Chapter : 1741

  "She was a victim," the Reflection said. "Just like you. Just like all of us. She was a piece on a board she didn't understand, being moved by players she couldn't see. Her loyalty never wavered, Lloyd. Even when her heart was locked in ice, even when she couldn't speak the words... she was there."

  The ghostly chains rattled louder, a cacophony of regret. Lloyd felt a wave of nausea. He remembered every cold glare he had given her, every dismissive comment. He remembered leaving for the North without telling her, faking his death, breaking her mind.

  "I broke her," Lloyd whispered. "In this life. I broke her to save myself. I thought I was outsmarting a traitor. But I was just... torturing a hero."

  "You did what you thought was necessary based on the data you had," the Reflection said, offering a small, sad mercy. "But your data was flawed. That is why I am here. That is why the silence is broken. You cannot continue down this path. If you hold onto this false vengeance, if you continue to treat her as the enemy, you will walk right back into the same trap that consumed us before."

  The image in the air changed again. It showed Rosa in the first timeline, sitting alone in a cold room, weeping silently over a letter Lloyd had sent her—a letter filled with hateful accusations.

  "Look at her," the Reflection commanded. "Really look at her."

  Lloyd forced himself to look. He saw the pain etched into her face. It wasn't the face of a conspirator. It was the face of a woman who was drowning in loneliness, burdened by a duty she couldn't share, and hated by the husband she was trying to protect.

  "She knew," the Reflection said. "Toward the end, she suspected that something was manipulating us. She tried to reach out. But you were too angry to listen. You were too hurt. You pushed her away, and in doing so, you left her alone to face the darkness."

  Lloyd clenched his fists, the ghostly chains biting into his spectral skin. "Who?" he demanded, his voice turning into a growl. "Who did this? Who planted the lie?"

  "That is a name for another time," the Reflection said. "For now, you must understand the nature of the trap. The enemy does not want to fight us head-on. They want us divided. They want the North and the South to be at war. They want the Ferrum Steel and the Siddik Ice to shatter each other so they can sweep up the pieces."

  Lloyd took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. "Okay. Okay, I get it. I messed up. I messed up big time. But what do I do now? I can't just walk up to her and say, 'Hey, sorry I treated you like garbage for two lifetimes, turns out my brain was hacked by a demon, want to grab coffee?'"

  "You must see her," the Reflection said. "Not as the villain of your story, but as a person. You must drop the shield of hatred you have built. It is heavy, Lloyd. And it is useless against the true enemy."

  The Reflection stepped closer, his form beginning to shimmer, as if he was struggling to maintain the connection.

  "You have a chance I never did," the Reflection said, his voice fading slightly. "You have time. You have power. And you have the truth. Do not waste it on pride. Do not waste it on anger. The Rosa of this timeline is walking the same path as the first. She is closing herself off. She is becoming the ice statue because she thinks it is the only way to survive you."

  Lloyd felt a lump in his throat. "I know," he muttered. "I saw it. I caused it."

  "Then fix it," the Reflection said sternly. "You are an engineer, aren't you? You fix broken things. Fix this. Before the Puppet Master pulls the strings again."

  The void began to spin, the colors blurring into a dizzying spiral. The session was ending. Lloyd felt the pull of consciousness, the heavy anchor of his physical body calling him back.

  "Wait!" Lloyd shouted, reaching out towards the fading figure. "You said 'Puppet Master'. Who is it? Give me a target!"

  The Reflection smiled, a sad, weary expression. "You will know soon enough. Just remember... the ice does not want to be cold. It is just waiting for the sun."

  Chapter : 1742

  With that, the dream shattered. The red and blue fragments dissolved into darkness, leaving Lloyd falling back into the reality of his complications, armed with a truth that hurt more than any lie.

  ________________________________________

  The dream did not end. It simply changed gears. The spinning colors of the void dissolved, replaced by a gritty, sepia-toned reality. It felt like walking into an old photograph that had been left in a damp basement for too long. The air smelled of dust, old stone, and the ozone scent of impending rain.

  Lloyd found himself standing on the high battlements of the Ferrum estate. But it wasn't the fortress he knew in the current timeline. It was the version from the first life. The walls were lower. The defensive runes were dimmer. It looked smaller, less fortified, and infinitely more vulnerable. The sky above was the color of a bruised plum, heavy and suffocating.

  Beside him stood the Reflection. He leaned against the cold stone parapet, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the forest met the dark clouds.

  "You wanted a target," the Reflection said. His voice was heavy, carrying the weight of a tombstone. "You wanted to know who pulled the strings. Let me introduce you to the architect of our misery."

  The scene shifted rapidly, like a camera lens zooming in from a satellite. The view of the forest blurred and twisted until they were looking into a deep, shadowy chamber somewhere far away. The room was filled with flickering candlelight that cast long, dancing shadows against the walls.

  In the center of the room stood a figure.

