The Corrective Force of proper history roared, changing direction.
Instead of targeting Isadella as it had in the past, it surged wildly towards Shiayar.
Thus, in the blink of an eye, Isadella understood everything.
Shiayar had used some unknown method. Not only had he stolen the Authority and identity of the King of the Imaginary Zone, but he had also taken the sin of establishing the Imaginary Zone and tampering with history.
He then shouldered it all himself.
BOOM—
The Material Plane completely crumbled apart, leaving no trace of Escarnia's original form.
In its place, the roaring Time River materialized.
Not an illusory projection in the Main Material Plane, but the true Time River.
With an unstoppable, irreversible power, it prepared to sweep Isadella away, returning her to proper history.
The Sacred Sword's radiance shone, but its light now seemed somewhat dim.
Up until now, the Sacred Sword had expended too much power. Adding to that, the loss of the King of the Imaginary Zone's Authority and blessing meant that its remaining sliver of strength was insufficient to keep her in this time and space, which was not her own.
Yet even so, she still forcibly channelled the Sacred Sword's last remaining strength.
Isadella stood with difficulty in the crumbling flow of time, looking upstream at the single figure in that illusory world—a world being fiercely crushed by the Corrective Force.
He had shouldered all the sins of Isadella's distorted history, becoming the target of the Corrective Force.
Yet, within the constantly collapsing and dispersing Imaginary Zone, Shiayar's expression remained calm.
"Why, you ask..." Shiayar, seated on the Black Iron Throne, pondered the same question.
He had already lost that conceptual undying body, lost the capital to act recklessly at will.
Yet even so, he had still chosen such a perilous path.
This was not in line with Shiayar Egutt's usual style of doing things; it was more like something Cain would do.
But Cain was merely a false persona. With the disappearance of the undying body, he should have ceased to exist in this world long ago.
"Out of guilt."
"And perhaps, greed."
Shiayar said softly, looking at the graceful yet precarious figure below, who seemed on the verge of falling.
"In the past, I treated everything within the Echo of History with a game-playing mindset."
"I acted for the sake of quest rewards and to earn so-called character favor. I wrapped myself in layer upon layer of a noble persona until I achieved my goal. Then, I could just walk away from the Echo of History."
"Yet for you, Princess, for Silvia, that profound affection is truly real."
"Because of a scoundrel's careless words, a girl waited for me in a lightless tower, upon a desolate throne, for five hundred years, a thousand years. She even burdened herself with sins that history itself could not condone."
"Although you, Princess, and Silvia don't mind... I do."
"I feel that... only by experiencing the same thing myself do I have the right to accept this affection."
Shiayar's voice slowed slightly.
"I indeed have feelings for you, Princess. Perhaps from the years we fought side by side, or perhaps it started even earlier, unnoticed even by myself."
"And I am that type of person—very greedy, very petty."
"So, I cannot accept that it is Cain you fell in love with, not me."
Shiayar, sitting on the Black Iron Throne, had a profound gaze.
"My true name is Shiayar Egutt, and Cain is merely a created, non-existent noble facade of mine."
"In my eyes, that's no different from her loving an imposter."
"I hope it's me you fall in love with, Princess—the one and only Shiayar Egutt in the world, not some Shiayar Ingritt, Cain, or Knight of the Sacred Hall, or any other identity."
He paused briefly.
On the Black Iron Throne in the Imaginary Zone, that solitary figure was etched into Isadella's eyes.
It slowly superimposed with the lone figure in the Valley of the End—the one who had stood with his back to all beings, facing an entire army alone. The two images were indistinguishable.
"Princess."
The black-haired, black-eyed youth turned slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile.
The flowing afterglow of time fell upon his profile, making it appear distinct and profound.
"Can I now—"
"become the only male lead in your story?"
The roaring Time River dispersed the last lingering strength of the Sacred Sword and also swept away Shiayar's unfinished words.
Isadella was thus swept away by the currents of time, carried towards the lower reaches of the River of History.
She watched as the solitary figure on the Black Iron Throne grew more distant, eventually disappearing from her sight.