Chapter 50: The Beginning of All Things

"...

"September 10th, Year 993 of the Imperial Calendar. Sunny.

"Dear diary, ever since leaving Eagle’s Rest Castle, the scenery along the way has seemed exactly the same: forests, fields, and the dust kicked up by hooves and carriage wheels. Every day, I sit in the carriage, swaying back and forth, my mind a foggy mess. I tried reading the Magic Books I brought from Academy City during the journey, but the candlelight was too dim and unsteady. After just a few pages, drowsiness would overtake me. Sometimes I fall asleep during the day, and sometimes in the middle of the night. My sleep schedule is as tangled and chaotic as my destiny.

"Anjie Rendall and Victor Laurie both say that I, Eliot Igor, finally look a bit like a Lord now. Are they telling the truth? I don’t know. I feel like they’re just humoring me—they even feel like strangers to me... Having spent over a decade of my life in Academy City, I hardly know my own maid and Chief Mage. I don’t know anyone in this convoy well. Even my own reflection in the mirror looks strange and ridiculous. I’m not suited to wear the lavish robes of a Lord. The finely embroidered short robes of a Mage suit my figure much better. The girls in Academy City all said so, too.

"Ah, the girls of Academy City... My heart is still back there. No, not because of the girls. I genuinely miss that boring city. How ridiculous. When I was in the Mage Academy, I spent every day figuring out how to climb over the walls patrolled by the Magic Guard, just to sneak out to the town’s taverns and pick up a drunk girl. But now, hundreds of kilometers away, I’ve actually started missing those towering white spires.

"Perhaps I’m just resisting the idea of becoming a Lord. I, Eliot Igor, am not cut out to be a Lord. No one has explicitly stated it, but I know it in my heart. Mother once said that you know yourself better than anyone else does, didn’t she? No, I am absolutely not cut out to be a Lord.

"Just imagine it. For the rest of my days, I would have to be like Old Vincent, forever posturing with a straight back, listening to the tedious flattery of jesters and sycophants, and groveling before the Emperor and every noble of higher rank... Just the thought of it makes me sick. This is not the life I want. I, Eliot Igor, should have died in the bed of some girl, or drunk myself to death on a night of wild revelry, rather than quietly growing old while sitting in a cold Lord’s palace. I should have opened a brothel on the Imperial Capital’s bustling Parrot Street, personally training every girl under my employ, and making all the most beautiful noblewomen in the Imperial Capital my mistresses... I should have spent every gentle night with a woman in my arms, drinking heavily and singing wildly to the bright moon in the sky.

"Catherine is far more suited to inherit this title than I am. Just think about it: ’Duchess Catherine Igor.’ My sister was born to manage a territory. She is serious and responsible, always so kind and merciful to her subjects... But I have no right to choose. His Majesty the Emperor suddenly executed my father, and sent thousands of the Imperial Guard to Eagle’s Rest Castle to capture my mother, leaving her to die in a pitch-black Black Prison. He singled me out by name to inherit the title, forcing me to lead our subjects on a migration to the distant south... This is all a disaster. I hate the Emperor.

"When I first heard the news of my parents’ deaths, I didn’t react much. I had only seen them a handful of times. To me, Old Vincent Igor and Duchess Anna were no closer to my heart than Sir Eton, who taught Magic History at the academy. But lately, I’ve started dreaming of them frequently. Every time I wake up, my pillow is wet... Why? Why am I crying... I hate the Emperor. He forced a destiny upon me that was never mine to bear.

"I’ve even started to pity the commoners in this convoy. Like me, they originally had their own happy lives in Eagle’s Rest Castle, only for this unexpected disaster to completely shatter the rhythm of their existence... The carriage of our lives has careened off the cliff of destiny, never to return.

"Yesterday, on the edge of the Duchy of Cromwell, there was even a bandit attack on our convoy. Right in front of my eyes, those mounted bandits chopped a little girl in half. I threw up all night. Master Laurie says there might be a mastermind behind this group of bandits. He suspects that the political enemies of the Igor Family are trying to wipe us out completely. But what can I possibly use to protect myself, to protect these people? I, Eliot Igor, am nothing more than a second-tier junior Mage, and my skills as a Lord are even worse than my Magic... This isn’t my world at all; this isn’t my war... I hate the Emperor.

