Chapter 24: The Illusion of the Everyday

Lately, I’ve often wondered if this is truly a world full of miracles and magic.

Of course, the answer is obvious.

This world has true gods, evil gods, magic, holy light, demons of the inferno, Radiant knights, and warriors honing martial skills—I’m not so dazed as to forget that.

But these overly peaceful, trivial days make me feel like I’ve slipped into some slice-of-life story.

At the ducal castle, I saw high-ranking Radiant priests perform miracles at ceremonies a few times a year.

Passing Claire’s magic lessons, I glimpsed fleeting magical glows.

In the novel, events around the protagonist Nolan were packed with thrilling, relentless supernatural battles.

But now, all that feels distant.

For a month in Romern, living in a Lower District house, no dark sorcerers have troubled us.

So-called miracles, magic, heroes, and warriors’ legends are just bards’ exaggerated tales, not real parts of life.

In the dim room, Kritiya and Diya sat on opposite sides of a wooden bed.

Diya held a manuscript, reading by candlelight.

Kritiya focused on needlework, stitching carefully.

I glanced at Nolan, shirtless on a floor mat in the corner, unwrapping bandages to reveal a scarred left arm.

“It’s… almost healed, right?”

He muttered, flexing his joints slowly.

I saw a grim dent in his upper arm’s muscle.

‘That night, his tendon was severed,’ I thought.

In my past world, such an injury needed a skilled surgeon to stitch muscles and nerves, followed by a year’s recovery, or it’d likely leave permanent damage.

Is it this world’s unique physiology?

Or some divine blessing?

Nolan’s arm, treated only with basic dressings, was already moving freely after a month.

Maybe it’s the protagonist’s gift?

I felt a flicker of long-lost fantasy.

He stretched his arm, like doing rehab exercises.

Diya crawled across the bed, making it creak loudly, drawing my attention to the blonde girl.

“Kritiya—Teacher, I finished these pages,” Diya said half-jokingly.

“The Proverbs and Answers?”

Kritiya paused her sewing.

“Yeah—I understood them all.”

“Hm… want to copy the rest?”

The Proverbs and Answers is a basic text for Imperial Common education.

Kritiya memorized it by six.

But for Diya’s entrance exam to the Preparatory Knight Academy next spring, the cultural test seems to stop at this level.

“No rush, tomorrow’s fine.”

Diya set the paper down, eyeing Kritiya’s embroidery, exclaiming.

“It’s beautiful! Kritiya, you read and write so well and do such fine work—what kind of family raises a daughter like you?”

That’d be the duke’s rigorous tutoring—

I thought.

Kritiya often zoned out during needlework lessons at the castle, halfheartedly stitching, but these past days, working to earn money, she’s been unusually diligent.

Hearing Diya, Kritiya lowered her head, her eyes flickering, saying nothing, just shaking her head slightly.

“Oh… still can’t remember your family?”

Diya asked.

“Mm.”

Kritiya nodded faintly.

A lie—

I thought.

She’s not ready to return to the ducal estate.

Does she even want to?

“Sigh… Brother—Brother!”

Diya suddenly shouted Nolan’s name.

“What?”

Nolan looked up.

“If we can’t find Kritiya’s family, let her live with us forever—it’d be nice!”

Kritiya glanced at Diya, then at Nolan.

“What are you saying? We’ll find them.”

Nolan shook his head, pulling on his shirt and standing.

“Hey, I’m not jinxing her! I mean, if—if—we can’t find them, since Kritiya’s so great, I want her to stay with us!”

Diya sat up, leaning against the bed.

Nolan shook his head, stepping closer.

“How could we live together forever? Forget the rest—in two months, when you go to the academy, I can’t follow.”

“Can’t you come too?”

“The Preparatory Knight Academy is closed to outsiders.”

“Yeah, you’re right…”

Diya tilted her head, thinking.

“But then, won’t it just be you and Kritiya living together, leaving me alone at the academy…”

“What goes on in your head all day…”

Nolan, stumped by Diya’s wild ideas, glanced at Kritiya.

“Don’t mind her nonsense. I’ll help you find your family soon.”

