Chapter 169 – Behind the Scenes

R̂ëâd̂ ̂​õn̂​ ̃K̂ã​t̀R̃êâd̂íñ​ǵĈá​f̀ẽ

A dark, shadowy chamber.

A sealed space where even the air feels stagnant.

Only the flickering candles emit a faint light.

Long shadows stretch out, contrasting against the dim glow.

Even the face of the Rakshasa is shrouded in darkness.

A silence so profound, not even the sound of breathing can be heard.

In this suffocating stillness, as if on the verge of choking.

The man wearing the blue Rakshasa mask gazes down at an old round table.

The table, unable to withstand the trials of time, looks as though it might collapse at any moment. It is worn beyond repair, its shabby appearance long having lost its former grandeur. The man’s fingertips touch the table’s surface, and he brushes his hand across it.

Second in rank.

The Noble Prince.

Agares.

Every time he looks at the round table, he can’t help but wonder.

How many times have I turned back time?

Which loop is this, and how many times have I repeated the same events?

He doesn’t know. Though he is the one who turns back time, he has almost no memory of the previous loops. Gods govern this world, and its laws and principles follow the rules they set. Time regression is Agares’ authority. Even the gods cannot prevent the regression itself. Thus, they rendered it meaningless by blocking the inheritance of memories.

The round table. The Law of Goetia, was created after he severed his own arm, gouged out his eyes, and tore out his heart, using them as materials.

An anchor of space-time, born from self-sacrifice.

Agares’ round table, imbued with the authority of time.

It has grown old and worn. A table that should have endured thousands of years is now on the verge of breaking. This is the price paid for performing the ritual of time regression. Once would have been fine. Twice would have been fine. But what about three times? Four times? Five times? More than that? The table corrodes. It cannot withstand the strain and has worn away. The authority it once held has scattered. All that remains is a broken clock.

“…Hah.”

Agares lets out a bitter laugh.

The wear of the round table signifies his failures.

Countless failures, too many to even number.

The traces of history, defeated by the hands of the gods.

Adding defeat upon defeat, reaching the end.

“Gods.”

Agares utters the word. The gods of the four seasons. The nameless gods. Spring is responsible for creation, and summer for will. Autumn symbolizes healing, and winter represents justice. They breathed life into the barren land, and it became the seasons. Spring turns to summer, summer to autumn, autumn to winter. And then winter returns to spring. Circling endlessly, this is harmony.

“Detestable gods.”

Not imperfect gods like the Devil Gods, but complete gods.

True transcendent beings, dwelling in the realm of omnipotence.

Those who stand alone, fully perfected.

“Hateful gods.”

Even the Devil Gods cannot oppose them.

The Devil Gods, born from the fragmented remains of the ‘Great Old Ones’, cannot resist.

That’s why they hide in human skins, cowering in shame.

“Detestable and hateful, yet out of reach.”

In the end, the Devil Gods are but the dregs of gods.

Fragments of gods, born from the corpses of the dead.

The four seasons killed the gods, and the dead gods split into 72 pieces.

Each fragment grew in its own way.

Thus, the 72 Devil Gods were born.

“But I will not give up. I will never give up.”

Turning back time, again and again.

Failing, again and again.

Dying, again and again.

I will surely bite through the necks of the gods.

“To do that, I must…”

Defeat the chosen one.

The new divinity, blessed by the gods.

But Agares knows. Nothing is solved by will alone. After countless failures, he has come this far.

The round table is at its limit; there is no more strength to perform the regression ritual. He has failed too many times to count. He has tasted endless bitterness. 

Even if he cannot remember, the evidence is before his eyes. Yes, let’s admit it. With his own power, he cannot defeat the chosen one. 

He cannot overcome the arrangements of the gods. No matter what means he devises, it will be futile.

Knowing this, Agares continued to challenge.

Turning back time, sacrificing even his soul for it.

He failed. Yet he tried again. And again. Over and over.

For the sake of a single purpose.

Not for victory, but to achieve another goal.

“…What a ridiculous thing.”

