At the summit of Mount Origin, the abandoned ruin echoes with an otherworldly silence. Pierre Viola, adorned in flowing black robes that seem to absorb the ambient light, sits with an air of quiet authority at the edge of the triangular table. His purple hair cascades like a shadowy waterfall, framing piercing purple eyes that betray a wisdom beyond his youthful appearance. Pierre extends a hand in a gesture of humility, seeking forgiveness from the two figures across the table.

Bartholomew Whitman, an elderly man whose apparent frailty belies a deep well of knowledge, sits opposite Pierre. His bald head gleams under the mysterious glow emanating from the ancient artifacts scattered around the room. Clad in pristine white robes, Bartholomew's eyes, though aged, sparkle with an unmistakable intelligence that has weathered the test of time.

Sanaryn Flamberge, a stark contrast to the subdued presence of the others, reclines gracefully in her chair. Her attire, a vibrant fusion of red and gold, seems to dance with flickers of firelight. Sanaryn's fiery hair cascades down her shoulders, matching the intensity of her gaze. Despite her revealing clothing, an undeniable aura of power surrounds her, suggesting a force as formidable as the flames that define her appearance.

Pierre bows his head, acknowledging his tardiness, "Forgive me, esteemed Bartholomew, radiant Sanaryn. The paths of the ancients are unpredictable, but I am here now."

Bartholomew, his voice a gentle echo of ages past, responds, "All is forgiven, Pierre. The fates weave their own tapestry, and we are but threads within it."

Sanaryn leans forward, a spark of playful and challenging curiosity in her eyes, "What knowledge have you unearthed, Pierre? The winds whispered of revelations."

In the sanctum of sorcery, the Three Sages convene amidst the ancient knowledge of the Self, the World, and the Cosmos— the generalist Three Schools of Thought.

The room pulsates with the energy of their respective disciplines, each Sage embodying one of the three Schools of Thought. Sanaryn Flamberge reclines, her fiery gaze meeting Pierre Viola's as he leans back in his chair.

Sanaryn smirks, "Ah, Pierre, fashionably late as always. Perhaps the decades are catching up with you, old man."

Pierre, seated with regal composure, raises an eyebrow at her jest, "Sanaryn, my dear, respect your elders. Age, as you well know, is but a fleeting concept."

Among the Three Sages, Bartholomew might be the oldest at 372 years old, but Pierre is many times older than Sanaryn, him being at 142 years old, and her being at 26 years old. Pierre has frozen the spatial activity of his cells, and he solely functions in magic earning him the title of Void Eternal.

Sanaryn chuckles, "Fleeting for you, perhaps. You've had centuries to perfect your tardiness."

Bartholomew Whitman, the elder sage with wisdom etched into the lines of his face, interjects with a wry smile, "Children, let us focus on matters of greater importance. Time itself bends to the will of the cosmos, and we must not let trivialities distract us."

Pierre, leaning back, retorts to Sanaryn, "Remember, my junior, I have witnessed the dance of stars long before your flame was kindled. Disrespecting me is unwise."

Sanaryn raises an eyebrow, undeterred, "Wise or not, it keeps you on your toes, Pierre. After all, even eternity can't dull a sharp tongue."

Bartholomew, ever the mediator, speaks with a tone of gentle authority, "Let us remember our purpose."

The Three Sages are all meant to be equal, but Sanaryn and Pierre have quite the past. Sanaryn was once a follower of the Cosmos School of Thought, and as a Pyromancer, she studies the sun. But Pierre has suppressed her for a long time, hampering the young Sanaryn of her attempts to build a connection with her fellow Sorcerers.

Sanaryn's voice crackles with pent-up frustration, "Pierre, you've held me back for too long. Suppressing my connection with the sun, obstructing my path to unity with the cosmos. What is it that you fear?"

Pierre, unfazed, meets her gaze with a stoic expression, "Sanaryn, your flames burn bright, but control is key. I merely guided you on a safer path."

Sanaryn scoffs, her temper flaring, "Guidance or suppression? You couldn't bear the thought of another rising to your level, could you, Void Eternal? Even to this day, I am still bitter for all that you have done to me…"

Pierre leans forward, a glint of defiance in his eyes, "You are very vocal today… I fear nothing, Sanaryn. But chaos and recklessness must be tempered for the greater good."

The 'Three Sages' are a title given to the three strongest Sorcerers. Perhaps, Pierre has felt threatened by Sanaryn's existence. Though equal, there is still a sense of hierarchy and balance among the Three Sages, for example— seniority— and Pierre surely is leaning toward it with great fanfare.

Bartholomew, his frail appearance belying his profound strength, intervenes with a voice that carries the weight of ages, "We are here to find common ground, not to perpetuate discord. The cosmos is vast, and our unity strengthens our collective purpose. Pierre, Sanaryn, let the embers of resentment cool. We have urgent matters to tend to."

Sanaryn huffs, still seething, but nods reluctantly.

Though Bartholomew might appear frail, he is quite powerful being a peak Vivamancer who has even joined the Holy War two centuries ago. With his seniority on top of that, he is able to manage to mediate peace at least between the two,

Bartholomew Whitman, the eldest of the Three Sages, clears his throat to open the weighty discussion. His eyes, sharp despite the haze of age, fixate on Pierre Viola, a silent accusation hanging in the air.

"Esteemed colleagues," Bartholomew begins, his tone measured, "It has come to my attention that there are forces within the Empire that seek to manipulate us, using our sworn duty to their advantage. Specifically, in dealing with the Witch of Fate."

Pierre meets Bartholomew's gaze with a calm demeanor, "Bartholomew, you speak in riddles. The Empire has long sought our guidance. We must tread carefully, but our duty remains."

Bartholomew's eyes narrow dangerously, "Duty, Pierre, is a matter of perspective. It seems, however, that your interpretation differs from the pact we have collectively made. We decided not to engage with the Witch, not to become pawns in political games."

Sanaryn, her fiery presence flickering with intrigue, interjects, "News has reached us, Pierre, of your disciple dispatched to assassinate Miyandrel Celeste. Care to explain?"

Pierre maintains his composure, "Sanaryn, my actions are guided by necessity. The Witch's influence could tip the balance of the Empire. My disciple merely follows my orders."

Bartholomew's voice echoes with stern resolve, "We are not tools, Pierre. Our unity stands above personal motives. The decision to withhold our intervention was unanimous."

Pierre raises an eyebrow, "Unanimous, perhaps, but not without dissenting thoughts. The Witch poses a threat that cannot be ignored. Moreover, we are obliged to deal with him as Sorcerers."

Bartholomew leans forward, his gaze unwavering, "We will not be manipulated. Our strength lies in our unity. And yes, we are obligated, but that doesn't mean we'll move as the Empire directs us."

Pierre Viola, the Void Eternal, stands from where he sits, his eyes aflame with a righteous anger that has simmered for seven long years.

"Bartholomew, Sanaryn," Pierre's voice cuts through the air, "Seven years ago, the Witch of Fate sacrificed Avalon, my home, my people, for her wretched power. She bathed in the blood of the City of Sorcerers to see into millions of futures."

Bartholomew listens, his expression grave, while Sanaryn, aware of Pierre's past, remains silent.

"She stole the Virtuous Ritual meant for me, for my ascension," Pierre's words resonate with an indignant fury. "She twisted it, manipulated it for her own gain. My city, my people—gone, all gone."

Bartholomew, the wise elder, speaks solemnly, "Pierre, we understand your pain. The Witch's actions are unforgivable. But vengeance clouds the path we tread. Our duty is to maintain the balance, not succumb to personal vendettas."

Pierre's eyes blaze with an intensity that pierces through the shadows, "Bartholomew, you speak of balance, but she upset the very foundation of our existence. The Witch must be stopped. She must pay for what she's done."

Sanaryn, breaking her silence, nods in understanding, "Pierre, we share your grief, but we must not let our emotions blind us. The Witch's fate is intertwined with the more delicate… threads of the Unknown. The Foreseers of both the Self School and World School has expressly raised it that we leave the ex-princess alone… for now."

