Not once—
Not even a single time—
had he ever imagined such a thing could happen.
Changing a grim future predicted by the prophecy into a better one, sure—he had hoped for that.
But for a good future to turn bad instead?
That had never crossed his mind.
Why?
How?
For what reason?
"I stopped it. I captured that damned fiend and handed him over to the Margrave myself!"
Fernand's thoughts spun into chaos. His mind went blank.
The shattered remains of the great bell seemed to foretell a dark and hopeless future.
The prophecy had clearly said that Aint and Grad would protect it.
"Why is the Bell of Fasa broken? Why, why, why, why, WHY—!"
The future had shifted.
But why? What had caused it?
"What did I do wrong? What was the mistake?"
Was it something triggered by what he did at the academy?
Or did it change because of the futures he had already altered in Altriarch?
He thought, and thought again.
In truth, there was only one concrete event he could pinpoint—
He had ruined Byran's plan in advance and captured him alive.
But the problem was this:
What he thought would improve the future had, in reality, made it worse.
No matter how much he turned it over in his head, he couldn't understand the chain of cause and effect.
"The Bell of Fasa…?"
"This can't be happening…"
The academy students who had followed behind finally caught up—
and, upon seeing the collapsed remains of the bell, froze in disbelief.
"Why is the Bell of Fasa destroyed!?"
"What happened here!?"
Their shouting only fueled the chaos spreading through the streets.
Fernand remained silent. He didn't know how things had twisted to end up like this.
But one thing was certain—
Whatever butterfly effect this created…
"I have to do something. Anything…"
…it could only lead to a future far worse than before.
The Empire in Chaos
The monsters had attacked Altriarch.
The Bell of Fasa had been destroyed.
The Margrave, who had been stationed at the outer wall, rushed back to the capital.
Every gate was sealed shut.
All city officials and administrators were summoned immediately.
Emergency meetings were held daily; the air in the capital grew heavier by the hour.
Meanwhile, the academy students were ordered to return to the academy.
They had solid alibis—and, in this kind of investigation, staying out of the way was the best help they could give.
"…What do we do now?"
The field assignment was over.
The students had gone back to their usual routines, and Aint had returned to his dormitory.
But his mind was far from at ease.
BREAKING NEWS:
"Altriarch's capital, Artque, under attack! The Empire's barrier breached!"
"Rising activity among the fiends—Empire's sacred symbol destroyed!
The Bell of Fasa shattered to pieces…"
Every newspaper headline screamed of Artque and the Bell.
And understandably so—
For what was the Bell of Fasa, truly?
Though for a thousand years it had served only as a symbol,
its essence was an artifact created to destroy all things demonic and profane.
A sacred relic forged jointly by the first Emperor and the Dragon-God Order.
A single toll could topple ordinary monsters outright,
and even fiends—and demons themselves—were powerless before its influence.
A weapon made for slaying demons.
"Was the Bell of Fasa really that powerful? More than just legend?"
It was.
The Bell was the greatest artifact ever made by the late Emperor and the Dragon-God Order.
To be precise—it was an amplifier.
"An amplifier?"
Yes. The Bell could only be used by the Emperor himself.
The Bell of Fasa did not, by its own nature, possess the power to banish all evil.
Rather, it amplified mana, magic, and aura through the medium of sound.
It magnified the Emperor's own purifying power—what we call the "Power of Fasa"—and spread it outward.
That's what dealt massive damage to fiends and demons alike.
Naturally. Its source was the Emperor himself.
The first Emperor had relied on the Bell in many large-scale battles.
When the Bell rang once, the monsters lost their strength,
and victory became inevitable.
Of course, the toll demanded a huge amount of aura and mana,
so it couldn't be used often.
Still, the fiends' recent actions proved how dangerous the Bell was to them.
The very first thing the fiends did upon resurfacing…
was to divert Altriarch's attention and destroy the Bell.
That tells you how deadly it was to them.
To their own nation's heroes, knights and magicians were honored.
But to the fiends, the Bell was their mortal enemy—something to destroy at all costs.
The fiends' response alone was enough proof of how fearsome an artifact the Bell had been.
"…Then this really is serious, isn't it?"
Very serious.
Whether the Bell exists or not will make a world of difference in the next great war.
Aint's face went pale.
Hearing it directly from Gardner, in his calm yet grave tone, made it feel real in a way that rumors never could.
And the worst part was—
even knowing it was a catastrophe, Aint could do nothing about it.
"We can't just sit here and do nothing. There must be some way."
Frustrating as it is, there's only one thing you can do—become stronger yourself.
Right now, the Armians have no power to influence the board.
"…So it's the family again."
Aint bit his lip hard.
He had grown up hearing of his family's glorious past.
And the more he'd heard, the deeper the sense of loss had sunk in.
What use was being former emperors—what use was their legacy—
when now, all that remained was a hollow title and people still trapped in their faded pride?
Why did the Armians shut themselves away, refusing even to send heirs to the academy?
Because they couldn't bear to face reality.
They didn't want to see with their own eyes how far they had fallen.
It was pathetic.
And Aint had hated that enough to leave for the academy.
Sure, his father's gift—the map to the first Emperor's treasures—had given him an excuse,
but even without it, Aint would have left eventually.
That was why—
he wanted to restore his house's greatness.
That was why he never stopped Gardner from declaring he'd make him Emperor.
That was why, deep down… he did want to become one.
Or… you could ask the nouveau riche for help.
He must realize how disastrous the Bell's destruction is.
"Even if I did, what would I ask him to do?"
They didn't know where the fiends' base was.
They didn't know how to restore the Bell.
I don't know how to repair the Bell of Fasa either.
And I certainly don't know how to make one. I'm a knight, not a craftsman.
