## Chapter 133
—
The instant the searing pain shot through his chest, Whitebeard came back to his senses.
‘This place… where is it?’
Blinking for a moment, Whitebeard belatedly looked around.
What spread before him was a space of blinding whiteness.
So white that he couldn’t help but wonder how such a world could exist.
Then once again, a sharp, burning agony pierced his chest.
“…Kuhak.”
Whitebeard vomited a gush of pitch-black blood.
As his head drooped along with the spilling blood, he saw it—
a crimson demonic sword had pierced straight through his chest.
At the ghastly sight, Whitebeard shuddered.
And at that moment, a familiar voice dug into his ears.
“Huu… finally, it’s over. It was really tough, Mr. Whitebeard.”
Whitebeard muttered, staggering.
“Arthur… Bayern?”
“Yes, Arthur Bayern. Looks like you’ve regained some of your mind?”
Whitebeard’s pupils quivered.
And within them, the moments from just before resurfaced.
He, who had gone mad upon stepping into Arthur Bayern’s inner world.
Arthur Bayern, who had fought against that madness.
The fierce battle that ended with his chest being pierced through.
All of it returned to him, and Whitebeard let out a sigh.
‘I lost… I actually lost. I, of all people, lost to that whelp.’
That he, the worst black magician on the continent, should meet death at the hands of a mere human—
It was too bitter. So bitter that tears welled up in Whitebeard’s eyes.
“I… die? To something this trivial?”
As he wept, Arthur muttered quietly.
“What’s there to feel so wronged about, Mr. Whitebeard?”
“…What?”
“Everyone dies. Even a black magician who’s lived a thousand years isn’t an exception.”
With those words, Arthur pulled the demonic sword from Whitebeard’s chest.
Staggering, Whitebeard burst into a shout.
“No… I cannot die like this. After all I’ve lived through…!”
Arthur exhaled a heavy sigh.
“Are you that resentful?”
“Resentful… unbearably resentful.”
“Then tell me. What is it that makes you feel so wronged?”
Whitebeard stammered, beginning to explain.
“This… this wasn’t what I wanted. All I ever wanted… was not to die….”
Arthur quietly listened to that confession.
Though he listened, he could not understand.
‘His hair is white, but he’s nothing more than a child.’
So afraid of death that he stole lives as easily as eating bread.
So terrified of death that he wiped entire nations off the map.
Though Whitebeard may have lived over a thousand years, his mindset had remained frozen at the moment he strangled his master’s neck as a child.
‘Maybe… that’s why he could come this far.’
A child holding such immense power—
of course, he inspired terror in all.
And terror was the very foundation of a black magician’s power.
Having thought this far, Arthur posed his final question.
“Do you have any last words? A will you’d like to leave behind?”
At that, Whitebeard’s breath began to grow shallow.
“…A will?”
“Yes. A will.”
“…And who would I leave it to?”
“Do you have someone it must be passed on to?”
Whitebeard shook his head.
“No… come to think of it, there’s no one. My master and parents died a thousand years ago.”
“Then I’ll just keep it to myself. Go on, speak.”
“Yes… a will.”
Whitebeard’s words trailed off into a murmur.
“I am Whitebeard.”
Arthur nodded.
“That’s right. You’re Whitebeard.”
“And I am the worst black magician.”
“…?”
“Even if I must go, I’ll still have my revenge. Against you, Arthur Bayern.”
Arthur’s eyes widened.
“Revenge? In that state?”
And with that, Whitebeard vanished.
Startled, Arthur lifted his head—
the white space crumbled down around him.
*Kukukuku—!*
As his gaze narrowed at the strange phenomenon, Whitebeard’s voice echoed once more.
\[*This is the last spell I cast, sacrificing the remnants of my life, Arthur Bayern….*]
At those words Arthur shouted.
“Last spell? What are you planning this time?”
\[*Nothing much… I just intend to lock you away for a while.*]
“…What?”
Whitebeard’s voice wavered into a murmur.
\[*You too should feel it… the thousand years of solitude and terror I endured.*]
Something ominous tinged those words, and Arthur shouted again.
“Even at the last moment, you have to be like this!?”
Whitebeard burst into laughter.
\[*And what else did you expect…*]
“…….”
\[*That I would change, simply because death approached? No.*]
At that instant, the white space vanished, and darkness rushed in.
\[*I am Whitebeard, the worst black magician. That’s how I’ve lived, and even now, nothing has changed.*]
From within the suffocating dark, Whitebeard’s last voice resounded.
\[*This is the price of killing me. Rot away in this place for all eternity, Arthur Bayern.*]
—
—
It felt like a week had passed since Arthur became trapped in Whitebeard’s curse.
He sat spinning slowly in midair, lost in thought.
“This… is bad.”
In the pitch-black darkness, the only things he could feel were his body and his shallow breaths.
There was no exit anywhere, no way of escaping.
‘I’ve tried everything in the past week, and still nothing.’
One small relief was that, since entering this place, he no longer felt hunger.
‘Not just hunger—even thirst is gone. Is it because it’s my spirit, not my body, that’s trapped?’
Without the natural needs of the body, he no longer slept either.
So Arthur had been awake for what felt like an entire week straight.
‘Hmm… I always wondered what it’d be like not to sleep at all. Turns out it’s not pleasant.’
Being conscious twenty-four hours a day was harder than expected.
