Prince Contanias already knew that Alon was not an ordinary person.

There was no way a person called Father by the Empire’s guardian dragon could be ordinary.

On top of that, the “eye” he had gained after the consecration circle had convinced him that Alon was absolutely no ordinary person.

But even though he knew Alon was not a normal person, the sight before his eyes was making Contanias’s mouth slowly fall open.

“......”

And it was not only him.

Serdea, too.

Airinna, too, were staring at the scene blankly.

What their eyes saw was something impossible to explain.

If it seemed like ice, it became light.

If it seemed like light, it became fire.

And if it seemed like fire, before they knew it, stars were rising.

────────Kuwaaaaaa—!

A bombardment of stars, chilling enough to send goosebumps racing over the skin, struck the ground.

Between them, what could be seen was a black dragonman thrusting out its one arm, filled with ecstasy—

Crack—!

—and Alon, whose heart was being crushed in that arm, yet who was still smiling as though biting down on the corners of his mouth while bringing both hands together to form a hand seal.

With a kwajijijik—, the debris of the ruins gathered in an instant and shot toward the dragonman, then compressed with a horrific sound.

Pajik—.

A nerve-scraping sound rang out, and fresh blood burst from between the rubble.

But only for a moment.

Kwadeudeudeuk—!

A blood-red arm thrust out from the debris compressed to its limit, Alon’s head burst apart, and another descending sun burned the dark night pure white.

It was, quite literally, a sight close to a battle of gods that would appear only in history books.

And Contanias, who had been staring at it with awe he did not even realize he was feeling despite leading a vast Empire—

“Hoo—”

—soon came back to his senses, let out a sigh, and opened his mouth.

“......Everyone, move. This is not the time for this.”

“Ah.”

“Ah.”

The two let out quiet sounds, as though Contanias’s words had brought them back to their senses.

Seeing their awe-laden gazes recognize reality again, Contanias recalled the conversation he had previously had with Alon.

The conversation with Alon, who had told them what they needed to do in case things went wrong.

And then—

“Let us hurry. If the truly worst situation comes, then we must prepare for the truly worst situation.”

With Serdea’s words as the end of it, the prince and princesses immediately began moving together with their guard knights.

####

Within the battle where they killed and were killed by each other, Alon was feeling a strange joy.

Of course, that did not mean Alon had gone insane.

If Alon had truly gone insane, he should have been able to lightly ignore pain like this.

“Kgh—!”

Alon unknowingly let out a small groan from the pain of his heart being restored.

And that was not all.

Quite literally, Alon’s entire body was screaming madly.

His body, which had died and come back to life hundreds of times, was screaming as if telling him to stop abusing it any further, and the pain that had already lightly surpassed its limits made Alon’s mind flicker like a broken TV.

Yet even in that worst possible state, a clear smile was drawn across Alon’s lips.

The reason was—

Crack—!

—because he was advancing.

“Surprised?”

His magic was.

[!]

After blowing away the dragonman, who was staring at him with both eyes wide in shock as he moved without any damage to his body at all, Alon shuddered at the thrill he felt throughout his whole body.

Because he could feel his own magic advancing so clearly that anyone would be able to see it.

Tak—.

A hand seal formed in Alon’s right hand.

The cluster of stars floating in the sky drew a spiral for an instant and gathered in one place, then descended toward the dragonman that had been about to rush him.

His vision flashed white.

Watching that, Alon felt a small joy.

The magic just now was something the usual Alon would never have been able to create this quickly.

And yet the current Alon was calculating and creating magic at a speed far faster than before without even abusing his body.

In other words, he was growing.

At an incredible speed.

And the reason such growth was possible was this space.

This space where he could never die as long as he did not give up.

What was magic?

Magic was the study of performing miracles through mana.

Because of that, it was dangerous, and even when casting magic that had already been perfectly formulated, mages manifested magic with several layers of safety already built into the formulas.

To prevent misfortunes such as failed manifestation or the magic itself flowing backward.

But this space?

There was no need for any of that at all.

Whether mana flowed backward and exploded inside his body.

Whether he released every safety device and manifested magic as though it did not matter if his brain melted right this second, none of it was a threat in this space.

Because in this space, as long as he did not give up, he could come back to life forever.

In other words, this horrifying space, where anyone else would have no choice but to experience infinite death—

“Hoo—”

—had become a laboratory for Alon alone.

A laboratory where he could experiment with magic without any threat to his life.

Thanks to that, Alon could understand all the magic he had learned until now even more clearly.

What he gained from it was calculation speed twice as fast as before, and simplification in the deployment of magic.

But Alon did not stop there, and stepped onto the next stage of “understanding.”

Changing magic itself.

Naturally, all the calculations and formulas needed to manifest “magic” were different.

That was because they were created as needed according to the “magic” itself, but if approached a little more fundamentally, they were closer to answers that the mages who had already walked that path had made as close to correct as possible.

They simplified calculations.

