Chapter 116: Fairy Tales Are False, But Love Is Real (Two-in-One)
With the status of the Queen of the Underworld, the distance from the inner city of the royal capital to the outskirts could be crossed in just a few minutes at full speed.
However, this distance of less than ten miles took Helen several hours to walk.
The previous date had only lasted a single day, which was far from enough for her to explore everything within the royal city.
Thus, there were still countless places in this city where she could stop and linger—inns, orchards, hotels, bakeries, wineries…
The blazing sun moved along its ancient and unchanging trajectory, gradually sliding down towards the west from directly overhead.
The midday sun, which had been burning hot, was no longer glaring and aggressive; instead, it became gentle and serene, casting a golden light to illuminate the path ahead for the two.
The scenery around them had also changed, no longer the bustling streets filled with crowds… replaced by a tranquil expanse of open fields.
Soaring steel buildings were replaced by single-story houses made of bricks, and in the vast fields, a flock of sheep grazed peacefully. Human presence was scarce, with only a few shepherds in straw hats occasionally visible.
Amid the rampant wild grasses, a winding path cut through the entire pasture, disappearing at the edge of the fields… There lay a mountain covered by dense forests, with the vague sound of waves coming from deep within the mountains.
“We’re almost there.”
The girl beside him stopped, ice-blue script appearing at the collar of Rast’s clothing.
That mountaintop covered by the sea of trees was the place that had first sparked her urge to run away from home.
It was also the climax of the “Chronicles of Silver Wings,” the endpoint of the journey for the male and female protagonists.
“Yeah, we finally made it here.”
Rast nodded in agreement, turning to look at the girl beside him. Helen was gazing at the distant tree-covered mountains, hesitation glimmering in her violet eyes.
Clearly, they were close to their destination, yet she began to hesitate… Rast found this feeling quite understandable.
In the past month, he had nearly managed to simulate her thoughts through his profiling—
For Helen, whether it was the previous “runaway” date in the royal city or this journey towards the mountaintop, both were essentially a pilgrimage for her.
Just like a fervent fan of certain works would visit filming locations for photos, or draw cards at Arthur’s grave…
When it came to enthusiasm, perhaps no one in this world loved “Chronicles of Silver Wings” more than Helen… To some extent, she had already treated this work as a psychological refuge, with the Poison Witch, who could bring plagues, embodying herself.
The places Helen had visited with Rast, such as the circus, detective agency, and divination club, had all appeared in that fairy tale book…
This was precisely why, in Helen’s subconscious, the mountaintop represented not only the conclusion of “Chronicles of Silver Wings,” but also the end of her dreams—an extraordinary journey brimming with novelty and joy.
Every journey has an end.
Yet not all travelers can calmly accept the contrast of returning to the mundane after their adventures.
To return from the splendid and fantastical realms, star-filled skies… to the dull and monotonous, where light is nowhere to be seen in everyday life.
The girl’s eyes blinked uncertainly, but longing ultimately triumphed over hesitation, as she took her first step toward the distant mountaintop.
…
The road up the mountain was not smooth; it was merely a winding path through the hills, slightly muddy, and even lacked paved stones and foundations.
This was a passage once used by lumberjacks going up the mountain to chop wood, perhaps just as the saying goes—there were originally no roads in this world, but as more people walked, paths were formed.
However, with the progress of time and the influx of many external refugees into the royal city, this path had gradually been abandoned… After being dust-covered for many years, it finally welcomed new visitors like Rast and Helen.
Helen was a bit worried about falling, so she gently placed her hand in Rast’s palm, allowing him to guide her forward.
Rast walked ahead, occasionally clearing away branches blocking their way, and stones that might trip the girl behind him.
If only he had known this situation would arise…
Perhaps he should have spent some effort to acquire Rodri’s Night Blade “All Roads Lead to Rome.”
The current scenario seemed like the perfect venue for that guy’s Night Blade.
Looking at the almost abandoned mountain path before him, Rast couldn’t help but think such thoughts.
…
The sun at the zenith slowly descended, and the light scattered across the mountain gradually transformed from golden to a dull red.
Through the leaves of the lush treetops along the mountain path, dappled shadows fell gently.
Gradually, this small path through the mountains finally came to an end, leading to a sloping hillside.
With Rast’s help, Helen climbed over the hill, slightly out of breath.
