Fabian certainly wasn’t the type to get caught up in schemes, scams, theft, or robbery. Though unconventional at times, he still held firmly to his own bottom line.

  So he made his choice: endure a little hardship, step into a few underground boxing matches. With luck, he’d scrape together enough for rent—maybe even have some left over.

  And in the process, he’d get his fix. It had been far too long since he’d tasted the rush of a real, bare-knuckle fight.

  Meanwhile—

  At the Goliath Royal Academy of Sciences, deep inside a cavernous laboratory, a young man with golden hair and ice-blue eyes was adjusting the gears of a colossal machine. Its enormous acceleration track stretched for kilometers beneath the earth.

  The year was 1860. The concept of elementary particles had not yet been proposed—let alone discovered or proven. What exactly hurtled down the track was a mystery to everyone but Patrick.

  For this was no ordinary engine of science. It was a time machine, built almost entirely under Patrick’s sole design and direction.

  The theories that sustained it were his alone to understand. His brilliance exceeded the knowledge of his century, and his power defied the boundaries of reason itself.

  Time.

  Patrick was the vessel chosen by the conceptual deity of Time. A scientist first and foremost, when he discovered his dominion over the temporal flow, he did what came most naturally—he applied it to research.

  And so, the machine was born.

  At present, Patrick’s control over Time was still in its infancy. He could only suspend objects within a radius of about one hundred meters, and only for a brief interval.

  Yet even this was staggering.

  Anything caught within that stillness became untouchable—invulnerable, indestructible. In combat, such power would be fearsome. In science, it opened doors to effects otherwise unimaginable.

  For example: indestructible physical materials, coiled in spirals along the buried acceleration track, were held perpetually frozen in time by Patrick’s power.

  It was on this foundation that the machine could function at all.

  Armed with science as his lever, Patrick magnified his temporal gift into something more—a feat no mortal had ever achieved: time travel.

  Now, the moment had come. Patrick’s heart raced with anticipation. He would be the first of his age to pierce the veil of spacetime.

  “How are the preparations?” a scholar at the control console called out.

  “All set!” Patrick shouted back, standing tall on the central platform. He gave the operator a bold thumbs-up, grinning with irrepressible excitement. The future was waiting.

  Click.

  The countdown ended. The operator yanked the lever. In an instant, arcs of searing electricity coiled and snapped around the platform. A blinding flash engulfed the room—then Patrick was gone.

  1870, Goliath City.

  On a busy street, Patrick bought a newspaper from a vendor’s stand. He unfolded it carefully.

  The date was printed clear as day: October 21, 1870.

  He had leapt forward ten years.

  Patrick smiled.

  “Indeed.”

  He had done it.

  Patrick had truly crossed ten years into the future.

  By the roadside, a young man in a black suit sipped black tea. At his side, Mei watched Patrick with quiet fascination. Fabian followed her gaze.

  “Do you know him?” Fabian asked.

  “Something like that.”

  But then, oddly, a passerby walked in front of Fabian. When he looked again, Patrick was gone. The sight left him stunned.

  1860, Goliath Royal Academy of Sciences laboratory.

  Tzzz—

  A burst of light cracked through the air. Patrick reappeared on the central platform, arms thrown high, cheering with unrestrained joy.

  “We did it!”

  Around him, the researchers erupted. Their cheers echoed through the chamber—they had achieved the impossible, a feat beyond their century.

  “Doctor, should we continue?” one of them asked breathlessly.

  “Of course!”

  The exhilaration of time travel was burning through Patrick’s mind like fire. He couldn’t stop now. He needed more—more glimpses of the future, more proof of his greatness.

  And he longed to see the man he would one day become.

  Again, a bright flash.

  The machine roared to life, hurling him forward through the centuries. Patrick braced himself for glory, for recognition, for his name etched forever into history.

  Instead, he found only disappointment.

  1980.

  Patrick scoured the city, leafing through old newspapers in dusty bookshops. Not a single mention of his name. Not a single line to honor him.

  It was as though he had been deliberately erased.

  “Could I have become… a national secret?”

  Perhaps. But the thought left him hollow.

  When he returned to the Academy, the laboratory stood abandoned. The great machine had been dismantled, moved somewhere else.

  A sigh escaped him. For all his brilliance, he had never craved secrecy. He had dreamed of fame, of glory—of being celebrated as one of the greatest scientists who ever lived.

