Step to paradise

Leif took the box containing the necklace as if he had anticipated Flauros's decision. He did not open it immediately, but turned it around between his fingers for a moment, his eyes scrutinizing but with a hint of satisfaction.

"Smart," Leif chuckled, placing the box on the table, then gently pushing it back as if it had never existed. "Those who know when to let go can keep what is more important."

He pulled a stone tablet from the drawer, an ancient artifact that stored information using micro-seal barriers, and placed it on the table, tapping the stone three times. A series of patterns lit up.

"Here is what I can share, in exchange for your cooperation. A list of organizations that have access to or developed forbidden magic, and a few names that 'no one should mention' but that have lasted longer than the curse."

Leif raised his head, his eyes flashing coldly.

"Remember, Flauros, touching the forbidden spell is touching the core of destiny. Every step will be recorded, and every choice will be judged. Heaven, or Hell… is just a question away: Do you want to go back, or do you want to create a new world?"

Flauros looked at the stone tablet, then took it. Without saying a word, he turned and left, but in his mind, a series of names, organizations, and pieces that had just lit up this already distorted map of destiny rang out.

Back in his room, the fireplace had long since been turned off, leaving a cold and damp space like the fatigue that remained in Flauros's body. The light from the window was not enough to dispel the darkness clinging to every corner of the wall.

He didn't turn on the light, just walked straight to the fireplace, extended his finger, and flicked it poof. A faint spark flashed, then exploded into a blazing red flame, engulfing the wood in the stove. In an instant, the room was dyed in a warm orange-yellow hue, the flickering light casting shadows on the walls.

The dusty cloak was thrown aside. Flauros collapsed onto the bench in front of the fire, tired but unable to rest. The heavy object in his pocket, the stone tablet, seemed to heat up a little as it was pulled out of the cold cloth.

Without hesitation, he sent a thin stream of mana into the center of the stone.

A dull purple light appeared, trembling as if recalling something that had been sealed for too long. Ancient characters began to appear in the air, twisting and bending as if coming to life in the middle of the night.

The dark purple light from the floating characters made the entire room seem to sink into another dimension, both quiet and menacing. Flauros squinted slightly, observing each curve, each ancient symbol rotating in the air as if coming to life with his mana.

The small stone tablet emitted a soft rattling sound, extremely thin cracks appearing on the edges as if reacting to the forbidden spell that had been imprinted in Flauros' blood.

In the stream of light, a clear line of text took shape, written in the ancient language of the early period, a type of writing that was only mentioned in forbidden books. The first sentence appeared:

"Only those with the blood of fire and the mark of the Dragon Clan can step onto the final floor of the 13th Corridor."

Flauros froze. This line of text… referred to himself. He carried fire. And the mark of the Dragon Clan was something he did not want to remember from the battle that burned down the border in the past.

The characters continued to flow slowly. A magic circle appeared behind the text, continuously restructuring.

The light from the stone tablet gradually changed.

The first line of words remained a dark, luminous purple – the color of fire and burning, associated with the name:

"Flauros – Forbidden Fire: The one who opens the path to Heaven."

Right after that, the tablet shook slightly again. The light changed color, and each line of characters appeared one by one, each name written in a different color, representing the forbidden element they controlled.

"Sylvaris – Forbidden Wood: He who buried an entire city under a forest of roots."

(The characters appeared in dark green, shining like leaves shaking in a storm)

"Thaliel – Forbidden Sound: He who made a nation lose its voice for 7 years."

(A grayish-purple color, shining like ghostly smoke, silent and heavy)

"Yara – Forbidden Water: He who called the rain to flow in the opposite direction, drowning a desert."

(The character turns dark blue, like the sky after a storm)

"Lune – Forbidden Light: One who can erase a shadow with just a touch."

Flauros didn't need an ally. He only needed one, a survivor. And that one... had to be him.

He clenched his fists, holding the tablet, the remaining mana in his body reacting to that twisted train of thought.

