Episode-871
Chapter : 1741
"She was a victim," the Reflection said. "Just like you. Just like all of us. She was a piece on a board she didn't understand, being moved by players she couldn't see. Her loyalty never wavered, Lloyd. Even when her heart was locked in ice, even when she couldn't speak the words... she was there."
The ghostly chains rattled louder, a cacophony of regret. Lloyd felt a wave of nausea. He remembered every cold glare he had given her, every dismissive comment. He remembered leaving for the North without telling her, faking his death, breaking her mind.
"I broke her," Lloyd whispered. "In this life. I broke her to save myself. I thought I was outsmarting a traitor. But I was just... torturing a hero."
"You did what you thought was necessary based on the data you had," the Reflection said, offering a small, sad mercy. "But your data was flawed. That is why I am here. That is why the silence is broken. You cannot continue down this path. If you hold onto this false vengeance, if you continue to treat her as the enemy, you will walk right back into the same trap that consumed us before."
The image in the air changed again. It showed Rosa in the first timeline, sitting alone in a cold room, weeping silently over a letter Lloyd had sent her—a letter filled with hateful accusations.
"Look at her," the Reflection commanded. "Really look at her."
Lloyd forced himself to look. He saw the pain etched into her face. It wasn't the face of a conspirator. It was the face of a woman who was drowning in loneliness, burdened by a duty she couldn't share, and hated by the husband she was trying to protect.
"She knew," the Reflection said. "Toward the end, she suspected that something was manipulating us. She tried to reach out. But you were too angry to listen. You were too hurt. You pushed her away, and in doing so, you left her alone to face the darkness."
Lloyd clenched his fists, the ghostly chains biting into his spectral skin. "Who?" he demanded, his voice turning into a growl. "Who did this? Who planted the lie?"
"That is a name for another time," the Reflection said. "For now, you must understand the nature of the trap. The enemy does not want to fight us head-on. They want us divided. They want the North and the South to be at war. They want the Ferrum Steel and the Siddik Ice to shatter each other so they can sweep up the pieces."
Lloyd took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. "Okay. Okay, I get it. I messed up. I messed up big time. But what do I do now? I can't just walk up to her and say, 'Hey, sorry I treated you like garbage for two lifetimes, turns out my brain was hacked by a demon, want to grab coffee?'"
"You must see her," the Reflection said. "Not as the villain of your story, but as a person. You must drop the shield of hatred you have built. It is heavy, Lloyd. And it is useless against the true enemy."
The Reflection stepped closer, his form beginning to shimmer, as if he was struggling to maintain the connection.
"You have a chance I never did," the Reflection said, his voice fading slightly. "You have time. You have power. And you have the truth. Do not waste it on pride. Do not waste it on anger. The Rosa of this timeline is walking the same path as the first. She is closing herself off. She is becoming the ice statue because she thinks it is the only way to survive you."
Lloyd felt a lump in his throat. "I know," he muttered. "I saw it. I caused it."
"Then fix it," the Reflection said sternly. "You are an engineer, aren't you? You fix broken things. Fix this. Before the Puppet Master pulls the strings again."
The void began to spin, the colors blurring into a dizzying spiral. The session was ending. Lloyd felt the pull of consciousness, the heavy anchor of his physical body calling him back.
"Wait!" Lloyd shouted, reaching out towards the fading figure. "You said 'Puppet Master'. Who is it? Give me a target!"
The Reflection smiled, a sad, weary expression. "You will know soon enough. Just remember... the ice does not want to be cold. It is just waiting for the sun."
Chapter : 1742
With that, the dream shattered. The red and blue fragments dissolved into darkness, leaving Lloyd falling back into the reality of his complications, armed with a truth that hurt more than any lie.
________________________________________
The dream did not end. It simply changed gears. The spinning colors of the void dissolved, replaced by a gritty, sepia-toned reality. It felt like walking into an old photograph that had been left in a damp basement for too long. The air smelled of dust, old stone, and the ozone scent of impending rain.
Lloyd found himself standing on the high battlements of the Ferrum estate. But it wasn't the fortress he knew in the current timeline. It was the version from the first life. The walls were lower. The defensive runes were dimmer. It looked smaller, less fortified, and infinitely more vulnerable. The sky above was the color of a bruised plum, heavy and suffocating.
Beside him stood the Reflection. He leaned against the cold stone parapet, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the forest met the dark clouds.
"You wanted a target," the Reflection said. His voice was heavy, carrying the weight of a tombstone. "You wanted to know who pulled the strings. Let me introduce you to the architect of our misery."
The scene shifted rapidly, like a camera lens zooming in from a satellite. The view of the forest blurred and twisted until they were looking into a deep, shadowy chamber somewhere far away. The room was filled with flickering candlelight that cast long, dancing shadows against the walls.
In the center of the room stood a figure.
It was not human. It was a tall, androgynous being wrapped in robes of shifting silk. The fabric seemed to move on its own, shimmering with colors that reminded Lloyd of spilled oil. The being’s face was a mask of porcelain perfection—beautiful, yet utterly terrifying. Its eyes were not like Bael’s burning red pits. They were gold. Bright, shimmering gold, like two coins glinting in the dark.
"Mammon," the Reflection whispered the name with a mixture of fear and loathing. "The Devil Prince of Greed. But do not let the title fool you. He does not just hoard gold or jewels. He hoards despair. He hoards broken bonds. He collects the moments when people turn on each other."
Lloyd stared at the creature. Even in a memory, Mammon radiated a slimy, oily aura that made Lloyd’s skin crawl. It was the feeling of a used car salesman who knew the brakes were cut but sold you the car anyway.
"So, this is the guy?" Lloyd asked, crossing his arms. "He looks like a high-end perfume bottle that came to life and decided to be evil. He doesn't look like a fighter."
"He isn't," the Reflection explained. "Mammon is the weaver of lies. In the first life, Bael—the brute you know—provided the muscle. He was the hammer. But Mammon... Mammon was the hand that swung it. He wrote the script."
The scene dissolved again, reforming into a new location. They were now inside the Ferrum estate, in the main strategy room.
The room was tense. The air felt thick enough to cut with a knife. Sitting at the long wooden table was the Original Lloyd. He looked younger, softer, and completely out of his depth. He was staring at a map of the kingdom, his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked like a student trying to solve a calculus problem while juggling flaming torches.
Standing opposite him was Rosa.
She looked different too. She wasn't the cold, frozen statue Lloyd was used to. She looked frustrated, tired, and deeply worried. Her hands were pressed flat on the table as she leaned toward her husband.
"Lloyd, please listen," Rosa said, her voice sharp with urgency. "We cannot leave the western gate unguarded. The reports of movement in the forest are too consistent. If we move the guards to the main road, the flank is exposed."
The Original Lloyd flinched. He looked at the map, then at her. He didn't see a wife trying to help. He saw a genius pointing out that he was an idiot.
"I know that!" the Original Lloyd snapped, his voice cracking slightly. "I’m not blind, Rosa. But we don't have enough men. If I pull them from the road, the supply caravans are vulnerable. What do you want me to do? Print more soldiers?"
"I can cover the gate," Rosa offered. "My ice magic can create a barrier. We don't need men there if I—"