30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

Chapter 22

22 – 6. The status window opened on the first day of school. (6)

Maximilian was a possessed individual. There were even more possessed individuals, they said.

Putting aside never having heard such a story before, what happened to them then?

The hero disappeared. He sought refuge somewhere deep in the mountains of Tilles, abandoning his wife and daughter.

It was something no one could understand. However, Ivan seemed like he might understand. That was, that was…

‘Has he… gone back…?’

Ivan lowered his head with a pale face. Could he go back? Was the condition the demon’s assassination? Then… what about my conditions…?

-Crack!-

The vision suddenly became bright, and pain followed afterward. Ivan turned his gaze, feeling a numb cheek.

Enrique was looking at him with sad eyes.

“Snap out of it. The story isn’t over yet.”

“…Enrique.”

“Yeah. You recognize me. Good.”

Enrique sighed deeply, burying himself in the sofa. This guy lacked sleep. No, he lacked rest. Now, he understood the reason.

It wasn’t a problem of war-induced mental illness. This guy was disoriented right now. Recognizing this place as reality while simultaneously hoping it wasn’t.

Therefore, he couldn’t take a break. During that long time, he must have been lonely. Chewing on the loneliness of every night and suffering from the strangeness of each day.

The Possessed. Wanderers ‘drawn’ from another world. Enrique found these people pitiable. Especially the silent, twisted lunatic among them.

She gazed directly at her disciple, slowly parting her lips.

“They all supposedly brought their own stories. Only very few remnants remain, but that was mostly the case. Some had tales, others legends or myths, some novels, sometimes even plays, depicting something different.”

“…They were all different?”

“Yes. That’s why everyone had their own story.”

There was no commonality about what stories drew them in.

Yet, all of them felt they had fallen into the stories they admired.

The catalyst or method for this happening remains unknown.

“What… became of the Possessed?”

This was the most significant question Ivan harbored. What fate awaited them?

“Some disappeared again, some died, others remained.”

“And the hero, Maximilian?”

“As you know, he went into hiding. Well, whether he returned since then, or there were other reasons, I don’t know. There’s no way to go ask, no way to meet.”

Ivan lowered his head in dizzying turmoil.

Different stories for everyone, different endings for all… What was his ending? Forever preserved in this world? Is there no way back? He wants to believe death isn’t the only conclusion…

Thud. Enrique rapped the desk roughly. As Ivan looked up, she regarded him with mournful eyes.

“So, how do you see us?”

“…What?”

“Merely supporting characters in your world of novels? Merely ‘characters’ consumed by your pen, as you said?”

“That’s…”

“No. That can’t be true. It wouldn’t make sense, would it?”

In a world entwined with myriad stories, if there were ten thousand protagonists.

Should one protagonist view others as supporting roles?

No. That’s not the case. They’re all protagonists of their own stories. Then.

“Are your world and this world fundamentally different? Is yours reality, and this, just a fringe of stories? No. I am alive, breathing, hating the sunlight, loathing blessings, drinking blood, enjoying tea, just like you.”

“Enrique…”

“You think you might be someone’s side character? Don’t be ridiculous! You are the lead in your life, just as I am in mine!”

Her eyes blazed as if devouring Ivan.

Quietly, he looked at her face.

“You wish you weren’t a side character? Then, how do you perceive us? How did you perceive me? Ivan. Little Ivan. Did you live thinking the revered king you admire is just a supporting character in a story? Did you secretly mock, ‘Do not mourn those who leave first,’ while holding contempt?”

“No, I could never…”

“Then live. Live your story, conclude your story. The ending your tale meets isn’t determined by fate or the world. That’s something you must decide.”

At the end of each person’s story lies their own conclusion.

The direction leading to that ending isn’t necessarily governed by a predetermined destiny.

Even if the journey of a hero’s party becomes a legend, the individuals within aren’t heroes of a tale but merely ordinary people living and breathing even now.

Enrique clasped Ivan’s hand firmly, meeting his gaze with unwavering eyes.

“Do you want to go back? To your homeland?”

“…Yes.”

“Then don’t wait for fate to conclude your story. Apprentice, turn the pages with your own hands. Until the very end. To the conclusion.”

“Is there something I can decide at that end?”

“The choice to turn the pages lies solely with you. Just like everyone else. Among all the people in this world and your world.”

The warrior, Maximilian, always smiled. Always took one more step forward while smiling.

Recalling the time when hope was painfully scarce, Enrique quietly contemplated.

He longed for his home. Yearned for the loved ones and parents in his homeland. Whenever he heard about his comfortable life and the mystical civilization, Enrique felt a pang of yearning.

A pitiable wanderer. A traveler of dimensions. A stranger.

But the warrior smiled. Because, in both worlds, ordinary was written with the same significance.

Therefore, he wasn’t a wanderer or a stranger but an ordinary person.

Bearing countless burdens on his shoulders, he took one more step forward to achieve the ‘obviousness’ he believed in.

Towards the darkest abyss of a continent where hope had vanished, one step at a time.

