Kishiar kept trying to kiss him, saying, “You’ve made me happy all day, so I want to return the favor,” and Yuder almost couldn’t continue reading his book.

After his rut, it’s like... he’s shed one more layer of hesitation.

Of course, he didn’t dislike it. He was just worried he’d become so entranced that he’d turn into a fool who couldn’t do what needed to be done.

Yuder reopened the journal he’d been reading earlier.

The choice of the Founding Emperor... Right. I need to understand that part clearly, too.

In the text he’d read before, Oblik van Ta-in had written that the Founding Emperor had said this:

“—However, I failed to live up to the expectations you placed on me. Someday, this brief peace will vanish, and the consequences of my choice will return again. But this time, I want to place my hopes in you. Would it be alright if I asked you this favor? To uncover everything I couldn’t. To reclaim the choice that was originally yours.”

When recalling just the final part, there was mention that “it was originally Archmage Luma’s,” which made it feel like it referred to turning back time.

Which makes sense... If Luma could send someone else to the past, then surely he could’ve used it on himself as well. In fact, that might’ve even been easier.

But only one person had come back to the past. So just how heavy a burden of guilt must the Founding Emperor have felt, returning alone?

Still... the middle part is hard to fully grasp with just that.

Someday this brief peace would vanish, and the consequences of that choice would come again.

If you read that in the same context as the rest, it didn’t quite make sense. What exactly had he chosen? What was he trying to prepare for when he made that final request to a friend? Even Oblik van Ta-in hadn’t been able to guess that part in the ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) end.

Yuder roughly estimated where he had left off and placed his hand on the page. Soon, the next sentence began to emerge in his mind.

“—My friend was convinced that even what he had achieved by surviving would one day disappear. Did he want to say things would have been different if I had returned? Was that the reason for the heavy, inexplicable trust he had long placed in me?”

The conviction that everything he had accomplished would eventually vanish.

Why had he thought that? Yuder Aile had come back to the past as well, yet he had never once thought that way.

Was the guilt too much to bear?

Yuder stared at that passage, then slowly continued reading downward.

“I wanted to tell him he was wrong. Even if it hadn’t been me, no one else could’ve achieved what he did. The effort, the painful endurance, and the lonely secret he had to protect until the moment of his death were meaningful because they were his alone.”

“Everyone still needs you.”

“Yes. Even I do.”

“But he had already departed for eternal rest.”

From the end of that sentence, with its calm yet heavy sorrow, it seemed Luma had hesitated. Beneath the ink blot formed from pausing with the pen in place too long, a new sentence softly whispered in Yuder’s mind, bearing the human voice of the great archmage.

“I thought to myself—yes. If I did it once, couldn’t I do it again? If it was a spell my former self had cast, why shouldn’t I be able to do it now?”

“From then on, I strove constantly to chase the version of myself I didn’t yet know. I searched for a way to turn back time, examined anything that seemed even remotely related. Even the things we’d vowed to leave buried in the past—I went back over them all.”

“The clue came unexpectedly. While trying to find a way to preserve my friend’s legacy, I spoke with a spirit I met along the way. After hearing what I was doing, he said this.”

“—A human claiming to have returned from the past. I’ve seen such a one before.”

What?

The instant Yuder thought that, Luma said the exact same thing in the writing.

“When I asked what he meant, the spirit immediately shut his mouth. Cunning behavior from long-lived beings! Others act like conversing with these ancient fairies is some great feat, but I just can’t agree. Surely the spirit-summoners of old disappeared, weary of this slyness. In the end, I only got him to speak again after swearing to fulfill a favor for him.”

“...Spirit-summoner?”

“Hmm?”

Kishiar turned his head as if he’d heard Yuder muttering.

“Ah, it’s nothing. There was a line in the archmage’s writing that mentioned spirit-summoners from long ago disappearing, and I said it out loud because I wasn’t sure I read it right.”

“Hm... Well, there are enough legends of humans loved by fairies and spirits that we still know of them today. So it’s not strange if there was a specific title for such people in that era.”

“That makes sense.”

It did raise the question—were there really that many people who received love from transcendent beings that they could be grouped and titled like a profession? But Kishiar’s reasoning sounded plausible enough.

In any case, the great spirit who had toyed with and pressured the archmage had said this:

“—Among your human nations, there was once a place founded by someone who spoke the same way. I don’t know where it is, but if you search well, you might find your answer.”

“Not knowing where it was meant more time was needed. While buying that time, I fulfilled the fairy’s request. Fortunately, it wasn’t impossible. In fact, it somewhat overlapped with what I was already working on. Yes. That was the day I returned here with a small golden apple in my arms.”

This time, Yuder was sure who the story was referring to.

A small golden apple.

The spirit and the archmage.

It’s Inon.

He had heard Inon speak of the spirit of the apple tree that formed the root of his soul. But reading it through Luma’s writing made it feel entirely different.

So the spirit Luma cursed out like this was... basically Inon’s parent.

Would Archmage Luma ever have imagined this story would be twisted into some grand romantic tale in later generations?

Unlike with Oblik van Ta-in’s reflections on the Founding Emperor’s will, this evoked an entirely different emotion.

I wonder what kind of face Inon would make if he read this part...

Just imagining his face, still at that place where he’d lived with Luma, diligently digging through records, made Yuder let out a small laugh. Maybe it was because he could already picture Inon furrowing his brows and getting annoyed in a way that defied words. Yuder decided that once he finished this book, he would absolutely write to Inon first and share what he’d found.