"Sir, it's time. I remind you again, this task was assigned by Lord Berl. It cannot be delayed any further."
The assistant spoke to the figure lying on the bed, snoring loudly. The girl on the bed merely waved her hand dismissively after hearing the noise.
"I know, I know…"
The girl—beautiful face, chestnut-brown hair, jet-black eyes—sat up. Her hair was a messy tangle, her clothes disheveled and careless.
"Ugh."
She stood up, changed clothes, and tidied herself. Only then did she resemble a professor.
Taking out a powder, she applied it to her face—not to look younger or prettier, but older.
Wrinkles gradually surfaced across her features, forming the aged face of Professor Wellay.
Wellay yawned, picked up a small mirror, and checked her now-wrinkled, elderly appearance.
She tied her hair into a ponytail and put on the professor's distinctive robe.
"Being an immortal isn't easy."
She sat down on a chair, crossed her arms, and stared at the wooden door.
"Phelion, how long do you intend to stand outside?"
The door slowly opened, and a small figure stepped in—yet his shadow was enormous, like that of a giant.
…
It was the fourth day of the tournament.
However, everything had descended into chaos due to the bombings, terrorism, and casualties.
Under my preparations—Ron Irus—the damage had been temporarily reduced.
But even that mattered little compared to the appearance of the three demons.
"So, you're saying there are three demons?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Looking at the woman before me, I couldn't help but feel impressed. She was truly beautiful.
Beyond that, she was rather easy-going—not arrogant, somewhat straightforward, but not reckless.
But such traits often served as a well-crafted mask. Everyone in society wore a mask; rarely did they reveal their unguarded true self, especially those famous or of status—for allowing someone to understand your real nature was a knife to the throat.
Because of that, even I—the author—did not truly know what kind of person she was. Rather, her true personality had never been accurately depicted.
"Among them, the first two demons—you already know—are the Heavenly Demon and the Earth Demon."
I pulled two photographs from my coat and handed them to her. The images of the demons were displayed, with notes written on the back.
"And the third one is a—"
"A Mind Demon?"
Janeus interrupted me. I was slightly surprised that she had guessed exactly what I intended to say.
"As expected of Your Highness. You had already—"
"I did not."
She stared at her own hand, expression clouded with doubt.
"I realized something strange… rather, something off about perception itself. My memories have been surging back in waves, and déjà vu has been happening far too often."
She looked at the photos, resting her chin on one hand while holding a photo in the other.
"Yet no one noticed it. Not the servants, not the soldiers, not the authorities, not the nobles… No one at all."
"I understand, Your Highness. It is fortunate that you noticed. Forgive my boldness, but may I ask—are you familiar with the legend recorded on this land?"
…
The Giant Race—once a people who vanished thousands of years ago.
They possessed colossal bodies and overwhelming physical strength, yet lacked the ability to use magic.
Because of that, they could not perform longevity rituals; their lifespan, at most two hundred years, and not everyone reached even that.
Yet standing before Wellay was a small figure that looked no older than a fifteen-year-old child—one who had survived for more than two thousand years, and who belonged to the Giant Race.
But what had two thousand years done to someone once hailed a hero?
"...Burst."
In the darkness, Phelion snapped his fingers—and the entire room exploded.
Wellay shielded herself with a mist-like layer of mana, formed her hand into the shape of a gun, and aimed it at Phelion's face.
The explosion sent dust, debris, and smoke flying; the scent of ash and burnt wood mixed into one.
Whoosh—
Something strange began to happen. The room that had been blasted apart started dissolving. Layers of fog spread across the walls.
The wrecked room twisted, spun, and returned to normal.
'Perception-Amplifying Magic.'
Classified under the mana of "Illusion"—opposite of "Essence." Illusory or perception-amplifying magic targeted one's ability to grasp reality.
Unlike Mind Mana, the "superreal" overwhelmed the senses beyond their limits, making the victim unable to control, understand, or perceive correctly.
"Entering this room means entering my domain!"
Phelion did not answer. He stepped out of the shadows, revealing a face both young and ancient—no wrinkles, yet scowling like an elderly man.
He wore dull gray garments styled like old Greek clothing, adorned with gleaming, expensive jewelry.
A flick of his hand—and the fog dispersed, revealing a body straining under an invisible force.
Phelion lifted his right hand. It instantly transformed—becoming a black umbrella.
The floor collapsed like a box being opened, revealing a swirling multicolored vortex that pulled Wellay into an endless hallucination.
Crack, crack—
A sound like fracturing glass echoed. Instead of falling, Wellay dissolved into mist and vanished.
Floating in mid-air with the umbrella, Phelion realized something. He lowered the umbrella beneath his feet, stepped on it, and pointed his left hand upward.
Above him, a massive multicolored hand belonging to a towering figure covered the space—like a colossal statue.
"You've been fooled."
The eyes above opened—eyes familiar, along with a familiar voice.
It was Professor Will.