Being a willing beacon for those who lacked the courage to move forward, one step.

His courage lay within the ‘obviousness’ and ordinariness he believed in. That’s why he became a warrior. Without any special favors, talents, or qualifications. Persisting endlessly in the ordinariness he believed in.

To those who deemed it extraordinary, he smiled. Saying he was just a person doing what anyone else could do.

“If only I had met you a little earlier… If only I had listened more seriously to your story, things wouldn’t have turned out like this… I’m sorry, apprentice.”

“Enrique…”

“Rest a bit. Close your eyes.”

“Rest?”

“I can tell from your state. You couldn’t find peace anywhere, couldn’t properly fall asleep. At least for four years. It might have been longer than your life.”

There was no bedroom in this room.

This lad merely dozed off on that desk or that sofa every time.

What if the protagonist suddenly erased a supporting character from this world? What if the story concluded while I’m left incapable of doing anything? These trivial worries crossed my mind while I did nothing.

Thinking of oneself as a supporting character in a theme that revolves around others, while arrogantly asserting that one should never be a supporting character. Yet, still believing firmly that they will never be the protagonist.

“If necessary, stand guard for me every night.”

Ivan didn’t refuse. He was too exhausted.

Kim Sunwoo closed his eyes quietly.

Miscalculation. This world is neither a strategy simulation nor a grand RPG. Even if it could be someone else’s story, it was not his own.

A soldier in a strategy simulation. Not a rear guard in a party of heroes. Ivan Petrovich, Kim Sunwoo’s story, hadn’t even unfolded its first chapter.

Thirty years had passed since the prologue.

Now, the prelude of the story had concluded. The name of this story was not a ‘genre’ but ‘life.’

Perhaps it might be an academy story. Ivan chuckled as he reflected on his situation.

He was no longer angered by that sentence.

Too tired and weary to be angry.

The comforting touch on his shoulder was warm.

He felt relieved.

At the age of 16, on a day that marked two years on the battlefield, Kim Sunwoo bit his lip as he rolled on the ground. His supplied sword had broken. Bullets were depleted, and the demons had finally breached the defensive line.

When the sword broke, he rolled on the ground, lifting a spear. If the spearhead broke, he swung it down with a shield. Snatching an axe, wielding a greatsword, he fought on.

He had never thought he could fight like this. He was unexpectedly skilled in physical combat, and fatigue did not easily affect him.

Of course, thanks to the adrenaline rushing fiercely now, he seemed to forget fatigue. Considering his athletic ability, he should have been exhausted and fallen by now. However, Ivan rolled on the ground, picked up the sword, lifted the spear, swung the axe, and pushed with the shield.

How much time had passed like this?

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His body still moved. His vision remained clear. The only sounds he heard were his own breathing and the impending heartbeat, and he forgot the smell of blood except for the scent of his own.

He simply blocked, pushed, and swung to survive.

When silence finally came, Kim Sunwoo noticed the huge shadow that had covered him.

“You fought well.”

A deep voice echoed from above. Turning his gaze, he saw armor. The armor of a Krassilov.

Friendly forces. Kim Sunwoo lowered his shoulders and bowed his head.

Judging by the horse, it seemed to be a high-ranking officer. Under the armor, probably a general.

“What is your name?”

“Ivan Petrovich, sir.”

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

“Occupation?”

“Conscripted soldier.”

The man with his back to the sun remained faceless. The radiant sunlight cast a halo around him, dazzling to the eyes.

“Turn around.”

He turned his back as per the commander’s order, wondering if it meant to return to the headquarters.

Countless corpses lay before his eyes, so many that the ground was barely visible. Demons and humans, indistinguishable, a multitude of lifeless bodies.

As Kim Sunwoo furrowed his brow, a guiding voice reached him.

“Lift your gaze. Look at those standing.”

Only then did others come into view. Not corpses but people.

Survivors. Injured, barely standing with broken spears, shivering yet somehow alive.

“Originally, this campaign was destined for defeat. The situation demanded diverting our forces to other campaigns.”

“Report!!”

A member behind him screamed at the commander’s words. The robust man spoke mercilessly.

“But they survived. Ivan Petrovich, look at those you saved. Stand tall. You saved them, the villages behind them, and the families and residents of those villages somewhere out there.”

The commander spoke and affectionately patted his head. A large hand it was.

“So, stand tall, ‘Little’ Ivan.”

“I am not little.”

He surpassed the average height of this era. Even the commanding officer considered him an adult.

“Your nickname, earned through battles at your age, was ‘Great Ivan.’ Dare you be called by a name as grand as mine?”

“Sir…!!”

The member shouted again. The large-handed man tapped Ivan’s back once and climbed onto the platform.

“Treat that kid and train him.”

“Do you want me to adopt him?”

“I’d rather raise a lion in a zoo. Just make space for him. Won’t you see him again if he reaches a position where he can stand alone?”

He faced that man again after five years.

Five years later, he became a member of the ‘Royal Guard.’