Chapter 2: Eternal Winter [2]
Naturally, Ilya had heard of the term ’Fallen Wizard’ before.
It was not that they were considered taboo, but rather that they were wizards who had gradually lost themselves, eventually becoming consumed by their own viewpoints.
Every recorded case had ended the same way, with each Fallen Wizard meeting a gruesome and tragic death.
"So... I’m going to die soon?"
"Yes. It’s a pity, really. Judging from what little I’ve observed, your Domain was probably meant to become something beautiful, but somewhere along the way, your perception of the world became so distorted."
"...."
"At this point... I doubt it can ever return to what it was originally meant to be."
Ilya lowered his gaze, watching the frost continue to crawl along the stone railing.
Before he could dwell on the thought any longer, however, the woman spoke again.
"By the way... Are you trying to kill me?"
"Huh?"
"Hm. Guess not. It doesn’t show on your face, but your Domain is constantly attempting to encroach upon mine. It’s subtle enough that you probably aren’t even aware you’re doing it, but it’s there all the same."
"...."
"You must find it very difficult to trust other people. Otherwise, your Domain wouldn’t instinctively attack a complete stranger the moment she got too close."
"That’s..."
Ilya opened his mouth to respond, but no words seemed to come out.
He searched for something to say, some argument to refute her conclusion, yet every thought only seemed to prove her right.
In the end, all he could do was lower his gaze.
"Is there... really no way for me to survive?"
"No. Resistance is futile. The harder you struggle against your Domain, the more agonizing your death will become. Accepting it is, ironically, the kindest thing you can do for yourself."
"...."
Ilya stared at his trembling hand before slowly curling it into a fist.
"I’ll resist."
For the first time since they had met, the woman’s composed expression shifted.
Her eyes widened with surprise before she let out a breath, as though she had heard the last answer she had been expecting.
"That’s... surprising."
Throughout their entire conversation, his eyes had been dull and lifeless.
"I’ve seen you standing on this bridge several times over the past few weeks, and every single time, I found myself wondering whether today was finally going to be the day you jumped."
Yet now, after being told that his death was inevitable and that resisting his fate was meaningless, something within those lifeless eyes had changed, as though the certainty of death had rekindled a part of him that had long since gone cold.
"Considering your circumstances, it might be possible."
A faint spark of defiance that burned through the frost.
"My circumstances?"
"It seems you’ve never received any formal magical education," she said. "And yet, despite that, you’ve somehow managed to construct a Domain powerful enough to oppose my own."
The proper path of magic began in childhood, where aspiring wizards spent years learning the fundamentals of mana manipulation, spell construction, and magical theory before ever touching the concept of a Domain.
Only after accumulating enough knowledge, experience, and understanding of their own viewpoint would a Domain naturally take shape, often decades later, as the culmination of a wizard’s entire journey.
Ilya, however, had followed none of those steps, somehow manifesting a fully formed Domain despite never receiving any formal magical education.
"I can say this with absolute confidence," she said. "There’s no one else in recorded history like you."
"Is that so..."
Just as the conversation seemed ready to continue, the woman glanced toward the academy building before turning on her heel.
"It’s about time I head back. If I stay any longer, the Professor will start looking for me. We can continue this conversation tomorrow at the same time, though I wouldn’t recommend skipping class again... well, I suppose that’s ultimately your decision."
Without waiting for his reply, she began walking away at her usual unhurried pace.
Ilya watched her retreating figure for a moment before suddenly remembering something and calling out after her.
"Wait! I never got your name!"
"Vera."
"Ah... I’m Ilya."
"I know."
With those final words, Vera continued on her way, her figure gradually disappearing into the distance, leaving Ilya standing alone on the bridge.
* * *
As a member of the Northern Duchy, Ilya had been provided with a mansion in the imperial capital by his family for the duration of his studies at the academy.
The residence was large enough to comfortably accommodate both him and his elder sister, along with the servants assigned to attend to them.
Upon returning home that evening, the maids had already lined up in the entrance hall to welcome him.
"Young Master, the Young Lady is currently having her meal, so..."
