Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 72: Ivaim’s Weakness
After the awards ceremony, the crowd began to slowly disperse, their excited chatter filling the square as people made their way home.
The top five competitors were surrounded by well-wishers, their smiles wide as they proudly accepted their awards.
Halvin handed each of them a certificate, signed and sealed with the town’s official stamp, acknowledging their dedication and achievements.
The gleaming pieces of custom-forged weaponry and armor were passed over with a few hearty congratulations and pats on the back.
The air buzzed with the pride of a town that had witnessed its warriors give everything in the trials.
Ivaim lingered for a moment, standing apart from the small group of winners.
He offered his thanks to those who came forward with congratulations—some kind words from the townsfolk, a few joking remarks from fellow fighters, and a few slaps on the back.
His grin was casual, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he accepted each compliment, nodding in acknowledgment of the town’s support.
Despite his mischievous nature, Ivaim knew how to play the part of the humble champion when the occasion called for it.
He smiled, accepting the congratulations with a few well-placed words of gratitude, nodding politely as the praises flowed in from every corner.
The cheers and claps became a steady rhythm, but after a while, the noise of the square started to fade into the background.
His thoughts began to drift, and he stepped back from the small group of admirers, feeling the weight of the lingering quiet.
’I keep forgetting that this is just a Fractured Reality...’ he thought, his gaze flicking toward the horizon.
’Is all this even real?’
The faces of the people who had cheered for him—were they truly from Fendral, or were they just images conjured by some kind of magic he couldn’t even begin to understand?
The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the present.
’To be fair, I can’t even tell if these are real people or just pieces of some twisted illusion created by forces beyond my comprehension...’
Ivaim exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The festive atmosphere around him seemed to warp, blurring the lines between what was real and what wasn’t.
The sound of the crowd, once so alive with energy, now felt distant. It felt almost unreal, like he was merely a visitor in someone else’s dream.
’Also... I still don’t know how to escape this Fractured Reality. Is that what I’m supposed to do? Kill the Reality Master?’ he wondered, the uncertainty gnawing at the back of his mind.
’Or is there another way out?’
His thoughts were interrupted by the thinning crowd. People were beginning to leave, their conversations and footsteps echoing softly as they scattered to their homes or other corners of the town.
The once-bustling square was slowly emptying, and the vibrant energy of the celebration began to fade.
Ivaim, still grinning faintly, decided it was time to slip away. He gave one last nod to the remaining townsfolk, who were still offering their congratulations, and said his quiet goodbyes.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.
He wasn’t in a rush—there would be time to figure out the mysteries of the Fractured Reality later.
The sun was already starting to dip below the horizon, and he figured it was most likely time to return to the bakery. Grandma Neli would be expecting him, and there was always work to do.
He made his way through the streets, feeling the cool breeze against his skin.
As the square grew more distant behind him, Ivaim couldn’t help but let his mind wander. His journey wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
The regionals, if he made it that far, would be a whole new challenge—but there was no rush. There was always time for the next step.
He was heading toward a quieter part of town, the streets here darker and more secluded, when a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Does my mother know you’re joining the arenas too?"
The voice was steady, almost casual, but Ivaim could tell there was something more behind it.
Ivaim turned around, finding himself face-to-face with Neli’s son.
A tall, broad-shouldered man, his features sharp like the edge of a knife. His gaze was steady and measuring.
"We both know she’d kick me out of the bakery the moment she finds out," Ivaim said with a grin, trying to keep things light.
The man smiled softly, a trace of something unreadable in his eyes.
"I forgot to tell you my name. It’s Darian."
"Ivaim," he replied. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Mind if I ask an insensitive question?"
Darian raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a faint amusement.
"Sure."
Ivaim gave him a serious look, not quite meeting his gaze.
"Your mother already told me about it—about the history with your father, I mean. Why continue? I see the way it hurts her. Every day. She watches you... and it’s tearing her apart."
He paused, his expression softening.
"Why put her through that? It’s like you’re stuck in something you can’t escape."
There was a quiet beat before Darian spoke again, his voice low.
"You don’t know anything about it."
"I know enough," Ivaim said, voice steady.
"But that’s not really what I’m asking. I guess..." His words trailed off for a moment before he caught himself.
"Your mother is great. She’s kind to everyone, even when she doesn’t have to be. And it’s hard seeing her like that."
Darian didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, the only sound between them was the distant hum of the town.
Ivaim felt an odd mix of frustration and sympathy stirring in his chest, but he didn’t let it show.
’Seriously, I care too much for kind people…’ Ivaim thought, a fleeting bitterness creeping in.
’Although I’m doing this because I know that this guy is connected to the Master of Cruelty, a part of me still feels sympathy, especially towards people whom I’ve received kindness from..’
’Sigh. I wonder if it’s a weakness of mine...’
After a few moments of silence, Darian spoke again, his voice quieter, almost like a confession.
"It’s not that simple. You’re right... she doesn’t deserve to hurt. But it’s not about her anymore. It’s about what I have to do."
Ivaim tilted his head, curious but cautious.
"What do you mean?"
Darian met his gaze, his eyes sharp now, as if he’d made a decision in that moment.
"I’ve got a score to settle. And I can’t move on until I do. There’s someone I have to face. Someone who’s been pulling the strings behind everything. My past, my father... even my present. I won’t rest until I have answers."
Ivaim’s pulse quickened, a flicker of realization sparking in his mind.
"Someone pulling the strings? You’re talking about that cruel man, aren’t you?"
Darian didn’t flinch. "Do you know who he is?"
"Let’s just say... I’ve got my reasons for asking. And if you’re looking for revenge, I’m looking for the same thing."
Ivaim’s voice dropped lower, almost as if he was weighing the consequences of what he was about to say.
"Maybe we could help each other. If you know how to find him... I might be able to help you get the answers you’re searching for."
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For a moment, Darian didn’t respond. He studied Ivaim, his expression unreadable.
Then, he spoke, his voice a mix of resolve and wariness.
"I’ve seen you fight, neither of us stand a chance..."
