Chapter 67
Hilbenzia’s pupils trembled violently.
She grabbed Michael’s arm, as if refusing to believe what she had just heard.
“Then… are you saying Jayna also has a Shizmel allergy?”
Not all allergies were hereditary, but in this case, it was undeniable — she must have inherited it from the Master of the Tower.
“Are you saying Jayna could die from this?!”
“……”
“Answer me!”
Hilbenzia shouted at Michael, but then quickly realized how hysterical she sounded. She pressed her lips shut.
Jayna was barely breathing — this was no time to argue.
“…I’m sorry for yelling. I just panicked.”
“It’s fine.”
It was the first sincere apology Hilbenzia had ever given to Michael.
Neither of them noticed — because right now, nothing mattered more than Jayna.
With a trembling voice, Hilbenzia asked,
“Then how did the Tower Master survive back then?”
“…Apparently, a high priest happened to be visiting at the time.”
“Then he was very lucky, unlike our Jayna.”
Hilbenzia glanced down — tiny Jayna’s hand was clutching tightly at Michael’s robe.
“Huff… huff…”
Her breath came out in ragged, shallow gasps, her small body convulsing.
Michael grasped her hand in his, eyes contorted with anguish.
All the magic he had learned over decades was useless before a suffering child.
“Damn it… damn it…!”
Michael forced himself to stay calm. Even now, Jayna’s life was slipping away — there was no time for guilt.
“I have to see the Tower Master. Maybe there’s something he can do.”
At his gesture, Jayna’s limp body lifted from the ground, floating gently in the air.
“But even the Tower Master can’t use divine power — he can’t heal!”
“Doing nothing would be worse. Even if it’s hopeless, we have to try everything.”
“Didn’t he scold you last time you went to him about Jayna?”
Michael flinched.
— The Tower Master’s daughter was found unconscious. Another mage must have discovered she was of the dragon race and acted intentionally.
— So?
— S-Sir?
— What does it matter to me whether that dragon lives or dies?
Those words from Diamid, long ago, still stabbed at Michael’s heart like a blade.
Will it be any different this time?
Even if Jayna was his niece and student, angering Diamid further could easily cost him his place in the Tower.
Sensing his hesitation, Hilbenzia smirked faintly.
“Then lead the way. Whatever happens, I’ll take the scolding with you.
I can’t just leave everything to a kid while calling myself an adult, can I?”
Her strained smile soon hardened.
“…Besides, it was me who fed her the Shizmel tart.”
Hilbenzia felt disgusted with herself — so proud to share her new recipe, completely unaware it could kill Jayna.
“…Right. Let’s go together.”
They were always at each other’s throats, but at this moment, they understood each other better than anyone.
Exchanging a brief nod, the two headed toward Diamid’s study.
Bang!
Michael kicked open the study door.
He didn’t wait for permission before rushing inside.
“I’m sorry, Tower Master — but there’s no time!”
There was no trace of his usual playfulness. Without even looking Diamid in the eye, he spoke quickly.
“Her condition’s critical — all the high priests are away right now.
Is there any way you can save her?”
“She collapsed right after eating a tart I made. She’s vomiting and can hardly breathe.”
Diamid froze, seeing the child floating before him.
“…A tart?”
He remembered.
A distant memory from so long ago he could barely recall — he too had once collapsed after eating a tart.
“…Shizmel?”
“Yes, that’s right!”
Diamid stared silently at the girl in the air.
If she truly had that allergy, she was teetering on the edge of life and death.
Now that he was a transcendent being, no such thing could harm him, but as a child…
He remembered nearly dying from it once.
And now, this child — his child — had collapsed from the same thing?
“Tower Master, at this rate your daughter will die!”
Michael’s voice shook with desperation. Every second counted, but Diamid only stared blankly ahead.
Then Jayna’s breathing faltered so much it almost stopped. Michael cried out.
“Jayna!”
“…Jayna?”
Michael lifted his head, shouting furiously.
“Yes, Jayna! That’s your daughter’s name!”
“…Wasn’t this child’s name Ashrid?”
“What are you talking about?! Her name is Jayna!
How can you not even know your own daughter’s name?!”
Michael screamed, voice cracking.
