly and painlessly was perhaps their only consolation. Listening to the voices of the dying filled him with a sense of powerlessness and a heavy heart. "......" Even knowing it was an illusion, he felt a pang of guilt witnessing the demise of the maids and stewards. Though it wasn't his doing, he found himself silently apologizing to them. Some had worked in the mansion for a few years, others for nearly two decades, and now they were meeting their end. Even if their images were just illusions, it was painful. He couldn't fathom why he was driven to such madness, killing the people serving in the mansion. Watching all this unfold, he questioned whether this was truly an illusion, or if he was being manipulated by someone to commit these acts. Yet, without the ability to manipulate magic or intervene, all he could do was watch. 'Wait, what about my wife?' Suddenly remembering the woman with whom he shared a bed, woke up every morning, and started and ended each day, he rushed upstairs towards their chamber. Hoping his fears were unfounded, he bolted into the room through the open door. Clench! Entering the room, he gritted his teeth and furrowed his brow, a tremor running through his clenched fists. "Ha, haha! Just who is doing this?" Who was showing him such an illusion...? On the bed lay his wife's body, impaled by ten ice spears. Blood from her wounds soaked the bed and pooled on the floor. His composure shattered. Inside, something was boiling over. Boom! Then, with a deafening explosion, the mansion shook. Cracks snaked across the floor, walls, and ceiling, before everything crumbled down. Flames erupted from the cracks, and debris rained from the ceiling. He could do nothing. He could do nothing at all. All he could harbor was a profound grudge against the one displaying this illusion to him. If he ever discovered their identity, he would tear them apart. Death would not come easily for them. He would revive them and restore their wounds when they seemed at the brink of death... He would torment them until they begged for mercy, until their spirit was broken, and they could think no longer. He watched, helpless, as his wife's body disappeared amid the flames and debris. ……… …… … "!" Gasping for breath, he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a ceiling adorned with lavish patterns. Remaining still, he glanced around to survey his surroundings. Morning sunlight was streaming through the window. Beyond the window lay a dew-kissed garden. Turning his gaze inside the room, he saw a small round table, atop which sat a water bottle and glass. 'A dream... Was it?' But what dream had he dreamt? He knew it was a nightmare, yet, as always, he couldn't remember the content. Like a shadowy veil, parts of it seemed almost tangible, but remained elusive. Just then, something gripped his hand. Startled, he tensed, ready to channel his mana, but quickly stopped. It was his wife. His wife, nestled beside him, had grasped his hand in her sleep. Gazing at her angelic sleeping face, he felt a rush of relief, squeezing her hand tightly. Her mere presence beside him provided solace. Each night he was plagued by nightmares. The inability to recall their content after waking only fueled his anxiety. When did this begin? These recurring dreams... It was since he encountered that boy, Yuda Arsche, on his way to Philoria. Since then, the nightmare repeated every night. Curiously, when he happened to stay at the same lodging as the boy, the nightmares ceased. Yes, that was it. There were no nightmares during that time. He even enjoyed the flag tournament with a light heart. But once the tournament ended and he set out for Regis, resuming his dream-filled nights, he realized something peculiar only now, after all this time. Count Genure sighed, rising from the bed, and poured water from the pitcher on the table, drinking it in gulps. As he drank, he sensed the activation of magic energy. "This is..." Setting down the glass, analyzing the magical vibrations, he learned that someone was teleporting to the mansion. To teleport to his mansion, one needed a stone he had crafted. Since his daughter and wife were already on the premises, the identity of the arrival was clear. He had only given a teleportation stone to one person—after the commemorative flag tournament ended and he left Philoria. "Yuda Arsche, is it that boy?" Perhaps recalling the trigger for his nightmares wasn't mere coincidence today. --- End of Work Postscript --- The next installment will be uploaded soon.