It was said to be a land that knew no cold.

They said it was warm year-round, with rich soil and people who never went hungry. They did not know what starvation was? What fascinated Ruslan most was that point. He was certain it had to be an exaggeration. There could not possibly be such an ideal paradise in this world.

For commoners who were neither royalty nor nobles, or even slaves, to never lack food, it was beyond the natural order he had learned by living it. Even though he was a member of a powerful royal house, he had known hunger. He had been born at the peak of the bloodShey over the throne, the seat above all others.

When he took a spoonful of a dish cooled to an icy chill, the carcass of an insect floated up with it. He had been given only two options. As one born of imperial blood, he could preserve his noble pride and take his own life, or he could drink the poison offered by his enemies and be assassinated. It meant he had to choose one.

He had been too young to understand exactly what was happening, or how, in what manner, everything was being carried out. But his instinct to live was clear, so he chose neither.

Instead, he survived by chewing and swallowing food that contained insect corpses. In the meantime, his father and grand-uncle, who had been holding their breath below the surface and waiting for a chance to overturn the situation, also rose at just the right moment with the tide.

As he traveled through battlefields with his father and grand-uncle, he had never once seen a people who did not go hungry or fall ill. To him, that made sense. He had understood hunger himself.

And yet there was supposedly a country somewhere across the sea where that law did not apply. The thought was so strange that he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

A record by a renowned traveler had described it like this.

<The people are gentle as sheep and generous of heart. One day, a child who had lost his parents appeared in the village, and one family took him in. Later, the entire village raised him together, without treating him differently from their own children. The child was eventually taken by a priest from a nearby temple.

… As befits people from a country with a mild climate, they are small in stature and deeply devout. According to their claims, some priests can hear the voice of a god. However, this phenomenon has not been scientifically proven, and in my personal judgment, it is likely a collective hallucination. In addition, because of the temple’s wealth and traditional customs, the high priest’s power rivals the king’s royal authority.>

Everything was the opposite of his homeland, so Ruslan became curious about this country. Since it was one of the countries he would conquer sooner or later anyway, he assembled a small force and slipped in illegally. The soldiers who came with him infiltrated the area and gathered information, while he, thanks to looking even younger than his age, was able to move around freely and take in the atmosphere.

And the book’s description had not been a lie. Every sight was foreign and prosperous. There were no frozen beggars on the streets, and everywhere bright-faced children ran and played. If they got hungry, they simply picked fruit from the nearby trees and ate their fill.

To him, it was the strangest sight of all. Fruit and flowers hanging everywhere on the streets. Then, all at once, something underfoot crunched, and he looked down to see a bruised piece of fruit. The pulp that had been dropped to the dirt after being given to everyone and still remaining in abundance left a strong impression.

Good thing I took a look first.

Ruslan was satisfied. Once everything was broken, a new era would come soon enough, so it had been right to see it for himself.

He looked up at the grand temple standing in the center of the street with solemn dignity. At the highest point, a statue of the chief deity, who symbolized peace, stretched out her arms as the long hem of her skirt fluttered in the wind.

No matter where he looked, this was a country founded under the protection and love of gods. The entire nation was a living myth in itself. Ruslan smiled faintly as he looked at the goddess with her face lifted toward the sky.

It was a matter of perspective.

A god was only ever a being who looked down from the heavens and never descended to earth. Whether gods truly existed in this bountiful country was not his concern. Either way, it did not matter.

But a god’s gaze could never be equal to a human’s, so myth had to meet its end as myth. It was time for humanity to enter the age of humans. And in that history, his grand-uncle and the foreigners from the island who followed him would be the ones to take the first steps.

It was so beautiful he would not regret it, and he felt as if he would never forget it. Only after coming here did he first realize that such scenery, such sounds, existed in the world. Ruslan stored every color, every voice, every scent, every touch, and every taste in his heart. This finite moment would soon disappear, but the sensations of it would remain immortal within him.

Only one being in that landscape did he wish to be finite, so he pulled that one being out of the scene. He did not want it left behind as something immortal.

Compared to the people of this country, he was quite tall, with long, slender limbs. The cloth wrapping his body was soft against the skin, giving him a supple, graceful appearance. The fabric woven from silkworm-spun white thread shone with a faint luster.

With every step he took, the body beneath the cloth emerged, revealing an enigmatic line. Because of the silver sash around his waist, his narrow frame stood out even more. It was an exceptionally fitting outfit.

His black hair flowed softly and was loosely tied back, naturally a little disheveled. Perhaps because of the priests’ customs, many people grew their hair long regardless of gender. He was one of them.

With the sunlight so warm, many people were tanned to a pleasing golden hue, but he was a pale ivory that did not look out of place even beside the temple’s bright marble pillars. His lips were a light pink, giving him a pure and delicate air, but he did not seem fragile. On the contrary, his clearly defined mouth opened wide whenever he smiled, making him look lively and full of energy.

Before he launched the war of conquest, he had wanted to see the country’s symbol and core, the grand temple, one last time. He was taking in the memory of the deity statue, whose variegated colors scattered light in every direction, when the man appeared.

The instant he saw him, an indescribably strange feeling stirred inside him. At first, he did not even properly recognize it, and instinctively only kept his distance. He felt that the man was foreign.

It was a feeling he could not even define. Later, Ruslan would be certain that if he had simply let himself leave, none of what followed would have happened.

But wasn’t he the one who followed after Ruslan first?

In the scattering wind lurked the unease that inevitably accompanied a turning point in history. Blood, merciless slaughter, and the foreboding brought on by a cause proclaimed in one direction only. In a scene where ignorant peace had settled over everything, only Ruslan was sharp enough to catch that scent.

He sensed that his fate was changing. It was not because of the political position that would soon be his. It was because of the man who had fearlessly stepped into his life.

Ruslan was horrified by the premonition that he was destined to be captivated by that man, and soon after, he no longer wanted to leave him preserved as an immortal memory.

Immortality was something preserved in reverence, while finitude was something that vaniShey by destiny.

He was not foolish enough to dare hope for immortality.

He wanted to seize fate.

Side Story, End.