Episode 177
“Philia…”
Artius whispered her name, his eyes filled with longing.
Philemon’s phantom slowly approached him. Even knowing it was an illusion, he couldn’t bring himself to defend himself.
Her lips, chapped and cracked. Her face, pale and streaked with sweat. Her skin, deathly white. Her wrists and fingernails, bruised and broken from a long and arduous labor.
‘That’s how she died.’
She looked exactly as she did in his last memory of her.
The only difference was that this phantom, this illusion, was walking towards him, her green eyes filled with unshed tears.
She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.
[Why did you leave me alone?]
“…!”
Artius’s eyes widened in fear, his heart pounding, his mind blanking as he stammered,
“I-I didn’t mean to leave you alone. I… I…”
Clang—
His sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
“I-I’m sorry, Philia. It’s my fault…”
He reached out towards her, and Elonia, who had been watching him anxiously, quickly grabbed his arm.
“Dad, snap out of it!”
“…!”
Artius turned to her, his eyes filled with confusion. Elonia tightened her grip on his arm, her voice sharp.
“She’s not real, you know that!”
“But…”
He looked back and forth between Elonia and the phantom, his confusion growing.
Elonia’s resemblance to Philemon only fueled his confusion.
Lucius, seeing this, interjected, his voice sharp,
“Your Majesty, are you wavering?”
Artius flinched, and Lucius pressed on,
“Don’t make Her Highness sad. You’re her father.”
“…!”
Artius finally remembered.
Are you planning to sadden our child?
Philemon’s words, spoken just as he was about to cross the river of death.
He looked back at the phantom.
[Ah… Ah…]
The phantom, mimicking Philemon’s appearance, waved her withered arm, beckoning him, her face filled with resentment, as if she blamed him for her death.
“…!”
The sight chilled him to the bone.
Like a vengeful spirit trying to drag him to hell.
Artius finally snapped out of his daze.
‘That’s not Philemon.’
Philemon didn’t want him to die. She didn’t resent him.
She had smiled at his promise to join her after he lived a long life.
It might have been just a wishful thinking, a way to ease his guilt.
But Philemon was dead. This was just a phantom.
His gaze hardened, and his outstretched hand fell back to his side.
“Are you okay now?”
Elonia, her voice still laced with concern, asked. Artius, to reassure her, turned to her and nodded firmly.
“Yes, that’s not Philia.”
[No, it’s me.]
The phantom shook her head, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
Artius’s face hardened, his voice filled with anger.
“If you’re going to impersonate my wife, at least do it properly.”
His voice was laced with fury, and the phantom, despite being an illusion, flinched.
“Let’s go. Elonia, Lucius.”
Just as Artius picked up his sword and placed a hand on each of their backs,
[Don’t leave me…!]
The phantom lunged at Artius. He quickly pushed the two children aside and raised his sword, blocking the phantom’s attack.
But he couldn’t bring himself to cut her down.
Because even though it wasn’t Philemon, it looked exactly like her. Like Philemon in her final moments, after giving birth to Elonia.
“Dad, I’ll do it.”
Elonia raised her rapier, but Artius stopped her, shaking his head sadly.
Lucius, seeing this, stepped forward.
It was a recurring pattern. They were willing to sacrifice themselves for each other. He should be the one to deal with the phantom.
“Your Highness, Your Majesty, allow me—”
“No.”
Artius shook his head again. Lucius was surprised, and Elonia frowned, her face filled with frustration.
Artius gently pushed them forward.
“Go ahead. You have to deal with Tristan first.”
“…Then you should come with us!”
“It seems this phantom won’t let me go.”
Artius chuckled dryly, patting Elonia’s head. He looked at the phantom and murmured, his voice filled with self-deprecating humor,
“It must be because I haven’t let go of my past yet.”
“Dad…”
“I created this phantom. If I follow you, it’ll follow you too. I’ll catch up soon. Go ahead.”
He was right.
Phantoms were fueled by longing, by fear.
Elonia and Lucius knew Philemon was alive, in a different form. This phantom was created by Artius’s grief, targeting him specifically.