Established formulas.

They were things established after dozens, hundreds, thousands of mages researched them.

In other words, they could be called the answers closest to perfection.

Ordinarily.

Yes, ordinarily.

Whether it was magic used by mages.

Or magic used by True Mages, in the end, it could only be ordinary.

Because established magic was ultimately established not for an individual, but for all mages.

That was why Alon established that magic again.

From magic for “everyone”—

to magic for an “individual.”

He began establishing it again as magic used by “him alone.”

He excluded processes that were not particularly necessary.

Included formulas he could calculate quickly himself.

And removed unnecessary formulas.

It was something so dangerous that any mage who saw it would be horrified.

But for Alon, it was the act of finding the “correct answer” closer than any “orthodoxy.”

And at the end of it—

after hundreds of deaths, Alon was able to reach it.

Changing “everyone” into “an individual.”

“Hoo—”

When he reached that point, Alon felt regret.

Because in the end, he had succeeded in changing the magic he possessed into something individual, but separately from that, he had realized his own insufficiency.

‘There’s no system.’

That Alon’s magic had no system.

Of course, his magic had not been built up with absolutely no foundation at all.

He did at least have the bare minimum of a basic system.

But Alon’s magic, which used True Mage magic, various other magics, and even ice hand seals in combination, had no system.

In other words, every spell was all playing separately.

He had already been aware of it before, but after changing the formulas into something individual, he could see the absence of a system even more clearly.

Because he felt it.

That if he had a system, he could have advanced even further than he had now.

That was why—

even while feeling regret, Alon also felt elation on the other hand.

Because the road ahead was visible to his eyes.

The road he had to take to become stronger.

And so, as Alon smiled and tried to use magic while knocking away the fist thrust toward him once more—

Thud.

Alon, without realizing it, dropped to one knee.

“......Ah?”

Alon wore a bewildered expression, as though he did not understand.

His gaze moved toward his leg.

Had his leg been hit? When? The thought only lasted a moment, and as Alon looked down, he wore a questioning expression.

Because Alon’s leg was perfectly fine.

And not just his leg.

His right hand, which had been smashed a moment ago.

The hole that had been punched through his stomach.

All of them had regenerated back to normal, as though they had never existed in the first place.

His body was perfect.

It was supposed to be.

“......Why?”

As Alon murmured blankly, he suddenly felt his own hands, which had been forming a hand seal, trembling violently.

Not only his hands.

The flickering that had been blinking like a broken TV grew even worse.

As though he might lose consciousness at any moment.

And then—

[......Have you reached your limit?]

At the voice that sounded regretful, he raised his gaze, and there stood the Karma Throne of War.

For a moment, Alon wondered if it had done something, but he soon realized that the Karma Throne of War had done nothing at all.

Because instead of the smile filled with ecstasy it had worn a moment ago, it was letting out a sigh as though it was truly regretful.

“......What is this?”

[It seems you’ve reached your limit.]

The Karma Throne of War answered Alon’s question.

“Li...mit?”

[Yes. The limit of the mind. In the end, the limit set for you as a human.]

At the throne’s words, Alon looked down at his hands.

His hands looked overlapped.

Two.

Three.

......Then one again.

Alon’s emotions began to cool coldly.

Because he realized this was not a problem with his body.

With a clattering sound, the Karma Throne of War approached Alon.

Its expression still did not look pleased.

[......What a shame.]

With an anguished expression, as though it had lost a precious comrade, the Karma Throne of War stood before Alon.

Looking at it, Alon came to one realization.

[A sacred war must end as itself.]

The throne’s ability was a body that regenerated infinitely as long as one did not give up on war.

But if he lost consciousness—

[If you permit it, I will remember you as a dear friend.]

—that, too, would be considered giving up on war.

“Ah.”

Alon looked at the throne through vision that would not focus properly.

He could see it slowly raising its hand.

Death more certain than ever before had arrived before his eyes.

‘......I tried.’

What circled in Alon’s head was not fear, but regret.

If he had adapted a little faster, would it have been different?

If he had established a system beforehand, would another situation have unfolded?

If—

If—

If—

......

Countless ifs filled Alon’s mind.

And when the Karma Throne of War’s hand was finally raised high—

“Absolutely not.”

Along with the feeling of being pulled somewhere, Alon’s vision changed in an instant.

What he saw was blue hair.

[Do you intend to insult the death of a great friend?]

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Sir Alon won’t die. Never.”

Next was a gaze firm with resolve, as though something had been decided.

[......What can you do, after hiding behind my friend?]

“Until now, I couldn’t do anything. But I’m a mage too.”

And along with that, Alon saw it.

“If I have a wall that cuts me off from the world through distortion, and enough time, then I can at least run away.”

The wall that had been maintained with a faint light until just a moment ago—

began to break apart as though swirling.

And what it began creating—

was strange text.

“Try following us into the past too, if you can.”

And with that, Penia hugged Alon and threw herself backward.