Pierre clenches his fists, his jaw tight with suppressed rage, "I swore an oath, not just as a Sage, but as a survivor of Avalon. I will see her brought to justice, no matter the cost."

What Pierre is not saying to the other two is that the 'Virtuous Ritual' is actually a 'Sacrificial Ritual' that has been made for his sake, only for the Witch of Fate to hijack it, and use it for herself. Pierre is indignant about his loss even now and has sworn to inflict vengeance on the miserable witch.

Pierre Viola's voice resonates with disdain as he speaks of the Empire and its political machinations.

"The Empire," Pierre begins, his eyes ablaze with a fervor, "is nothing but a den of snakes, scheming and conniving to maintain their facade of order. Their pursuit of power knows no bounds."

Bartholomew Whitman, the elder sage, nods in agreement, while Sanaryn Flamberge listens intently.

"The Imperial Court, the Four Dukes—they dance on the strings of deception. But we, the Three Sages, hold the strongest military power," Pierre asserts, his tone unwavering.

Sanaryn interjects, "Their political games are tiresome, Pierre. What do you propose?"

Pierre leans forward, his eyes locked onto his fellow sages, "The Empire claims to desire revenge for the Witch's evils, yet they tread lightly, veiling their intentions with excuses. They speak of saving face, of the Emperor's love for his sister. It's a charade."

Bartholomew furrows his brow, "Pierre, revenge is not our purpose. We seek balance."

Pierre scoffs, "Balance, yes, but at what cost? The Empire's reluctance to act is a farce. They fear the repercussions more than they seek justice. We, as the Three Sages, should not be pawns in their game."

Sanaryn, intrigued, questions, "What do you propose, Pierre? To defy the Empire openly?"

Pierre's eyes gleam with determination, "Not defiance, but a course of action that aligns with our principles. We must not let the Empire manipulate us. Our strength is not meant to serve their political agendas."

Bartholomew, contemplating the weight of Pierre's words, nods thoughtfully, "Our power is a responsibility, not a tool for the Empire's whims. We must tread carefully but with purpose."

There is a dangerous glint in the old man's eyes as he purposefully has made his words vague. He finds Pierre's fixation over the Witch of Fate suspicious. Sanaryn notices how Bartholomew looks at Pierre, and snarky remarks, "Very persuasive, Pierre… And dramatic too. It makes me vomit."

Sanaryn Flamberge, with a glint of mischief in her fiery eyes, directs a mocking gaze toward Pierre Viola.

"Tell me, Pierre," Sanaryn taunts, "what's your true agenda? Sending a personal disciple to deal with the Witch of Fate seems like a rather cowardly move for the Void Eternal."

Pierre's expression remains impassive, his silence an enigmatic shield against her verbal jabs.

Sanaryn leans forward, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "If revenge is your game, why not go yourself? Why bother with a pawn when you can be the master of your own destiny?"

Pierre finally breaks his silence, "Sanaryn, it's not that simple. The Witch is cunning. It might be a trap."

Sanaryn scoffs, "Trap or not, you're a Voidmancer, Pierre. Escaping via spatial transference is your specialty. What's holding you back? Fear?"

Pierre's stoic facade remains unshaken, "It's not fear, Sanaryn. It's strategy. The Witch's influence is vast, and I won't risk jeopardizing our mission."

Sanaryn smirks, her voice edged with condescension, "Strategy, or is it just an excuse for cowardice? The great Void Eternal, afraid to confront his past."

Pierre's gaze narrows, a flicker of frustration in his eyes, but he keeps his composure.

Sanaryn continues to push, "Tell me, Pierre, what are you truly afraid of? Losing control? Facing the Witch's power? Or perhaps, losing more than you did with Avalon? Or… Is it something more primal? The fear of pain, maybe? The Witch is said to be a masterful torturer of the mind and soul…"

Pierre's jaw tightens, but he remains silent, unwilling to reveal the depths of his inner turmoil.

Sanaryn guffaws, a sharp, mocking sound, "Coward or not, Pierre, your hesitation speaks volumes. The Void Eternal, entangled in his own web of fear and revenge!"

As the echoes of Sanaryn's laughter fade into the chamber, Pierre cannot help but grind his teeth.

Pierre Viola finally breaks his silence, revealing a truth that he had guarded with veiled apprehension. His words cut through the air with a weight of caution.

"It's a trap," Pierre admits, his gaze fixed on the triangular table before him. "Miyandrel Celeste has seen through my attempts to scry on the fight. My every move has been anticipated, except for the coming of my disciple."

Sanaryn leans forward, her fiery eyes searching Pierre's face for any hint of vulnerability, "A trap? You didn't foresee this?"

Pierre's jaw tightens, "Miyandrel's abilities are vast, far-reaching. She sees further into the future than any of us can comprehend. She is a Fatemancer."

Bartholomew, his aged visage etched with concern, asks, "What preparations have you made, Pierre?"

Pierre's eyes flicker with a glint of determination, "I've taken measures to conceal my actions, to ensure that the Witch's foresight is clouded. The fight will unfold in a way she cannot predict."

Sanaryn, skeptical, retorts, "And yet, you send your disciple as bait? What kind of strategy is that?"

Pierre's expression remains resolute, "The disciple is skilled, and I've ensured he can handle the initial confrontation. My aim is to force Miyandrel to reveal the extent of her abilities, to test her limits."

Bartholomew nods, understanding the gravity of their situation, "It's a risky gambit, Pierre. Miyandrel's cruelty and foresight make her a formidable adversary."

Pierre meets Bartholomew's gaze, "I am well aware of the risks, Bartholomew. But we cannot let her continue unchecked. My actions may be unpredictable, but they are necessary."

"Pierre," Bartholomew's voice carries a weight of reproach, "you've gone against our vote, our shared decision. And now, you stand here, lying to my face about your actions."

Pierre meets Bartholomew's stern gaze, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, "I acted for the greater good, Bartholomew. Miyandrel's desired death demand swift response."

Bartholomew's expression tightens with disapproval, "Swift response or not, the decision was unanimous. You do not act unilaterally. And spare me your lies. The news of your disciple's demise reached my ears long before your words did."

Pierre's facade wavers for a moment, a hint of guilt flickering in his eyes. Bartholomew continues, his tone is unyielding, "Miyandrel remains elusive, her presence unknown. And the one who dealt the fatal blow to your disciple... not a trace. Your actions have consequences, Pierre, consequences that defy the very balance we strive to uphold."

Pierre, cornered by the weight of his decisions, remains silent.

Bartholomew raises a stern warning, "Let this be the last time you act against the collective will. Deception and manipulation are the tools of the unwise. We are bound by a greater purpose, Pierre, one that demands unity and trust."

In the aftermath of Bartholomew's stern warning, Pierre Viola nods in apparent understanding, his expression masking the tumult of thoughts beneath. As the atmosphere in the chamber tenses, Pierre conceals his own motives, his mind fixated on a singular obsession—Miyandrel Celeste.

Bartholomew watches Pierre closely, the weight of their shared duty evident in his gaze. "Pierre, our actions shape the balance. Do not forget the consequences of our choices."

Pierre replies with a measured tone, "I understand, Bartholomew. Unity and trust are paramount."

The meeting of the Three Sages persists, transitioning to the mundane yet crucial matters of overseeing their fellow sorcerers and maintaining order. Bartholomew, Sanaryn, and Pierre exchange information about the recent disturbances caused by various Sects, Guilds, and Organizations. Each faction vies for influence and power, disrupting the delicate balance that the Three Sages strive to uphold.

Bartholomew, his voice a steadying force, remarks, "The Celestial Guild has been particularly troublesome lately. Reports suggest internal conflicts that threaten to spill over into the broader sorcerer community."

Sanaryn adds, "The Arcane Sect is also causing disruptions, flaunting their forbidden experiments. It won't be long before they draw unwanted attention."

Pierre, his mind elsewhere, contributes only a few words to the discussion. He contemplates his own agenda, the pursuit of Miyandrel Celeste eclipsing the concerns of the broader sorcerer world.

