Atar was merely an observer when Letter and the Dreamer had just begun to recognize each other.
Even when the two clashed, he did not intervene and simply watched their battle unfold.
—Crackle, crackle, crackle!
Boom!!
‘They certainly fight in a flashy manner.’
His only reason for watching was to gauge Letter Yurt’s skill and strength.
After all, Atar knew that the Dreamer was not an easy opponent.
Someone of the Dreamer’s caliber would be more than capable of drawing out Letter’s true abilities.
A professor of Primus.
A child marked with the sigil of an ancient dragon.
And finally, the daughter of Asher Astoria.
Atar had been a battle fanatic since birth, instinctively drawn to strength.
He wanted to see her power and abilities firsthand—to witness the extent of what Letter Yurt could achieve.
‘About an hour of leeway, I’d say.’
The time limit was until the northern main force, having received Atar’s message, arrived at the battlefield.
Until the balance of power shifted decisively, he intended to enjoy the spectacle—the raging flow of mana filling the sky and the battle shaking the earth.
Of course, he had no plans to remain a mere spectator forever.
If Letter were ever in danger, he would immediately jump in to protect his mentor’s daughter.
His only strategy was to assist Letter at a critical moment, hoping to win her favor.
Other than that, he was here purely to watch for fun.
Yes, he should have simply enjoyed their fight.
There was nothing else he needed to do.
‘So then—why?’
***
[The scales of causality cannot be deceived, Asher. Do not delude yourself into thinking you can remain hidden forever.]
“…Yeah, I figured you’d recognize me somehow. Damn sophist.”
‘…What?’
A long-lost name echoed in his ears.
‘Why wasn’t the girl over there denying the masked man’s words?’
[What would the Catastrophe say if he saw you in such a pitiful state…?]
“Ah, don’t worry. Your leader will be eradicated within a few years anyway. That much, I can say with certainty.”
[Oh? Is that a provocation?]
“It’s a prophecy. Damn sophist.”
***
Thud, thud.
His heart began to race at the sound of that name—one he hadn’t heard in so long.
Two figures overlapped in his mind.
A girl, standing high in the vast sky, her white hair scattering in the winter wind.
The same serene movement as the white hair of his mentor in Atar’s memories.
‘No, that can’t be right. The princess is supposed to be my mentor’s daughter…’
A fleeting moment of relentless doubt.
And yet—despite it all.
Once he had seen the resemblance between the Sage and the girl, he could no longer erase the impossible hypothesis from his mind.
***
[You haven’t changed one bit—still so fragile at heart. Are you that afraid of loss?]
“…Shut up.”
Atar etched every word exchanged between the Dreamer and Letter into his memory.
The thought of enjoying the battle between two powerful warriors had long since vanished.
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud…
His heart pounded faster than ever before.
‘Was it excitement or confusion?’
Even as he watched the sky split apart and the air rupture from their battle, Atar’s mind was fixated on a single hypothesis.
Then, at one moment—
The Dreamer turned away from Letter, stepping toward the students within the barrier.
Letter’s face twisted in frustration as she swiftly moved to protect them.
‘…Damn it.’
Up until then, Atar had been an observer.
But now, he realized it was time to step in.
If—by any chance, if that impossible scenario turned out to be true—
‘If Letter and the Sage were the same person, then the Dreamer had to be stopped.’
‘Because for the Sage, the deaths of those young students would be an unforgivable transgression.’
And so, Atar tightened his grip on his massive axe.
The moment the Dreamer’s foot touched the barrier—
***
—Whoosh!
—Boom!
[…Oh?]
Atar hurled his axe with vicious force, blocking the Dreamer’s path.
Then, letting out a forced chuckle to mask his own confusion, he spoke.
“Long time no see, young lady!”
“…Atar?”
With a fist filled with killing intent, Atar charged at the Dreamer, positioning himself between the barrier and the students.
The moment his massive axe, infused with his frenzied will, began to swing—
“Cooperate with me, Dreamer. I need to earn some points with a certain someone!”
[…What an absurd farce this is.]
The razor-sharp axe howled through the air, relentlessly driving the Dreamer back.
Wherever it struck, it shredded through the atmosphere and reduced everything in its path to dust.
At that moment, all Atar cared about was ending this fight as quickly as possible.
Because to him, neither the Dreamer nor Letter’s students mattered right now.
All that mattered was the question burning on the tip of his tongue.
The confusion and frustration swirling in his mind—he needed to unload it all onto Letter Yurt.
The Dreamer, the students—they were all obstacles in his way.
However—
The Dreamer’s body suddenly flickered, shifting into a haze of violet smoke.
Then, in an instant, they surged forward—not toward Atar, but past him.
***
—Thunk!
[It seems the familiarity of your opponent has dulled your focus. A pity.]
