Chapter 189: The End Before the Beginning (Bonus 3)

Chapter 189: The End Before the Beginning (Bonus 3)

I didn’t open the notebook right away.

Instead, I carried it to the reading table along with the book it had been hidden behind. The tea I’d brought earlier had cooled, but I poured a cup anyway, the herbal scent sharpening my focus as I took a deliberate sip.

Then, and only then, did I open the notebook.

"Clank."

The first page was empty.

"..."

So was the next.

"..."

And the next.

"Tsk."

I kept flipping, my fingers moving methodically through the pages, but nothing revealed itself - no hastily scribbled notes, no hidden sketches, no sudden rush of forgotten memories.

Just a parchment, untouched by ink.

My initial surge of anticipation began to wane with each empty sheet.

Was it truly empty? Or was this just another dead end?

However, I refused to give up, my gaze sharp, scanning every inch of every page as I reached the very end of the notebook.

And there, subtly written on the right side of the last page, was a single line:

"I will see with my own eyes."

I frowned. After all that searching, this was what I found? A cryptic fragment that told me almost nothing?

But the wording nagged at me.

"I" —so this was personal.

Is this a message from my past self?

And "See with my own eyes", is it figurative? Or literal?

My pulse quickened as I focused on the key phrase: own eyes.

What exactly did he mean..?

Could it be..?

"..."

Without another thought, I removed the monocle. I was already using Observant Eye, so there was only one other eye-related thing left. My vision sharpened, the subtle hum of mana in the air becoming a vibrant tapestry of light as I activated my Exorcist’s Gaze.

The world around me took on an ethereal sheen. And then, I looked back down at the notebook.

What had been a stark, blank page moments before now shimmered. Faint, shimmering lines of script, like moonlight on water, began to bleed into existence across the parchment. Letters coalesced, words formed, then entire sentences, as if drawn by an invisible hand, visible only through the heightened perception of my gaze. I flipped rapidly to the first page.

And there, starkly written in the center, was a single, chilling line:

"I am going to die."

A profound silence descended, broken only by the distant wail of the blizzard.

Frankly, anyone else might have been thoroughly creeped out or utterly shocked by such a discovery. However, thanks to my extensive knowledge of stories and clichés, a strange sense of anticipation, rather than dread, settled over me. I’d anticipated such a scenario, although not as dramatic as this one.

So I knew I was gonna die, huh? I muttered inwardly, my gaze still fixed on the luminous script. Did I see a glimpse of the future or the past? Like the First Thread system showed me? Or is it completely something else entirely?

With that thought echoing in my mind, I flipped to the next page. The same line, "I am going to die," was written again, precisely in the center of the page. I turned to the third.

This time, the words shifted.

"I saw it."

And on the very next page, the revelation deepened, chilling me in a way the pronouncement of my own death hadn’t.

"I saw how I am going to die."

"..."

So I was correct, I thought, my mind racing as I flipped to the next page. The chilling declaration repeated: "I’m going to die."

Then, the next page. And the next.

A cold dread, foreign and sharp, slid down my spine, piercing through my usual detachment. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the raw, desperate terror behind them that finally reached me.

"Everyone is going to die."

The luminous script seemed to burn brighter, each letter a brand.

"Mother, father, my siblings, everyone!"

I kept flipping, the sense of urgency from the past self growing with each page. The lines that followed were variations of the same terrifying message, echoing the despair: Eclipse Keep is going to get destroyed , the inescapable doom that would claim every life within its ancient walls.

Page after page, the grim pronouncements continued, painting a vivid picture of absolute annihilation, a scene that Amaniel had witnessed with horrifying clarity.

My breath hitched, a faint tremor running through my hand. This wasn’t just a record; it was a desperate plea, a warning screamed across time.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity of impending doom, the message shifted. The despair gave way to a sliver of desperate hope, a fierce resolve that shone through the ethereal ink.

"I can stop it."

The words vibrated with a raw intensity, followed by a fierce, undeniable yearning:

"I want to stop it."

I flipped the page, the notebook’s ethereal script pulsing like a dying ember.

"...It told me there is a way to save myself."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

I already knew— knew —what came next.

The next page confirmed it:

"I refused."

A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escaped me. Of course I had. The Amaniel of the past might have been many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

I turned the page.

"I asked if I could save the others. My family. The Keep. Everyone else."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

This must be the reason.

The following page held only two words, but they burned brighter than the rest:

"It said yes. I can save everyone. But..."

I flipped again, my gaze already flying to the new words, bracing myself for the inevitable cost.

"...But I am going to lose myself."

I stopped, the notebook held motionless in my trembling hands.

Lose myself?

What did that mean? Was it still a form of death, a more profound ending than the one already decreed? Or was it about this - the amnesia, the new identity, the sealed or erased memories?

Was this the cost?

Shaking my head, I forced myself to continue. I had to know the full extent of his sacrifice.

Flip.

"Sorry, everyone."

The apology repeated, page after page, each more desperate than the last:

"Sorry, Mother."

Flip.

"Sorry, Father."

Flip.

"Sorry, big sister."

Flip.

"Sorry, little ones."

And then, the final, damning line—the same as the first, but irrevocable now:

"I WILL die."

The WILL was underlined three times, the ink jagged, as if carved into the page.

I turned to the next sheet, expecting more—

But there was nothing.

"..."

The notebook ended.