As the meeting concludes, and the other two sages leave the chamber, Pierre lingers in the shadows, contemplating his own ambitions. Revenge against Miyandrel is only part of the equation; a deeper desire for absolute power pulses within him. Pierre wastes no time. With a swift teleportation through the folds of Void Magic, he finds himself back in his Tower suspended in orbit. Alone in the sanctum, he ponders his next move.

Miyandrel's unique constitution, the Flesh of Singularity that allows her to defy fate, fuels Pierre's obsession. His pursuit of immortality was but a stepping stone; now, he craves dominion over the very fabric of reality itself.

Pierre keeps these thoughts tightly guarded, the ambitious flame burning silently within him. The others may see a sage bound by duty, but beneath the surface, a formidable force hungers for the power that Miyandrel wields.

Pierre muses, "Which disciple should accompany me in the hunt for the Witch of Fate?" He reviews his options, considering the strengths and skills of each follower. The decision weighs heavy on his mind, for this journey is not just a mission but a step closer to realizing his ambitions.

With his choices made, Pierre issues orders to his Void Disciples, his voice echoing with the authority of the Void Eternal.

In the secluded sanctum of his orbital tower, Pierre Viola succumbs to a maddened fervor. A wicked cackle escapes his lips as he gazes upon the intricate ritual laid out on his desk—the key to his grand revenge, the Secret Void Art: Soul Displacement.

Pierre's eyes gleam with an unholy light as he delves into his research, the delicate dance of Void Magic and forbidden arts unfolding before him. The plan takes shape in his mind—a daring scheme to steal Miyandrel Celeste's body, discarding her original soul and Fate Magic, yet retaining the coveted Singularity Constitution.

"Perfect," Pierre mutters to himself, the madness in his laughter echoing through the chamber. The title of Sage no longer holds significance; it is a trifle in the face of the power he seeks.

He revels in the anticipation of severing ties with Bartholomew's guidance and breaking free from the constraints of Sanaryn's watchful eyes. The brink of madness beckons him, and he eagerly edges closer, intoxicated by the prospects of absolute power.

As Pierre continues his preparations, the lines between ambition and obsession blur.

Pierre indulges in the maddening pursuit of his dark ambitions within the orbiting tower, while he remains blissfully ignorant of the unseen observer lurking in the shadows. The reason for building his fortress beyond the reach of oracle-based magic fuels his confidence, shielding him from prying eyes—or so he believes.

In the sanctum, Pierre, consumed by his designs, issues a nonchalant order to a low-level disciple, "Bring me some coffee." The servant nods obediently and scurries away to fulfill the mundane task.

Pierre, confident in his secrecy, continues to pore over the arcane rituals and forbidden arts sprawled across his desk. He revels in the impending culmination of his twisted plan.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of piercing blue eyes fixates on Pierre's every move from the shadows. In the delicate hand of the figure observing him glints a silver ring—a tool of amplified magic that transcends the boundaries of distance… and reason.

Within the confines of the Dromastus Mansion, a former imperial princess slumbers peacefully in her husband's embrace. Unbeknownst to the husband, a subtle ripple in the magical fabric of dreams encroaches on his wife.

The figure, skilled in the arts of Dreamwalking, has infiltrated the sanctum of Pierre's mind. Unseen, unheard, she witnesses Pierre's descent into madness, a voyeuristic dance through the corridors of his sinister ambitions.

Pierre sips his coffee, with his confidence unfaltering, he remains oblivious to the fact that his actions are not confined to the solitude of his tower. The observer's gaze lingers, a silent presence in the shadows, poised to unveil the secrets Pierre Viola thought were shrouded in impenetrable darkness.

.....

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I wake up to the soft glow of the morning light streaming through the curtains. It's a new day, and it starts fairly early for me. The absence of wild lovemaking last night is probably the reason. I sit at the long table, hungry for my breakfast—pancakes.

Mia walks into the room, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Good morning, love," she says with a sly smile. "Do you want your pancakes sloppy and wet, or fluffy with a bit of stiffness?"

I chuckle, catching her playful tone. "Well, that's quite the choice you're offering this morning. How about a mix of both, surprise me."

Mia leans in, her lips brushing against my ear. "You know, I'm really starting to enjoy our little banter."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh, are you now?"

She nods, a playful grin on her face. "Mhmm, keeps things interesting."

I can't help but smile back at her. It's moments like these that remind me of the unique connection we share. Yet, in the back of my mind, a thought lingers. I can't spoil her too much. Maybe if I keep her interested, she won't pursue her ambitious goals and leave me for it.

I tease her, "Well, Mia, if you keep enjoying our activities so much, you might not have time for those imperial ambitions of yours."

She laughs, a sound that warms my heart. "Oh, you underestimate me, my love. I can conquer both realms, you know."

I play along, though a touch of seriousness creeps into my tone. "Just be careful, Mia. Ambitions can be tricky. You might find yourself torn between the throne and our family."

She smirks, a hint of challenge in her eyes. "Challenge accepted."

As I enjoy my pancakes, I can't help but wonder if my hope to anchor her to our relationship is merely wishful thinking, especially considering the grandeur of Mia's ambitions—the imperial throne, a goal that looms over our marriage like a distant shadow.

Mia folds her arms, annoyance etched on her face. "Last night was boring, you know that?" I hear her complain loud and clear. I neither did bed her, nor allow her to use the TV, so I am actually expecting this reaction.

I glance at her, nonchalantly. "Well, I had other things on my mind. You know, responsibilities and such."

She rolls her eyes. "Responsibilities, responsibilities. Can't we have a little fun around here?"

I shake my head, a smirk playing on my lips. "Fun isn't always about what happens in the bedroom, Mia."

She pouts, clearly not satisfied with my response. "And you wouldn't even let me watch TV. What's up with that?"

I sigh, remembering the unauthorized TV session from yesterday. "Mia, we agreed—TV time is from 7:00 pm to 10:00 pm. You can't just use it whenever you please."

She crosses her arms defiantly. "Well, it's not fair. I wanted to educate the twins early this morning."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Educate them? Mia, they're babies. What kind of educational show are you putting on for them?"

She smirks, thinking she's clever. "It's a documentary. Teaches them about history, you know?"

I narrow my eyes. "History? Mia, it's too early for that. What exactly are they watching?"

Mia hesitates for a moment. "Okay, maybe it's not a documentary. It's more like a TV show. About murder, war, and more murder."

I stare at her in disbelief. "Murder and war? Mia, they're infants! They shouldn't be exposed to that kind of stuff."

She shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. "Well, they need to learn about the real world sometime."

I shake my head, putting my foot down. "No, Mia. We agreed on TV time for a reason. No more early morning 'education sessions' with inappropriate shows. Stick to the plan."

She grumbles but eventually relents. "Fine, but I still think it's too restrictive."

I give her a stern look. "It's for the best. Let's keep it that way."

Apparently, Mia has discovered the trick as to how to use the magical TV I created based on my past life. The TV synchronizes with the memory of the caster. With a bit of experimentation, Mia learns how to use it easily, and suddenly begins educating the twins who cannot even talk about how to kill a person and win a war. I mean, sure, Mia has a tragic past, and with the war that she has fought, she is quite knowledgeable about this stuff… but I don't think that's appropriate learning material for our babies! They cannot even talk yet though it has already been like two months. Or am I being impatient?

I scold Mia in a gentle husbandly way, "Please, not a repeat again like yesterday…"

Mia just feeds the twins in their secured seats with their baby food.

I sit beside Mia at the breakfast table, enjoying a plate of sliced fruits. The twins are in their secured seats, eager for their morning meal. Mia seems engrossed in her own breakfast, leaving me to take over the task of spoon-feeding the little ones.

The maidservants hover nearby, eager to assist, but I decline their offers politely. I prefer handling this myself. Mia feels the same way; she'd rather be hands-on with the twins than rely on the maids.

As I feed one of the twins, I notice Mia stealing glances at us. There's a subtle competition between us for the twins' affection. We both want to be the one they turn to, the one they call for.

I glance over at Mia, a teasing smile on my face. "Looks like I've got this under control, no need to worry."

She smirks, pretending indifference. "Oh, I'm not worried. I've got my own methods."

