“The success or failure of this operation will hinge on this fact.”
“You mean... the fact that you don’t carry imperial blood?”
“Yes,” I replied, gazing again at the relic on the table.
The incomplete gear.
Its form likely held more significance than just symbolizing a “component.” In games like this, an object shaped like a gear would undoubtedly serve as a part of something larger.
And whatever that “completed object” was, it would likely wield the power of the goddess—or something comparable. That was what the Emperor was after.
In the original story, the Emperor claimed he wanted to place the entire world under his feet and rule it equally.
But was that truly feasible?
Even in my original world, World War I had been dubbed “the war to end all wars,” yet not long after came World War II, shocking the world. This world hadn’t yet experienced anything like a world war, so it wasn’t strange for someone to believe in such an ideal.
What was strange, however, was that the one harboring such thoughts was the Emperor.
A man who had spent the story preparing meticulously for war, wielding advanced weaponry and executing strategies to ensure victory. Could such a figure truly believe that a single war could bring eternal peace?
In fiction, characters heralded as geniuses often couldn’t surpass the intelligence of their creators. However, for someone repeatedly described as a “brilliant tactician,” failing to foresee such outcomes seemed off.
Even the game’s wiki had a section dedicated to critiquing this character, citing real-world examples to point out inconsistencies.
Still, players who followed Azerna Chronicles closely speculated that there must have been more to the Emperor’s motives.
What if the world war wasn’t an end, but a means? What if the Emperor sought something through it?
Consider the events:
But with even just a few edge pieces, outlining the puzzle wasn’t impossible.
“When that masked figure was near me, I couldn’t use my powers effectively. At least some of you must have noticed something about my abilities,” I began.
“....”
Alice, Claire, and Leo all turned serious at my words.
“In the ‘future’ I know of...” I hesitated for a moment, weighing how much to reveal.
The decision was easy.
“I can reverse time, but I can’t foresee the future. I only know what I’ve already experienced.”
“...”
“And this situation we’re in now? It’s something I’ve never encountered before.”
“Then... how do you know about this ‘future’ you mentioned earlier?”
Alice’s question was cautious, uncharacteristically so. It was refreshing to see her like this.
“Let’s just say I’ve read the script from outside the stage.”
Silence.
What I’d just revealed carried far more weight than simply explaining my powers.
“...Are you saying our actions... are predetermined?”
“Not necessarily.”
That, even I couldn’t say for certain.
This world bore a striking resemblance to the game, but there were undeniable differences.
For instance, Marmaros could be used to enhance weapons, but unlike the game, equipment couldn’t simply be swapped out at will. Weapon traits could even change based on how enhancements were applied.
Recovery devices existed, but here, no one questioned their origin or purpose. In the game, these devices often doubled as shops, but in this reality, they didn’t. It made sense; why would a centuries-old relic operate on “pound sterling”?
In the game, taking damage reduced HP. Until HP hit zero, you wouldn’t die—whether stabbed, bitten, or shot. Yet in cutscenes, even a single fatal wound could kill a character.
Here, wounds from key battles left scars.
So while this world resembled the game, I couldn’t believe its events were unfolding exactly as scripted.
After all, without me, Mia would’ve died to a bear in Winterfield.
“I can’t be sure. But the ancients seemed to think so. The deepest chambers of the imperial palace are filled with prophecy books.”
These prophecies, which were part of the original game’s lore and readable in fragments, matched much of what I knew. But their language was far more metaphorical.
A grand schemer emerges, formulating a plan with a chance to succeed, but ultimately fails.
The Emperor would’ve known this, but his personality suggested he’d simply see it as a challenge to overcome. A man with unshakable confidence in himself, he’d relish the attempt, even in failure.
“But within those prophecies... there’s no mention of me. Or the masked figure.”
That meant someone—something—was working against the prophecies, trying to defy their outcomes.
“If there’s someone like me, who can manipulate time, then perhaps there’s another entity capable of intervening from outside time itself.”
“...The goddess?”
Alice asked cautiously.
I neither confirmed nor denied it. Nothing was certain yet.
“Whatever brought me here, it’s safe to say I oppose whoever sent that masked figure. When that figure is near, my abilities are nullified.”
But not completely.
If my power came from the goddess, the opposing force wasn’t stronger—it merely disrupted it.
It wasn’t perfect.
Which meant it wasn’t fully realized either.
“The completed relics likely aren’t singular,” I concluded.
If the Emperor sought to harness the goddess’s power, using Fangryphon bloodlines as a medium, then perhaps there was another force, equally powerful, seeking to counteract him.
“He plans to gather the relic fragments through war and use Claire—someone with the strongest bloodline—as a medium to seize the goddess’s power. Then he’ll place the world beneath him, ruling as a god.”
But if the Empire’s relics were designed to wield or suppress divine power, then surely an opposing relic existed—one meant to resist or protect that same power.
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Perhaps the goddess herself had prepared such a countermeasure.
Or perhaps the autonomous state had worked on it over centuries.
“...Then, this relic...”
Claire’s voice trembled as she stared down at the glowing artifact. Its light shone brightly on her face, as if calling out to be used.
If Fangryphon sought to suppress the goddess through its bloodline, then perhaps the goddess found a similar way to safeguard her power.
That was the conclusion I’d come to after countless time loops, pondering this while walking to Alice’s room.