Elonia hesitated.
‘Should I tell him Mother is alive?’
But Philemon was under the Calamity God’s control.
Could she reveal that? Philemon hadn’t told Artius.
‘…Why should I obey the gods?’
Elonia gritted her teeth, her fists clenching.
If she didn’t tell him,
‘He’ll have to cut down Mother.’
Even if it was just a phantom.
It looked like Philemon, felt like Philemon.
She couldn’t let him experience that.
“Dad, actually, Mother is…!”
Just then,
A warm hand gently rested on her head.
Elonia’s eyes widened.
Artius was smiling.
“It’s alright, Elonia.”
His smile seemed to hold a hidden meaning, a silent understanding, and Elonia couldn’t speak. Artius subtly gestured towards Lucius.
Go.
His eyes spoke volumes. And Lucius realized,
‘Could it be…?’
He looked at the phantom. He had thought it looked familiar, but it wasn’t the face.
He looked back at Artius and nodded, then took Elonia’s hand.
“Let’s go, Your Highness.”
“W-wait!”
Lucius, ignoring her protest, ran towards the entrance to the spire. Elonia, though she could easily break free, didn’t.
She knew, logically, that this was the right thing to do.
She couldn’t leave Artius alone.
Lucius, tightening his grip on her hand, said,
“His Majesty will be fine.”
“H-how can you be so sure?”
Elonia stammered, her voice filled with an unfamiliar fear. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from Artius, even as Lucius dragged her along. Artius continued to smile, watching them, until they entered the spire.
The phantom, despite its approach, seemed invisible to him.
Thud.
The heavy door to the spire slammed shut behind them, as if waiting for their arrival.
Lucius, without hesitation, began ascending the spiral staircase. He turned to Elonia, whose face was clouded with worry, and smiled.
“Because the future I foresee never fails.”
“Damn it!”
Ricardo cursed as he ran towards the Main Palace.
The phantoms were relentless, clinging to him even as he tried to avoid them.
“This damn Heilan!”
They seemed even more aggressive now.
‘Or am I imagining things?’
He looked around.
“Ugh, aah…! …Huh?”
“H-help… What…?”
The phantoms attacking the others suddenly turned towards Ricardo, their eyes gleaming with a predatory light.
Why?
Ricardo cut them down, his mind racing.
‘Come to think of it, Lady Garnethia also…’
The phantoms had been particularly drawn to Garnethia earlier. And now they were drawn to him.
‘Could it be…?’
He looked down at the box he was carrying, Philemon’s keepsake box.
It was the only possible explanation.
The box was attracting the phantoms.
[Aaah…!]
Slash!
A phantom lunged at him, trying to snatch the box, confirming his suspicion. Ricardo easily cut it down and thought,
‘What is this thing?’
It looked like an ordinary, albeit luxurious, box. But phantoms didn’t care about luxury. There had to be some other power hidden within.
‘…I should ask Her Highness.’
His mission wasn’t to uncover the box’s secrets, but to deliver it to Elonia.
He continued running towards the observatory, the box rattling ominously in his arms.
He finally reached the Main Palace, his patience worn thin.
[Aaah…!]
The number of phantoms had increased dramatically, Tristan’s presence amplifying their power. Ricardo, looking at the horde of corpses swarming towards him, chuckled dryly.
“Wow, Ricardo Harriott, Mr. Popular.”
He had never been this popular in his life.
He scoffed and swung his sword, protecting the box. He was injured occasionally, but he didn’t care. These were just scratches.
Just as he reached the heavy iron door to the observatory,
Clatter, clatter.
“What the…?!”
The box rattled violently, as if trying to break free. Ricardo struggled to keep it closed.
But then,
[Aaaah!]
A strange cry echoed from outside. Ricardo, abandoning his attempts to control the box, flung the door open.
“Your Majesty!”
“Ugh…!”
Crunch. The sickening sound of flesh tearing filled the air.
Ricardo screamed.
“Your Majesty!”
Artius had been bitten by Philemon’s phantom.
Click.
And at that moment, he heard the sound of a lock opening.