I chuckle, knowing she's just as determined as I am. The maids might offer their help again, but I shoo them away, wanting this moment to be just between Mia, the twins, and me.

And then it happens.

"Kill," Morgan says, her tiny voice reaching my ears.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. Mia looks up from her plate, surprise written all over her face.

But Morgan isn't done. With a big grin, she turns towards me and says, "Dada!"

My heart swells with joy, and I can't help but beam at Mia. "Did you hear that?"

Mia's eyes are wide, a mixture of disbelief and delight. "She said 'dada'!"

I scoop Morgan into my arms, overwhelmed with happiness. "I think we just hit a major milestone." I already begun forgetting the first syllable that has just come out of my daughter's mouth.

Mia joins in the celebration, reaching over to ruffle Morgan's hair. "Well done, little one. You're a genius."

I hold Morgan close, cherishing the moment. "I couldn't be happier."

I continue feeding Morgan, my heart still fluttering with the joy of her first words. But there's a longing, an ache that I can't ignore. I want to hear it again, just one more time.

"Come on, Morgan," I coax gently, a lump forming in my throat. "Can you say 'daddy' again for me?"

Morgan looks at me with wide eyes, her little face thoughtful. She drops her hands and utters, "Dada."

A surge of emotions hits me, and I fight back tears. "That's it, sweetheart! Daddy loves you."

Mia, sitting across from us, wears a forced smile. I sense her frustration, the weight of her constant care for the children. She's been there for them day and night, and now one of them calls me 'daddy' first.

Mia takes a deep breath, trying to maintain composure. "Well, isn't that something," she says, her voice slightly strained.

I can see the subtle signs of a potential mental breakdown for Mia. I need to handle this delicately. "Mia, it's not a competition. We're a team, remember?" Though inwardly, I am rejoicing, I just beat you to it, bitch!

She nods, but her eyes betray a mix of emotions—disappointment, exhaustion, and maybe a hint of jealousy.

Morgan, oblivious to the tension, squeals happily as I playfully bop her nose. "Dada!"

I smile, a victorious feeling washing over me. "See, Mia? She loves her daddy."

Mia manages a weak smile, but I can see the storm brewing beneath the surface. I reach out to her, trying to reassure her. "Mia, you're an amazing mom. Morgan's just exploring her vocabulary. It doesn't mean anything else." Of course, I am the best!

She nods, but her eyes still carry a weight of uncertainty. I decide to change the subject, diverting attention away from the tension. "Let's celebrate this moment, together. We're a family, after all."

Mia gives a small nod, and I hope that, in time, she'll see that it's not about winning or losing in parenthood. It's about being there for each other and cherishing every shared triumph, no matter how small.

And it is also about being the best dad in the universe.

Mia shoots me a suspicious look, her brow furrowed in accusation. "You must have used your magic to make her say 'dada.' It's not fair!"

I raise an eyebrow, taken aback. "What? No, Mia, I didn't do anything like that. I wouldn't mess with their minds." What a sore loser.

She crosses her arms, clearly unconvinced. "Sure, sure. Just a coincidence that they both say it to you first."

I sigh, feeling the weight of her suspicion. "Mia, it's not a conspiracy. They're just learning words, and exploring language. I didn't influence them." Honest! Swear to my heart, I am clean!

She gives me a skeptical look, but before I can defend myself further, she abruptly stops eating. Mia picks up Merlin, and her determination is evident. "Let's see if he'll call me mommy."

I watch, amused and a bit uneasy, as Mia coos at Merlin. "Say 'mommy,' Merlin. Come on."

Merlin looks at her with those innocent eyes and utters, "Daddy."

Mia crumbles, her expression a mix of disbelief and indignation. She hands Merlin over to me, defeated. "Fine, take him. Apparently, 'daddy' is the only word they know." And for Morgan, an additional word of Kill…

I take Merlin in my arms, joining Morgan who's still happily nestled against me. The maids and manservants exchange glances, trying to hide their amusement at the unfolding drama.

I give Mia a reassuring smile. "Mia, it's not a competition. They'll learn to say both 'mommy' and 'daddy' in their own time."

She sighs, realizing the futility of her attempts. "I just wanted to be their first 'mommy.'"

I gently place Merlin beside Morgan in my arms. "You'll always be their first mommy, Mia. No magic involved." The maids chuckle at the mention of magic since it is public knowledge that I am not a sorcerer, thus my words appear as a joke to them.

Mia nods, finally conceding. "I guess I'll just have to wait for my turn."

Merlin's cries fill the room, his tiny arms stretched towards Mia. My wife perks up, eager for the little one's attention. "Come on, Merlin, say 'mommy.'"

But Merlin, in the midst of tears, only manages one word repeatedly. "Daddy, Daddy!"

I can't help but snicker. "Well, Mia, maybe he thinks you're quite masculine."

Mia shoots me a playful glare. "Oh, hush. It's just a phase."

In a fit of frustration, Mia grabs Morgan from my arms. Morgan starts crying, calling for me. "Daddy, Daddy!"

I chuckle, teasing Mia. "Looks like we need to swap. Morgan wants his daddy, Mia."

Mia rolls her eyes but hands over to Morgan. "Fine, let's see if Merlin prefers his 'mommy.'"

As Mia holds Morgan, little Merlin surprises us all. "Mommy," he says, looking at me.

I stop, my mind going blank for a moment. "Eh? Did he just say 'mommy'?"

Mia bursts into laughter. "Well, well, it seems like Merlin finds you quite feminine."

I frown, a bit puzzled. "But I have a stubble! I'm very manly." Or maybe it is my hair? I have quite a long hair.

Mia continues to laugh, teasingly jeering at me. "Maybe Merlin sees a hidden side of you."

I exchange a perplexed look with Merlin, who seems pleased with himself, still calling me 'mommy.' Morgan, in Mia's arms, has stopped crying, and now they're both staring at me.

I shake my head, still processing the unexpected turn of events. "I have no idea what's going on in that little head of his."

Mia grins, enjoying the moment. "Well, it looks like we've got ourselves a little comedian in the making."

As we share a laugh, I can't help but marvel at the unpredictability of parenthood. And also how unique our children are… The little girl's first word is kill, while the other, the little boy's vocabulary is reversed.

So the record is Morgan is the first to speak her first word. In terms of accuracy, Morgan also wins… But Merlin seems able to remember and speak two words, except he lacks accuracy… I decide to spend the rest of the day without doing any work. As Lord Baron of my own territory, I can decide when I want to work.

We spend the day with the twins, playing, laughing, and enjoying the simple pleasures of family in the playroom. It's a welcome break from the responsibilities that come with being a Lord Baron.

As the sun sets, casting a warm glow over our home, I can't help but feel grateful for these precious moments. Morgan's first word, Merlin's unique vocabulary—it's a reminder of the beautiful chaos that comes with raising a family.

The playroom is filled with laughter and the sound of playful chatter as our family of four enjoys some quality time together. I decide to add a touch of magic to the atmosphere, casting illusions to entertain the kids.

Mia joins in the fun, helping me teach the twins the alphabet. "A is for apple, B is for bear," we chant together, watching as the little ones try to mimic our words.

As the evening progresses, the twins show signs of weariness, their tiny eyes growing heavy. Mia and I tuck them into their beds, waiting for the blissful quiet that follows their sleep.

Once the twins are asleep, Mia's expression turns serious. "I had another precognition," she confesses, her voice low.

My mood darkens. "Another one? What did you see this time?"

Mia takes a deep breath. "Dream walking. Someone, or something, is trying to attack me. It felt like a presence from the Void."

My eyes narrow, a sense of unease settling over me. "A Voidmancer. Again?"

Mia nods, confirming my fears. "Yes, I think it's one of the Three Sages. The Void Eternal is targeting me."

I clench my fists, frustration, and worry intertwining. "Why? What does he want with you?" Of course, I know. I just let Mia do the explaining, playing the part of an ignorant sorcerer. That Void Eternal, I recall him having a past beef with Mia in the novel.

Mia shakes her head, her gaze distant. "I don't know. But the dreams felt real, and the danger is imminent."