Pushed to the brink, where he could no longer be driven.

Finally, his efforts bore fruit.

Repeated regressions. The failures piled up. The meaningless repetition.

Yet there was a definite meaning. Because of it, every Agares in every loop did not give up. Even if memories were not inherited, Agares was certain. The Agares of the past was like this, and the Agares of the future would be the same. Thus, the regressions piled up. Piling up until they reached the present.

Not for victory. Not to defeat the chosen one. Not to overthrow the gods. That may have been the start, but once the wear on the round table became apparent, Agares changed his goal.

He cannot unravel the schemes of the gods.

Everything is on the stage set by the gods.

He is merely wandering within the palms of their hands.

“Have you finally made your decision?”

Agares smiles bitterly. He examines the lines carved into the round table. With each regression, he drew a line on the table. The lines have filled the table. Agares slowly counts the number of lines.

As always, once it surpasses three digits, it becomes impossible to count. The lines overlap and tangle. Multiple lines are layered on top of each other.

Thousands of regressions.

An endless cycle of repetition.

All of this was a petition.

A desperate plea to a single being.

“Finally, have you decided?”

First in rank.

The Lord of Purgatory.

Bael.

“Now and then, you have been neglectful in all matters.”

The lord who merely observed this long war.

The fight against the four seasons, the struggles of the Devil Gods.

The dreaming king who watched it all as if it were someone else’s affair.

He has finally moved.

Because of Agares’ efforts.

Because he watched every single loop without fail.

Because he remembers the thousands of repetitions.

The observer has finally decided to intervene.

The true Devil God has begun to oppose the four seasons.

“Come forth, O King.”

The path has been prepared by the original.

◈

Here, there is emptiness.

A darkness that ripples like shadows.

Nothing can be seen, nothing can be felt.

Yet, paradoxically, because nothing can be seen or felt, it stands out all the more.

The shadows, flowing like sewage, greedily devour everything.

A massive spiritual gravitational force. A whirlpool of souls that rages simply by existing. A bottomless pit.

There, it was.

Hidden behind the curtain of darkness, unseen by anyone, but it certainly existed.

Something like a black hole that swallows stars.

…

Seated on the throne, he closes his eyes. Eyes closed, he dreams. Though it is just a dream, to him, there is no distinction between dream and reality. Reality is a dream, and the dream is reality. Thus, he is asleep while awake. Awake while dreaming. Awake yet asleep. Asleep, thus dreaming.

A paradoxical balance is achieved.

The scale does not tilt to either side.

Asleep yet awake, awake yet asleep.

A balance that had remained unbroken for so long.

A paradox that seemed eternal.

[I said not to wake me]

It has been broken.

The scale tilts to one side.

The sleep grows shallow, consciousness rises.

[At last]

The eternal dream reaches its end.

Bael opens his closed eyes.

The scene before him remained the same.

Whether in a dream or reality, it was all the same to him.

[The 374,104,561st regression]

At this point, he could have just given up.

What was it that fueled such relentless obsession?

Or was it because he couldn’t remember, driving him to cling even more desperately?

[Now and always, you are too tenacious]

Do you hate the four seasons that much?

Does the loss still ache in your bones?

Are you sickened by what was taken from you?

Or is it their hypocrisy that you despise?

“They started the war, but we will end it.”

Bael recalled the last words Agares spat out before leaving.

Even though the war was already over.

Even though the victors and losers had long been decided.

The ‘Great Old Ones’ lost their immortality and fell into ruin.

They were shattered into mere fragments, and those fragments became the Devil Gods.

In Purgatory, where there are no seasons, Bael fell asleep.

As the king of the Devil Gods, he always maintained balance.

Not all Devil Gods cry out for war.

Not all Devil Gods shout for revenge.

That is why Bael remained silent. He observed. He ignored Agares’ pleas. Because he closed his eyes, the balance was maintained. Because he dreamed, the scales remained level.

However, Bael has now opened his closed eyes. The balance tilts. The equilibrium is broken. If the Devil God ranked first expresses his will, it becomes the will of all 72 Devil Gods.

