A dark temple beneath the roots.

There, two figures were seated.

One was the Apostle of Wrath, clad in a black robe.

The other was—

“Mm—”

A silver-haired man who didn’t quite match the gloom of the underground.

He let out a satisfied hum—or rather,

“This is nice.”

The Apostle of Purity nodded, clearly pleased with the current situation.

“......You think it’s nice?”

Like a bottomless abyss, nothing could be seen.

The Apostle of Wrath, cloaked in pitch-black robes, asked.

It was a grotesque voice—neither old nor young, male nor female—so eerie it made one frown just from hearing it.

“Yeah, I like it.”

The Apostle of Purity smiled unchanged.

“Look, the numbers are perfect now. Just two.”

He said brightly.

“Hoo—You see, others might not care, but it really bothered me. So, I find this situation quite satisfying. Oh, not that I wanted the Apostles to die, okay? Even just one dying would've been enough for me.”

Because then it’d be four, right? Two on each side—perfectly balanced—

He chuckled to himself while mumbling.

The Apostle of Wrath, silently watching him, finally spoke.

“So, what do you plan to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You already know from the previous Apostles’ failure. You know what I’m talking about.”

At those words, Purity tilted his head, then let out a soft ‘ah—’.

“You mean the seed we planted got ruined? Yeah, that’s a shame. We put in a lot of effort, and now it’s going to waste without even being used properly. But still—”

Grin.

“I’m not too worried. We did tweak it a bit as that One’s vessel, but it’s not like it has to be used.”

“......Then?”

“There’s no need to cling to him. I’ll kill him to retrieve it, sure, but I don’t have to dirty my own hands.”

Purity smiled as he pulled out a dark-colored cube from his robe.

“Do you know what this is?”

“That’s—”

“It’s something made by some half-baked guy, but it turned out to be pretty useful. So I mass-produced it a bit. Added a touch of that One’s authority too.”

“......You’re thinking of using that to create a vessel?”

At that question, Purity placed the cube in front of Wrath.

“Of course not. This is just prep work for the others. Even if they’re not Apostles, they’ll need to come out eventually, right?”

“In that case—”

“I’ve already picked out the perfect vessel to receive my great one. Found a fine candidate, too.”

He walked to the other side of the table.

“Well, I think we’re done here. I’ll be going now. Let’s meet again sometime.”

Waving with a grin, the Apostle of Purity began to fade.

“Oh.”

Just as his form was vanishing, he let out a small exclamation, as if he remembered something.

“Just in case, I’ll take care of him too. Marquis Palatio? Seems like most of the failures were his fault.”

And with another wave—

“You don’t show it, but unlike me, you’re grieving over the Apostles’ deaths, aren’t you?”

—he disappeared completely.

Silence fell once again over the temple.

Left alone, the Apostle of Wrath.

Stared wordlessly at the abyssal object Purity left behind.

A hand slipped out from the unseen robe.

The hand picked up the abyssal cube.

Bringing it close to their face, the Apostle of Wrath muttered—

“......Marquess Palatio.”

They stared blankly at the abyssal object for some time.

For a long, long time.

####

Before returning to the marquessate, Alon visited Greynifra one last time—and received an unexpected item from Magrina.

“This is……”

“It’s your ring, right, brother?”

It was the ring Alon had lost in the past.

He examined the ring Magrina handed over.

It had a few faded spots, unable to withstand the ages.

But it was definitely the ring he used to wear.

“......Where did you get this?”

When Alon asked, Magrina closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to recall an old memory.

“Someone gave it to me.”

“......Someone?”

“Yes, a person with blue eyes.”

[That must be the one I saw,] said Basiliora, curling his body around the ring.

“Do you know who he was?”

Alon asked, but Magrina shook her head.

“No, not at all. I also wondered why he had your ring, so I tried to investigate, but I found nothing.”

“Just in case—do you remember what he looked like?”

“Mm—no, his entire body was wrapped in a black robe. I could only see his eyes.”

[Exactly like I remember.]

As Basiliora agreed, Magrina tilted her head.

“I thought you might know who he was, but I guess not.”

“Right.”

Alon nodded, then suddenly realized something odd.

“Magrina, when did you receive this ring?”

“It was about a month or two after you disappeared, I think.”

At that answer, Alon frowned.

If what Magrina said was true, a strange contradiction emerged.

‘Wouldn’t that mean there should be two of this ring?’

