Chapter 87: The Prince of Deand

“What now? Fly?” Baba asked, more mature than the dragon, sharing Ion’s dilemma.

The central island was over a thousand kilometers away, not a mere few hundred. Even for Ion, flying that far would exhaust his stamina and disrupt his focus, making magic unsustainable. His spells, while potent, were still “just magic.” Prolonged life-force drain could mimic a “mana depletion” crisis.

“If there were islands or reefs to rest on mid-flight, it might work…” Ion said.

He grabbed a map from a nearby tourism office and sat beside Sevi, spreading it out. Sevi’s interest piqued.

“So many ruins nearby! The Lionhead Coast sounds cool. They sell peanut ice cream there. Let’s go!” Sevi said.

“We’re not going there. We need to save your master from the World Tree,” Ion replied.

“Oh, right… After we save Master, let’s hit the peanut ice cream shop. Master’ll love it!” Sevi said.

“Sure…” Ion lied. If Sevi’s master was alive, Ion planned to extract information and then kill them, prepared to die in the fight if needed.

The map showed scattered rocky islets, but each was marked “Danger! Ancient Beast Habitat.” Landing to rest after long flights could mean facing beast attacks.

“Dam Ion, flying’s not great. Think of something else,” Baba said.

“There are options. Steal a mercenary’s ID, swipe a passenger’s ticket, sneak onto a cruise ship…” Ion listed.

“Cruise! Luxury cruise! Love it!” Baba flapped excitedly.

Sevi, licking sticky fingers, said, “Dam Ion, my hands are sticky.”

“…” Ion wiped Sevi’s fingers with a damp cloth, leaning toward flying. A bat, a plant, and a silver-haired pretty boy drew too much attention for a cruise ship. That was a last resort.

“Let’s wait in a café until sunset,” Ion suggested.

“No way,” Sevi said.

“Why not?”

“I gotta explore. I didn’t get to last time with Grandpa!” Sevi insisted.

“Fine… hold my hand tightly,” Ion said.

As he gripped Sevi’s small hand, Ion sensed something odd and turned. A strange aura emanated from a shadowed alley.

“Sevi, wait here. Baba, keep an eye on them,” Ion said.

“Got it. I’m on duty,” Baba replied, unusually serious, sensing the same oddity.

Ion handed Sanse to Sevi and stood. “Where you going?” Sevi asked, starting to rise.

Ion pressed Sevi’s shoulder to sit them back down. “Just checking something. Don’t follow strangers and stay here.”

“Dam Ion… you better come back. It’s easy to get lost here…” Sevi said, eyes wide.

“I will, don’t worry,” Ion said.

Ignoring Sevi’s pleading gaze, Ion entered the alley. It was eerily quiet for a bustling daytime city—no rustling sounds. A magical soundproof barrier.

Ion cast a cloaking spell, fading into transparency, and slipped through the barrier.

Clang! Clang!

Swords clashed.

“Die!”

“Ugh, you bastards…!”

“Hyah!”

A fight. Five people: two attacking three, with two of the three incapacitated, leaving one struggling. Ion approached. As expected, two black-clad, masked figures surrounded three others. A middle-aged mage lay bleeding, cradled by a slender young man. A girl Ion’s age, one arm limp from injury, wielded a sword with a trembling left hand.

Pink hair… In both Earth and Idea post-Cataclysm, unique colors often appeared in hair or eyes, but pink was rare. Braided pink hair…

A character came to mind. Didn’t they say Deand’s royal line was extinct?

The pink-haired swordswoman thrust her blade forward, shouting, “Who sent you? Do you know who we are?”

“You think we came blind?” a masked figure sneered.

“I’ll pay double what you got!” she offered.

“Shut it! We don’t move for money!”

“You must die by the will of the divine. Be grateful for your noble sacrifice!” a masked figure declared, lunging.

Clang! The pink-haired swordswoman smirked. “As expected, System Age freaks!”

