“Shall we finally have that conversation we couldn’t back then? A truly honest one.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“If you don’t know, then I’ll tell you. I now know exactly what your power is. And I can explain everything it did to me.”

“……”

“What? Did you really not expect a day like this to come?”

Diemon had no idea what Naham was talking about.

But it wasn’t just him. Did anyone there truly understand the full extent of the conflict between Naham and the Sage?

“There’s nothing more to discuss between you and me. What you’re doing now is destroying all of us.”

“Trying to run away again?”

“Open your eyes, everyone! The one who betrayed the Star of Nagran is Naham. Don’t fall for his twisted words—please trust this man!”

The conversation ended before it even began. When the Sage shouted those words, people flinched. Some came to their senses and ran toward him—but not all of them.

“Wake up. Remember the truth I showed you.”

It didn’t take Diemon long to realize that most of those still resisting were people who had followed Naham for a long time. They stood around him protectively and looked at the Sage with eyes full of betrayal.

“We trusted you, Sage. We believed you were going to protect us… but you didn’t return, not even once, while the village fell into this state!”

“Bring back Sera and the others who left on your orders! Give them back!”

“You want us to trust you? Based on what, exactly? I really don’t know anymore.”

“Answer us!”

A riot broke out. The crowd split into two—those for the Sage, and those for Naham—and they began fighting. Soon, abilities were being unleashed without restraint.

Diemon desperately tried to protect the Sage, but it wasn’t enough. The gentle, obedient people who once followed the Sage were gone. All that remained were those consumed by confusion and rage, pulling at him without reason. It was hell.

The Sage kept shouting until his voice went hoarse, trying to bring them to their senses. Naham, meanwhile, simply watched, saying nothing.

He just smiled—that same unsettling smile, as if daring him to go as far as he could. Honestly, that expression was twice as terrifying as his cursed illusion powers.

At the end of the chaos, when the Sage pleaded for it to stop, told them to back down, Naham replied with just one line.

“If that’s what you want, then speak the truth with your own mouth, and keep your promise. For the Star of Nagran.”

Cornered, unable to escape, Diemon had a thought.

He could only copy and use one power at a time. If he wanted to reuse a previously copied ability, he’d have to find its original owner and copy it again—something impossible in this chaos.

But that only applied to powers copied in the usual way.

There was one time—just once in his life—when Diemon had been granted true permission from the original owner and had gone through a proper preparation process to copy a power completely.

That power was monster control.

Before they ascended to the capital, the Sage had encouraged him to copy it.

The original owner was a young boy who had recently come from the East. At the Sage’s earnest request, the boy, despite his reluctance, had allowed Diemon to copy his ability completely.

It was then that Diemon realized how powerful he could become when he copied an ability perfectly. Unlike the weakened versions he usually managed, that time, he could use the ability nearly as well as its original owner. He’d even summoned a monster right in the middle of the Imperial Palace.

True, the boy had looked completely drained afterward, as though the life had been sucked out of him—but that wasn’t Diemon’s concern.

Yes. With that power, maybe I can bring it out again. I copied it perfectly... If I can just use it one more time!

Maybe because he wanted it so desperately in that do-or-die moment, Diemon managed to pull off a miracle. The ground trembled beneath his feet, then burst open with a roar—and a massive, centipede-like monster erupted from below.

It was the escape tactic the boy had taught him.

The moment the monster appeared, the crowd screamed.

The village they had built together began to fall apart. Smoke choked the air, and the stench of burning filled Diemon’s nose.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Diemon fled with the Sage. In the process, an attack from someone hit his arm badly—but he didn’t even register the pain.

Just before they escaped, Diemon turned around for a brief moment.

There stood Naham, his body mangled and twisted, arms and face ruined. Amid the flames, he wore a smile so dazzling it seemed unreal. And he spoke.

Strangely, his lips formed words that echoed vividly inside Diemon’s head, like a voice.

—Take care. We’ll meet again soon, brother.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Pulling off that miracle and escaping was one thing. But the aftermath was devastating.

First, Diemon’s injured arm didn’t heal—it kept getting worse. It had been hit by a power laced with fire and poison. But more shocking was what he realized when he first saw his reflection in water after reaching Sharloin.

That… that can’t be me. That’s supposed to be me?

Diemon had aged. In the water, he looked like he’d aged twenty years in an instant—wrinkled, worn-down. From the outside, no one would recognize him as the young man he once was.

His hair hadn’t turned gray yet, so he looked a bit younger than the Sage. But so what?

No matter how many times he touched his face, he couldn’t bring back what was lost. If he’d known pushing his power to the limit would leave this kind of side effect, he never would’ve used it. Diemon was devastated.

But just like his worsening pain, the despair didn’t stop there.

“Hhh…”

Diemon stared at the closed door beyond the empty warehouse. The pain might have been bearable if he could believe it was all in the name of protecting the Sage.

But where was the Sage now?

……

Right. Since arriving in Sharloin, the Sage had hardly stayed here at all. The reasons were always different.

First, he said he had to go find a doctor.

Then, he said he needed to meet people who could help them.

And then… what was it again?

He couldn’t remember. Every time the Sage returned, Diemon begged him—please, stay with me, please treat me—but the Sage never agreed.

There were always reasons. Naham was hunting them. Finding allies was difficult. Sera and the others might’ve been captured by the Cavalry. The Cavalry was swarming the city.

And eventually… even those explanations stopped coming.

Whenever the Sage returned, his stays grew shorter. His clothes became dirtier. His eyes more bloodshot. Something was clearly going wrong.

But just two days ago, when he came back, he didn’t look that bad.

Diemon groped through his foggy thoughts, recalling what the Sage had said then.

“There’s going to be a funeral soon for the Second Prince of House Hern. A noble from House Apeto, the one who helped us before, will be attending. I’m planning to meet with them. I haven’t seen this person in person, but with the influence of Duke Diarca and the Crown Prince, they should at least hear me out.”

“What about me? Let me go with you. I-It’s dangerous alone. You know I’m the only one who can really help you…”

Diemon had pleaded desperately. The Sage had said nothing for a moment, then gave him a sorrowful smile.

“Diemon, you’re very sick right now. Please stay and rest. When I return, I promise I’ll bring allies—and a doctor—with me.”

That was the last thing he said before leaving.

And the Sage still hadn’t come back.

“Ugh… uuuuh…”

Diemon kept crying.

Clutching a festering arm in a place that wasn’t even a proper room, blacking out from /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ pain and waking up multiple times a day—no human should have to endure this. He was terrified he really might die like this. His mind felt like it was turning white from fear.

“Help… me… When are you coming back, Sage…? I protected you. I’m the only one who’s truly useful—the true Star of Nagran… Take me with you… Take me!”

Where was the Sage wandering now? Would he ever return?

Each time doubt crept further in and the pain in his arm made him scream, his head felt like it was splitting open.

The more fear consumed him, the more his blind faith in the Sage faded, and the pride he once felt—believing he’d finally proven his worth to the other Awakeners—slowly disappeared. Taking its place were darker, more corrosive emotions that grew by the day.

In the darkness, he heard rats squeaking. They’d gnawed at his hands and feet every time he passed out. The idea that beasts were lurking, ready to feast the moment he died—what could be more terrifying? Diemon thrashed and groaned, trying to shake them off.

“No… No… I don’t want to die like this…!”

And then—

The door opened, and a sliver of light poured in.