Magrina had received the ring from the mysterious blue-eyed man.

And now, 700 years later, she gave it to Alon.

Which meant that for those 700 years, the ring Alon had lost had been with her.

At first glance, that seemed fine—but one undeniable contradiction remained.

If, as Alon knew, this ring was one-of-a-kind—

Then it didn’t make sense for him to have obtained it in the labyrinth a few years ago.

……Because the ring he had lost should have still been with Magrina.

‘Same goes for the glove.’

Alon looked down at his hand.

The glove—said to have once been used by the Primordial Elf as a staff—was another mystery.

When he went back in time, he hadn’t sealed it away or done anything with it.

He pondered the matter for a while.

“Well, I understand for now. Thanks for keeping the ring safe.”

“Not at all, brother.”

Alon stood up from his seat.

####

[What are you thinking about so deeply?]

About a week had passed since they left Greynifra.

As Alon stared silently out the window, Basiliora asked.

“......There are too many things that don’t add up.”

[Don’t add up? Oh, are you talking about the ring and the glove?]

“Yes. And also the man with blue eyes.”

“Ah—now that you say it, it does sound a little strange.”

Evan, who was listening nearby, nodded and then shrugged.

“But, well… in the end, didn’t it all work out?”

“There was no real problem.”

Alon rubbed his chin.

Evan was right.

No actual issues had occurred.

Even so, something kept bothering him.

In all of Alon’s experiences in Psychedelia— there had been differences from the original story and setting before.

But never had a unique setting like this changed.

‘It feels like something’s off.’

A sensation like something was stuck in the back of his mind.

At that moment—

“Oh, Marquess. Speaking of which, there’s something I remembered while we were talking.”

“What is it?”

Evan leaned in.

“Do you remember the Abyssal Core?”

“The Abyssal Core?”

“Yes, the one from Duke Komalon’s case.”

“......Don’t tell me it’s still being circulated. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Mm~ not exactly. I told you last time that a few pieces still move around, remember?”

Alon nodded.

Even after Duke Komalon was taken down, Evan had continued to share updates.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Well, this is just a rumor, but apparently a special kind of Abyssal Core is being mass-distributed right now.”

“......Mass-distributed?”

“Yes, it seems someone has started producing them again. That’s stirred things up a bit in the underworld.”

“That doesn’t sound like good news.”

“It probably isn’t.”

“So what’s so special about this Abyssal Core?”

When Alon got to the point, Evan hesitated for a moment before answering.

“I heard it significantly enhances the user’s abilities—more than the usual ones.”

“......Enhances them more?”

“Yes.”

[Hmph, it’s probably just a powered-up version of those half-baked failures we fought before. Nothing to worry about.]

Basiliora scoffed and laughed arrogantly.

“Didn’t you fight one of those half-baked ones last time?”

[What nonsense? I shredded five of those guys on my own!]

“Did you?”

Evan responded to Basiliora like an answering machine, picking a fight.

The inside of the carriage grew noisy again.

[Meow-]

Blackie, who had been sleeping on Alon’s chest, rubbed his eyes and looked at the two with an expression full of pity...

Their peaceful journey continued for several more weeks.

“Master!!”

As soon as they arrived at Colony, Alon was greeted with a dramatic welcome.

Seolrang clung tightly to him as if she had been waiting forever.

“Have you been well?”

“Yes! I’ve been great!”

Alon patted Seolrang’s head as she smiled brightly.

...?

But he noticed something odd about the awkward smile on her secretary, Lime’s, face.

“Marquess, since you arrived early this morning, why not head straight there now?”

“Let’s do that.”

Following Evan’s suggestion, they headed directly to the ruins.

As always, Alon entered through the entrance of the ruins and walked the long tunnel.

In the distance, the view of the ruins began to appear.

Alon stared at the scene—

...?

And unconsciously made a puzzled expression.

The reason was—

Though it had been a long time since he last saw the ruins, they felt incredibly familiar.

A strange sense of déjà vu, like he had seen this place somewhere before.

“......? Master? What’s wrong?”

Seolrang, walking beside him, tilted her head.

But Alon simply stared blankly ahead.

“Ah.”

With a soft murmur, he realized two things.

Where he had seen this scenery before.

And—

Why the capital of the Allied Races had felt so familiar when he visited it in the past.

“This was the place.”

Alon finally understood.

This was the capital of the Allied Races he had seen 700 years ago.