Chapter 43 — Cursed with Purpose
Dawn arrived gently over the Falling Mountains of Wister.
It was a strange place for dawn to exist.
The mountains did not rise from the land like ordinary peaks. They drifted—vast floating masses of stone and soil that hung in the air like fragments of a shattered world. Some were inverted, their cliffs pointing toward the heavens while waterfalls poured upward into the sky like rivers returning home. Others floated sideways, their forests growing at impossible angles.
Among these drifting islands lay a broken hill of grass that defied gravity entirely.
The slope curved downward toward nothingness, yet the grass clung stubbornly to its surface, swaying softly in the cool morning wind. Pale sunlight spilled across the floating landscape, illuminating fields of silver flowers and thin streams of glowing mist drifting between the mountains.
It was quiet.
Peaceful.
A little piece of heaven suspended above a world that was currently devouring itself.
Far below, the Wister War raged.
Mages slaughtered one another across deserts, forests, glaciers, and shattered plains. Ether storms tore landscapes apart. Rivers ran red with blood. Entire cities of ruins burned beneath the sky.
But here—
Here a man rested.
Snowen Wister lay comfortably against the gentle slope of the floating hill, his body half reclined as he stared lazily at the sky. His long white hair had been tied loosely behind his head, though strands escaped constantly and danced in the cool wind. His skin was dark like polished bronze, and his eyes were a soft grey that seemed permanently caught somewhere between boredom and quiet contemplation.
He wore the battle robes of his house—black, white, and orange woven together in elegant patterns that shimmered faintly with protective ether sigils.
To anyone watching, he looked less like a warrior and more like a young nobleman enjoying a lazy afternoon picnic.
The reality was far stranger.
Snowen Wister was not a player in the Wister War.
He was something worse.
In front of him, carved roughly into the soil, lay a crude chess board drawn with a simple stick. Small stones had been arranged across its squares—dark pebbles against pale ones.
Snowen leaned forward slightly.
"…Check."
Across the board sat his opponent.
A dog.
It was a large creature with red fur and a white fluff that resembled a lion's mane around its neck, its body thick and muscular like a warhound bred for battle. Yet its eyes carried a strange intelligence—an almost human patience as it examined the board.
The dog lifted one paw.
Then gently pushed a pebble forward.
Snowen blinked.
"…You're kidding."
He studied the board.
Then groaned.
"Checkmate. Again."
The dog wagged its tail slowly.
This had happened six times already.
Nearby, a small translucent figure waddled around the board, occasionally peering at the stones as if pretending to understand the game.
The creature looked like a duck.
But it wasn't quite right.
Its body shimmered faintly like a hologram, yet parts of it appeared almost solid. It had four legs instead of two, and its head flickered with strange ghostlike distortions as it moved.
It tilted its head toward Snowen.
"You seem troubled, young sir."
Snowen sighed and leaned back into the grass.
"Hey… duck."
"Yes?"
"You really think I can do this?"
The duck blinked.
"Do what, young sir?"
Snowen turned his head slowly and stared at it.
"You know what I mean."
His voice carried an unusual softness for someone tasked with killing hundreds of people.
"…Taking out all those mages."
The duck paused thoughtfully.
"Well of course yes!"
It waddled in a small circle as if organizing its thoughts.
"The numbers will certainly be high according to my estimates, but it is your duty. And you must complete it."
It stopped and looked at him with glowing eyes.
"If not, they will end you."
Snowen stared silently at the sky.
"And imagine the shame from your family."
The duck's voice became strangely serious.
"Unimaginable."
The wind rustled through the floating grass.
Snowen exhaled slowly.
"Yeah…"
His voice carried quiet resignation.
"Cursed with Purpose."
He lifted one hand and stared at his palm.
"Father always says that."
The Wister War had rules.
Thousands of young mages were thrown onto the planet every year, forced to fight, survive, and grow stronger through bloodshed. Those who endured the brutal thirteen days of conflict would return home as hardened warriors.
But there was a rule that was never written down.
A tradition older than the war itself.
The Wister family—the ruling bloodline of the planet—had once produced a legendary mage named Lord Owin Wister.