Ion, eavesdropping, blinked in shock. System Age? Why’s an Earth cult here?

Clang, clang!

“Die!” the pink-haired swordswoman roared.

If she was who Ion thought, she’d win despite the 2:1 odds and her injury. As the fight raged, Ion decided to intervene before her victory, to build a debt of gratitude.

He dropped his cloaking spell, appearing suddenly. “Who!?” a masked figure gasped, eyes wide. The pink-haired swordswoman tensed, on guard.

Ion pulled his hood low, hiding his face, and picked up the fallen mage’s staff. He stood with his back to the swordswoman, signaling he was an ally.

“I overheard,” Ion said. “You’re System Age?”

“Who are you? Where’d you come from?” a masked figure demanded.

“Clean your ears. I said I was passing by. Who founded System Age, when, and where?” Ion asked.

“Interested in us? You must be a paladin. No time to chat—die!” a masked figure swung.

Ion lightly tapped the staff on the ground. Boom! Jagged rocks erupted, ensnaring the masked figure’s limbs at unnatural angles.

“Urk… gah…” The figure’s eyes rolled in terror, barely alive. Ion kept them that way for questioning.

“What the…” the other masked figure faltered, then charged, gripping their sword. Ion swirled the staff. A shattering sound rang out as the figure collapsed.

“Agh…!” A scream echoed. Ion’s mana wave had pulverized the figure’s limbs into dust.

“Now, talk. Who founded System Age, when, and where?” Ion asked.

“Guh…”

“Argh…!”

They were in no state to speak, but Ion knew from Teacher’s training: even in agony, greater pain could loosen tongues. As he approached the first figure, pinned by rocks…

Crunch.

Both masked figures foamed at the mouth, eyes rolling back. Ion clicked his tongue. Fanatics’ habit. They’d bitten hidden poison, dying instantly. System Age’s zealots plagued protagonists late into the story, sacrificing themselves without hesitation.

Good thing there’s someone left to question. Ion turned.

“…” The pink-haired swordswoman glared, sword angled, lips bleeding, arm trembling. Despite Ion saving them, her guard was up. If she was who he thought, her fear made sense—she was only seventeen, and likely realized Ion outmatched her.

Ion set the staff down, bowed slightly to her, and more deeply to the trembling young man holding the mage. “Hello, I’m Ion. It’s an honor to meet Prince Biprio Fevel, third prince of Deand.”

“…!”

Despite Ion’s courtesy, the group remained wary. But when he returned with a teary-eyed Sevi, things shifted. The injured mage’s eyes lit up. “You’re Ion, the Revelator aura lord?”

“…!” The prince and pink-haired swordswoman stared, stunned. Ion smiled. “Yes, that’s me. How’d you know?”

“As I thought… Killia Shinjak described you: brown hair, green eyes, with a long-leafed plant and a small bat. But this boy… your brother?” the mage asked.

“This is Sevidior Seiraine, a dragon,” Ion said.

“That’s right, I’m a dragon! Call me Sevi,” Sevi declared.

“The rumored young dragon… An honor,” the mage said, signaling the teens to bow. They hurriedly did, and Sevi accepted grandly.

“Why no greeting for me?” Baba muttered, unheard except by Ion.

“How are you all here… urgh,” the mage groaned, blood seeping from his side.

“Gasp! Is that blood? What happened? We need to heal you!” Sevi exclaimed.

“It’s fine… My aura ability is healing. Just need time…” the mage said, wincing.

“Master!” the prince cried.

“Sir Deian, stop talking!” the swordswoman urged.

Ion spoke up. “If there’s a quiet place to talk, let’s go. I have questions for you.”

At the group’s inn, Ion learned the full story: why Deand’s supposedly extinct prince was at Dock 17, attacked by System Age.

Deand, the North Continent’s first kingdom, was said to have lost its royal line resisting Giants. The truth was more complex. Around the time Giants appeared, a cult called System Age emerged in Deand’s capital.