The fire in the fireplace suddenly rose abnormally high, illuminating his pupils like blood that was pulsing in waves.

He had thought he could control everything, the forbidden spells, the necklace, the ancient characters.

But the appearance of Dante, then this tablet, and now "The Twice Chosen One" was a warning. This world was no longer as docile as before.

All variables... would be eliminated.

All other candidates... would be destroyed.

Even if he was "the only one twice chosen", Flauros would find him and kill him first.

Under the flickering light of the newly lit fireplace, Flauros stood silently by the window, letting the warmth soothe his hands that were frozen by the night dew.

On the table, the cracked stone tablet shook slightly, the last line still clearly showing the name of a new candidate who had just appeared, along with a magic seal that had not yet stabilized.

Time was passing too quickly. He could no longer hope to leave this world with his humanity because it had long since disappeared.

He did not think of himself as a cruel person. But he was no longer a merciful person either. Anyone who was involved with the so-called "paradise" was an obstacle. And if he could not use it, he could only eliminate it.

Flauros's gaze paused for a moment on the name written in pale moonlight, with the attribute of light magic. A soft laugh rang out from the corner of his lips, short and sharp as a blade.

If he had to choose between attacking both of them or letting them tear each other apart, he would choose the latter.

Let the other one confront the last one, the user of darkness, the forbidden magic that was said to be the absolute opposite of light.

Under his hand, each character on the map began to change. Flauros traced a path not for himself, but for a temporary puppet.

No need to be fast. Just accurate. Just a loser. Just bloodshed.

A gentle breeze made the curtain sway. The fire shivered again in the fireplace. He did not turn around, just quietly stepped into the night, where the plan was ready, waiting for the light and the darkness to find each other.

He did not need to act. He just needed to stand behind the curtain and wait for the first cracking sound.

'I don't have time to spend a few years just killing them anyway, and the others, and the dragon race, and the one behind the mass resurrection of the dead.'

'Killing them all directly would be long and troublesome.'

'Like bugs, troublesome.'

Flauros has always been a cold-hearted genius. He is not the type to recklessly jump into the middle of a battlefield without knowing the map.

Knowledge

That is the forbidden spell he uses.

A wonderful gift for any wizard because knowledge is the core of magic.

Not the elements, not physical strength, but the foundation that builds all forbidden spells. He does not control lightning, sound, light, or darkness, he controls the understanding of them, the operation, and origin of each magical flow that exists in the real world.

Therefore, when the stone tablet shows two names, one with bright light, the other with deep darkness, Flauros does not need too much time to connect them.

Opposite attributes, opposing natures, will never be reconciled. That is the most basic truth in the flow of magical power.

Knowledge told him that the origin of these two forbidden spells was once recorded in the forbidden ancient text, a record from the early period, where "Holy Fire," "Black Illusion," and "Light Star" were all primitive spiritual entities, not yet formed into current magic.

Just by opening the right line in the book, he could guide the two to find each other and shatter themselves by their absolute opposition. No need to get their hands dirty, no need to reveal themselves too soon.

"Just let them clash with each other, that's enough for both of them to kill each other to death."

"Hmm…"

Flauros suddenly remembered a problem, if there was no information about them, how could he plan?

'Tch, Leif is a crook, huh?'

Thinking about it, Flauros still felt that there was something wrong with Leif.

Even though the stone tablet was given to him by himself, when he poured mana into it, it only showed a name, Flauros's name. He was the first person to step into this world from another gate. But it seemed that Leif's name was not on it.

He could use forbidden magic, yes. But he was not a transmigrator, and that made him certain that Leif did not understand the concept of a "candidate".

So why did someone like him own the tablet? Why did he hand it over to Flauros as if it were a trivial matter? He did not think it was a coincidence.

Even so, even though he had a faint suspicion in his heart, Flauros did not show it. He was used to hiding it. And also used to making decisions in a single breath.