"Then what—are we supposed to just sit here and wait to die…?"
Just then—
Knock, knock.
Someone was knocking on Aint's door.
"Who…?"
The maids and attendants of the Labidus Pavilion always announced themselves when knocking on a door.
For privacy and security, it was strictly forbidden for anyone other than a servant to visit another student's room.
Yet there was one person who could ignore that rule without question.
"It's me, the nouveau riche."
"Senior Fernand?"
"Yes, it's me."
Aint heard Fernand's voice from outside the door.
"What brings you here?"
"Would you like to help me make the Bell of Fasa?"
Aint froze mid-step on his way to open the door.
"…Excuse me?"
What… did he just say?
Fernand's Resolve
After returning to the academy, Fernand had realized he couldn't just sit idle.
An eye for an eye. A coin for a coin.
Fernand Pellonberg was a man who believed debts must be repaid—whether in blood or in gold.
A perfectionist to the core, he could never rest easy when a problem remained unsolved.
The future described in the prophecy had just turned for the worse—worse than ever before—and he refused to stand by and watch it unfold.
Anxiety gnawed at his chest and mind, keeping him awake at night.
Two sleepless days later, he finally snapped—and went straight to the temple.
There was only one group of magicians he trusted to handle something this complex.
"I've heard the news too, my lord," said Jace, one of the Dragon-God Order's magisters. "A terrible loss indeed."
"If you've heard, then you must know why I'm here," Fernand replied.
"If the Dragon-God Order, the greatest magical organization on the continent, can't repair the Bell of Fasa, then who can?"
Jace shook his head firmly.
"It's impossible."
"The Bell of Fasa was crafted by the first Emperor together with the Dragon-God Order.
Technically speaking, the Order handled the forging, while the Emperor provided the materials and mana infusion. But still—"
He paused, then continued:
"The Bell was cast in one solid piece, engraved with countless arrays and intricate, interlocking mechanisms.
Simply put, once it's broken, it cannot be repaired. You'd be better off making a new one from scratch."
Fernand exhaled, crestfallen. Some high-tier artifacts were indeed like that—irreplaceable once shattered.
"So that's the kind of relic it was… damn. If restoration's impossible, then the Bell is—wait."
Something Jace said caught his attention.
"The Dragon-God Order made the Bell, you said?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Then… do you still have the blueprints?"
"Of course. They're ancient, and parts are missing, but we still have them."
At that moment, it was as if a thick fog lifted from Fernand's mind.
The darkness that had blinded him cracked open—letting through a beam of dazzling light.
A shiver ran down his spine.
"…Then—tell me."
He tried to sound calm, but his voice trembled.
"Yes?"
"If we follow those blueprints exactly, could we make another Bell of Fasa?"
"…In theory, yes," Jace admitted. "But to be honest with you, His Holiness already reviewed the blueprints himself."
Because the Bell's destruction wasn't just an Altriarch problem—it was a global crisis.
With the fiends now active again, the Bell's importance could not be overstated.
The fact that the fiends had made it their first target said it all.
So the Pontiff had already unearthed the ancient schematics from the vault.
And after reviewing them, he'd given up—not just on restoration, but on rebuilding entirely.
"It's the materials," Jace said. "They're… absurd."
"What kind of materials?"
"All three sacred metals."
The three sacred metals—Adamant, Mithril, and Orichalcum.
"The Dragon-God Order should have all three, shouldn't it?"
"We do—but in tiny amounts. Barely any.
The Bell requires enough to match its entire massive size."
Fernand's jaw dropped.
"You're telling me the whole Bell was made purely from those three metals?"
Was that even possible? That much sacred ore would've emptied the continent's supply.
"According to the blueprints, yes. That's why His Holiness gave up.
Gathering that much sacred metal is nearly impossible."
Even for an organization like the Dragon-God Order, it would take a century of nonstop effort.
Fernand could only sigh in reluctant acceptance.
To amass that much of those near-mythical metals—within one lifetime—was hopeless.
Wait.
A thought struck him like lightning.
"Then, if I did gather all the metals… you could make it?"
"Of course."
"And what would the cost be?"
"Ha! If you really managed that, do you think we'd charge you?
His Holiness himself would probably pay to see it made again."
He chuckled. "Officially, we'd say we're doing it for the greater good, of course.
But can you really obtain them?"
Fernand shook his head. "No. Even for me, that's impossible."
"Then why ask?"
"…Because I'm hoping for a miracle."
With that, Fernand left the temple.
As he stepped outside, he murmured to himself:
"…Maybe it's not entirely impossible. Maybe…"
At that moment, Wooden, his golem companion, shuddered violently. Its crimson eyes flickered in alarm.
"What? Don't tell me you think I'm going to melt you down for your mithril and adamant components. Don't be ridiculous.
No matter how important the Bell is, I'd never do that. You're far too valuable to me."
The Bell of Fasa was something meant for the world.
But Wooden—Wooden was his final trump card.
Even Fernand wasn't crazy enough to destroy one to make the other.
"Koom… koom?"
"How will I get the materials, you ask? …I'm not sure yet."
Still, there was one faint possibility.
"That place where I found the mithril…"
"…and where Aint found the adamant."
The place where a water dragon had made its nest—
and where the divine spirit herbs had grown.
Normally, it was impossible for adamant and mithril—completely different in nature and composition—to exist together.
Unless someone had engineered it that way.
"If that's true… then it must have been the First Emperor."
Perhaps that place had been one of the Emperor's hidden preparations—
a secret reserve meant to forge powerful weapons for a future war against the demons.
And if that were the case… there might be more of the legendary metals there.
That was why—
"Would you like to help me make the Bell of Fasa?"
—Fernand had come looking for Aint.
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