Chapter 3

After falling into the world of The Book of Irkus, I desperately searched for the protagonist, Irkus. He was the only character I knew well enough to find.

Of course, I was aware of the existence of that villain… Ra–something, but it seemed far easier to find the protagonist than the antagonist. He was supposed to be a breathtakingly beautiful boy, after all. He should have stood out immediately.

But I couldn’t find him.

No matter how hard I looked, there was no breathtaking boy named “Irkus” anywhere. Whether on Earth or in this world, beautiful boys were a rare species.

At the time, I assumed I had fallen into the novel’s timeline—not centuries before it. To put it into modern Korean terms, I expected to arrive in the 21st century and instead landed in the 17th.

I barely remembered the protagonist’s settings as it was, so how could I possibly recall the precise in-world year? I still remember that the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 was tested on my world history exam, but recalling the cliché fantasy opening line—something like “Imperial Era Year XXX”—was impossible. Who in the world reads those numbers seriously?

I couldn’t speak the local language, black hair and black eyes were considered ominous, and the protagonist of the single volume I’d actually read… wouldn’t appear for another four centuries.

Was this real life? Whoever made me possess this world had absolutely zero moral integrity. If they took an ethics and philosophy mock exam, they’d get a solid rank 9.

In the end, without ever finding the protagonist, I wasted several years as the Empress Yekarina’s pet human.

To be fair, it was a rather fulfilling life for a slave. Being a third-year high school student or being a slave wasn’t all that different. Instead of studying, I did chores—but whether in school or slavery, you left early in the morning, returned late at night, and worked to the brink of exhaustion.

They said high school seniors would get to wreak havoc in another world… That was clearly outdated nonsense.

“I like you, Yuan, because you’re such a rare beauty.”
“Your Majesty, you like anyone as long as they’re beautiful.”
“How rude—this attitude is precisely my type! If only I’d met you before Darwin. Who knows, I might’ve made you Emperor.”

Empress Yekarina… I hesitate to say this, but she was an impulsive romantic with a terrifying weakness for pretty faces. If she hadn’t been a witch, she would’ve fallen for some scammer and died young.

I know it’s improper to say this of an imperial consort, but she was an airhead among airheads. When she told me she’d sacrificed everything for the golden-haired Emperor simply because he was handsome and had a personality that aligned with her taste for arrogance, I nearly fainted.

If it matches her taste, she gives everything?
My first impression of Yekarina was: “This is what happens when obsession becomes a terminal illness.”

Even more astonishing was the fact that a witch as powerful as Yekarina personally intervened in the human world to help just one person—me. Due to power-balancing rules in this world, witches were heavily restricted compared to mages.

It wasn’t because of some grand contract or political exchange—Yekarina had sacrificed everything purely for “love.” Put kindly, she was the romanticist of the century. Put bluntly, a hopeless romantic lunatic.

In The Book of Irkus, witches were far superior to mages. Mages learned magic through teachers and formal education, but witches instinctively knew how to use magic from the moment they were born.

On top of that, witches matured quickly and aged slowly compared to humans. They were human, yet not; neither elf, dwarf, dragon, nor spirit. For ages, witches existed as beings both human and other.

Because of this, the world maintained balance by allowing only a very small number of witches to exist. Not because humans hunted them, but because witches simply couldn’t thrive under ordinary conditions.

Just as a shark cannot survive in freshwater, witches fell ill when living among normal humans.

This was the author’s way of ensuring powerful beings could not interfere too easily. Otherwise, with witches being stronger than mages, claims of inefficiency would never have existed.

Witches belonged nowhere, were powerful, adept in both blessings and curses, and yet died when living among those unlike them.

As the word “witch” suggests, only biological females could become witches, regardless of lineage. In modern Korean terms, witches were essentially the endangered Asiatic black bear.

The deranged Emperor managed to capture such a witch purely with his face and gained control of the entire Robein Empire. Truly, appearance carried the world.

“When Darwin was younger, his gaze was so delightfully rude. He shouted, ‘Hey! Witch over there!’ and I fell for him instantly.”
“Your tastes are shockingly bad.”
“Respect them. That’s what love is—everyone else thinks you’re crazy, but as long as you like it, that’s enough. I’m a lucky witch, you know. I found someone worth giving my life for.”

