It had always known Augustine; it only borrowed his hand to cut down those who disturbed the [Cycle].
Now Augustine’s role was complete. It let him scrape by for centuries, and his shadow began to threaten the [Cycle]. It chose to kill him.
By the hand of the 9679th [Demon King], Ye Weibai, it would kill—
The former [Hero King] and the current [Imperial Tutor]—Augustine.
So, in this [Cycle], the [Imperial Tutor] wasn’t Ye Weibai. It was Augustine.
Ye Weibai didn’t yet know what Augustine had done. He guessed it was to draw out Aerin’s true power—exactly the work of an [Imperial Tutor].
In the end, Augustine fell back into the [Cycle].
Realizing that, Ye Weibai shivered. He could taste Its malice, abyss-cold, a chill like staring over a cliff at midnight.
To punish Augustine’s recklessness, even in killing him, It chose the way he hated most—cast him back into the [Cycle], and kill him there.
Augustine slaughtered so many—including his teacher. He skulked like a stray. He lied to himself that he was still “alive.” This strongest [Hero King] threw away everything, spent a life trying to escape the [Cycle], and never did. What a cruel fate.
And the thing behind it all—how ruthless, how hopeless.
The black [Demon King] felt the cold bite.
He watched Augustine’s power drain and his body sag. An old tree of a face, grooved with ravines. Tears muddied with blood and soil.
This elder truly died the day he killed his teacher, then went home and found all his companions dead. After that, he was a walking corpse.
That long road of “survival” hid a road of “wanting to die.”
What kept him moving, killing for It so he could keep living? Perhaps the promise his companions and his teacher made with him.
“We must break the [Cycle], Augustine.” His teacher, his friends—surely they said that to him.
And back then, Augustine must’ve answered, brimming with confidence.
That sentence became a shackle. It locked him so even death would not open.
“Augustine… you…” The black-haired youth looked at the elder.
His face softened into quiet peace. His eyes went empty. He murmured, “Truth is… I forgot long ago… Leo, Lei, Sika, Soria, Lin… I remember their names, but… their faces… I forgot them long ago, just a blur now.”
“Cough… cough, cough… Too long. I lived too long. So long I almost forgot why I kept going, didn’t go, didn’t go—die.” Emotion rose and broke. Augustine’s pupils pinched to a point. He stared hard at the black [Demon King]. “Demon King… tell me… why did I endure for hundreds of years? As you said, was it because I was a coward?”
Deathly silence.
“No. I take it back. Augustine, you weren’t a coward.” Ye Weibai bowed slightly, spine lowered in respect. “You were simply… more relentless than most.”
“Relentless…?” The word landed. Augustine’s needle-thin pupils trembled.
His soul at the lip of death went numb, then tingled. That ache when someone finally understands you.
In his blank mind, waves of memory rose and crashed.
“Augustine, you’re too relentless.”
“Tsk, you’re stubborn as a bull, Augustine.”
“Hey, Augustine, can’t you stop being so relentless?”
“Augustine! Keep this up, and you’ll have no friends. Hahaha!”
“So maddening! Augustine! Don’t you know how to bend?”
“Augustine—! If you keep butting heads like a bull, then—then I won’t like you anymore!”
“Ugh—”
“Y—”
“I’m sorry…”
Familiar yet distant faces surged like tidewater through a heart that should’ve been numb. The stone shell peeled back, and inside lay a heart already torn to shreds.
“I’m sorry!!”
Dry wells filled again. Teardrops big as beans burst down the old man’s face. He clenched his fists, palms gritty with soil. He bit his cracked lips and rasped, raw and fierce: “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I killed so many—then forgot your faces! Even—almost lost your names! I’m sorry! I did so many wrongs!! I—still—still—didn’t fulfill—the promise!—to break the [Cycle]!”
“I can’t do it!!!”
“I’m sorry! I can’t do it! I can’t do it!!!!” He howled, the strongest [Hero King] across countless [Cycles], now crying like a child.
It should’ve been laughable.
But the black [Demon King] couldn’t laugh.
He lifted his chin. Lips pressed thin. Fists tight. Face like ice. Eyes black as winter stars, gaze spearing the far sky.
In the ruins, Augustine’s voice sank lower, softer, until it vanished.
Tap.
Ye Weibai landed before the elder.
He looked at the body already emptied of life.
Hair in disarray. Face wet with tears. Filth all over. Not a [Hero King]—more like a stray dog.
Yet Ye Weibai stayed solemn. He extended two fingers of his right hand. He tapped below the left heart. He bowed again, a classical, austere salute.
At that moment, with the caster dead, the violet domain across the plain collapsed of its own.
The purple screen shattered and faded. A thousand violet flakes drifted like snow, falling like spent fireworks.
Under that pouring purple rain—
The 9679th [Demon King]—White—granted the 8999th [Hero King]—Augustine—
“—the highest respect.”
…
…
Wait.
She had waited so long, so long, so long. How long, she had forgotten.
She had done this countless times. So many that [Stardust] grew numb.
The silver-haired girl hugged her knees. She watched the sky and wondered how long this wait would be.
Just then, the far purple birdcage of light melted away, like first snow under a clear sun.
“White.”
Her spiral silver pupils quivered. She scrambled up and almost fell, legs asleep from sitting too long.
She steadied herself and looked up. She saw the black-haired, black-eyed boy stepping out.
He walked in purple radiance. Hair and hems flying. Behind him, war-torn rubble. The [Purple Blossom] grove and that towering [Purple Blossom] family castle—gone to ash.
It was a shocking sight, yet in the girl’s eyes there was only the black-haired boy.
The whole world held only him.
“White!”
Silver short hair flew. Lips pressed. Pupils shaking. She ran, steps doubled into leaps.
Bound by her race’s gift and [Misfortune], her face couldn’t smile. Yet the boiling particles in her eyes made her joy plain.
And then—
Her joy vanished.
The two of them passed each other and did not stop.