"But I have to do something... I am now the head of the Igor Family. I am the Lord of these people... I need power. I must protect my people. I want to avenge my parents—I barely even knew them, but... I truly want to avenge them. I need power.

"I still have a few forbidden books I brought back from Academy City, but my proficiency is nowhere near enough to use the Magic inside them. My Magic Power level struggles to even resurrect a cockroach... However, yesterday, while I was flipping through the *Ancient Ritual Atlas* by candlelight, I found something called the Divine Descent Technique. The book says that the Divine Descent Technique has a certain chance to summon a powerful Outer God from the Otherworld, who will grant all my wishes. This ritual requires no Magic Power, and the ingredients are extremely simple. Aside from an abysmally low success rate, it has no drawbacks. I figured there’s no harm in trying. Even if it accidentally succeeds, the price demanded by the Summoning Ceremony is merely ’the soul of the caster’... I lost my soul a long time ago, anyway.

"Tomorrow I will set up this ritual. I hope my luck is good enough to successfully summon an Outer God.

"Oh, Outer God of the Otherworld, heed my call. Protect my people and punish my enemies...

..."

After reading the last word in Eliot Igor’s diary, Xiahou Yan quietly closed the notebook.

Opposite him, Deputy Commander Jose Tebili of the Desolate Wind Mercenary Corps had a face twisted by intense terror and panic. He had even forgotten the threat of the crowbar, staring dead at Xiahou Yan with bulging, goldfish-like eyes as he trembled all over and stuttered, "No... no... You’re not Eliot Igor..."

"That’s right, of course I’m not Eliot Igor," Xiahou Yan said with a faint smile, standing up as he gently stroked the black cover of the diary. "I am Xiahou Yan, from a great Plane called Earth. I am the one Eliot Igor summoned from the Otherworld at the cost of his own soul... Or, as the *Ancient Ritual Atlas* calls it, an ’Outer God’."

At this point, Xiahou Yan genuinely felt the urge to laugh. He thought about what a bizarre situation this was—he himself was the so-called Outer God. It was just that the real Eliot Igor clearly never expected this so-called Summoning Ceremony to be fulfilled through someone crossing over and possessing his body. He could never have imagined that the Xiahou Yan summoned to this Plane by the Divine Descent Technique wasn’t some all-powerful Otherworldly Divine Spirit, but rather a not-so-ordinary ordinary person from Earth. And after crossing over, the gray fog triggered by the ritual had caused Xiahou Yan and the entire convoy to become lost in the infected zone... The Goddess of Destiny truly loved to play jokes sometimes.

"No, no, no..." Deputy Commander Tebili shook his head desperately, as if trying to resist the truth.

"Ah, I almost forgot, you’re not supposed to speak..." Xiahou Yan set the diary down and grabbed the crowbar. Without a shred of mercy, he swung it hard, violently knocking Tebili to the ground. The Lord took two steps forward and planted his boot firmly on the Mercenary Deputy Commander’s face. He leaned over, observing Tebili’s terrified features distorting under the pressure, and said softly, "So, Mr. Tebili, can you understand why I’ve been in a bad mood lately? Eliot Igor summoned me to this world to live on in his identity, but at the same time, he passed on his desire to protect his subjects to me... Mr. Tebili, I have spent my entire life trying to live up to my own standards, to live with a clear conscience. But after taking over such a heavy burden from Eliot, my conscience refuses to rest..."

As Xiahou Yan spoke, the smile on his face grew increasingly cold. "Protecting these pitiful subjects is a desire shared by both me and Eliot Igor. And you, Mr. Tebili, trampled all over that right in front of me... Right in front of me, you slaughtered my people, harmed my brothers and sisters, and pierced the throat of my favorite little maid... You insulted the dream that Eliot Igor sacrificed his very soul to achieve..."

To Jose Tebili, the black-haired young man’s final whisper sounded like the murmurs of a demon:

"So, Mr. Tebili, you know too much now. You are already a dead man..."