I pace the room, thoughts racing. "We need to be cautious. The Void Eternal is powerful and unpredictable." Though I don't really know how powerful the guy is now, after the epilogue. For all I know, his abilities may have regressed.

Mia reaches out, placing a hand on my arm. "We'll face it together. We always have."

I look into her eyes, determination sparking within me. "Hmmm… Sure…" Sometimes, I just don't understand this duplicitous nature of my wife— sometimes she cares, and sometimes she just leaves me with my obsessions and wants.

Mia looks at me with a hint of remorse in her eyes. "I need to tell you, love, when I was the Crown Princess, I did a lot of preposterous things. It earned me enemies all over the globe."

I nod, understanding the weight of her words. "I know, Mia. Your past is complicated, but we've built a new life now. Let's focus on the present."

She takes a deep breath, a mix of gratitude and regret on her face. "I appreciate your understanding, but I can't help but worry about the consequences."

I reach for her hand, offering reassurance. "We'll face whatever comes together. Right now, let's enjoy the peace we have."

Mia smiles, a touch of gratitude in her eyes. "You always know how to bring me back to the present. I… love you for that."

I return her smile, squeezing her hand. "Our pasts may have shaped us, but our future is what we make of it. Let's make it a peaceful one." I find it quite a surprise as this is the first time she has said 'I love you' to me, yet I cannot find myself to return such words to her.

As we share a moment of quiet understanding, the weight of Mia's past fades into the background, leaving me pondering where do I end with this.

.....

....

...

..

.

Mia and I sit side by side on the rooftop of the mansion, surrounded by the ethereal glow of stars. The night is calm, and I can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for this quiet stargazing activity.

I glance over at Mia, her eyes fixed on the vast canvas above. "Hey, Mia," I start, breaking the comfortable silence. "What's the deal with the Void Eternal? I mean, you've mentioned him a few times, and I'm curious."

Mia smiles, her eyes reflecting the starlight. "Ah, the Void Eternal. He is an asshole." She takes a deep breath, preparing to share a secret she hasn't spoken of in a while. "Once upon a time, I managed to pull off a little scam with him during a Sacrificial Ritual. I redirected the ritual's source towards myself, and it worked like a charm. The power surge did wonders for my sorcery."

I lean in, captivated by her story. "You scammed him? Sound risky?" Yeah, I know. I already know, but I cannot help but make idle talk in this atmosphere.

Mia chuckles. "It was, but the risk paid off. My magical abilities skyrocketed, and I became a force to be reckoned with. However, the Void Eternal wasn't too thrilled about being outsmarted. He's been holding a grudge ever since."

I feign surprise, even though I'm well aware of the tale she's telling me. "Really? That's intense. So, what happened after that?"

"After that, I became a thorn into this world as I made more casual enemies. The grudges intensified, but so did my power." Mia replies, her eyes glinting with a mix of longing and pride.

I nod, playing along with the narrative I have been long aware of. "Quite the adventure. Must have been exciting." Nothing new there.

"Oh, it was," Mia says with a wistful smile.

I of course know the story Mia is sharing, since it is also written in the novel, Hero Ender, which this world is based on. Obviously, I don't tell my wife of my knowledge of such an event or even the novel. However, I want to know more than just that.

The night air wraps around us as we continue our stargazing on the rooftop. The silence between us is interrupted by my curiosity, and I turn to Mia with a playful grin. "Come on, Mia, spill the beans. What else can you tell me about this Void Eternal business?"

Mia looks at me, her eyes gleaming mysteriously. "Well, there's more to the story. The Void Eternal seems to have a particular interest in my body."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I chuckle. "Oh, really? Well, can't blame him. You do have quite the... appealing body."

Mia laughs, shaking her head. "No, no, you've got it all wrong. It's not in that sense. The Void Eternal wants to possess my body, not in a lustful way but in a soul and body sense."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued and a bit confused. "Possess your body? What do you mean?"

Mia takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "The Void Eternal believes that my body, specifically my Singularity Constitution, holds a unique power. I possess the ability to defy Fate."

I frown, trying to grasp the concept. "Defy Fate? What does that mean?"

"It means I don't change," Mia explains. "The Singularity Constitution grants me a constant state of being. My soul remains immune to the influences of the world. I don't age, I don't evolve, I stay the same… Though I am yet to prove the 'I don't age' part."

Realization dawns on me, and I connect the dots. "So, the Void Eternal wants to harness that power for himself? Why?" It is a stupid question, why? Of course— power.

"Exactly," Mia nods. "The Singularity Constitution is a rare and potent trait. It allows me to navigate the threads of destiny without being bound by them. The Void Eternal, being an ambitious sorcerer tied to the fabric of reality, sees it as a way to break free from the constraints of Fate."

I pause, absorbing the weight of Mia's revelation.

The weight of realization settles in my chest as I gaze at the stars with Mia. There's a growing understanding that we might not be as compatible as I had wishfully hoped. Mia, with her love for the extraordinary and great ambitions, and me, someone who craves normalcy to an almost obsessive degree. We are just too different.

I take a deep breath, breaking the quiet moment. "Mia, we need to talk."

Mia turns to me, her eyes still reflecting the starlight. "What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "We're different, Mia. I mean, really different. You thrive on the extraordinary, strive for greatness, while I... I just want a normal life."

A furrow appears between Mia's brows. "Normal? But why? There's so much out there, so much to explore and experience." I recall her saying similar things to me, and this seems to be just a repeat of that.

I glance away, feeling the weight of my own desires. "I've been hiding for ten years, Mia. Hiding from something I sense, something vague but unsettling in my sixth sense. I desire normalcy to an extent that I've kept myself away from whatever that destiny might be."

Mia's expression softens with understanding. "I see."

"And now, with this Void Eternal business," I continue, determination in my voice, "I've decided. I'll deal with it. I won't let anything disturb the normal life I've fought so hard to maintain. Especially not something that endangers my family."

Mia looks at me, concern in her eyes. "But, what about us? Can't we find a balance?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so, Mia. You're a singularity, destined to remain the same through countless reincarnations. Your ambitions, your obsessions—they won't change. No matter whether you fall in love with me or already have, you'll still chase after those grand plans of yours."

Mia's gaze drops, and I reach out to cup her face gently. "I care about you, Mia, but I can't let external threats endanger the normalcy I've fought so hard to maintain. I'll deal with the Void Eternal, and I'll protect my family."

Silence hangs in the air for a moment before Mia finally nods, a mixture of acceptance and sadness in her eyes. "I understand. Just promise me one thing."

I meet her gaze, waiting.

"Don't let the pursuit of normalcy become its own kind of obsession. Sometimes, the extraordinary is what makes life truly remarkable."

I nod, acknowledging her words, but deep down, I know that for now, my focus needs to be on shielding my family from the cosmic storms that Mia's ambitions might unleash… and I am not so easy to convince to pursue greatness either.

"You make me cringe," I utter mercilessly.

"Huh?" Mia punches me in my shoulder, indignant about what I just said.

A short silence ensues.

"There might be more trouble than just the Void Eternal," she admits, her eyes filled with a mixture of weariness and humor.

I look at her, concern etched on my face. "What do you mean?"

"The perpetual Fate charms I've infused in my body," Mia explains, "they've weakened after giving birth. I'm vulnerable now, susceptible to the magic of others—oracle-based magic, curses, tracking, you name it. I've already purged seven different curses today alone."

I raise an eyebrow, surprised. "Seven curses in one day? That's... a lot."

Mia chuckles, her tone a mix of jest and lament. "I know, right? Turns out, I'm quite popular in the magical community. Made a few enemies throughout my royal life with all the wicked deeds I've committed."

I move closer to her, sensing the weight of her jesting lament. With a comforting smile, I embrace her with one arm, offering solace. "Evil is subjective, Mia. What matters is that you've changed, and you're trying to make amends."

She leans into the embrace, her head resting on my shoulder. "Change? I guess. But the magical community has a long memory…"

I tighten the embrace, offering a silent reassurance. "We'll face whatever comes together. Enemies or not, you're not alone in this."

Mia looks up at me, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "I'm lucky to have you."

"Yes, you are lucky to have me," I reply, emphasizing the present moment, not dwelling on the uncertainties any more than necessary.