Kritiya looked at Nolan, pursed her lips, said nothing, and resumed sewing.

Nolan sighed, sitting on a stool by the bed, hands on hips.

“Speaking of… we still haven’t gotten those off.”

I knew he meant Kritiya’s shackles, marked with a noble’s seal.

Honest blacksmiths, often tied to city guards, wouldn’t touch them—opening them risked being reported as aiding a fugitive.

“Haven’t found a blacksmith for the job. Now that my arm’s better, maybe I’ll get tools and pry them off myself.”

Nolan reached for the shackle on Kritiya’s ankle.

Her body flinched.

I felt his calloused fingers brush her ankle.

“Let me see… need to pry out these three rivets.”

Nolan turned the shackle for a closer look.

Kritiya’s heart raced, her panic flooding into me, making me, usually unfazed, uneasy.

His touch felt amplified tenfold.

“Brother! You creep, touching a girl’s foot!”

Diya shouted.

Nolan froze.

“No… I touched the shackle, not her.”

Diya pulled Kritiya away, frowning.

“Still talking? Look, Kritiya’s face is red! Apologize!”

Nolan looked up, seeing Kritiya’s flushed cheeks, pausing.

“Sorry… my fault.”

“No… you didn’t touch me, no need to apologize.”

Kritiya turned away, speaking softly.

***

At dawn, Nolan left, saying he’d look for work at Romern’s docks and tools to open the shackles.

“Stay home, Kritiya, okay? I’m off to the market.”

Diya packed her embroidery in a basket and left.

Home?

Diya’s so carefree, I thought.

Forced from their village, living in this rented Lower District house, yet she calls it home.

Kritiya stayed behind.

To avoid attention, she rarely went out.

She lounged on the bed, then dragged her chains to the table, sitting down.

She picked up a quill, took some paper, and began copying The Proverbs and Answers for Diya.

In Romern, food and lodging were pricier than the countryside, but Nolan had somehow produced a gold coin to settle here.

Paper, ink, and books, though, were cheaper than in villages.

Kritiya wrote two lines, then stopped, organizing old drafts.

Lifting a sheet, a torn, jagged note fell out.

She looked at it, recognizing her own handwriting.

“The Holy Day approaches. As custom, the duke will send envoys south to the capital with gifts.”

I stared at the words I’d written last night, silent.

Romern lies on the north-south trade route—Airandil’s envoys to the capital must pass through.

While in Romern, I’d discreetly inquired—the ducal estate hadn’t announced Kritiya’s disappearance.

If she wanted to return, this was her best chance.

So—what will you choose, Kritiya?

I thought coldly.

Kritiya stared at the note, lost in thought.

A shrill cat’s cry outside startled her.

She crumpled the note and swallowed it.

The rough paper scratched her throat.

She spoke slowly.

“Do you think… these days could last? Living together like this forever?”

No way—

I thought.

Diya will enter the Preparatory Knight Academy, then die in a conspiracy.

Nolan will grow stronger by chance, using her death to step onto the world’s stage.

Honestly, I’m worried my influence on Nolan might twist fate far from the novel’s path.

I don’t fully trust the novel’s plot or think Diya must die to fulfill it—I see it as a prophecy of possibilities.

But if someone destined for greatness becomes a nobody because of me, what then?

Who’ll save those he was meant to save?

Who’ll defeat the dangerous foes?

Thinking this, I felt at the Abyss’s edge again.

“Your emotions… feel like you carry a mission. Is that why you’re here?”

As I spiraled, Kritiya spoke.

“Like… Saint Ankano in the holy tales?”

Saint Ankano’s sacrifice—

I recalled the Radiant Church’s origin myth.

A bullied shepherd boy, he offered his body for the formless Radiant God Danno to descend.

From sunrise to sunset, Danno preached His way through Ankano.

Then Ankano’s body turned to ash, his soul ascending with the god.

Church theologians say everyone’s born with a preordained mission—fulfill it, and you reach heaven; fail, and you fall to hell.

Ankano’s mission was to await that divine moment.

“Or… are you me? Did you appear because I abandoned my mission?”

Kritiya spoke, as if to me or herself.