He was not someone from the old world. He did not understand what a "candidate" was. But he approached him, handing him an object that carried the memories of heaven.

That was enough to make Flauros wary.

Before, Flauros would have considered all sorts of consequences, figured out his motives, and been wary of his next move. But now, the last of his rational scales had completely collapsed.

Just one word, one sentence: there was only one candidate, only one person who could return to the old world.

All those involved became obstacles. All had to die.

Flauros had made up his mind.

And when he had made up his mind… Leif was just a small link in the chain of targets. The group he was involved with, the people who considered themselves neutral or observers, did not make him hesitate anymore.

As long as they were dealt with neatly, Leif's path to death would be clean, without any obstacles.

He had made his choice. There was no turning back.

The night sky was dark, as if a thick black velvet curtain was slowly covering the whole world. Above, the blood-red moon slowly rose, bringing with it a cold and gloomy wind that swept through every roof, every dry tree.

Blood Moon Night.

The only night every month when the boundary between life and death was more fragile than ever. When the demon blessed by some unknown ancient force became more insane, bloodthirsty, and powerful.

In the quiet room, there was only the sound of the fire flickering from the fireplace, the light reflecting on every line of Flauros's face, angular, cold, and terrifyingly quiet. He raised his hand and drew lightly in the air, a streak of blue-purple light cutting across the space as if tearing through an invisible mirror.

A book appeared from nothingness, an object that only existed when Flauros called its name with his mind. The book cover seemed to be woven from darkness, the edges were antique gold, each embossed character on it seemed to move, groaning each forbidden spell.

The book opened, hovering before Flauros.

The first page stopped "The law of the world: When the blood moon rises, the darkness can swallow even the gods."

Flauros pondered. Tonight, he did not need to hide. He did not need to hide.

On this night of the blood moon, he could experiment. And if the hypotheses about that black light were correct… then tonight would be the beginning of the plan to purge all "candidates."

Knowledge is the source of power. It is a bloody and cruel truth, invisible but sharper than any blade. And Flauros, in this world of distorted rules and twisted fates, is the one who holds that source.

Not everyone can touch Knowledge, let alone contain it without going crazy. But Flauros is different, he not only carries it, but also turns it into a weapon, a scythe that clears the way for his ambition.

As an immutable law, every person who possesses forbidden magic will have a unique artifact born from their soul and magic.

The artifact not only symbolizes the forbidden element they hold, but also reflects the deepest part of their soul, showing the most special strength that person possesses.

For Flauros, the owner of Knowledge, his artifact is a dark brown book, with an eye always closed on one side of the book, the other side of the cover is inlaid with a purple-black stone that always exudes a very strange atmosphere. It is like the source of knowledge of the world, contributing to his power of knowledge.

The artifact cannot be destroyed if the owner is still alive. They are like chains connecting life and destiny, the "key" that unlocks the forbidden power of each person.

Remembering the first time the artifact appeared.

Flauros thought it would be fire, that was inevitable. An eternal torch, or a storm lamp burning with blood, or a bone staff burning like will.

After all, he had been a fire magic user since entering this world. And in Flauros's mind, the image of himself had never escaped something fierce, burning, destroying.

But when the forbidden magic was first released, when knowledge surged through the marrow, burning all the limits of the artifact, it was not fire, but a book.

No cover, no title. A thick book, torn at the edges, full of ink stains. It floated in front of him, opened to a random middle page, showing a luminous line of text as if leaking from a mind that did not belong to this world.

At that time, Flauros did not understand. Fire is power. And books… are just memories.

Only later, when he gradually read the lines in the book, the stories, the dreams, the images of a strange world, with cars, glass buildings, the smell of coffee and jazz music at night, did he remember.

Before coming here, he was a writer.

Not a warrior. Not a hunter. But a person who lived in words. Even though he might have been poor, disappointed, lonely enough to have to step through that strange door… he was still a writer.

A writer.

His view of the world was like no other.