  It was not human. It was a tall, androgynous being wrapped in robes of shifting silk. The fabric seemed to move on its own, shimmering with colors that reminded Lloyd of spilled oil. The being’s face was a mask of porcelain perfection—beautiful, yet utterly terrifying. Its eyes were not like Bael’s burning red pits. They were gold. Bright, shimmering gold, like two coins glinting in the dark.

  "Mammon," the Reflection whispered the name with a mixture of fear and loathing. "The Devil Prince of Greed. But do not let the title fool you. He does not just hoard gold or jewels. He hoards despair. He hoards broken bonds. He collects the moments when people turn on each other."

  Lloyd stared at the creature. Even in a memory, Mammon radiated a slimy, oily aura that made Lloyd’s skin crawl. It was the feeling of a used car salesman who knew the brakes were cut but sold you the car anyway.

  "So, this is the guy?" Lloyd asked, crossing his arms. "He looks like a high-end perfume bottle that came to life and decided to be evil. He doesn't look like a fighter."

  "He isn't," the Reflection explained. "Mammon is the weaver of lies. In the first life, Bael—the brute you know—provided the muscle. He was the hammer. But Mammon... Mammon was the hand that swung it. He wrote the script."

  The scene dissolved again, reforming into a new location. They were now inside the Ferrum estate, in the main strategy room.

  The room was tense. The air felt thick enough to cut with a knife. Sitting at the long wooden table was the Original Lloyd. He looked younger, softer, and completely out of his depth. He was staring at a map of the kingdom, his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked like a student trying to solve a calculus problem while juggling flaming torches.

  Standing opposite him was Rosa.

  She looked different too. She wasn't the cold, frozen statue Lloyd was used to. She looked frustrated, tired, and deeply worried. Her hands were pressed flat on the table as she leaned toward her husband.

  "Lloyd, please listen," Rosa said, her voice sharp with urgency. "We cannot leave the western gate unguarded. The reports of movement in the forest are too consistent. If we move the guards to the main road, the flank is exposed."

  The Original Lloyd flinched. He looked at the map, then at her. He didn't see a wife trying to help. He saw a genius pointing out that he was an idiot.

  "I know that!" the Original Lloyd snapped, his voice cracking slightly. "I’m not blind, Rosa. But we don't have enough men. If I pull them from the road, the supply caravans are vulnerable. What do you want me to do? Print more soldiers?"

  "I can cover the gate," Rosa offered. "My ice magic can create a barrier. We don't need men there if I—"

  Chapter : 1743

  "If you handle it?" Lloyd interrupted, standing up. "Yes, of course. Let the great Siddik prodigy handle everything while the Ferrum heir sits in the corner. Is that it?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Lloyd, the current observer, watched the scene with a cringe. "Wow," he muttered. "I was really insecure, wasn't I? She’s trying to save our lives, and I’m worried about my ego."

  "She pitied me," the Reflection said, looking at his past self with disdain. "And she was frustrated. I was incompetent. I couldn't summon a spark of spirit power. I was a liability. Rosa knew that as long as I was weak, the family was vulnerable."

  "Mammon saw it too," the Reflection continued.

  In the corner of the memory, unobserved by the people in the room, the shadow of Mammon lingered. The Devil Prince was watching the argument with a smile that stretched too wide. He was feeding on the insecurity.

  "He recognized that Rosa was the only variable capable of stopping him," the Reflection explained. "Her ice power had Sovereign-level potential, even back then. If she stayed at the estate, his cultists would freeze before they reached the gates. She was the shield. So... he decided to remove her from the board."

  The doors to the strategy room burst open. A messenger stumbled in, covered in dust and dried blood. He collapsed at Rosa's feet, gasping for air.

  "My Lady!" the messenger wheezed. "Urgent news from the South! From the Siddik lands!"

  He held out a scroll sealed with black wax. Rosa snatched it, her hands trembling. As she read, her face went pale. The color drained from her cheeks until she looked like a ghost.

  "What is it?" the Original Lloyd asked, stepping around the table.

  "It's... it's an invasion," Rosa whispered. "A demonic rift has opened on the southern border of my family's land. They say it's a horde. And... Lloyd, they say there's a specific demon leading it. One with a heart that possesses immense restorative energy."

  She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate, fragile hope. "They say the heart could cure my mother's paralysis."

  Lloyd felt a chill. It was too perfect.

  "The bait," the Reflection said sadly. "Mammon orchestrated a fake demonic incursion on the southern borders. He made it look like a catastrophic invasion to pull the Siddik forces away. But he added a sweetener. He planted rumors of a rare demonic heart—an ingredient that could save her mother."

  "It was a trap," Lloyd muttered, his tactical mind analyzing the move. "Split the forces. Lure the strongest defender away with a personal stake. If she stays, she feels guilty for not saving her mother. If she goes, she leaves us defenseless."

  In the memory, Rosa was torn. She looked at the map of the Ferrum estate, then at the letter.

  "I... I can't go," she said, her voice shaking. "Lloyd, the threats here are real. If I leave, you won't have the magical support."

  She was waiting for him to ask her to stay. She was waiting for him to be the husband who needed her.

  But the Original Lloyd saw an opportunity. He saw a chance to be the commander without his talented wife overshadowing him. He saw a chance to prove he could handle the North alone.