Though she was the queen of the Netherworld, the sequence of “God of d*ath” was different from Hiltina’s “Chariot,” as it did not directly enhance physical capabilities or lead to divine body transformation.
Of course, under normal circumstances, even if a sequence was not focused on physical enhancement… their promotion would inevitably be accompanied by persistent growth and experience.
During this process, even those extraordinary beings not focused on the physical but rather on the spiritual and mystical would hone strong physiques to avoid leaving obvious weaknesses during combat.
Take Rast himself, for instance. Although his physical capabilities could not be enhanced due to the cycles of Deep Blue Harbor and his “Tower” sequence was not focused on the body…
He relied on nearly perfect development and control over his physicality, along with unparalleled combat experience accumulated over three hundred years of cycles…
Even when facing extraordinary beings of the same tier in the “Chariot” sequence, Rast was confident he could hold his ground in close combat.
Of course, Hiltina was the exception; with her Night Blade “Infinite Sword,” it could only be considered pure cheating.
But Helen was different.
Her strength did not come from persistent training and development like other extraordinary beings… but from an innate power.
She naturally contained the authority of the God of d*ath, having never experienced growth, training, or hardship… standing at the pinnacle of extraordinary beings, yet lacking the process of constant honing, beating, and self-improvement.
Therefore, when not directly invoking her powers and Word Spirits, and mobilizing the strength of being the ruler of the Netherworld, Helen’s physical condition was no different from that of an ordinary person.
Climbing this entire mountain was nothing for Rast; back in Deep Blue Harbor, he was forced to run d*ath-defying marathons with the Iron Crosses each cycle—being overtaken meant becoming their toy for torment… But for Helen, this was not an easy task.
She seemed noticeably fatigued, a strange flush appearing on her fair face.
Yet her violet eyes remained brightly lit, astonishingly so.
“We’re here.”
Rast stopped at a higher vantage point.
Helen took Rast’s hand and scaled the final incline.
In the next moment, her eyes widened, and her grip on Rast’s fingertips tightened suddenly.
Before her was a lush pine forest.
The evening breeze blew through her hair, carrying the scent of pine coupled with the bitterness of the sea, the countless trees swaying with the wind, creating layers of waves.
Whenever the evening breeze swept over the ridge, the entire forest emitted a sound akin to a bronze cymbal’s resonance, tree canopies flickering in the dim light.
At the edge of the sea of trees was a steep cliff, beneath which lay an endless ocean.
The sky resembled a turned-over crucible, the melting dusk spilling down through the cracks in the clouds like copper liquid, dyeing the calm sea surface with dull hues.
Amid the sound of the waves, the sunset-drenched foam battered the cliff repeatedly, eroding the basalt base beneath.
From the side of the cliff, the entire Paradise City came fully into view, buildings quietly sprawled across the earth… In the heart of the city, a magnificent palace was shrouded in stagnant dusk, as if captured in a still photograph.
Rast gently loosened his grip on Helen’s hand, allowing her to step towards the edge of the cliff.
A few breaths later, Helen’s slender figure paused at the cliff’s edge, the wind lifting the hem of her long skirt, making it flutter elegantly in the high air.
In the twilight, Rast observed the girl’s side profile, gilded by dusk, and suddenly recalled the bronze sundial he had seen in the museum—like the Queen of the Underworld before him, they both carried an unreal aura alien to this era.
“I finally see it, the scenery of that story’s conclusion.”
The ice-blue script danced in the sea breeze along with Rast’s collar.
Rast approached Helen’s side, both gazing at the tree sea dyed red by the sunset.
“After putting so much effort to get here, are you not disappointed?”
“This world is not the same as the story in ‘Chronicles of Silver Wings’…”
“There are no high elves cursed to become parrots in the Wandering Circus.”
“The cases handled by the detectives in the detective agency do not involve evil organizations plotting to overthrow the entire world; for the most part, they are about catching mistresses or finding proof of infidelity.”
“On the mountain’s peak, deep in the woods, there is no small cottage built by the witch and the knight, living happily together…”
Rast saw the girl in front of him shake her head, her hair catching some remnants of twilight’s glow in the sky.
“No, I’m not disappointed (＾＾)”
Helen extended her fair finger, sketching ice-blue traces in the dim sky.
Finally, she did not forget to add a smiling emoticon.