The man who created the war.
To honor him, the family upheld a grim ritual.
Each year, one member of the Wister bloodline who possessed battle mage potential would be chosen.
They would not enter the war as a player.
They would enter it as an executioner.
When the final days approached and only the strongest survivors remained…
The Wister heir would descend upon the battlefield.
And cull the weak.
Snowen Wister was this year's executioner.
The duck resumed pacing beside the chessboard.
"You should not worry so much, young sir."
Snowen glanced at it.
"Oh?"
"Well yes."
The duck nodded enthusiastically.
"You wield an Inverted Crown."
Snowen instinctively reached upward.
Floating faintly above his head—barely visible unless one looked carefully—hovered a thin ring of translucent energy.
It rotated slowly in the air like a ghostly halo.
Except the crown faced downward.
Its jagged points aimed toward Snowen's skull like the teeth of a celestial trap.
The artifact pulsed with ancient ether.
"And you possess the sacred treasure the wishing hammer now more an axe than it is a hammer," the duck continued proudly.
Snowen looked beside him.
Resting against the grass was a decorated axe wrapped in black cloth. Even concealed, the weapon radiated a subtle gravity that bent the surrounding air.
"No real harm can come to you," the duck concluded.
"If anything… this event is something of a cheat."
Snowen chuckled weakly.
"I guess."
He leaned forward and lazily rearranged the chess pieces.
"And with the rules in my favor it shouldn't be much trouble."
The duck nodded vigorously.
"Ah yes!"
It raised one wing dramatically.
"Rule number five. Power Acceleration Curse."
Snowen rolled his eyes.
"I know the rule."
The duck continued anyway.
"Every confirmed kill increases your ether output!"
It began pacing faster.
"The more you cull, the stronger you become!"
It stopped dramatically.
"And there is already a massive gap between you and the players."
Snowen stared at the sky again.
"So basically…"
"Yes?"
"I'm supposed to kill them faster so I become even stronger at killing them."
The duck thought for a moment.
"…Precisely."
Snowen rubbed his face.
"Fantastic."
The duck flapped excitedly.
"The only potential concern is a certain individual."
Snowen tilted his head.
"Oh?"
"The lone surviving mage within the Frozen Fields."
The duck's voice shifted into a formal tone.
"Parsel Yorrin of the lesser House Yorrin."
Snowen nodded slowly.
"Right."
"That family's allied with ours."
"Yes."
Snowen shrugged.
"He might be annoying."
Then he pointed lazily toward the sky.
"What about that group in the Stone Fields?"
"I've been watching them."
"They look strong."
The duck tilted its head.
"Ah yes…"
"The Moonborn and her companions."
Snowen's eyes brightened slightly.
"They seem promising."
The duck gave a small shrug.
"Unfortunately they have been rather… occupied."
"Occupied?"
"For the past three or four days they have been battling an above-average Riven."
Snowen frowned.
"And?"
The duck shook its head.
"It has been toying with them."
Snowen winced.
"That's rough."
He leaned back again.
"Shame."
"I'd like to meet the Moonborn."
The wind moved through his hair as he stared at the drifting mountains.
"She seems interesting."
He sighed.
"Hopefully they survive."
The duck blinked.
"Hopefully?"
Snowen shrugged.
"Yeah."
"If they die early it'll make things boring."
Snowen suddenly glanced at the dog sitting patiently across from him.
"…Actually."
"One more question."
The duck waddled closer.
"Yes, young sir?"
Snowen pointed at the animal.
"Where did the dog come from?"
The duck froze.
The dog looked up calmly.
"…That is an excellent question."
Snowen frowned.
"He seems kinda out of place."
The duck walked in a slow circle around the animal, inspecting it carefully.
"Hmm…"
"Very strange indeed."
Snowen raised an eyebrow.
"You don't know?"
The duck shook its head.
"I have no formal information about this rather intelligent dog."
Snowen leaned forward.
"You broadcast the entire war across three planetary regions."
"Yes."
"You track thousands of mages."
"Correct."
"And you don't know where a random dog came from."
"…That appears to be the case."
