'Then why... did they fight each other to the death over the Arcanist Method?' Angus frowned, still trying to piece it together.
He replayed their first encounter in his mind.
'Because there's only one Arcanist Method for one wizard.' That line stuck with him.
'So the Method can't be shared? Even between brothers?'
It unsettled him more than he expected.
'If two people that close could fall apart over this… what kind of place is the Arcane World really?'
Whatever vision he had before… it was probably wrong.
Still, Angus straightened up, jaw set.
'Doesn't matter.'
'I have "Blur" on my side. As long as I move carefully, nothing's impossible.'
His brief moment of doubt vanished and a new line of thought took shape.
'In this so-called Aether Dimension, I still need Hogar and Yanek.'
'Last time, I struck them both.'
'Maybe next time… I can pick one.'
'Form an alliance with one and use the other.''
Possibilities unfolded in his mind, each more efficient than the last.
He didn't see them as enemies. Not really.
'When you can rewind time, fail a thousand times and still keep going… what's a mere Wizard amount to?'
As he went back in time once more, Angus didn't hesitate.
He triggered the next phase—speeding up the Energy Restoration process.
Tier: Mortal.
Physical Age: 20 out of 85.
Cognitive Age: 210 out of 1070.
Energy Restoration Progress: 30 percent.
...
"The Cognitive Age only went up a few decades this time," Angus noted calmly. "Looks like I'm nearing the upper limit."
He wasn't surprised. After all, this was already his fifth life—counting the one before time travel.
'The path to Magic… it really doesn't come cheap.'
He let out a quiet sigh. "Let's hope these fifty years don't end up meaningless."
And so, the cycle began again.
Just like his previous life, everything moved as planned—passing the civil exam, climbing the ranks, mining ore, manufacturing guns.
Before he knew it, the year 35 arrived.
This year, Angus left Oremaw and journeyed far east, to the Forsaken Abyss.
The place was exactly as he remembered from the past—remote, silent, and forever blanketed in thick white fog. A pit so deep and ancient that no one who fell into it ever returned.
Even birds avoided its presence.
But Angus knew something others didn't—every fifteen years, the fog cleared.
And today was that day.
He stood near the edge, gazing into the endless drop, waiting in silence.
'If I'm right… Hogar and Yanek didn't just appear in the Aether Dimension—they came from this place.'
Time passed. Then, without warning, the mist began to stir.
A low, guttural rumble echoed up from below, like a beast exhaling from the deep.
The sound sharpened.
The fog trembled.
Then, with violent force, the wind burst upward like a waterfall in reverse, shooting into the sky.
The gale howled for nearly thirty minutes.
When it died down, the mist was gone.
Angus's face was solemn as he pulled out his telescope and peered into the abyss.
At first—just darkness, there was nothing but endless black.
But then, faint lights began to flicker.
Gradually, the bottom lit up, revealing a mirage-like scene—blurred at first, then sharply clear.
What Angus saw made his heart sink.
A shattered mountain gate. Crumbled towers. Splintered walls marked with deep slashes—clear signs of battle.
The ground was cracked and stained with faded blood, giving the entire scene a disturbing, reddish hue.
Weapons and corpses lay scattered, frozen in silent testimony to some ancient disaster.
Angus stared, stunned.
His gaze shifted—on a bare cliff wall, three enormous words had been carved:
"Magic is Dead."
The letters looked smeared in blood—black-red and raw.
Even from this distance, Angus felt it—dread, thick and suffocating, laced with a hopelessness that chilled him to the core.
'Magic is dead!!...'
'What happened down there? What did the Magicians face?'
He didn't speak. Just stood there, lost in thought.
The fog stayed clear for half the day before it slowly began to return.
Without a word, Angus turned and made his way back to Oremaw City.
...
Fifty years slipped by.
On Angus's seventieth birthday, Oremaw City was tense—thousands of soldiers on edge.
Above the city, Yanek hovered in midair, eyes blazing.
"Hogar Rhoen! Don't test me!"
But before Hogar could speak, a voice rose from below.
"Yanek T'soan, we're here under Master Hogar's orders!"
Then came the gunfire. Bullets rained from the sky.
Caught by surprise, Yanek was hit.
'No way—Hogar knew I'd come here?'
'Since when did he get this devious?'
As he fought back, Yanek's expression changed—his spiritual power was draining fast.
He looked around once—and understood.
"Terrene Mist…?" His voice cracked.
"Hogar, you bastard…"
He stared at his old friend like he didn't recognize him anymore.
Meanwhile, Hogar looked completely thrown off.
'What the hell is going on?'
'Why would mortals attack Yanek in my name—and with Terrene Mist, of all things?'
He quickly called out, "Yanek, listen to me. I don't—I didn't—"
"Really, this isn't me! I don't control them!"
But Yanek just laughed, bitter and cold.
"Oh? And now you deny it?"
"Worried the other magicians will come after you once they hear what you've done?"
"Or maybe it's your precious reputation you're trying to protect?"
Hogar could see it—Yanek wasn't thinking clearly anymore, and he wouldn't believe a word.
But something felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
Hogar felt it—a twist of unease deep in his gut.
The atmosphere reeked of danger, so he kept calm and tried to reason.
"We've known each other a hundred years. You've never caught me lying. This isn't—"
But a voice suddenly echoed from every direction, interrupting him.
"Master Hogar, why pretend now?"
"Didn't you say if we killed Yanek and took his Arcanist Method, you'd lead my people out of the Aether Dimension?"
Hogar froze. Yanek's eyes widened in disbelief.
"The Arcanist Method?!" they shouted in unison.
Yanek's rage exploded.
"You—you bastard,"
"You're still denying it?!"
"Who else knows about that?!"
'This—this, how could they know something that only the two of us knew?' Hogar's heart sank.
'Whoever did this… they've been watching. For a long time'
But, the voice went on, full of resentment.
"We've already drawn the world's hatred for spreading Terrene Mist."
"If you don't hold up your end, Master, my people won't survive!"
"Liar!" "Shut up!" Hogar shouted, spinning toward the source.
But there was no one—just a strange rectangular device, calmly broadcasting the voice.
Dozens were scattered across the city.
'So careful… whoever planned this doesn't want to be found.' Hogar clenched his jaw.
"Trying to silence us now, Master Hogar?" the voice mocked.
For a moment, Yanek faltered—hesitation flickered in his eyes, a fragile doubt piercing through his fury.
But Hogar, his face twisted with rage, stepped forward and crushed the device beneath his boot.
To Yanek, that single act was undeniable proof.
Any lingering doubt vanished like smoke.
In that moment, Yanek didn't see confusion or desperation—he saw a man erasing the evidence.
A man deliberately burying the truth.
Words failed him.
He wanted to shout. To believe. To demand proof. But there was nothing left to say—not with Hogar's foot on the last fragment of trust they had.
His blazing eyes dimmed, hollowed by a loss far deeper than betrayal—something he had never imagined questioning before.