RODH Chapter 57

57.

As soon as Seor spoke, Nevan swiftly ended the assassins’ lives.

Then he declared firmly,

“His Majesty is after Lord Ian’s life.”

“How dare you!”

“It’s the truth.”

Seor was at a loss for words in the face of Nevan’s unwavering attitude.

He turned to Peter, his last hope for denial.

“Peter, is this true?”

“Your Highness…”

“I asked if it’s true!”

Peter lowered his head.

“I cannot speak truthfully.”

“…Ha.”

In that moment, the last trace of hesitation vanished from Seor’s golden eyes.

Nevan spoke to the unnaturally calm Seor.

“His Majesty is aware that Lord Ian was acknowledged as the bringer of spring by the northern elders.”

“And what is this bringer of spring supposed to be…”

“I tried to explain it was nothing more than superstition, but it seems His Majesty thought otherwise.”

Nevan was right.

Now that the Emperor had the South in his grasp, the North posed the greatest threat to him.

“So Ian has become someone even the Emperor fears?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Thankfully, Lord Lucian intervened in time…”

Seor turned his eyes to Lucian.

Lucian looked back at him with an expression that seemed to say, You really didn’t know?

Seor’s face flushed hot with the feeling of being the only fool in the room.

He questioned Peter again.

“Peter. I ask not as the heir of House Hubert, but as your friend. Did His Majesty truly command you to harm Ian?”

Peter lowered his brown eyes and answered.

“Yes.”

“I was the only one who didn’t know.”

The moment Seor admitted his own incompetence, he grew restless.

Peter tried to say something, but Seor raised his hand to silence him.

It meant he didn’t want to hear any excuses.

Even if he thought about it, there was no way to stop the Emperor.

Maybe it was a blessing that Ian was now the Crown Princess-to-be.

Seor approached Ian, who was using Bain’s shoulder as a pillow, and dismissed the servant.

Ian’s head naturally fell toward Seor’s shoulder.

Seor whispered softly.

“Without knowing any of this… what was I even saying to you…”

“……”

“I feel so pathetic I can’t even bear it.”

Clang—clang—.

The crackling of the brazier and the occasional hammering of iron filled the silent night air.

Meanwhile, Ian was trapped in a terrible nightmare.

Just like before, it was a dream where the Demon Lord descended from the mountain ridge.

Livestock were sliced in half as if sheared down the middle, and the fear of the people was so vivid it clung to his skin.

But unlike before, no one came to stop the Demon Lord.

The Demon Lord headed straight for the Grand Duke’s estate in Kirias.

Behind him, monsters surged like a swarm of rats.

Then the castle gates opened, and someone at the front charged out with incredible speed.

It was Nevan.

—Nevan!

Ian called out his name.

But Nevan said nothing. He simply raised the completed Hollowknight sword high.

Only the blade gleamed brilliantly beneath the blood-red sky.

Guided by that light, the northern knights began to follow.

Gwarraagh—

As Nevan severed two of the Demon Lord’s legs, it let out a horrifying scream.

It staggered as if about to fall, but stubbornly regained its balance and swung its opposite arm.

Nevan pulled his reins sharply to the left.

He narrowly avoided the attack and countered with a shaky slash.

The Demon Lord blocked the sword, and both Nevan and his horse went tumbling across the snowy field.

—No!

Ian’s voice burst out.

Nevan alone wasn’t enough.

Someone else was needed.

Like the founding Grand Duke and his wife, it had to be a pair facing it together—otherwise, victory was impossible.

Ian shut his eyes tightly as he saw the Demon Lord rush toward Nevan.

A scream—raw and agonizing—ripped through the air.

He didn’t want to hear it.

Alone won’t work.

Someone has to be there.

Someone…

Ian’s eyes snapped open.

It was still the middle of the night, and everything around him was silent.

Yet the steady clang, clang of metalwork continued in the background, oddly comforting.

When he sat up, a damp cloth slipped from his forehead and fell to the floor.

“You’re awake?”

Bain, who had been dozing with his head resting by the bedside, lifted his face groggily.

“Why am I… oh.”

His body felt hot.

“Yes, my lord. You suddenly went into heat…”

“But it’s not even my cycle yet.”

He must’ve fallen asleep while standing watch—and in that time, the heat must’ve hit him.

“They say your cycle can shift with changes in environment. Here, your suppressant.”

“…Thanks.”

Ian clutched the edge of the blanket as he took the suppressant, wincing from the dull ache in his lower abdomen.

“You should lie back down, my lord.”

Bain looked genuinely worried.