  "Go," the Original Lloyd said.

  Rosa looked at him, surprised. "Lloyd?"

  "I can handle this," he said, puffing out his chest. "We’ll hire mercenaries. We have the walls. Your mother needs you, Rosa. Go to the South. Save her. I’ll hold the fort."

  "He wanted her gone," the Reflection said, his voice bitter. "I tried to tell myself I was being noble. But deep down? I wanted her gone because her competence made me feel small. I told her I could handle the North. I was a fool."

  Rosa looked at him for a long moment. She saw the false bravado, but she also saw his permission. She nodded slowly.

  "I will return as soon as I have the heart," she promised. "Keep the gates closed. Trust no one."

  Lloyd watched as Rosa rode out of the gates an hour later, looking back one last time with a gaze full of worry. She wasn't abandoning them. She was rushing to put out a fire so she could come back and guard the house.

  "And that," the Reflection said as the sky in the memory began to darken, "was when the curtain fell."

  ________________________________________

  Chapter : 1744

  The sky in the memory turned black. It wasn't the natural darkness of night; it was a thick, choking smoke that blotted out the stars. The smell of burning wood and melting iron filled the air.

  Lloyd stood in the courtyard of the Ferrum estate. It was absolute chaos.

  The walls had been breached. The mercenaries the Original Lloyd had hired—men he thought he could control—had turned on them. They had opened the side gates. Now, cultists in red robes poured through the gaps like a wound bleeding inward. They were followed by twisted, shadow-beasts that loped along the ground on all fours.

  "She was gone," the Reflection said, his voice trembling with the memory of fear. "And we were naked."

  Lloyd watched the slaughter. It was brutal, efficient, and horrifying.

  His father, Arch Duke Roy of the first timeline, was fighting near the main keep. He was a strong man, a warrior of the old school. He wielded a massive claymore, cutting down cultists with wide, sweeping strikes. But there were too many of them.

  "Hold the line!" Roy screamed, his armor dented and bloody. "Protect the heir! Fall back to the library!"

  Duchess Milody was on the balcony above, using her Austin eyes. Beams of suppression magic shot from her eyes, freezing enemies in place so the guards could finish them. But she was exhausted. Blood trickled from her nose. Without Rosa’s massive area-of-effect ice spells to control the crowd, the sheer numbers were overwhelming.

  Lloyd watched his father fall. A Shadow Knight—one of the elites—slipped past Roy’s guard and drove a spear through his knee. As the Arch Duke fell, a dozen cultists swarmed him like ants on a beetle.

  "Father!" the Original Lloyd screamed from where he was hiding near the stables. He held a sword, but his hands were shaking so hard he dropped it.

  "I couldn't move," the Reflection whispered. "I was frozen with terror. I watched him die."

  But the worst part wasn't the death. It was the words.

  The leader of the cultists walked over to the dying Arch Duke Roy. He leaned down, grabbing Roy by his hair to lift his head. The memory zoomed in, the audio becoming crisp and clear amidst the screams of battle.

  "The Ice Queen sends her regards," the cultist leader hissed into Roy's ear. "She sends her thanks for leaving the gate unbarred. The South rises while the North burns."

  Roy’s eyes went wide. In his final moments, he didn't see an enemy invasion. He saw a political betrayal. He died believing his daughter-in-law had sold them out.

  "They lied to him," Lloyd whispered, feeling a surge of nausea. "They made him think she did it."

  "Mammon didn't just want to kill them," the Reflection said, tears streaming down his face. "He wanted to destroy the bond. He wanted my father to die believing his alliance was a lie. He wanted my mother to die regretting the marriage. He wanted to poison the legacy."

  The scene shifted. The estate was a ruin. The fires had burned down to embers. The Original Lloyd was crawling through the ashes, coughing, broken. He found the bodies of his parents.

  And beside them, planted like a flag in the chest of a dead guard, was a banner.

  It was blue and silver. The banner of House Siddik. It was torn and bloody, left there as "proof."

  "Another plant," Lloyd said, his voice cold. "Evidence."

  "By the time Rosa returned," the Reflection said, "the ashes were cold."

  The memory fast-forwarded to a week later. Rosa rode into the courtyard. Her horse was foaming with exhaustion. She had ridden day and night, abandoning the hunt for the heart the moment she realized the "invasion" in the South was a phantom.

  She looked devastated. She saw the ruins. She saw the graves.

  She dismounted and ran toward the survivors. There were only a few dozen left, huddled in the remains of the great hall. She had her hands outstretched, glowing with healing magic.

  "I'm here!" she cried out. "I'm here! Who is wounded? I have supplies! I brought the Siddik healers!"

  But the Original Lloyd stood up.

  He was covered in soot and dried blood. His eyes were hollow, rimmed with red. He looked at her not with relief, but with a hatred so pure it burned hotter than the fires.

  Every survivor had told him the same story for seven days. The Siddik troops withdrew just before the attack. The gates were opened from the inside. The cultists shouted her name. They left her banner.