Chapter 67: Omen (4)

A superhuman on a white horse appeared in the wilderness.

A great prophet who would free the oppressed Germanic people from their suffering.

A brilliant military strategist and messiah of the Aryans.

An unparalleled genius and the Führer of Greater Germany.

Ubermensch.

( TL NOTE : Ubermensch – “Superman” used in Nazi ideology to describe the ideal human.)

That’s how the world once described him.

But—

“Devil.”

The moment war began, that image of the white-horse-riding superhuman was shattered.

A mass murderer who, through extermination camps, slaughtered countless innocents—
including his own fellow Germans—and led tens of millions to die in war.

A false prophet.

A fake messiah.

Once his true nature was revealed, someone remarked:

“He’s nothing but a dancing Islamic mendicant.”

From renowned scholars, politicians, generals, and soldiers on the front lines to wives and daughters awaiting the return of their husbands and sons—
everyone had their own take on him.

They were all wrong.

No one had truly seen through to his essence.

A clear-eyed madman who dedicated his entire life—and countless others—to pure love.

That was the only sentence that could define him.

Back in the Belle Époque, when imperial powers cast their glow across the globe,
the twelve constellations of magical girls discovered worldwide had already come under the control of a single organization:

The International Witch Federation.

This was before the term “magical girl” even existed.

A time when they ran from place to place to stop the emerging “misangche”.

One magical girl had rejected her assigned mission and fled in search of an ordinary life.

A name forbidden in any official organization.

A being more repulsive and horrific than a devil:

The Lightning Magical Girl—Eva.

Countless magical girls had received the Grimoire of Lemegeton over time, but never one of lightning.

Because the Control Bureau forbade it.

Any magical girl who did receive the lightning Lemegeton was eliminated by any means necessary.

The name alone evoked the nightmare of world war.

At age sixteen, a boy arrived in Vienna, the capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Compared to his hometowns—Braunau am Inn and Linz—Vienna’s towering architecture overwhelmed him.

The faces of the multicolored crowds were filled with hope.

The despair left by the Austro-Prussian War and the loss of Italy had long passed.

To the boy, it was a dazzling shock—
a world completely unlike what he had known.

And it didn’t end there.

The wide boulevards radiating from Schönbrunn Palace,
the endless automobiles,
the glowing streetlamps that kept Vienna awake through the night—
all made the boy dream brightly.

“If only I could capture this scene perfectly on canvas…”

He made a vow to himself:

That he would become a successful painter,
and preserve all the images of his dreams in water-colour.

“Then Father might finally acknowledge me.”

His father, Alois, was a violent patriarch.

A man who beat his wife, his sons, and anyone in reach.

The boy feared Alois deeply, never understanding what lay in his father’s heart.

Alois had worked his way from shoeshine boy to tax official.

Having experienced poverty firsthand, he refused to let his family live the same way.

Especially not his beloved son.

So he was strict—
demanding the boy follow in his footsteps as a civil servant in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

But to the boy—sensitive, artistic, and introspective—it was unbearable stress.

That’s why he came to Vienna.

To escape his father’s shadow and chase his true dream.

It was a romantic life made possible by the romantic age.

That boy, Adolf Hitler, was a romanticist.

“Akademie der bildenden Künste Wien”
(Vienna Academy of Fine Arts)

With high hopes, Hitler applied to the empire’s top art school.

He practiced tirelessly day and night.

“Your drawings lean more toward architecture than art.
Why not try applying to an architecture school instead?”

His efforts were crushed in an instant.

But—

“Screw it. I’ll just try again.”

Young Hitler had ambition.

He wanted to become a world-renowned painter—famous not just in Austria, but throughout Germany, France, Italy… even the world.

Contrary to popular belief, what he held wasn’t despair, but courage.

The Jewish headmaster hadn’t told him he lacked talent—
on the contrary, his architectural drawings like Karlskirche Church were highly praised.

So he didn’t despair.

He wouldn’t give up.

Not when it came to the dream of becoming a great artist.

He believed—that if he kept going just a little longer, his efforts would be rewarded.

Thus, Hitler roamed the streets of Vienna as an unknown painter,
and the citizens of Vienna became used to the sight.

“The nameless painter who wandered the night.”

It was another of Hitler’s nicknames.

He met Eva during one such night.

He was out walking beneath a full moon, sketching the late-autumn Danube for inspiration—
trying to clear the air after hearing complaints from home that he was wasting time.

Armed with a canvas, brush, and paints, he stepped into the moonlit streets.

Though he enjoyed painting portraits,
his real passion was architecture.

Tonight, he focused on Stadtpark and the Kursalon,
carefully lighting his lantern, trying to capture the balance between the river, the park, and the building.

That harmony, that fragile equilibrium, brought tears to his cheeks.

“I finally found it…”

Even in his own eyes, it was a nearly flawless painting.

He never called it perfect—

he knew he wasn’t a genius,
only someone who could grow through effort.

And so, his masterpiece was born.

Just as he rose with joy, ready to return home and fall into a happy dream—

“Ugh…”

A soft groan echoed from the bushes.

Naturally, Hitler couldn’t ignore it.

“A crime…?”

Driven by a strong sense of justice, he rolled up his sleeves.

The voice had clearly belonged to a woman.

And a woman alone at this hour meant she was likely in danger.

He couldn’t turn away.

Soon after digging through the bushes,
he found Eva—gravely wounded, on the brink of death.

A cursed encounter.

Fated or accidental—no one could say.

But they would come to impact each other profoundly.

At the time, Eva had abandoned her magical girl mission and escaped the Witch Federation.

Naturally, countless pursuers were after her—
other magical girls, hitmen, state police, even the military.

The fact that she had made it back to her hometown of Austria at all was already a miracle.

“W-who… are… you…?”

Her weak voice startled Hitler.

“I’m an artist. I don’t mean you any harm. But you need a hospital—”

“No… no hospital…”

What struck Eva most was Hitler’s eyes—
the clearest, brightest eyes she’d ever seen.

In them, she saw unshakable will… and a hint of madness.

As her vision dimmed, she whispered with her final strength:

“Run…”

The witches—those monsters—had followed her to Austria.

If they saw her with Hitler, he would be caught up in it too.

She didn’t want the kind stranger she’d just met to die.

“I just wanted to see my hometown one last time…”

Eva drifted into unconsciousness, dreaming of Innsbruck’s rolling green hills.

“Hey!”

Startled, Hitler quickly checked on her—but to his shock, the wounds were gone.

Though he found it strange,
he blushed, lifting her carefully and carrying her back to his room.

Suppressing his pounding heart.

For Hitler, love and romance were luxuries.

He abstained from drinking, smoking, and women.

He loved only art.

He cherished peace.

That fleeting moment of peace, never to return.

***

Eva awoke half a day later.

She was most shocked by the fact she was naked in a stranger’s bed.

And second—how incredibly clean the room was.

“You’re awake?”

Blushing, young Hitler handed her clothes.

Red-faced, Eva took them and dressed awkwardly.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them.

With a gentle smile, Hitler stepped away.

Bathed in sunlight streaming through the window,
he began tidying up his canvases.

Eva couldn’t lift her head.

She was feeling something she had never felt before.

Her cheeks were red as radishes.

Her heart pounded uncontrollably.

That late autumn,
a season that could never be returned to—
the start of a youth that could never be undone.

( TL NOTE: Adolf Hitler – Here depicted as a sensitive, aspiring artist in Vienna, before becoming the future dictator. The story fictionalizes his early life with magical lore.)