  On the streets, life rushed past.

  Pedestrians hurried by. Yet in the flow of faces, Patrick felt it—that strange sensation of being watched.

  A young girl stood still, her eyes locked on his. Patrick froze, memorizing her face.

  And then—

  Boom—

  The heavens split. A colossal phantom broke through the sky, golden light cascading around it. A figure, crowned with a halo, descended in divine radiance like a god from legend.

  Patrick’s breath caught in his throat.

  “What… what is this?!”

  But before awe could settle, a crimson spear screamed down from the void, tearing through the phantom’s chest. Its power was absolute, its trajectory unstoppable. The spear plunged into the earth—

  Boom!

  The world shook. The impact leveled buildings, reduced streets to rubble, and churned the air into a choking storm of dust. Shockwaves rolled outward like tidal waves across the city.

  Patrick’s eyes were wide, his mind reeling.

  What was happening?!

  He possessed the power of Time itself, yet this… this was something utterly beyond him. Mystical forces—hidden, immense—were at play in the world.

  And they terrified him.

  But they also intrigued him. If others wielded powers like these, then he could not stop at time travel alone. He needed answers. He needed to know what had become of his future self.

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  With unease gnawing at him, Patrick dissolved into the current of time, vanishing from the street and returning to the laboratory in 1860.

  “Doctor,” one of the researchers said, noticing his pale expression. “You don’t look well.”

  “I’m fine. Continue!”

  Patrick’s voice was steady, but unease churned inside him.

  This was his third time travel.

  He leapt forward just three days—on the very date he was scheduled to unveil his time machine to the world. But the sky above was ominous, dark and heavy.

  Boom!

  Rain burst down in torrents.

  Through the storm, Patrick watched in shock as a band of masked figures stormed his laboratory. He couldn’t see what unfolded inside—only that his presentation would never take place.

  “Don’t stray too far into the future.”

  The girl’s voice whispered suddenly at his side. He hadn’t noticed her arrive. “That way lies only your death.”

  Patrick stiffened. It was his second encounter with her—the first had been twenty years further ahead. Twice now, two journeys, two meetings.

  It couldn’t be coincidence.

  His heart stirred. He turned toward her, his face shifting. “What do you mean?”

  She answered without words. Instead, an invisible force rippled through the void. Before Patrick’s eyes, threads of fate appeared—countless luminous lines, intricate and tangled, all weaving forward.

  He saw his own destiny. He saw hers.

  And then—both threads snapped, ending suddenly in the near future. Patrick’s expression darkened as the realization struck him.

  The girl spoke evenly:

  “Death, fantasy, existence, truth, fate, time… I don’t know why we were given this ancient power. But every time we’ve sought its limits, the end has always been the same. Death. For a thousand years I’ve watched it repeat.”

  Her calm voice carried the weight of despair.

  “The future holds no place for us. You are the only hope left. You must go back—further back than ever before—and change everything.”

  Patrick clenched his fists. He didn’t understand. “Why? Why must we face such a fate?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked skyward. “Perhaps… like fruit in a garden. When the season comes, it must be plucked. That is the meaning bestowed on us by a certain being.”

  Patrick’s chest tightened. “A certain being?”

  Her voice dropped. “A presence that has watched the world for a thousand years. The one who decreed our end. The one who fixed our causality.”

  A thousand-year monarch.

  A tyrant who bent history to her will.

  Patrick trembled. He couldn’t even imagine such a being. Beyond gods, beyond comprehension.

  Yet to call it a god seemed wrong. Patrick and the others, wielding such powers, were already like gods themselves. That being’s power—no, its authority—surpassed even that.

  The truth unraveled before him, and his thoughts spun in chaos. But a flicker of resolve burned through his fear.

  “You mean… if we go back to the past, uncover who this being is, we might change our fate? Or even push further forward, crush her at her origin?”

  The girl was silent for a moment, then nodded.

  She too longed to know why they had been chosen, why this being treated them as tools and sacrifices. The origin of everything… lay in the distant past.

  She suspected it was the monarch of the Firenze Empire a thousand years ago—but it was only suspicion. Proof had eluded her for centuries.

  To return to the past was the only chance. The chance she had waited a thousand years for. Patrick was her only hope to alter their ending.