Yekarina said the Emperor’s handsome face was exactly her type—especially his rich golden hair, which she adored.

She approached him for his looks, but he also happened to be an arrogant lunatic exactly to her taste. With such terrible preferences and a yearning for love, the witch fell helplessly in love with him.

And so Yekarina broke countless world rules to make him Emperor. Historians must’ve cursed her endlessly.

The deranged Emperor, of course, seized the opportunity. He refused to let go of the witch who loved him and made her Empress, then exploited her thoroughly.

Build me something with magic, refill the treasury, kill that person, join the war… and so on.

A witch may be strong and beautiful, but she is no god. Excessive use of power always leads to consequences.

In my eyes, the Emperor never loved Yekarina romantically. He cherished her the way a middle manager treats an assistant who shoulders all his work—not as a lover. Yekarina knew this, too.

Ultimately, when Yekarina became exhausted and depressed from this miserable love, the Emperor bestowed me upon her.

Black hair and black eyes, Yekarina! Ominous, yes—but rare. Look at the pretty black shiny thing and cheer up. And please, help me run the country again with magic.
That was his message.
The bastard. I should have personally beheaded him.

Why do perfectly sane people fall for such trash? The question of why people are drawn to bad men has remained unsolved for centuries in modern Korea.

Still, it ended in a happy ending of sorts—Yekarina genuinely cheered up after receiving me as a gift. Honestly, who wouldn’t? I was quite adorable.

“Before I die, why don’t you become a mage? I’ll be your teacher.”
“This world allows slaves to become mages? Wow, progressive.”
“Oh, right, you’re a slave.”
“Please don’t forget that. How can the Empress be a slave’s teacher? In this insane class system…”
“You’re so confident I forget you’re a slave sometimes. But so what? I’m the Empress in this insane class system.”

Despite a few screws being loose, Yekarina was a fundamentally good person.

In fact, she was my benefactor. Without her, my already hard-mode life would have escalated into insane-mode.

She taught me the continent’s common language and ancient tongue, and volunteered to serve as my teacher so I could become a mage.

Magic formulas resembled entrance-exam mathematics. They were incredibly fun. Studying for exams? Child’s play. Brainwork was two hundred times easier than physical labor.

Witches were born STEM geniuses. Mages were people who became STEM through study. Once I thought of it that way, all awkwardness vanished. Studying really could solve everything.

Through all my long years in this world, the only human I could rely upon with complete sincerity was Yekarina.

Because I was effectively a slave, everyone except Yekarina treated me harshly. I never thought I’d experience military life inside a fantasy novel.

But good people die young—this is a rule in nearly every world.

Although witches lived longer than humans, they were not immortal. And after several years of exhausting magic overuse in the bustling palace—thanks to the Emperor’s endless demands—Yekarina’s body began to deteriorate. A witch with grey hairs, wrinkles on that beautiful face…
I really should’ve executed that Emperor myself.

In the end, Yekarina died only a few years after I became her pet human. Even now, it feels unfair. To think that a witch wasted her life because she loved such a lunatic Emperor.

“Before I die, I’ll bless you.”
“No thanks.”
“Don’t act coy—take it. You’re the smartest and most talented child I’ve ever met.”
“I know I’m a prodigy.”
“Arrogant brat.”
“Forget blessing me and take care of yourself. You’re going to die soon. You know that.”

I was fond of Yekarina—not romantically, but as a human being.

Without her, I would’ve died before even learning the continental language. My situation had been like a hamster tossed into a lion’s den. I could’ve died anytime. But Yekarina rescued me and cherished me.

To me, Yekarina was more than a benefactor. So if there was anything she wished for that I could fulfill, I wanted to do it.

I even considered killing the deranged Emperor in her stead. Koreans are the people of rebellion and impeachment—if Yekarina had asked, “Please kill that ungrateful bastard,” I would’ve spent years quietly preparing a revolution.

“I know. I’ll die soon.”
“……”
“So you must not die, Yuan.”

But the final words she left me were not “Bury that bastard with me,”
but rather:

You must not die.