“…Damn tricks….”
Scarlet blood splattered from his young chest.
The sound of torn leather echoed as a single drop of blood trickled down Atar’s cheek.
The freezing northern wind swiftly cooled the once-warm liquid.
However, the temperature felt in that fleeting moment never faded.
Not even a little.
—Sway.
When the bloodied, youthful figure briefly lost balance, it felt as if the world was crumbling.
Fortunately, a faint healing light wrapped around Letter’s body.
But still, the sight Atar had witnessed just moments before was too intense to be reassured by such a small relief.
‘Was that why?’
‘Or was it because Atar unconsciously suspected that Letter’s gaze had been momentarily fixated on him?’
—Tap.
The youthful face, having struggled to walk over and stand beside Atar, was lightly pushed with the tip of her finger.
Then, suppressing the fear and anger that had surged from the depths of his heart—
“North’s main forces will be here soon. Hold on.”
He told Letter, who looked at him in confusion, to focus solely on treating his wounds.
It was only after that moment that Atar’s mind cooled down completely.
Swish.
The icy rationality that overtook his burning body made him raise his axe high, simultaneously calculating all the variables around him.
The terrain.
The enemy’s condition.
The state of his allies.
The time remaining until the northern reinforcements arrived.
Considering and analyzing every possible factor that could influence the battle, Atar determined what he had to do.
Then, erasing even the faintest trace of a smile that had been forced onto his lips—
—Boom!!
With a thunderous roar, he kicked off the ground, charging at the man who had harmed someone precious to him.
A relentless barrage of attacks followed.
Across the vast battlefield, only the harsh clang of metal and the fierce, slicing winds were permitted to exist.
His hands, which seemed to do nothing but ceaselessly cut and slash, were imbued with precise calculations—because this fight was no mere amusement.
“If you meant to kill, then kill! What’s got you so scared that you’re running away?!”
((‘What fool would willingly throw themselves into a bed of thorns?’))
“All talk. That’s all you are!!”
Before the dreamer’s eyes, it was as if Atar was battling all forms of wind.
At times, the opponent was like a gentle breeze, dispersing with a mere flick of the hand.
Other times, he became an unstoppable storm.
A wind that moved however it pleased.
Bluntly put, it was inefficient.
The dreamer no longer had any reason to stay on this battlefield.
He had already noticed that the youthful girl in the distance had been preparing something for some time now.
Thus, he decided it was time to bring this chaos to an end.
Before the unwelcome guests charging from afar could interfere, he would make his exit.
((‘Grand Circus.’))
Thud.
Countless clowns rained down from the sky and ground, throwing the battlefield into a commotion.
And then, just like a mirage in the desert, the dreamer’s figure vanished.
***
Before long, the dreamer was completely gone, and for a brief moment, Atar’s face twisted in frustration.
With a forceful swing, his axe split the ground in two—perhaps out of sheer anger.
At nearly the same time—
“Gigant Archer.”
From behind, Letter’s voice chanted a spell.
A massive arrow was launched.
Like a great siege weapon, it shot upward into the vast sky, hurtling toward the vanished dreamer.
The spell had already designated its target, making it an unavoidable, absolute hit.
Then—Boom.
A deafening explosion erupted from a distance too far for the naked eye to see.
Shockwaves swept through the battlefield.
((‘…Still as persistent as ever.’))
Struck directly by Letter’s magic, the dreamer muttered, running his fingers over the newly formed crack on his mask.
He felt that he had wasted too much time on something so meaningless.
***
“Where did the dreamer go, Young Master?”
“He ran away.”
Atar, his face filled with displeasure, answered before turning his back on the elite northern knights.
Then, he walked toward Letter, who was in the middle of a conversation with the students.
—Swoosh.
Without a word of warning, he scooped Letter up in a princess carry.
Letter, momentarily stunned before growing increasingly flustered, demanded to know what he was doing.
“Stay still. You’ll tear open.”
Faced with Atar’s rigid expression, devoid of any playfulness, Letter fell silent.
Atar carried him straight to the northern fortress.
To the VIP chambers, no less.
The only message left for the students at the camp was a simple four-character command: Stand by.
However, because the students who had witnessed Letter’s battle with the dreamer vividly described what had happened—
“I have to go.”
Hearing that Letter’s robe had been drenched in blood, Irina unbuttoned her coat.
Leaving her fellow instructor, Evan, with the students, she set off—not as a student but as a princess—toward the ruler of the North.
“…It is an honor to meet the Second Imperial Princess.”
Blue hair.
A wrinkled face.
A uniform worn only by the family head.
Theodor Lionheart, who had just been bombarded with unexpected news, now faced Irina—not as a student, but as royalty.
“I need to meet the professor.”