“I should’ve brought more covers… should I borrow some from the others?”

“No. I’m not here to make a fuss. I don’t want to.”

“But I’m sure they’d be willing to help.”

“They’d want to, but they wouldn’t be able to.”

This wasn’t just any omega heat—these were the pheromones of a dominant omega.

No matter how disciplined an alpha was, they wouldn’t be able to resist the intensity of it during a heat.

Ian knew that well, and told Bain not to go stirring up a hornet’s nest.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No. Bain, go lie down and get some sleep. I won’t be able to move much for at least a day anyway.”

“A day? It’ll be at least three. That’s how it was the first time too.”

“But the Hollowknight…”

Ian stopped mid-sentence, right before he could say the sword’s name.

The image of Nevan being mercilessly torn apart by the Demon Lord filled his mind.

“My lord, are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Then please get some rest. If you need anything, just say so.”

“Thanks. Sleep well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bain, exhausted from the day, soon started snoring softly.

But Ian couldn’t sleep.

He waited until the suppressant took partial effect, then slowly got up.

He steadied his shaky legs and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

Dream or not, he had to tell Nevan.

There were no secrets between them.

Just as he was about to step out of the tent, he heard voices from a corner.

“…Ian…”

His name being mentioned made him pause and listen more closely.

The voices belonged to Alvis and Nevan.

Alvis was speaking.

“Do you truly not intend to bring Lord Ian to the North?”

“Yes.”

“But as the bringer of spring—”

“That’s exactly why. We can’t let the Demon Lord claim the bringer of spring. Nor can we allow the Crown Princess-to-be to be harmed.”

A flash of betrayal swept through Ian.

He wanted to shout Take me with you!

But Nevan’s next words froze him in place.

“You’re hiding something from Lord Ian, aren’t you?”

“W-What do you mean…?”

“The magic he possesses. Don’t tell me you, of all people, didn’t know. Why haven’t you said anything?”

I have magic?

Ian was dumbfounded at how perfectly scripted everything seemed.

At this point, he fulfilled every trait Luke had described about the bringer of spring.

Why are they trying to keep me out of the battle with the Demon Lord?

No matter how strong Nevan was, he couldn’t do it alone.

The Demon Lord was a foe that required two to defeat—just like the first Grand Duke and his wife.

Ian recalled the monster’s purple skin, its ragged breathing, its monstrous scream.

Then, as if unable to withstand the pressure, Alvis finally answered.

“I didn’t want to send Lord Ian to the North. If he goes… he might die!”

He explained that because of Ian’s unique mana, the elders couldn’t properly verify his magical ability.

Nevan replied that he had already known.

A brief silence followed between them.

Ian leaned against a support beam of the tent, deep in thought.

Was there no way to convince Nevan?

Nothing came to mind. So he continued listening as Nevan asked,

“What is Lord Ian’s magic?”

“I don’t see why I should answer that.”

“Before one of us dies, someone needs to tell Lord Ian the truth.”

“…Fine.”

“Please.”

After a brief hesitation, Alvis spoke.

“It’s probably magic related to life. I’m not sure of the details—I saw it only once through a crystal ball during Samhain.”

Magic of life.

Ian limped back into the tent and began searching for Berkisto’s journal.

Bain stirred briefly but Ian told him to go back to sleep, tucking him in gently, then returned to reading.

He was glad he had brought the enchanted lantern.

[Life Magic.]

This is similar to time magic, yet possesses its own unique qualities.

While time magic functions by rewinding a short span of time to create a continuous loop, life magic revives the very life of the caster or the target.

If the caster is born with only a faint amount of mana, the effect might merely be to accelerate the growth of plants or animals. But in the opposite case—when the caster’s mana is abundant—it is said that revival itself becomes possible.

Ian’s fingertips trembled as he held the edge of the book.

It was entirely about him.

When he drank the wine Seor gave him and died, the reason he hadn’t returned to the very beginning was likely because of his own magic.

Up until then, he hadn’t met Nevan—so it must have been Siena’s wish that caused his regression. But from the fifth life onward, it seemed the life magic had started to activate.

His head was spinning with thoughts.

Does this mean… I can never die?

Ian flipped through the journal again.

But there was nothing more on the subject.

Frustrated and desperate to find anything, he rubbed his finger along a thick page—and tear, a paper glued to the back peeled away, revealing a hidden page.

A secret journal entry. Of course Berkisto would hide something like this—he always did enjoy tucking things away.

[To the one who wields life magic.]

I may be the only one who has left behind records of life magic.

Its absence in existing literature is due not only to its rarity, but also to the danger it poses.

That danger is…