  “I don’t expect you to believe me at once,” she said softly. “See it yourself. Don’t run to the future—go to the past. Witness it.”

  She gave him several times and locations, her warning sharp as steel: “Remember—only watch. Do not interfere. Do not form ties.”

  Patrick etched them into memory.

  Tzzz—

  A flash of light.

  Patrick returned to the laboratory in 1860. Without hesitation, he ordered: “Set the coordinates to 1680.”

  “One hundred and eighty years back? Burlington, United Kingdom of Westland.”

  The operator froze. “Doctor… reckless jumps to the past are extremely dangerous! A butterfly effect—”

  “I know!” Patrick cut him off. He was in no mood for caution. He would follow the girl’s instructions, witness only, and pray none of this was true. If it was… then somewhere ahead lay an enemy beyond imagining.

  His stomach knotted with fear.

  Tzzz—

  The machine roared to life.

  1680, Burlington.

  Boom!

  The Twelve Knights blazed through the skies, hammering their foe with relentless force. Rivers twisted above like writhing dragons, and towers rose from the earth—scenes drawn from divine legend.

  Patrick stood frozen, awestruck.

  History recorded none of this.

  “There should have been… some great event here,” he whispered.

  But the truth was clear. History had been altered, its true shape buried. The world was far stranger, far more extraordinary than he had ever conceived.

  In a single day, Patrick’s worldview had been broken and rebuilt more than once.

  When the battle ended, Patrick made his way to the place the girl had named. There, he saw her—her younger self. His breath caught, his chest pounding.

  Then—death itself stirred.

  A being awoke, only to be instantly consumed by a monster. Patrick thought himself unnoticed, until power unlike anything he’d ever felt surged outward.

  Crack.

  His temporal shield shattered instantly.

  That being glanced at him—nothing more. Not even a second thought. And yet Patrick collapsed, pale and gasping, as if the heavens themselves had pressed down upon him.

  “Hah…”

  He staggered, his hands trembling. Just a glance had nearly broken him. Never had he known such fear.

  That… that was death.

  The girl had been right. When their advancement was complete, that being would bring their end. Against it, they were ants.

  Time itself could not save him. His proud power collapsed like glass under its gaze. The strength of that being was beyond imagination.

  “Not enough…” Patrick growled, teeth clenched. “Still not enough!”

  As a scientist, he could not accept hearsay. He would prove the truth himself. One glimpse of death was not enough. He needed to trace it back, witness its growth, confirm its nature with his own eyes.

  And more—he had to see 1850.

  To witness the end of Fantasy.

  Within a single day, Patrick hurled himself through countless leaps. Again and again, he returned to the streams of history, silently watching as eras unfolded.

  And there, among the currents of time, he found the girl once more. Not in the future—no. Their first meeting had been centuries ago.

  Patrick witnessed the end of Death and Fantasy. Then, against every instinct, he traced their paths backward, step by step—watching them grow from inception to ruin.

  Undoubtedly,

  They truly wielded the powers of fantasy and death. One single-handedly founded the flourishing Firenze Empire, while the other single-handedly ended its glory.

  Perhaps for this reason, death was the first to fall, silently perishing in Burlington in 1680. It was there, too, that Patrick discovered the existence of the Hermitage Society.

  He finally understood the true reason history had been manipulated.

  Tzzz!

  A searing flash.

  Patrick returned to the laboratory in 1860, his face so pale it seemed drained of blood. Prolonged time travel had consumed an enormous amount of energy.

  "Doctor!"

  Seeing this, the researchers rushed to support him.

  "Are you alright?"

  "I'm fine."

  Patrick’s expression was grim beyond words. He now completely believed the girl. People could lie—but what he had witnessed with his own eyes was no illusion.

  It was real!

  That being was real too!

  With that realization, Patrick no longer dared to explore the future. Just as the girl had warned, only despair awaited him there.

  Hope lay in the past. If they could strike down that being at the very beginning—at the origin of everything—perhaps they could change the destiny set before them.

  His eyes hardened.

  Click!

  The laboratory door, which should have been locked, creaked open. The girl walked in calmly and asked, “It seems you’re prepared.”

  “Of course.”

  “How about adding a helper?”

  “That would be excellent. Trouble lies ahead. Unless we deal with it first, we won’t be able to return peacefully to the past.”

