As Ibaan rose to the height of the towering walls, the magical mountains filled his vision.

His soul and mind ached as they drew closer.

For a moment, his thoughts went blank, his consciousness fading.

Then

'Wha—'

Reality glitched multiple times as they were about to pass through the last wall and move toward the Mountains of Prophecy.

A thick darkness enveloped him and in the next moment, to the shock of his very existence, he once again found himself back in the real world. This time, there was no appraisal or system delay. His eyes widened as he stared at the ceiling above him. His heart pounded as a foul stench filled the room, making him stumble and cover his nose instantly. It was also unbearably cold.

He was back in the real world.

But how?

He didn't understand it at all. Just moments ago, they were about to pass through the wall, and the next moment, he was here.

Where was Amane? Lady of Flowers—wasn't she with him?

At the same moment, a familiar voice entered his ears.

"Master… where are we? Did you do something?"

"I did not!" he replied instantly, almost by reflex, letting out a sigh. Hearing Amane's voice reassured him. She was his bond now, so it made sense that she existed within him or within the school's system.

Amane went silent for a moment before speaking again.

"I think we were not allowed to go beyond the walls yet. We were… expelled?"

Ibaan fell silent.

'Expelled?'

Who could possibly do that?

The Dead Eye himself? No—that couldn't be it. He was in deep slumber, just like the others.

That left only one possibility.

His thoughts clicked into place, and he replied immediately, "Amane… I think it was the Lord of Beasts, Monsters, Devils, and Demons."

"Yes, that's what I believe too," she replied. "Anyway, Master… is this your world?"

"Yes," Ibaan answered calmly.

"I want to explore it, but my mind feels very heavy right now. After being expelled like that, I need to rest."

Ibaan didn't reply. He stared out the window, his expression darkened, his heart trembling.

Snow fell heavily outside the window not softly or gentlpy, but harsh and fast, like rocks crashing down a cliff. The flakes struck the glass again and again, piling up quickly, turning the world outside into a cold, white blur.

It was already winter.

'Already winter?'

He clearly remembered entering the Realm of the Dead Eye of the Fallen during dry weather. Winter was close, yes—but snow never fell in October. It only came near the end of November.

There was no way the climate could have changed this fast.

He immediately pulled out his communicator and turned it on, a bright screen flashed out as his eyes moved to today's date.

The date read:

3:20 PM

24th November

His expression froze. A chill ran down his spine.

'Wait… I've been in the realm for a month?'

That was impossible.

He was sure he had only spent a single day in the Realm of the Dead Eye of the Fallen. Even after nearly dying to the filthy creatures, even after his body fully entered that realm—it shouldn't have been this long.

Even if time flowed differently… not this much.

Unless—

'One day in the realm equals one month in the real world?'

He got off the bed at once and opened the window, letting the foul smell escape so he could breathe fresh air.

'What about Selpe? She didn't contact me at all?'

Then he paused and lightly patted his face, letting out a small chuckle.

He hadn't even checked his messages.

Turning on the network, his communicator buzzed violently, lagging for a moment as thousands of notifications flooded in.

He was stunned.

When it finally stabilized, the missed calls and messages were almost all from Selpe—spanning the last two days.

Wc

He frowned.

'Why does she care this much? She doesn't love Ibaan, and she doesn't truly care… so why?'

A few calls would make sense—but this many?

Then it clicked.

She couldn't contact him through the Servants of Will discussion because of the time gap between the real world and the realm.

Ibaan opened the relic. He still hadn't checked the powers he gained after advancing two branches, but first he needed food—and before that, he needed to check the discussion tab.

Now that he was back in reality, it should be accessible.

Scrolling through the system interface, he tapped on the discussion tab.

As expected, there weren't many recent messages.

Only one.

[Saint of Dawn]: Leader, is there any update on when we are going for the Sin of Sincerity?

'That explains it.'

It was obvious that she couldn't expose their identities, so she must have avoided sending too many messages there.

Ibaan sighed and dismissed the system—just as loud knocking echoed through the house.

He jolted upright.

'Selpe?'

He rushed out of the room, ran down the stairs, and opened the door.

A freezing wind hit his face. Snow had piled up several feet high as if a blanket of white sheet was spread — it shone in the illumination of the sun, and it was still falling heavily. No one was there.

But his gaze shifted to the letterbox.

It was open.

Curiosity took over.

Peering inside, his eyes landed on a strange envelope which was pitch black in colour, with carved letters etched into it.

And what shook his world was the language.

It was his old native language.

The ancient language of vampires.

How could it exist here — in a world isolated from his own? Worse, this language had long been buried in vampire history.

Nothing made sense, nothing ever did.

He reached out and lifted the envelope. The feel of the paper sent chills down his spine — it was made of the same pure material that only existed in his true world.

The carved letters, dyed in deep red, read in his ancient language:

"The Bastard's Invitation."

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