Now that it has come to my knowledge that powerful forces around the world should know of Mia's situation, and perhaps location, I realize how deep in the mud we are. It is a miracle that no one has yet to completely blast through my door and demand Mia's head, except for a particular Voidmancer that came two months ago. Mia explains to me that her pregnancy has weakened her sorcerer powers, due to it by extension being influenced by her Singularity Constitution. This is only unique to her since pregnancy won't have such side effects for other female sorcerers.

"Mia, the easiest choice for me right now would be to abandon you," I admit, my voice heavy with reluctant honesty.

Mia grins, an almost mischievous glint in her eyes. "I know," she replies directing me a knowing look, clearly unhurt by my words.

Ah, the joys of being married to a precog. She knows already what I am about to say. Predictable, but I expected nothing less. I let out a sigh, feeling a strange mix of frustration and resignation. "Yeah, well, it's not an easy situation, Mia."

She leans in, playfully nudging me. "The less easy choice is for the whole family to run away. At least you won't be abandoning me."

Her words echo my thoughts exactly, but Mia knows me better. I have no plans of choosing the easy way out this time… a rare diversion from my obsession with leading a normal life.

"I've been thinking," I begin, my tone serious. "I'm not going to abandon you, Mia. I've decided to make the hard choice."

Mia raises an eyebrow, curiosity in her gaze. "And what's that?"

"I'm going to 'erase' your existence in the world," I explain, choosing my words carefully. "Through a world-changing illusion. When people think of Miyandrel Celeste, they won't be able to picture you. When they see you, they'll only see Mia Dromastus—my wife.."

Mia's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and understanding. "You're going to alter my history?"

"It's the only way," I say, my resolve firm. "To be more precise, I am going to blind the world for you. We can't run forever, and I won't let you face danger alone as you are my wife. This way, we can at least throw off those who are after you."

Mia smiles, a mix of gratitude and pain in her expression. "You're willing to do that for me?"

I nod. "I made a promise to stand by you, Mia. This is me keeping that promise."

Mia's bitter smile tells me she understands the gravity of the decision I've made. "I can't really dissuade you from this, can I?"

I meet her gaze, and it's clear she's hurting. I'm about to erase the glorious history of her past—Miyandrel Celeste, Scourge of the Empire, the Witch of Fate, Crown Princess of the Empire, and many more aliases. It's a sacrifice and one that I know cuts deep.

"You can't," I admit, the weight of the situation heavy on my shoulders. "But it's the best option we have right now, Mia."

She looks at me with steely resolve, determination burning in her eyes. "Despite the changes you plan to perpetuate, my mind and ambition won't change. I'm still going to take back the imperial throne for myself someday."

I nod, understanding the depth of her resolve. "I know, Mia. I'm not asking you to give up on your ambitions. I just want to keep you safe."

Her gaze softens, and for a moment, I see a vulnerability beneath the determined exterior. "I appreciate that, truly. But you know me, I won't let anything stand in the way of reclaiming what's rightfully mine."

Yet, you let me stand in your way… ironic

I reach out, squeezing her hand. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Mia. We'll find a way to navigate this, even if it means rewriting history."

Mia nods, a mixture of gratitude and pain in her eyes. "Thank you for doing this, for protecting me…"

I recall her words about wanting to take my seed to give birth to a powerful child. A child she envisions as a tool to help her reclaim the imperial throne. I sigh, struggling to comprehend the depth of her selfish ambitions. How can someone be so focused on their own desires without considering the consequences?

Yet, as a "normal" person, I find it difficult to turn my back on her. Responsibility seems to override my sense of disbelief. It's only normal to be responsible, isn't it? And so, as long as Mia Dromastus remains my "normal" wife, I feel an innate duty to protect her, just as any husband would.

"Mia," I say, my tone steady but firm. "I may not fully understand your ambitions, but as your husband, I've sworn to protect you. That won't change. Our contract still stands, and I'll do what it takes to keep you safe."

She looks at me, a mixture of gratitude and determination in her eyes. "Thank you. I know it's not easy for you to grasp everything, but I appreciate your commitment to our agreement."

I nod, a sense of responsibility guiding my actions. "I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. We'll face whatever comes together, even if I may not fully comprehend the path you've chosen."

Mia reaches out, her hand gently resting on mine. "I trust you to keep your word. And I promise, no matter what happens, I won't forget the protection you've offered me."

No. If she does achieve her ambition and manages to get rid of it, I rather she forget about me. That way, I can have peace of mind to maybe make a new family— one where she doesn't exist. I laugh inwardly at how childish my thoughts are as I know better— building a family is not like building a house.

Mia's eyes carry a hint of regret as she looks at me, and a surprising admission slips from her lips. "You know, I'm lucky. Lucky to be able to take advantage of you. Thank you."

Her words catch me off guard, and I raise an eyebrow in surprise. Mia, expressing gratitude? That's a rare occurrence I find myself luxuriated for today.

For the nth time, she says thank you, and I can't help but grin at the unexpected politeness. "You're welcome, Mia."

But Mia, never one to be outdone, takes it a step further. "I love you," she says, her tone playful yet sincere.

I blink, momentarily taken aback. We've never been much for expressing those three words verbally, and it catches me off guard to hear them from her. A warm feeling settles in my chest, and I find myself responding with a teasing grin. "I love you too, Mia."

It's a simple exchange, but in that moment— I feel like I have been cheated.

......

....

...

..

.

The midday sun hangs high in the sky, casting a warm glow on the table where I've just finished a hearty lunch. Mia, my wife, is bustling around the kitchen, clearing away the remnants of our meal.

Now, that's new. I am fully aware of how she hates these lowly household chores.

I glance at the clock, noting the time, and a fleeting thought crosses my mind – the potential risk of appendicitis after eating before strenuous activity. Pushing the concern aside, I decide to enjoy the flavors; it might just be my last meal, after all.

"Hey, Mia," I call out, watching as she wipes her hands on a kitchen towel. "Before I head out, could you tell me about the power levels in this world? I want to know what I'm up against."

Mia turns to face me, her eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Power levels?" she chuckles. "It's not as straightforward as you might think. In this world, it's not about physical strength or magical prowess alone."

I furrow my brow, intrigued. "Then what is it based on?"

"For me, as a Fatemancer," Mia explains, "I gauge an individual's strength through their 'Destiny.' It's a measure of their fate, their path in this world. The more aligned someone is with their destiny, the stronger they tend to be."

I nod, trying to wrap my head around the concept. "So, everyone has a different method of measuring these power levels?"

"Exactly," Mia confirms. "It varies from person to person, and it's not always about combat skills. Some might focus on fame, reputation, or even more abstract concepts like 'Destiny' in my case."

The memory of the Voidmancer's attack on our mansion resurfaces as Mia labors in pain, giving birth to our twins. I can't help but think back to that moment when the supposed formidable adversary crumbled easily before me. Yet, Mia's assessment of his strength brings a sudden realization – perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, I am just unreasonably strong.

I ponder my own abilities. I don't see myself as formidable; I pale in comparison to the protagonist and the godlike antagonist of the novel. The scale of comparison might be skewed, but even on a smaller scale, I doubt my chances against Mia at her peak state. Unfortunately, she's just given birth, far from being combat-effective.

"Mia, should I just give you up?" I suggest, concern etched on my face. "Or maybe, I can just fake our deaths... If there is an easy way out, I'd rather pick them over the more complicated stuff."

Mia, despite my honesty, manages a weak smile. "No, you have to go. Break a leg out there, save our territory."

I frown at her choice of words. "Break a leg? Seriously? Is that the best you can come up with?"

She chuckles weakly, "It's an old saying, means good luck. Now go, protect what's ours."

I sigh, torn between duty and the desire to stay by Mia's side. "I can't help but feel miffed about this… Why of all the things in the world, why does it have to be me?"

Mia reaches for my hand, her grip surprisingly strong given the circumstances. "We'll be fine. I'll be fine. Now, go, and come back to us in one piece."

Reluctantly, I nod, pressing a quick kiss on her forehead before heading out. As I step into the unknown, a mix of determination and worry swirls within me. I might not be a god or the protagonist, but for now, I have a territory to defend, and a promise to keep.