Awake thoughts led to worries and anxieties.
‘What is this place? Can I really get out?’
If it was a curse, would he need a priest to lift it?
But in this state, could a priest even be summoned?
Arthur sighed heavily.
“Damn it, because of you, Mr. Whitebeard, look what I’m stuck with.”
Grumbling, he rose to his feet.
Walking might not lead him out, but he had to move, if only to change his thoughts.
‘Better than just sitting still.’
And so, Arthur began walking aimlessly.
Into the endless dark.
—
—
His legs never ached, so he kept walking without pause.
Days passed like that, walking with no destination.
Eventually, he gave up counting the days.
There was no meaning to keeping track of time here.
Which only gave rise to more worries and regrets.
Without knowing how long he’d been trapped here, his mind circled back again and again—
to Yonel and Irene, and the promise he had made to them.
‘They must have been waiting eagerly… what now?’
Irene, who had burst into tears just from hearing his voice.
Arthur exhaled deeply as their precious faces surfaced in his mind.
‘I don’t want to be the son, the brother who breaks promises.’
But at present, he saw no way to keep his word.
No matter how many days he walked, this black void showed no sign of ending.
‘What kind of curse did Whitebeard cast on me…?’
He recalled Whitebeard’s last words, that so-called will and threat.
\[*This is the price of killing me. Rot away here for eternity, Arthur Bayern.*]
Arthur scratched his head.
“Rot away, huh… So, the curse is simply that I can’t escape?”
That was what it seemed like.
Clicking his tongue, he walked on.
‘But there is no such thing as an unbreakable curse.’
A curse was called a curse only because it could be undone.
There had to be a solution.
Arthur refused to give up and pressed forward again.
Time passed once more.
—
—
The black space showed no sign of ending.
With no way to gauge direction, Arthur simply kept walking straight.
As the hours slipped by, silence overtook speech, and thought overtook silence.
Naturally, memories of dear ones came to him.
Memories of promises, of shared moments.
First to arise were Jeannie and Anna.
‘Were they safe?’
The last he had seen of them, they were caught by Whitebeard’s time-sealing magic.
‘Since I killed Whitebeard, the spell should’ve been undone… hopefully.’
Jeannie could manage, but Anna was just an ordinary human—he worried.
But Arthur soon shook his head.
Even during his first encounter with Whitebeard, Anna had been struck by the same magic and survived unscathed.
This time, Whitebeard was dead. She’d likely be unharmed.
Settling that matter, another face came to mind.
Leon Madrid, likely in the imperial capital by now.
‘He said he’d introduce me to someone amazing when I came to the capital….’
Who could it be, if the one introducing was a prince?
The emperor himself?
‘Hm… doesn’t make sense, but with Leon, maybe it does.’
Arthur chuckled softly, then thought of Elin Leverkusen.
‘Did she get my letter safely…?’
He had sent it through the most reliable postal service on the continent.
It should have reached her.
Arthur licked his lips, imagining her expression when she read it.
‘Ah… I wish I could see it in person.’
Swallowing that regret, he let other names surface.
Willet, who wanted to drink with him upon his return to Arcane.
Professor Chizzy and his teaching assistant duties.
Julie, who promised to show him her lightning form next time.
And countless others he had grown close to in this life.
Recalling the bonds he had built, Arthur smiled.
‘Guess I won’t be bored for a while. Not with these memories to keep me company.’
And so, he walked on again.
Chewing over the memories he’d piled up.
—
—
Time flowed.
When those recollections began to run dry, Arthur no longer knew whether he was walking or running.
He hadn’t heard the sound of his joints moving in ages, and it felt like he was sinking deeper into the dark.
Amidst that suffocating sensation, Arthur murmured:
‘Maybe… this is what death is like?’
Hadn’t someone once said—
that humans are social creatures?
Beings who confirm their existence through others.
‘If I can’t speak to anyone now… isn’t this the same as being dead?’
But Arthur shook his head.
No, this wasn’t death.
Death was that moment when enemies’ blades pierced his heart.
Compared to that instant, this was not death.
‘I’m still alive.’
Realizing that, all stray thoughts and worries vanished.
Thump, thump.
His heart beat fiercely.
Shallow breaths.
Vivid sensations.
In them, Arthur thought:
‘I’m still alive. Like this.’
And at that moment, his mind and body grew calm.
Perhaps it was the first time since birth he had ever felt such peace.
Focusing solely on himself, reveling in the fact of being alive—
a faint smile touched Arthur’s lips.
And suddenly, he felt as if he could do anything.
Maybe that was why.
He thought he saw the pitch-black darkness begin to pale, just slightly.
“Huh?”
It wasn’t his imagination.
Far in the distance, a speck of light shone.
At once, his sleeping spirit and body awoke.
“Light? Is this it—am I finally escaping?”
As he prepared to move toward it, the light rushed toward him first.
“…!”
Startled, Arthur instinctively raised his arm to shield his eyes.
Darkness receded, replaced by the white space where he had fought Whitebeard.
Arthur’s eyes widened in awe—
just as someone appeared.
\[Arthur.]
At the voice, Arthur turned his head.
And his body trembled.
“…Huh?”
Blinking blankly, his mouth fell open.
“Ah… Father?”
At those words, the middle-aged man smiled.
\[So this is the first time we meet like this, my son.]
—