"Yes," Ilya replied with a nod before removing his coat and handing it over to one of the maids. "Is the bath prepared?"
"Yes, Young Master."
"Good."
Ever since moving into the mansion, Ilya, the Young Master of House Belozersky, and his elder sister, the Young Lady, had come to an agreement never to share the dining table.
Most days, Ilya returned home first and finished dinner shortly before his sister arrived from her own obligations, allowing her to eat in peace without either of them disturbing the other’s routine.
Today, however, he returned well after his sister had already begun eating.
As Ilya crossed the living room toward the staircase, his sister, who sat at the dining table with perfect posture as she continued her meal, spoke without even looking up from her plate.
"You’re late."
"Yes."
"Don’t trouble the maids so much next time."
"Yes."
That brief exchange was all either of them needed. Once the conversation ended, Ilya continued walking toward the bath without another glance.
Because he had returned home late, he would naturally be eating much later than usual.
Within the Belozersky household, the servants were only permitted to have their own meal after every member of the family had finished theirs.
In other words, Ilya’s delay was an inconvenience not only for himself, but for every maid and butler waiting patiently for the evening’s duties to conclude.
After finishing his bath, Ilya changed into a more comfortable set of clothes before making his way toward the dining hall.
His damp hair had yet to completely dry, and he absentmindedly ran a towel over it as he stepped inside.
However, the moment he entered the room, his footsteps came to an abrupt halt.
"...."
His elder sister was still there, seated in her designated chair at the head of the table, elegantly sipping from a cup of tea as though she had been waiting for him all along.
Noticing his hesitation, she set her teacup to its saucer before tucking a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear.
Without a trace of impatience on her face, she raised a hand and gestured toward the empty seat across from her.
"We need to talk," she said. "Go ahead and eat. I’ll permit you to dine in front of me."
"Sure."
Anastasiya Valentinovna Belozerskaya, the heir to House Belozersky, was a talent that existed on an entirely different level from Ilya.
Her swordsmanship had earned admiration even within the Knight Department, where countless gifted nobles gathered, and throughout the Northern Duchy, she was celebrated as the next great star destined to inherit the Belozersky name.
Standing beside someone like her only made Ilya’s own shortcomings appear even more pitiful.
"I heard you were injured again today."
"Yes."
"That makes six injuries this week. What an utter disgrace. Tell me honestly, Ilya, are you truly incapable of improving, or are you deliberately getting yourself hurt just to avoid attending your lessons?"
Ilya set down his utensils for a moment before looking across the table and responding.
"I’m trying my best."
"Your best? You’re an embarrassment to this family. Do you understand that?"
"I know my place. Don’t worry, Anastasiya."
He did not even address her as Sister, because she had forbidden him from doing so years ago.
"No, you don’t," Anastasiya replied. "The fact that you’re still insisting on attending the academy is proof enough of that. Do you even have any idea what kind of reports about you reach my ears on a daily basis?"
Ilya remained silent, allowing her to continue.
"Every time your name is mentioned, it is followed by another humiliation. They speak of the youngest son who disgraces the family at every opportunity."
She met his gaze directly, her expression devoid of sympathy.
"My accomplishments elevate the Belozersky name, while yours drag it back into the mud. Every foolish stunt you pull at the academy becomes another stain for me to clean."
"...."
"Whether you like it or not, you are my younger brother, and as long as that remains true, your failures reflect upon me just as surely as they reflect upon House Belozersky."
"...So what exactly do you expect me to do?"
"Drop out of the academy."
Her answer came so quickly that it was obvious she had already made up her mind long before this conversation began.
"Leave the Knight Department, leave the academy, and return to the North."
"...."
"Once I inherit Father’s position as Grand Duchess, I’ll arrange a villa for you somewhere far from the capital. It will be fully staffed with maids, butlers, and everything else you’ll ever need. You’ll never have to worry about money, food, clothing, or work for the rest of your life, and when the time comes, you may even marry whomever you wish."
She spoke with absolute certainty, as though she genuinely believed she was offering him the most merciful future possible.
"In return, all I ask is that you stop disgracing this family in public."
To anyone else, it might have sounded like an unimaginably generous offer.