[Second in rank, Agares]

[Twenty-ninth in rank, Astaroth]

[Sixty-eighth in rank, Belial]

[Fifty-fourth in rank, Murmur]

The Devil Gods who stand at the forefront of war.

Devil Gods who hate the four seasons so much they do not hesitate to descend into human flesh.

They dance, sing, fight, and die repeatedly on the stage prepared by the four seasons.

The four seasons watch over this grand stage. Bael has also watched. The repeated performances wear down the stage’s mechanisms. Even the actors dancing on the stage eventually break.

[The needle of causality has been replaced, and Astaroth has been corrupted]

Even with repeated regressions, the needle that kept the plot of the stage unchanged has worn away. After countless regressions, the Saintess of the Four Seasons has been whittled down. 

Her immortality, which made her unable to die even in death, became a poison. Her spirit eroded until nothing remained. As a result, the four seasons replaced her essence.

Astaroth’s purpose has been distorted. Her hatred for the gods led her to sacrifice what should never have been sacrificed, and as a result, her essence has been blurred. Does the Devil God ranked twenty-ninth still hate the gods? Does that hatred still point toward the four seasons?

Agares desires to defy heaven.

Astaroth dreams of rebellion.

The Saintess of the Four Seasons longs for rest.

And the chosen Hero…

[Won’t you make a bet with me?]

Bael cast his question into the void.

The answer reached him through the darkness.

“About what?”

[I will soon go there]

“Are you out of your mind? Ha, no wonder those damn season bastards have been restless.”

[Will Agares’ plan come first, or Astaroth’s?]

“Who cares? I’ll ruin them both.”

[You cannot do that. You know it. One of them will inevitably succeed]

“…You’re really pissing me off.”

[That is why the next Hero has been chosen]

Bael sneered.

[When the new chosen one awakens, everything will be decided]

“…Is the contract we made still valid?”

[At least for now]

The chosen one remains silent.

If so, Bael will also remain silent.

That was the contract made long ago between the two transcendent beings.

[If Agares’ plan is completed, I will break my silence]

“Tch, damn it.”

[If Astaroth’s plan is completed, I will continue to remain silent]

“Ha, that’s just as fucked up.”

[That is the bet I propose]

“You’re just saying what you want to do, you bastard.”

The chosen one swallowed a bitter laugh. Yes, he knew it would come to this someday. There was a limit to binding Bael through a contract. 

After all, the contract was only possible because their intentions aligned in the first place. Bael had always wanted to maintain his silence, and the chosen one had wanted Bael to remain unchanged.

The Devil God ranked first. 

Bael.

Unlike the other Devil Gods, who are mere fragments of the ‘Great Old Ones’.

He is the only true Devil God, perfected and complete.

Bael’s intervention will inevitably lead to catastrophe, whether in victory or defeat.

“Well, whatever. It was just a verbal contract anyway.”

[I will follow my will. You do the same, God of War]

“Don’t call me that. It’s cringey.”

[I look forward to the day we meet again. Or perhaps I don’t]

“I always say this, but pick one, you stubborn bastard.”

The Devil God let out a short laugh.

The Hero frowned.

The conversation ended there.

For the first time in 150 years, the two transcendent beings spoke, and then they fell silent again.

“…This is giving me a headache.”

The God of War clicked his tongue and scratched his head.

The reality he had always known would come someday was now upon him, giving him a headache.

He let out a deep sigh and stood up.

“I should go meet the Saintess for the first time in a while.”

To hell with the four seasons telling me not to meet her. Fuck you all.

Why do I need your permission to see her?

Author Note

A/N (Author’s note):
I’ve felt this since last time.

It’s so hard to unravel the story in my head.

When I reveal the plot or the setting, I understand it because I know all the settings, but you, the readers, don’t.

I try not to be like that, but I don’t know if it’s going well.

Translator Note

T/N (Translator’s note):
That’s quite the huge lore drop there, author.

Speaking of which, this is the first non side story chap with a title!