The Sacred Sword pierced through the flesh, its sharp edge gleaming as it passed right through.
It happened almost instantly. The ancient golden mystery spread from the wound, utterly devastating the body's organs and every single vein and artery.
Time moved slowly, yet it could not be reversed.
Under the dim sun obscured by dust in the Valley of the End, the desolate wind blowing through the canyon lifted a mist of blood, which splattered upon Isadella's exquisite, unparalleled face.
The blood was scalding, yet to Isadella's senses, it felt ice-cold and bone-chilling.
The whirlpool mask shattered. Beneath it, the young man's mouth bled, yet he still smiled.
Gazing at the handsome yet gentle face of the black-haired youth beneath the broken mask, Isadella, the King of the Imaginary Zone, froze for the first time in a thousand years.
Distant memories rose irresistibly from the depths of her soul—a soul eroded and worn by time, no longer human, but more akin to that of a deity. It was a memory from an unknown time ago.
Back then, she was not Artorigus, the Knight King, not a Throne, and certainly not the lofty King of the Imaginary Zone, the 'Scarlet Queen,' she was now.
Back then, she was merely the Second Princess of the Fresta Empire.
Not yet having stepped into the realm of Legend, she still had to exhaust her mind to suppress the rebellions of the oath-sworn families, resorting to numerous political stratagems and the complex maneuvers of Vertical and Horizontal Alliances.
It was then that she encountered a black-haired, black-eyed youth from the Northern Territory.
And due to a shortage of manpower, she herself had invited him to become a Swordbearer for the Empire.
Their time spent together hadn't been particularly long, but Shiayar Egutt's actions, especially his anachronistic thoughts and behaviors, had left a profound impression on her. And now, countless details and thoughts spread throughout Isadella's mind.
They caused her soul's pathways, already dulled by the passage of time and coated in dust, to slowly tremble.
Dust drifted down, and a heart thundered to life.
The ideal nation named Utopia, which Cain had broadcast throughout Escarnia before his death in battle, began to slowly overlap with the restored memories of the vision she had seen within Succubus Queen Dyres' dream.
Why did they share similar dreams?
Individuals whose thoughts transcended their era were exceedingly rare. For any monarch, encountering even one was a stroke of immense fortune. How could she have been worthy of meeting two?
Why had she often sensed an inexplicable rapport with Cain, the Black Knight?
It was, of course, because Cain and Shiayar were one and the same person.
Why could Shiayar, merely a 4-Ring, forge connections with Silvia, the Sky Silver Witch, and the Queen of the Night—two Thrones who had long since vanished—compelling them to go as far as killing an established Legend like Guderian just to protect him?
That, too, was naturally because Shiayar had, in some way, formed a bond with them in past history.
Perhaps it was due to the Echo of History in the Ancient Dukedom Azure Garden, or perhaps something else entirely.
But regardless, if Shiayar could form a bond with the White Tower Master in the Ancient Dukedom Azure Garden five hundred years ago, then he could naturally also traverse a millennium to arrive in Escarnia at the end of the Third Era and encounter her.
These were all details she had subconsciously overlooked, swayed by the distortions of the Crimson Moon and her own paranoia.
But now, as the Crimson Moon's influence waned and her forgotten humanity resurfaced, taking hold of her mind, all the details, all the threads of logic, pointed to a single answer.
Cain was Shiayar Egutt.
And she, with her own hands, had used the Sacred Sword to kill the Black Knight who had toiled so selflessly to help her—her own beloved, the one for whom she would not have hesitated to establish the Imaginary Zone just to save…
Isadella dazedly released the Sacred Sword from her grasp. The dim sky and the desolate Valley of the End began to blur, becoming dreamlike and illusory, unreal.
Then, Isadella watched as the youth slowly collapsed into her arms.
His breathing gradually weakened, like a flame being extinguished.
The mask now completely shattered, Shiayar raised his head. His mouth was stained crimson, but his eyes remained bright, like falling stars in the night sky.
"King."
"No, Your Highness."
Shiayar's face was deathly pale, devoid of any color, yet he still smiled—a radiant smile.
"It seems that this time, I won the bet."
...
Heaven and earth seemed to disappear; everything slowed to an unbelievable crawl.
The world fell silent. Only the crisp sound of a shattering blade echoed between heaven and earth.
Around Shiayar, the azure flame of his Magic Power suddenly contracted. In its place, a layer of faint, dark fluorescence emerged.
Excruciating pain spread from the wound inflicted by the Sacred Sword, utterly annihilating Shiayar's internal organs, along with every meridian and blood vessel.
He could feel his life force being stripped from his physical body. Even his spiritual power perception and his five senses grew cold, gradually detaching from him.
Without the protection of the Black Knight Mecha, Shiayar's physical body was merely that of an ordinary 6-Ring, and not even one specialized in close-combat physical enhancement.
Taking the full, furious blow of a Throne defenseless and unprepared—how could he not pay a grievous price?