Yet as Ilya listened in silence, he couldn’t help but realize that what Anastasiya truly wanted was for him to be removed from the Belozersky name without actually casting him out of the family.
"I can’t do that."
Because apparently, he was going to die soon.
"Why not?"
"That wouldn’t be fair to mother."
Not like he could ever tell Anastasiya that.
"Hah... If you truly respected Mother, you never would have insisted on coming to the academy in the first place. Do you honestly believe you’re honoring her wishes by continuing this pathetic charade?"
"...."
"Not only are you wasting the faith she placed in you, you’re making her look like a total fool in Father’s eyes. She was the one who argued that you deserved this opportunity, the one who insisted you should be allowed to enroll despite everyone’s objections, and what have you accomplished since arriving here?"
Trips to the infirmary every week. Constant ridicule from peers. A growing collection of stories that have turned him into the academy’s laughingstock. So on and so forth.
"I’ve deliberately withheld reports of your academic performance from Father until now. Told myself that perhaps you’d eventually come to your senses, withdraw on your own, and spare Mother the humiliation. But if you’re unwilling to listen to reason, then I see no point in continuing to shield you."
She looked directly into Ilya’s eyes, her voice as cold as the northern winter that defined their homeland.
"It’s about time the family learned exactly what kind of failure their son has become."
Ilya finished chewing before setting his utensils down. His expression remained remarkably composed despite the severity of Anastasiya’s words.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm enough to make the room feel even colder.
"I’m switching departments."
"You..."
"I’ll be transferring to the Magic Department."
Smack——!
Anastasiya’s palm struck the dining table with enough force to rattle the plates and teacups.
The maids standing against the walls instinctively lowered their heads, not daring to make a sound, while Anastasiya slowly rose from her seat, her icy blue eyes fixed on Ilya with a fury she had not shown even once throughout the conversation.
"You’ve gone too far! Do you even understand what you’re saying?!"
"I’ve recently discovered that perhaps I have an aptitude for magic," Ilya replied without raising his voice. "So instead of continuing to waste my time pursuing something I’ll never achieve, I should devote myself to something that at least gives me a chance."
"Ridiculous."
Anastasiya laughed once.
"You’ve completely lost your mind, Ilya. A Belozersky studying magic? That isn’t merely disgraceful, but a betrayal of everything this family has stood for since its founding!"
House Belozersky had never been known for producing scholars, alchemists, or wizards.
For generation after generation, every head of the family had held a sword on the battlefield, earning the title of the Empire’s shield through martial strength alone.
Within the Belozersky household, becoming a knight was not simply a career or an expectation, but the family’s identity itself.
"To abandon the sword is to abandon the Belozersky name itself. Do you think Father, our ancestors, or the people of the North would ever acknowledge a Grand Duke’s son who chose to become a wizard?"
"Son? I wonder when the last time Father has ever treated me like his son instead of an inconvenience."
"Tsk."
Anastasiya’s expression darkened, and whatever patience she had managed to maintain throughout the conversation finally disappeared.
"You’ve really lost your goddamned mind. First, your constant failures, then your delinquent behavior, and now this ridiculous fantasy about becoming a wizard. You smoke every chance you get. Every single time I pass by your room, it reeks of fucking tobacco to the point it’s unbearable!"
She paused before letting out a scoff.
"Then again... perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised you turned out so differently from the rest of us."
Ilya understood exactly what she meant.
There was no need for her to say the words outright, because both of them knew the truth.
He simply lowered his eyes for a moment before giving a small nod.
"Yes. If that’s all, I’ll be returning to my room."
Without waiting for permission, Ilya pushed his chair back into place and quietly left the dining hall, his footsteps gradually fading as he ascended the staircase.
Behind him, Anastasiya remained seated in silence while the maids cleared away his plate.
"What was I ever expecting from a damned half-blood?"
It was a truth Ilya had only learned after transmigrating into this world.
Perhaps the original novel had mentioned it only in passing, or perhaps it had been such an insignificant detail that he had overlooked it entirely while reading.
That he, Ilya Valentinovich Belozersky, was an illegitimate son.
Comments