  Though exhausted, Patrick’s resolve did not waver.

  Boom!

  Thunder rolled across a darkened sky, sheets of rain nearly swallowing the world. The downpour created a chilling illusion, as if the earth itself might dissolve.

  Crash! Crash!

  Raindrops splattering against stone churned a swirling mist. The Hermitage Society contingent pressed toward Goliath City, and as they neared, Rosinante’s eyes lit with fragile hope.

  His recent strange behavior had worried Samuel.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Rosinante’s voice carried a faint spark of life again. He pinned all his hopes on that time machine; it was the last thread he clung to.

  All he wanted was to return to Firenze—to die in Firenze. Nothing else mattered. That was the entirety of his existence.

  In the rain-shrouded world, a lone figure in a black coat flickered in and out of sight. Mei, detached and silent, simply watched it all.

  From this day onward,

  The world’s time began to reverse.

  “It’s ahead!”

  As the Goliath Royal Academy of Sciences came into view, Rosinante’s spirit surged. A glimmer of light returned to his eyes—almost there!

  Bang!

  The Hermitage Society contingent stormed into the laboratory without hesitation, only to find it empty. All that remained was a massive machine before them.

  That was it!

  Rosinante’s hands trembled with excitement, but before they could act, an overwhelming sense of danger swept through the room, crawling cold down their spines.

  “Be careful!”

  His pupils shrank to pinpoints. On instinct, Rosinante unleashed the power of his holy relic, instantly teleporting Samuel and several other Hermitage Society members away. The danger pressing in on them was unlike anything he had ever felt—irresistible, absolute.

  He should have left as well. But when his eyes fell on the time machine, hesitation clutched his heart. Just for a heartbeat.

  That heartbeat sealed his fate.

  Hum—

  The power of time fell, locking Rosinante in place, freezing him mid-motion.

  Crash! Crash!

  The storm outside raged on, hammering the earth with endless rain. Aside from that lonely drumming, the world was silent—each soul stranded on their own desolate island.

  Inside the laboratory, blood spilled.

  A sword drove straight through Rosinante’s chest, nailing him against the wall. The girl, Patrick, and Gaunt stood in the chamber.

  Fate—the Girl.

  Existence—Gaunt.

  Time—Patrick.

  After a thousand years, it was only natural she could find Gaunt. So this was the “helper” she had mentioned.

  Rosinante’s vision blurred. He paid no attention to the three figures before him. His eyes clung only to the time machine, its silhouette swimming in his fading sight. The anticipation burning within him guttered out, ebbing with his life.

  The laboratory grew empty once again.

  “Almost…”

  “Just a little more…”

  In his dying hallucinations, the Firenze Empire appeared within reach. Below the throne, the Twelve Knights stood vigil.

  Rivers soared into the heavens, and stars lit the empire in glory.

  “What’s with that long face? Cheer up—it’s the banquet!”

  Gray shoved a cup of wine into his hand. Rosinante stared at the ripple on its surface, trembling faintly. A hand clapped his shoulder.

  “You should join in with the rest of us once in a while.”

  Even Julius, the tireless workaholic, had been dragged here by Gray’s persistence. He had cooked up another of his ridiculous games, and everyone was buzzing with anticipation.

  Whoosh!

  Tellugh’s arrow split the target dead center—only to be flattened a heartbeat later by Theaphilus’s drunken chariot charge.

  Camelo, as always, sat drinking in silence. A faint smile played at his lips. From afar, he raised his glass to Rosinante in quiet camaraderie.

  Drip—

  A drop of blood splashed into the wine, breaking the fragile illusion apart.

  Tears slid from Rosinante’s eyes until the light finally left them.

  “Your Majesty…”

  Rosinante had not been weak. He was the second-strongest knight of the Firenze Empire’s Twelve Knights, rivaling even Julius. At his peak, he wielded solid Tier 3 strength.

  But now, facing three conceptual vessels, each carrying powers that skirted the edge of true concepts, he was utterly helpless. Time’s suspension left him no more than a lamb for slaughter.

  “Shame the others escaped.”

  Gaunt moved to wrench the sword free. But suddenly his eyes narrowed, his body snapping taut.

  The laboratory door swung open. A woman strode in without hesitation.

  At once, Patrick went pale, stumbling a step back as a chill cut through his marrow.