Snowen looked back at the board.
The dog casually nudged another stone.
Snowen groaned.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
He rubbed his temples.
"Seven games."
"Seven losses."
He sighed deeply.
"Duck."
"Yes?"
"Show me the battle between the Moonborn and the Riven."
The duck nodded proudly.
"Of course."
"I am currently broadcasting every major battle on the planet across the Andralan, Westerlan, and Midlans worlds."
It raised its wing dramatically.
"Shall we watch?"
Snowen grinned slightly.
"Yeah."
"Let's watch."
Far above the world of Wister—
A massive starship floated silently in orbit.
Inside one of its observation lounges, a massive holographic display illuminated the dim room.
The screen showed chaos.
Explosions.
Lightning.
Shattered terrain.
The Stone Fields were barely visible beneath the storm of destruction.
Two men sat on a battered couch watching the spectacle.
They looked almost identical.
Same sharp features.
Same dark hair.
Same eyes.
The only difference was their expressions.
Brenn Ardani looked exhausted.
His face was lined with worry, his eyes hollow from too many sleepless nights.
Beside him, Grenn Ardani looked completely relaxed.
He leaned back comfortably while eating popcorn from a giant bowl.
"Man," Grenn said between bites.
"Your students are getting absolutely wrecked."
Brenn didn't respond.
He watched the screen silently.
Grenn nudged him with his elbow.
"Hey."
"Why are you making that face again?"
Brenn slowly turned his head.
"What face?"
Grenn grinned.
"That face."
Brenn scowled.
"We have the same face, you moron."
He exaggerated several ridiculous expressions.
"Which one?"
Grenn shrugged.
"I get it though."
He tossed more popcorn into his mouth.
"You liked those kids."
Brenn sighed heavily.
"Liked?"
He leaned forward and rubbed his eyes.
"I basically raised Nark."
The hologram shifted.
For a moment the camera showed the Red Desert.
A lone figure sitting beside a mountain-sized corpse.
Brenn's expression darkened.
"She's hollow now."
His voice carried quiet pain.
"That last fight broke something inside her."
The image shifted again.
Now the Stone Fields appeared.
Massive explosions obscured most of the battlefield.
"And the rest of those idiots," Brenn continued bitterly.
"They grouped up and attracted a god wearing the face of a demon."
Grenn laughed.
"That's kinda metal though."
Brenn groaned.
"And don't even get me started on Abbie."
The hologram flashed briefly.
A young woman streaked across the battlefield with shocking speed.
"…Actually she's doing pretty well."
Grenn nodded approvingly.
"See?"
"Not all doom and gloom."
Brenn leaned back.
"Doesn't matter."
"They still have to fight the Wister executioner eventually."
Grenn shrugged.
"What's the big deal?"
He tossed another handful of popcorn into his mouth.
"We beat that guy during our trial years ago."
"They'll be fine."
Brenn stared at him like he'd lost his mind.
"That guy?"
Grenn blinked.
"…Yeah?"
Brenn covered his face.
"You idiot."
His voice rose.
"Snowen Wister."
Grenn froze mid-chew.
"…Oh."
Brenn's veins bulged slightly.
"Out of the thousands of inbred bastards in that family…"
"They send the God King successor."
Silence filled the room.
Then Grenn slowly resumed eating.
"Yikes."
"Tough luck."
Behind them, a woman lay sprawled across a chair, completely unconscious.
Several empty bottles littered the floor around her.
Grenn pointed back at her.
"Hey Ness!"
"You want some popcorn?"
Brenn didn't even turn around.
"Leave her alone."
"She drank herself unconscious two hours ago."
The hologram exploded with another massive blast.
Smoke covered the battlefield.
For a moment nothing was visible.
Then a lone figure appeared within the haze.
Lucy.
Barely standing.
Brenn stared at the screen.
His expression hardened.
"I can only watch…"
His voice fell into a quiet murmur.
"…as your terrible fate unfolds."
His eyes followed Lucy's silhouette through the smoke.
"Tell me…"
His thoughts echoed silently in his mind.
"…what future awaits you."
Lucy Liana.