Chapter 1

Prologue

Under a clear sky, pale pink petals fluttered abundantly. The scenery was beautiful enough to highlight the upcoming triumphal march.

The crowd, as if by agreement, focused on the end of the boulevard. It was the will of a thousand people who would never miss the thrilling moment when their hero returned.

Finally, the long trumpet sounded, announcing the arrival of the heroes. People began to cheer in unison. Some quietly shed tears, unable to hold back their sobs.

It was inevitable.

The monsters were truly… a nightmare, terrifying and dreadful.

Every night, people trembled in fear, unable to sleep, worried that monsters might suddenly appear and massacre everyone. Among those present, only a handful had not lost family, friends, neighbors, or colleagues to the monsters.

That dark tragedy was now over.

The three wars between humans and monsters had finally ended in humanity’s victory.

Those entering with dignity amid everyone’s admiration were not just the protagonists of the war—they were the saviors of mankind.

Recognizing the two at the front, people began to cheer even louder.

The black-haired man riding a white horse on the left was undoubtedly the master of Northern Birka and the only head of the Schwert Grand Ducal House, the Sword Saint, Erich von Schwert.

Meanwhile, the white-haired woman riding a black horse on the right was Beatrice Winter, the owner of the Ivory Tower and the greatest genius sorceress in history.

Erich von Schwert, having stopped his white horse, received two wreaths from a girl by the roadside. He wore one himself and casually placed the other on Beatrice Winter’s head.

The romantic scene created by the handsome man and beautiful woman prompted even greater cheers from the crowd.

“You know, you have a talent for staging. How about changing your profession?”

At Beatrice’s dry remark, Erich remained silent. He glanced at the white-haired woman, carefully observing her features. He scrutinized her persistent, detailed facial expressions, but could not detect any sign of agitation.

‘Why?’

Beatrice, catching his gaze, mouthed the question. Erich slightly shook his head.

Perhaps failing to control his expression, Beatrice whispered quietly.

“What’s wrong, Schwert?”

Since their breakup, Beatrice had called him by his surname, not his given name. Erich started to move his lips, then carefully examined his former lover’s face again.

The ash-gray eyes that used to sparkle beautifully whenever he whispered love were now utterly indifferent. Only curiosity lingered, as if wondering why he was acting this way.

Erich von Schwert swallowed the sincerity rising from his heart. There were so many things he wanted to say once the war ended… but when the moment finally came, he could not utter a word.

He could not gather the useless courage, because he knew Beatrice Winter too well.

They had fought together for ten years.

On the same side, with the same goal, entrusting their backs to each other, running together for victory.

Without her, he would have died.

Without him, she would have died.

Sometimes, even without seeing her directly, he could guess her intentions; even without conversation, he could sense her thoughts. She, too, sometimes acted as if she could see right through his heart.

Even after breaking up and becoming strangers, their minds were tightly intertwined. If his life were to be summed up in one word, it would be Beatrice Winter.

So Erich realized.

The simple, clear truth that Beatrice Winter had no lingering feelings for him.

“Schwert?”

“…It’s just, I can’t believe this moment is real.”

“I feel the same.”

“Yeah.”

“But we’ll get used to it eventually. To peace. To ordinary life.”

Would that really be the case?

Swallowing the answer that tried to burst out, Erich focused straight ahead. He wanted to end the conversation, but Beatrice Winter was a rather tough woman.

“But Schwert, we’ll be seeing each other less now, right?”

“Oh. Are you tired of me?”

“What are you saying? It’s just, hmm, how should I put it… We were only together on the battlefield.”

“Well, with you, it always felt like fighting a war.”

“Yeah. I suppose that’s true.”

Having been struck by his own sarcasm, which the woman accepted, Erich closed his mouth. Whether it was fortunate or not, Beatrice also stopped talking.

After that, they did not speak again. Not until the triumphal march ended, nor during the grand banquet at the royal palace.

They only spoke again when all the events prepared to celebrate the end of the war were over.

At the farewell gathering, where warriors returned to the Schwert Grand Ducal House and sorcerers to the Ivory Tower headquarters, Erich and Beatrice faced each other once more.

Companions who shared the same dream. Soulmates. The best comrades. And above all, former lovers.

“Beatrice Winter.”

Erich quietly murmured her name,

“Erich von Schwert.”

Beatrice responded softly.

Gazing at each other, they resolutely ignored all the time they had spent together. Killing the past, they lightly kissed each other’s cheeks.

It was a dry and plain greeting, so much so that one could hardly imagine they had once shared their bodies.

The Original Motive Is Nothing Special 

Before dawn, in the deep night, Beatrice Winter woke as if from a seizure. There was no particular cause for her sudden awakening.

She glanced sleepily at the clock. 4:10 AM. She had only slept for about two hours.

Blinking several times, Beatrice groped around with her eyes closed. After a patient search, she managed to rescue her glasses from between the pillow and the bed’s headboard.

Putting on her glasses slowly and opening her eyes, she was struck by the mess around her bed. Crumpled paper, open paper, scattered paper, scribbled paper, half-torn paper…

Quite a spectacle.

Finding the paper she wanted, Beatrice struggled to reach under the bed and snatched a pen.

“Let’s see.”

She massaged her eyelids under her glasses, reviewing her calculations. The more she checked the numbers, the clearer her gaze became.

Finally.

The difficult problem left by her master before his death was, after years of effort, finally reaching its conclusion. With a pounding heart, Beatrice continued to check her calculations, taking a deep breath.

“62.3958, 20.3059.”

Staring at the two imperfect numbers, Beatrice snapped her fingers. The map hanging on the wall flew over and stopped in front of her eyes.

“62.4 and 20.3 mean…”

‘The Forsaken Forest.’

Recognizing the nearby place, Beatrice narrowed her eyes. Anyone who had participated in the war against monsters even once could not fail to recognize that name.

< Mud Crocodile >, < Blue Grizzly >, < Pond Poison Toad >, < Shadow Hyena >—creatures capable of k*lling hundreds of humans single-handedly, all based there.

It was so notorious that people said the war against monsters could not end until the ‘Forsaken Forest’ was cleared.

Beatrice threw off her glasses and buried her hands in her hair. Perhaps due to lack of sleep, her mind, which had cleared during her calculations, was becoming murky again.

She sighed quietly and snapped her fingers.

“This is not easy.”

The drawer beside her bed opened automatically, spitting out a cigarette. She spun the cigarette in her hand.

Her master, Lawrence von Bruyere, the first owner of the Ivory Tower, had devoted his life to exterminating monsters. He was someone who would give even the depths of his soul if it meant he could wipe out monsters for humanity.

But the answer to the difficult problem written in the corner of his diary turned out to be the latitude and longitude of the ‘Forsaken Forest.’

“What an annoyingly coincidental outcome…”

Should I go there again or not?

Before writing down the problem, shouldn’t you have also explained the reason for writing it, Master?

“In any case…”

Is it an eternal law that the disciple has to clean up after the master starts something?

Beatrice put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it. As the dry grass burned, her body began to relax. Her overly sensitive senses dulled a little.

She closed her eyes and organized her thoughts until dawn.

Her master’s conviction. The monsters’ forest. The war that ended five years ago. And the ominous feeling that still occasionally swept over her.

She weighed and measured all those thoughts carefully.

When the transparent morning sunlight arrived, Beatrice Winter finished her calculations and opened her eyes. With a determined face, she washed and packed simply.

Without hesitation, she left the Ivory Tower.