“You’re the one who passed that Shizmel allergy down to her, aren’t you?!”
Michael had never once openly defied Diamid before.
The one time he’d done so — regarding Moben’s incident — was nothing compared to this.
But none of that mattered now.
If Jayna died here, he would never forgive himself.
Diamid looked at her again.
“…Jayna.”
He repeated softly.
Jayna…
The documents the dragon clan had sent said “Ashrid.”
Jayna… that name…
He had heard it somewhere — faintly, long ago.
When he’d secretly watched her running around the Tower, he had sometimes overheard others call her that name.
— If we ever marry and have a child, I want to name her Jayna.
Jayna.
That was the name he and Bezeriche had promised to give their child.
Perhaps that was why…
Even after hearing the name, even after seeing the child — he’d pretended not to notice.
Because hearing it made him remember the woman who’d left him.
Because all the coldness and hatred he’d built up were nothing more than fragile walls born of pride.
And he was terrified that realizing that would shatter him.
But now—
That child, bearing that name, was dying before his eyes.
Because she’s my daughter?
Because she inherited my curse — my Shizmel allergy.
“……”
Diamid stepped closer to Jayna.
He was a mage — capable of killing countless people, but powerless to heal even one.
Yet he was also the strongest mage in the world.
He reached up, grasped his long tied hair, and conjured a blade of pure magic. Then he cut it.
Swish.
The strands fell gently over Jayna’s small body.
“Tower Master, that’s—!”
Michael’s eyes widened in shock.
Healing magic was forbidden — an act against the divine order.
Without the blessing of a god, no one was permitted to reverse life and death.
But someone like Diamid could defy the world’s laws — at a price.
His own life.
“……!”
Hilbenzia and Michael both gasped. They knew what this meant.
They knew exactly what he would lose.
Long ago, a great mage once said:
— If one has reached the level to heal, why would they waste all their effort and talent for a single mortal life?
Diamid was that great. And he had so much to lose.
Yet there wasn’t a hint of hesitation in him.
“Are you really planning to use your life and magic to save her?”
To a mage, power was more precious than life itself.
But Diamid was giving it away without reservation.
Fwoosh—
A white light enveloped Jayna. A geometric magic circle spread beneath her, then faded.
“Ah…”
Jayna’s trembling slowly eased. The pained expression on her face softened.
“She won’t die now.”
Diamid, his hair now shorter, said quietly.
Michael and Hilbenzia stared in silence.
They had known him for decades, yet the man before them seemed like a stranger — someone entirely different.
“Take her to a room where she can rest.”
In the original story, the Jayna of that world probably cried endlessly — driven away by Diamid’s coldness and Michael’s sarcasm — hiding somewhere in the Tower.
She would have eaten in secret, surviving on scraps, until the day she met the dragons… and died.
But I didn’t do that.
Despite Diamid’s rejection and Michael’s scorn, I hadn’t shed a single tear.
I befriended Hilbenzia, the alchemist.
I met the main character, Rosian, his companion Izren, and even Princess Ellia.
It was all different from the original.
Maybe that’s why I’m dying early now.
Maybe I was supposed to run — over and over again — instead of defying fate.
Am I not even allowed the smallest bit of happiness?
Both in my previous life as Min Bo-bae and in this one as Jayna, life had been nothing but suffering.
Born without parental love, raised by abusive relatives…
Would I always be an outsider, drifting between lives?
Never knowing my own preferences, always buried under what was cheap and convenient…
If this was how it would continue—
If I would live unloved, deprived of even the smallest right to happiness—
Then I’d rather just die.
Let me die.
My vision blurred. The pain faded.
My body felt light, distant.
My eyes closed.
The agony slowly melted away.
— Jayna.
Then, someone pulled me up from the depths of darkness.
— Open your eyes. Wake up.
Someone was holding me gently, shaking me awake.
That touch — that warmth — was so familiar.
— I don’t want to wake up.
— …
— I don’t want to live a miserable life anymore. I just want to die here.
The voice fell silent for a while. Then—
— If you think your life has been nothing but misery… then I’ll hold onto you.
I won’t let you die.
The voice was firm — stronger than anyone’s.
— From now on, I’ll always stay by your side.
And with those words—
“…Huh?”
Jayna opened her eyes.
