Faradice was sitting in that room, surrounded by nurses and a few others—perhaps from the Franschyz Empire. All of them were watching closely, waiting to see what would happen.
Among them were possibly professors, maybe some other experts. A genius from the Franschyz Empire was on the verge of death, and they were trying to save him. But they had no idea how. They had never seen a case like this before. Their faces carried traces of doubt—perhaps he wouldn't make it.
Arsene stood close to Faradice, who was groaning and screaming, clutching his head with both hands. He was restrained on the bed with a collar that kept him from moving. Arsene was surprised that his Singularity was working on Faradice.
He had never used his Singularity on him—had it activated automatically? Or had his Singularity sensed something coming from Faradice, something that triggered it and used it against him?
Since coming to this world, Arsene had experienced many strange things. He hadn't found answers to all of them, but he kept searching. He used his Singularity again to stop the decay and rot spreading in Faradice's brain. The latter changed drastically—his features, his expression. From the seventh layer of hell to the highest heaven.
The screams stopped. The pain faded. Faradice had no happy memories from childhood. A life of poverty, beatings, begging, slavery. He wanted to forget everything. Even now, he was still a slave to the empire, still someone they wanted to serve them for life.
Faradice wanted to forget all those memories, all the pain and dark events he'd lived through.
Perhaps it was his inner desire that triggered Arsene's Singularity and made it act on its own—as if it were a divine salvation, answering his silent screams, seeking forgiveness and relief from the nightmares and suppressed traumas buried deep in his subconscious.
But as he began to lose them—as he neared his eternal peace—an overwhelming fear chased him. Pain, terror... fear that he would lose himself.
Weren't those experiences what made him Faradice? Weren't those harsh events, that brutal life, what made him Forbes?
Those were the things that gave him identity. They gave his life meaning. They were the reason he was called Faradice Forbes.
Cruel as they were, they defined him. He had to remember them, cherish them—because losing them meant losing himself. Losing his true essence.
Faradice drifted into a deep sleep—a slumber full of dreams without pain. Dreams that would help him accept himself. To embrace his memories. Every time he dreamt of a nightmare, he would cry—grateful that it returned to remind him of who he was.
All this, only in the dream world. When he woke, he would have lost parts of it. Many things, too. And what he saw in the dream would be like a pitch-black void—something he couldn't recall, as if it never happened, never had meaning, never even existed.
Arsene felt all kinds of stares directed at him. Hatred. Hostility. Wrath. Relief. Comfort. Disappointment.
So he spoke calmly,
"I never used my Singularity on Faradice. On the contrary, it was he who used his Singularity on me. And in return, as another kind of backlash, mine activated on its own—without my knowledge. It's not something I can sense. So please, don't blame me. It's not like I had a choice!"
Arsene didn't look at anyone in the room. He was soon pulled away by Erebus, who was walking quickly. Erebus always seemed to know exactly where he was headed.
As if he had planned his day from start to finish—maybe even the week, the month, or the entire year. Even if something unexpected happened, Erebus would treat it as if it had been planned all along.
"Tell me, Singular... Did you remove your effect on his mind?" Erebus asked quietly.
"There's nothing to worry about. But… he won't be the same as before." Arsene answered in a calm tone.
Erebus stared at him in silence, then continued dragging him through corridors and halls until they finally reached his office.
It wasn't luxurious—somewhat similar to Viviana's, but more organized and filled with books and scrolls.
"Tell me, Singular... has any professor claimed you as an apprentice yet?" Erebus asked, same quiet tone.
"Not yet," Arsene replied in the same tone.
"Good. That makes things easier," Erebus said.
Arsene already knew what that meant—Erebus planned to take him in as his apprentice. Arsene didn't know anything about him yet. What subject he taught, or who he really was.
Erebus sat down properly in his chair behind the desk, looking deeply focused as he flipped through papers. He handed one to Arsene—it was written in strange handwriting, old, and looked stained with black coffee.
With a glance from Erebus, Arsene understood what he was supposed to do.
Drip... drip... Arsene heard something falling onto the floor, like drops of water from a leaky faucet.
It was from his thumb. His thumb was bleeding, tiny drops falling from it. Arsene lifted it and pressed it onto the paper. A signature. A kind of pact.
He didn't understand it, but the wound on his thumb disappeared. Even the drops of blood on the wooden floor vanished as if they were never there.
"I don't tolerate delays. I don't usually accept apprentices. And I don't like sharing my training. You won't go to or train under Juaqing.
I expect to see you in my office at least three times a week—after working hours, of course. My name is Erebus. Professor of Mental Spells." Erebus made everything clear so Arsene would fully understand.
And Arsene had no choice but to agree. A professor of Mental Spells. A cold and calm man—like a deep, still ocean hiding much beneath its waves.
"I won't ask how you received that internal injury. But you need to recover fast. Painkillers won't heal you. Come to my office tomorrow after five."
"You may leave now."
Arsene hadn't spoken the whole time. He reached for the door handle to leave, but Erebus's voice stopped him.
"Stop right there!"
Erebus's eyes were still fixed on the papers in front of him.
"The gloves. Special gloves have been assigned to you because of your Singularity. Wear them."
Arsene thought Erebus had discovered something—or found something suspicious. But since it was only about the gloves, there was no reason to worry.
He reached toward his storage ring but paused midway, as if he suddenly remembered something.
Erebus stared at him from behind, as if expecting him to explain the hesitation.
Arsene turned and smiled,
"I think I left the gloves in my apartment."
With a tone that suggested this wasn't new, Erebus muttered,
"Careless, as always."
Arsene left Erebus's office, wondering how he'd survive a full year of training under him. The man seemed insane, suspicious of everything, unreadable, and hard to reason with.
Or maybe... it wasn't that he was irrational—maybe the problem was his personality.
Back in his apartment, Arsene was washing the gloves, covered in a sticky substance. If he had pulled them out in front of Erebus at that moment, it would've been over. He would've exposed himself in the dumbest way possible.
Luckily, he remembered just in time. A knock came at the door—he already knew it was Clem and Sarl.
Arsene smiled quietly and headed toward the door to open it.
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Author here , Hope you enjoy your read , Hope the quality of the story and writing attracted you.
Let me know of any mistakes or errors , Ill fix them as soon as possible.
+ do I keep the word count between 1200 to 1400? , or do u like long chapters +1700?