“I knew from the start that the stories in ‘Chronicles of Silver Wings’ are all false.”
“They are fabricated fairy tales, deliberately crafted, where the worldview and narrative logic serve the drama and do not occur in reality—a fictional story.”
“There are not so many coincidences in this world, and the protagonists will not conveniently rescue the high elf turned parrot, nor would they happen to stumble upon the evil organization’s grand plan at the detective agency.”
After meeting Helen, this was the first time Rast had seen this queen write so much text all at once.
She had always been the type of iceberg, showing little of her feelings and preferring to hide them in her heart, even when she occasionally communicated with her maid, she only used a few simple words, unable to show the turmoil within her.
But at this moment, in the scenery of the final act of “Chronicles of Silver Wings,” atop a peak cliff where only she and Rast stood, she cast aside past reservations.
Her delicate fingertips danced in the twilight sky, ice-blue silver threads rose and fell, and the elegant words flowed forth, growing a bit chaotic and hastily towards the end.
This did not seem like writing for Rast but felt like it was for herself… a silent soliloquy of emotional release.
“I understand, in reality, the world we live in is not a fairy tale.”
“And I am not truly the main character from the book, protected by a so-called protagonist’s halo.”
“This includes my encounter with you, Rast—”
The ice-blue text paused for a moment.
“The spectacular fireworks blooming in the sky, abandoning the queue in front of the Wandering Circus, and those not-so-skilled stall owners, along with the diviner who inexplicably harbored resentment towards me…”
“They are not coincidences either… Only in fictional stories do so many coincidences occur.”
Looking at the delicate ice-blue characters, Rast felt a stir in his heart.
Only now did he realize that whether it was the Shadow Servants or himself…
It seemed they had slightly underestimated this Queen of the Underworld before them.
Due to past experiences, Helen’s disposition and life experience were indeed somewhat flawed, and her psychological age skewed younger… But that didn’t mean she was foolish, lacking her own thought capabilities, and incapable of detecting some nearby abnormalities.
Perhaps at first, she didn’t take it to heart, but when coincidences repeatedly happened, doubts and suspicions would arise in her mind.
After all, Helen was the ruler of the Netherworld; the entire royal city and even the Paradise belonged to her domain, her private garden…
When this Queen of the Underworld truly resolved to investigate a matter, no matter how careful the Shadow Servants were, traces would still be left behind.
She was, after all, a being on par with legends within her realm…
Even if she reached a near semblance of tier through external means, the legendary methods were not something those extraordinary beings who had never encountered the scenery of this domain could merely guess at through some information.
Rast slowly adjusted his breathing rhythm.
According to the original “Lost Paradise” contingency plan, once his and the Guardian team’s ulterior motives were truly revealed before Queen Helen of the Netherworld… Rast should immediately activate his escape tools to execute an emergency evacuation plan.
But he did not move.
Clearly, this queen had sensed the abnormality.
She had detected that their encounter and everything he experienced was a scripted play written by someone else.
However, in those violet eyes, there was no trace of anger, hostility, or alertness.
Even whether it was an illusion or not, Rast distinctly felt that the gaze from those violet eyes looking at him had grown a bit closer.
It was not merely familiarity or trust…
But affection.
Just like the Witch’s affection for the male protagonist in “Chronicles of Silver Wings.”
“I know… that dreamy date we had before must have been the result of many people working behind the scenes for us.”
“Everything we experienced was, like ‘Chronicles of Silver Wings,’ a carefully orchestrated play that created many coincidences…”
“But—”
Lines of ice-blue text surged under the dim sky and soon scattered.
Helen’s hand writing in profile was shrouded in dusk, exquisitely porcelain-like yet filled with a sense of fragility that could shatter at any moment, and Rast could see the sunset reflected in her eyes.
“Fairy tales are false, but love is real.”
“Even if ‘Chronicles of Silver Wings’ is just a fictional story, within that story… the love between Knight Lyle and the Witch is certainly not false.”
“I believe it is the same in reality.”
“Even if everything we experience is a performance, the feelings that blossomed during this performance must surely be real.”
The girl turned to look at him, her long hair fluttering in the evening wind.
The line-by-line ice-blue characters were stained red by the sunset, seeming to be written in flames, as if they were about to ignite.
“Rast.”
“I think you are the male protagonist of my story.”
(End of Chapter)
