Hate Me, Witch!-Chapter 131 – I Will Find You, No Matter the Cost

Chapter 131 – I Will Find You, No Matter the Cost

Unlike any past return from a Historical Echo.

If the River of Time had always been like a steady-flowing river, charting a fixed course from one historical point to another—

Then now, it was as if a new tributary had been violently carved into its main current by an overwhelming force.

The once eternal and unshakable River of Time now thundered with turbulent waves.

The power of historical correction had activated, attempting to erase the newly-formed tributary, forcing the river’s flow back to its proper course.

But standing against this force—was another overwhelming power.

Like a colossal sword plunged into the riverbed, it defied the crashing waves on its own.

Xia Ya felt like a leaf drifting on the sea—tossed about in the raging currents, without direction.

If he were truly to lose his way here…

Then he’d become one of the “forgotten by time.”

A soul forever lost in history.

But soon after—

Deep within his mental sea, the once-dim Sands of Time began to glow.

It shone like a radiant star—lighting the way.

Within the chaos of the River of Time, it became his guiding beacon.

And so, following the pull of the Sands of Time,

Xia Ya rode the currents, crossed the turbulent surge,

And returned once again to his place in the present timeline.

Only—

The new tributary carved in the River of Time…

Did not vanish with Xia Ya’s departure.

…

Aisgania.

Royal Capital.

Amid the rubble and ruins of bodies and shattered stone,

On the throne of decay—

A golden light, radiant as sunlight,

Pierced through the black-armored Vile King.

Futigon coughed up a mouthful of pitch-black blood,

Glaring down at the gaping hole through his chest—

The one burned through by the golden light.

A twisted, bitter smile curved his lips.

Too fast.

Unbelievably fast.

He had thought—even after that brutal fight with Kayin in the Valley of the End—

That though he might fall behind,

It would be a slow decline—

Endless skirmishes, territory chipped away little by little…

Until his alliance of Abyssal Beasts and traitors was gradually ground down over years—maybe even decades.

But what he never expected—

Was that in less than a year,

The rebellion led by the Knight King

Would sweep through the land without resistance,

Subduing every monster, bandit, and marauder in its path—

Bringing order to the chaos.

And now—

They had reached the Royal Capital.

And with his defeat,

There was nothing left to stop them from claiming the throne.

“Knight King… Artoris.”

“You’ll regret this.”

Futigon gave a bloody, twisted laugh.

“Right now, it seems like you stand on the side of justice—

On the verge of building your perfect nation of order…”

“But when you’re gone—

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When the allied lords, once united, start birthing ambitions of their own…”

“This kingdom you built, so glorious on the surface, will eventually shatter into pieces.”

“And in the end… your empire will fall into the same lonely ruin as mine.”

“Just like when you lost Kayin!”

Crack.

His words were cut short.

The holy sword of gold pierced through his chest once more—

Ending his life.

He slumped to the ground, lifeless.

A thunderous cheer erupted through the capital—

The allied rebel army roared in triumph.

The fall of Vile King Futigon meant that the last obstacle in all of Aisgania was gone.

Now—

Was the moment to build a new empire atop the ruins—

To claim the fruits of victory.

Yet—

At the center of this celebration,

Isadella showed not a trace of joy.

Silently, she pulled off the headband she used for disguising as a man.

Wiping away the makeup on her face,

She let her argent-silver hair cascade down like a stream of mercury.

She could clearly feel it—

At the moment Futigon fell,

The holy sword in her hand pulsed with power.

The final seal on the sword had been released.

Now—she had truly reached the Throne tier.

Every objective she'd had in this warped timeline had been fulfilled.

By all logic, there was nothing left here for her to linger for.

And yet—

The weight of historical correction was already descending—

Pushing her to return to her original place in time.

But—

Isadella refused to go.

The fully awakened Stellar Holy Sword released a grand and ancient force.

That divine protection shielded her—

Keeping her outside the River of Time’s flow.

Outside the grip of correction.

She had become… an anomaly in history.

“Merlin.”

“How goes the research I ordered—on reincarnation, and necromantic resurrection?”

With holy sword in hand, and Throne-tier power behind her,

Isadella pushed back the correction force and spoke calmly.

“All information has been gathered,”

An elder in a court mage’s robe responded telepathically.

“Reincarnation… some believe it, some don’t.

Time is long—eventually, the world may bloom two similar flowers…

A thousand years of memories—one flower withers, one blooms.”

“But whether they are truly the same… is for future generations to decide…”

“I don’t want vague answers like that.”

Isadella cut him off without mercy.

“Kayin is Kayin.

One of a kind.

There will never be another him in this world.”

“Yes, Your Majesty… I never believed in reincarnation, either.”

Merlin wiped sweat from his brow, then continued respectfully:

“There are necromantic spells and undead rituals that claim to bring the dead back…

But they all have flaws—none of them meet Your Majesty’s standards.”

He glanced cautiously at Isadella. “The vast majority of necromantic spells and black magic require a complete corpse to function… but His Excellency Kayin died so heroically for the nation that not even a trace of his body remained.”

“Besides, necromantic magic has severe flaws. Since the resurrection is based on a corpse, the result is always an undead being.”

“Though such creatures may retain fragments of the original’s memories, they’re rarely complete—and their intellect is often severely impaired.”

“If that’s the outcome, then even bringing him back would only be an act of desecration.”

Isadella rejected the suggestion without hesitation.

She stood upon the broken throne, silently gazing down at the short letter in her hand, lashes lowered.

“So…”

“In the end, I still… can’t see him again?”

In that moment, Isadella no longer resembled the Knight King who had just unified the realm and was about to found an eternal empire.

She looked more like a guilty kitten who had done something wrong.

“Not necessarily…”

Merlin spoke slowly.

“I came across an old mystical tome from the Old Era in Futigon’s collection.”

“It says that every person, upon birth, leaves behind a unique personal imprint within the Spirit Realm—an imprint that doesn’t disappear, even in death.”

“Normally, this mark is nothing more than a trace of spiritual essence…”

“But—if the deceased is remembered with enough renown and reverence… there’s a small chance.”

“With the collective longing and remembrance of all people, that mark can be stimulated—echoing through the subconscious ocean of the Spirit Realm.”

“And eventually… that imprint may be completed.”

“Finally, the one whose body was lost to time, whose name alone endured—may ascend as a Heroic Spirit.”

“And be reborn… in the Hall of Heroes.”

Merlin hesitated.

“But the conditions for becoming a Heroic Spirit are extremely strict. It requires widespread remembrance.”

“Only through centuries—perhaps even a millennium—of commemoration,

when one becomes a figure etched deep into history,

can that transformation happen.”

He glanced at Isadella.

“The time needed to forge a Heroic Spirit may be hundreds of years… or perhaps… a thousand.”

He knew clearly—his king was human.

And even with a Throne-tier body,

Human lifespans could never compare to long-lived races.

No matter how strong she was—she wouldn't live a thousand years.

This dream… was destined to be an unreachable one.

Perhaps, a thousand years from now,

The Black Knight Kayin would truly reappear in the world as a Heroic Spirit—

But by then, no one in the empire who had once known his face would still be alive.

Yet—

Faced with Merlin’s sorrowful and resigned expression,

Isadella merely lifted her head slightly.

“Become… a Heroic Spirit?”

Her gaze drifted toward the distant sky.

There, a crimson blood moon hung high above the night.

“I will find you… no matter what it takes.”

A single, clear tear fell upon the ruins beneath her feet.

“One thousand years…”

“Or perhaps… a god.”