Today is the day, and I'm prepared. Last night, under the starry sky, I made a promise to protect her, Mia, for the second time, this time not just in words but in my very essence. The contract is sealed, and I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders.

I cast <Phantom Step> towards the sky, the arcane words resonating in the air as I suspend myself using <Telekinesis>. The plan for a world-scale illusion magic is still a work in progress. For now, my focus is on dealing with the hostile sorcerers who threaten our peace.

As I hover in the air, the citizens below spot my figure against the daylight and call out to me. Their voices are a mix of confusion, concern, and curiosity. It must be a surprise for them to suddenly find their lord a Sorcerer. I choose not to bother with casting auxiliary magic to disguise myself. Poor disguises can be easily destroyed in the midst of a battle. Instead, I opt to wear my best gear—the Mirage Cloak. It shrouds me in a magical pulse of power, ethereal and arcane, a cloak that reflects my magical prowess.

I wear my full magical ensemble—a shirt, trousers, and robe—layers of gold and silver woven into the fabric, all over a deep black color. The ensemble is not just for show; each piece enhances my magical abilities. The weight of the cloak feels reassuring, a tangible reminder of my dedication to protecting Mia and our home.

With my magical attire in place, I set my sights on the looming threat.

Abruptly, a black hole tears through the fabric of reality, and above the sky emerges a group of sorcerers. I quickly count, there are thirteen of them. As they materialize, more figures spill from the void – insect-like humanoid creatures covered in a tough carapace, each soaring with dragonfly wings. I recognize them instantly – Chimera Voidlings, powerful synthetic void creatures capable of wreaking havoc.

"Hmmm… Exciting…" I dully respond.

The sorcerers, all donned in ornate purple robes with layers of black, step forward. Leading them is a striking figure, a man with purple hair and eyes that mirror the depth of the void itself. He exudes an air of confidence as he introduces himself, "I am the Void Eternal, Pierre Viola."

I narrow my eyes, sizing up the adversary before me. "What brings you here, Pierre Viola? And what do you want?"

Pierre smirks, his voice carrying an air of arrogance. "Ah, the lord of this estate. I've not heard anything about a Sorcerer ruling this territory. Now, if that isn't a surprise. We're here to claim what rightfully belongs to us – the power that resonates within this territory."

I cross my arms, the energy within me pulsating in response to the threat. "You won't find anything here but resistance. This is my home, and I won't let you or your Voidlings lay a finger on it."

Pierre chuckles, his eyes gleaming with a malevolent light. "Bold words. Let's see if you can back them up, you third rate..."

The stage is set, and the tension in the air is palpable as the confrontation between protector and invader unfolds in the realm of magic and mystery.

I lock eyes with Pierre Viola, and I cannot help but feel disgusted as I recall the tales about him. He's the type who wears a kind smile on the surface while secretly plotting behind your back. A master of deception, he likes to cozy up with the so-called 'good people' while harboring wicked intentions beneath it all. But in the grand scheme of things, he's met his match – my wife, Miyandrel Celeste.

Pierre gazes at me with interest, carefully sizing me up. His eyes, though seemingly kind, hide a sinister agenda. "Well, well," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What brings a sorcerer like you to this little confrontation? Have you lost your way, or do you simply not know your place? I don't know what your connection is with my target, but I prefer avoiding unnecessary confrontations."

I can't help but grin at his audacity. "Oh, you worm, you always know how to make an entrance. But maybe it's you who doesn't quite understand where you stand. The world is vast, and yet out of all the people you could mess with, you just had to come to me."

Pierre's smile falters for a moment, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "Bold words for someone in your position. Do you even comprehend the power you're up against?"

I enhance my voice using my magic abilities, "I understand more than you think. And I've faced worse than you, Pierre. So, let's see if that charming smile of yours can stand up to the real magic at play here." The magical resonance of my words echoes through the air.

Yeah, that's right. Pierre doesn't know what he is dealing with. He certainly cannot match my wife's wickedness nor the ten years straight of solitude I have to endure.

Pierre's demand reverberates through the city, his voice carrying the weight of magical authority. "Where is Miyandrel Celeste?" he booms, the magical resonance erasing all other sounds, leaving only his commanding tone echoing in the air.

"Surrender her to me, or I shall banish this city to the Void!" He adds, an oppressive fluctuation of space magic following his every word. Panic and chaos unfold below as the people grapple with the sudden threat.

With a calm and slightly condescending tone, I step forward. "Well, Pierre, if you're looking for Miyandrel Celeste, you might want to come back later. Right now, she's probably peacefully taking care of our twin children."

Pierre scoffs, his laughter bordering on disbelief. "The Witch of Fate, settling down with some unknown sorcerer? You must be joking."

I meet his gaze, my expression unwavering. "No joke, Pierre. She chose a life with me, and as for your threats to banish the city to the void, you'll find it's not that simple."

Pierre eyes me with suspicion, his confidence slightly shaken. "You expect me to believe that? The great Miyandrel Celeste, tied down to domestic life?"

I chuckle, a hint of amusement in my voice. "Believe it or not, Pierre, reality is often stranger than fiction. Now, if you're quite finished with your theatrics, maybe we can resolve this without bringing harm to the innocent people of this city."

The standoff continues, the air thick with tension as Pierre Viola, the ambitious sorcerer, questions the reality of my wife's choices. This dude seems too stubborn, sigh…

I maintain my silence, a cryptic smile playing on my lips as Pierre scoffs at my revelation. "You're a fool," he spits, incensed by the truth I've revealed. "The Witch of Fate as your wife? Ludicrous."

His arrogance sparks a realization, and I focus my attention on the artifact around his neck – the Amulet of Lies. It proudly hangs there, an amulet capable of detecting lies. With a wry smile, I comment, "Interesting choice of accessory, Pierre. Though it does explain a lot why you are so angry."

The Amulet of Lies should be able to detect whether what I am saying is the truth or not, yet here Pierre is, babbling in the opposite. He seems quite incensed by the knowledge that what I am saying is the truth.

Undeterred, Pierre attempts to command his subordinate sorcerers to attack the city, but none of them move. Confusion clouds his face as his orders fall on deaf ears. "What's happening?" he demands.

I lean in, flying to him a bit closer, my voice laced with smugness. "Tip for the day, Pierre: don't engage in grand speeches when your underlings might have a better understanding of the situation. You never know when someone might be purposefully buying time."

With a theatrical clap of my hands, I mutter the incantation for the spell – Phantasm Apocalypse. The sun itself succumbs to darkness, plunging the surroundings into an eerie twilight. The other twelve sorcerers at Pierre's side writhe in pain, their minds succumbing to my overpowering magic. In an instant, their once defiant figures turn to husks, plummeting from the sky.

Pierre is left standing alone, aghast and powerless. I glance at Pierre, my expression cold and unwavering. "Looks like your little invasion just hit a snag. Maybe next time, don't underestimate the supposed fool."

"What did you do?" Pierre's spit flies quite a distance and I can almost taste them in my mouth. I simply hijacked his subordinates' minds with my Phantomancy and the rest is easy peasy. That is what happened.

And then using his subordinates' lives as sacrifices, I then use this ultimate move of mine, the strongest magic in my arsenal, Phantasm Apocalypse. 

"Spare me the dramatics, Pierre. Honestly, I expected this to be a bit more challenging," I say with a sarcastic grin. Hassles aren't my thing, and I prefer to resolve problems swiftly. There's an insidious part of me that occasionally revels in the despair of others.

Pierre, left standing amidst the remnants of his thwarted invasion, glares at me. "Who are you?" he demands.

"A dead man doesn't need to know," I retort cryptically. The shadows of the darkened sky dance in response to my grand magic.

"Why are you letting me blabber on?" Pierre questions, frustration etched on his face.

I chuckle, a sense of satisfaction coloring my tone. "Well, Pierre, maybe I'm buying time again. Engaging in conversation like this is surprisingly delightful, don't you think?"

This isn't like me. I think, I am enjoying this. I hover backwards making sure to keep a healthy distance from my foe.

Pierre explodes in his fury, his own arrogance causing his folly. "Attack!" he commands, ordering his Voidlings to unleash chaos upon the city.

I meet his rage with a condescending smirk. "Ah, Pierre, your temper is as destructive as your ambition. Truth be told, I am buying time. My Phantasm Apocalypse needs a bit more time to start working its wonders."

As I speak, the sky above undergoes a transformation. Descending gracefully are black-winged angels, each a beautiful maiden wielding a weapon of her own choosing. They are the products of my imagination, sourced from my chunnibyou days in a past life. But I'm not done yet.

Rising from the earth, colossal figures emerge – my own versions of Godzilla and King Kong. A sudden desire for some Kaiju action prompts their appearance.

"This," I declare, "is my Phantasm Apocalypse. An enhanced version of Phantom Barrier that allows the caster to conjure life-given illusions infinitely. The quality of the sacrifices determines the duration, and trust me, I've got some top-tier sacrifices." I boast to him with a malicious smile. One thing I don't tell him is that this magic can only exist within a limited duration.

The balance of power shifts, and the real and imaginary collide in a spectacle that defies the laws of reality. The dark-winged angels engage the Voidlings in combat, and while the Voidlings might prove to be sturdier, my angels are more skilled and have more numbers.

Every time a Voidling passes by my angels, my Kaijus easily deal with them. The King Kong is especially adept at grabbing the Voidlings and snacking them whole. Not to mention the Godzilla that is sporadically throwing energy beams at the Voidlings from a distance.

Pierre looks at me in utter disbelief, his indignation boiling over as he yells about who I've just dared to mess with. He attempts to escape using long-distance spatial transfers, but his futile efforts make him appear no more than a generic, third-rate villain – a truth he can't escape despite the grand titles and histories he carries. In my eyes, Pierre Viola is nothing more than a glorified third-rate villain.

I can't help but smirk at the comparison. "You really thought you could stand against me? A little ambition and a fancy title don't make you a true threat."

Pierre, realizing his predicament, tries to teleport away like any generic villain would. However, no matter what he attempts, escape eludes him. He's now trapped within the intricate web of my Phantasm Apocalypse.

"Running away, Pierre? That's a classic move. But here's the thing – you're not going anywhere. You're stuck in my illusion, and you can thank your own arrogance for that."

As the chaos of my Phantasm Apocalypse continues to unfold, Pierre's futile struggles only serve to entertain me. "That's right, you worm. Entertain me more for disturbing my perfectly normal life! Ha ha ha ha!"

The real villains, like Mia, possess a level of evil that transcends mere titles. Real villains like Mia is evil enough to disregard my feelings and outright take my chastity… Yeah, that's real evil. Yet here stands Pierre Viola, a supposed mastermind, reduced to the pitiful state of a trapped villain within my illusions.

The black-winged angels, products of my imagination, unleash their wrath upon the Voidlings, suppressing their advance. Simultaneously, my colossal kaijus take their positions, protecting the city from the chaos Pierre unleashed. But the situation takes an unexpected turn as the angels turn their attention to Pierre himself.

Pierre, proving his prowess, effortlessly outmaneuvers my angels, dismantling them with his Void Magic. Black orbs strike the angels and kill them en masse, but it is not enough. More angels come at him like a tide. Disappointment clouds my expression. I had hoped for a more challenging confrontation, yet Pierre's strength seems to have stagnated since the epilogue of the novel.

I observe Pierre's destructive abilities, noting his penchant for spatial transfers. It's a powerful skill, but he seems fixated on it to the detriment of other aspects. A familiar memory tugs at the edges of my consciousness – the Voidmancer who attacked my mansion two months ago, employing similar tricks. I had expected more from Pierre, hoping he would at least pose a credible threat.

"Well, Pierre," I remark with a hint of sarcasm, "I thought you would be a bit more of a challenge. Seems your strength hasn't improved much since the war. Too focused on those flashy spatial transfers, perhaps?"

Pierre, caught off guard by my assessment, glares at me.

Pierre, not to be outdone, summons The Dark Void, a pulsing black hole that simulates the destructive power of its cosmic counterpart. "Me? Weak!? I will kill you!" It swallows many of my angels, a momentary victory for him. However, Pierre seems to underestimate my abilities as I effortlessly summon more angels to replace the ones lost.

"Playing tag, Pierre? You must know this is futile," I remark as the dance between my angels and Pierre continues.

Pierre, perhaps frustrated by the lack of progress, challenges me to a duel. "Fight me! I challenge you!" I look at him with a raised eyebrow, finding the proposition rather pathetic.

"A duel, Pierre?" I honestly tell him. "You're not worth my time."

In the midst of our exchange, I recall Bartholomew Whitman from the novel, a member of the Three Sages and a formidable character. I had expected Pierre to be at least on the level of that old man. The reality of the situation disappoints me.

"Is this the best you've got, Pierre?" I taunt, a note of disdain in my voice. "I thought you'd be more formidable."

"Don't address me casually, you inferior! I am the Void Eternal!" He screams as he summons a storm of miniature black holes, directed to me. I simply vanish within his perception and easily dodge them.

All the while, my angels continue their onslaught, overwhelming the Voidlings with their ethereal might. Occasionally, they will take potshots at Pierre with energy blasts and sneak attacks.

Pierre, fueled by determination, heads straight for me. A decision he should have made long ago. He utters his magical incantations, and with a flourish, casts another spell – Void Chains. Dark bindings, seemingly made of dark matter, shoot towards me. However, they quickly dissipate into nothingness.

My mirage disappears, revealing that the "me" he attacked was nothing more than a conjured illusion. Pierre shouts in surprise, finally realizing the nature of my abilities.

"You're a Phantomancer?" he exclaims, his disbelief evident. "That doesn't make sense. Among the Sorcery Pathways, the Phantomancer is considered the most pathetic."

Undeterred by his revelation, Pierre refuses to give up. Ignoring my summoned angels, he teleports directly to me. With a flick of his hand, he conjures a dark spear made of dark matter and aims it towards me. Yet, I simply cast <Phantom Step> and effortlessly evade his attack.

"Pathetic," I taunt, my voice dripping with disdain. "Yes, that's right, the real pathetic one here is you."

Pierre casts another teleportation magic, stubborn to take my head for himself.

Seemingly gaining insight into my magic, he calculates his move. As I cast another <Phantom Step>, he preemptively teleports to my new location. The precision of his guess becomes apparent as he strikes with his Void Spear, but my earlier assertion proves true – pathetic.

The spear meets only an illusion, revealing itself to be one of my dark angels. I, on the other hand, have been invisible all along. In an instant, I materialize in front of Pierre with a mere thought.

I grab his throat, my grip firm, and scold him for his incompetence. "Is this all you've achieved within a century of your life, Pierre? Really Pathetic," I sneer, toying with his ego.

"You! Unhand me!" Pierre demands from me, but I won't. He also is unable to get out of my grip as I have taken hostage of his being by using my <Telekinesis> to hold him in place.

"I am going to destroy the enemy!" I announce to my city, my words carrying across the cheering crowd. The citizens, inspired by my declaration, erupt into cheers.

As a Phantomancer, my source of power lies in the thoughts of people. With the confidence and belief that I am infinitely stronger than Pierre, I have enough fuel to enact my devastating magic. I focus my energy and declare, "You shall turn to ash," directing my intentions toward Pierre.

The audience cheers louder as, in a surreal display, Pierre's body begins to fragment into pieces, his flesh transforming into ash. It's an illusion, a lie created by the power of my thoughts... plus the power of the thoughts of my audience. In this Temporary World, illusions are deceptive, but because everyone, including Pierre himself, sees it as the truth, the lie becomes an absolute reality.

It's an overwhelming victory on my part. The power of belief and illusion has proven mightier than the destructive force of the Voidmancer. The city celebrates as the once formidable Pierre Viola is reduced to nothing but ash in the minds of all who witnessed the spectacle.

"Hmmm..." Now that I am finish with this 'urgent' threat, it is time I deal with what I promised to Mia. I dispel my <Phantasm Apocalypse>, rendering my angels and kaijus null.