The extra is a fox eyed jester-Chapter 78: Genesis of the curse.

Somewhere within Valectis, in a grand inn which was quite modest, a figure moved with visible exhaustion.

Although her movements bore the grace of a noble, and the rigidity of a warrior, she looked worn out.

Nathaniel or rather, Augusta slumped onto the bed.

Her red hair fell in shimmering waves scattered across the sheets while her green eyes watched the ceiling without any particular emotion on her face.

It was raining outside.

She hated the weather because it reminded her of her mother.

Her mother loved the rain, it was her favorite weather.

Even now she could still picture her mother’s smiling face while she dragged both her and her brother into the cold downpour.

Avankel never liked the rain, he would always complain about it afterwards but would remain quiet because of the steaming cup of hot chocolate he usually got afterwards.

Augusta on the other hand was more like her mother, she loved the rain because it was the only time she and her mother alongside her brother could be free without holding back.

A sad smile caressed her lips while she let her arm cover her eyes.

"Silly woman," she choked a sob. "Why... why did you marry that man, why did you leave me."

Once again she was painfully reminded why she hated the rain.

At least one good part about it was the fact that she could cry to her heart’s content without anyone noticing.

"Apeiron..." she called.

For a few seconds, her summon was met with nothing but silence, then the familiar feeling of something stirring within her soul followed.

"Lady Augusta, you called for me."

Augusta sighed internally lamenting on how she couldn’t get used to that feeling.

"Yes I did."

She paused.

"We need to talk."

The divine weapon hummed slightly.

"What would you wish to know, Lady Augusta."

"The curse," she said, "tell me everything you know about it."

"If that is your command." It said, then the next second a pale silver light wove itself, thread by thread, intersecting with each other until a beautiful silver spear with magnificent blue engravings was resting in Augusta’s palm.

There was no change in her expression nor did she spare the divine spear a glance.

Apeiron spoke again, this time its voice was different.

"Lady Augusta, what I’m about to show you, dates back to six centuries ago. You will experience the events first hand so whatever you do, don’t let your mind crumble or your consciousness will be lost in the events of time."

The room didn’t fade, it was unmade.

Unwoven like a tapestry tugged by invisible fingers, the walls of the inn fell apart into threads of memories, the ceiling dissolved into the sky of the past.

The scent of damp wood was replaced by iron.

Augusta remained still even as Apeiron pulsed within her fingers.

Then...

She was suddenly somewhere.

Not in her inn.

Somewhere different, someplace archaic.

The rain was still there but it was heavier and far older.

Compared to this, what was falling earlier felt like light drizzle.

Before her stretched a battlefield which was long abandoned.

Broken banners lay among mutilated corpses, their colors stripped of the luster which they once held.

The Earth was scorched and scarred whispering tales of the devastating battles which might have taken place sometime ago.

Within it were two figures.

One knelt while the other stood.

The kneeling figure wore an armor fractured around its seams, yet it clung tightly to his frame.

His brown hair was darkened and matted with rain, obscuring his face but within his grip...

Within his grip was a familiar silver spear.

One which Augusta instantly recognized.

’Apeiron.’ she mused with a small frown.

Even in the memory, the divine spear hummed with restrained divinity with familiar blue engravings glowing faintly like veins.

Augusta’s palm twitched by instinct.

She felt it,

A resonance with the divine spear.

"Was it worth it, old friend?"

The standing figure spoke.

His voice held not a trace of mockery or anger.

Only exhaustion remained.

"Why didn’t you flee when you had the chance?"

He stepped forward.

Unlike the kneeling figure, his attire was far more simple, he donned a modest cloak, soaked through by the rain.

At his side was a blade he had not drawn while his face...

His face.

Augusta felt her breath hitched.

His face bore no malice.

There was only warmth and a sense of familiarity, the kind that could only be found in close relatives or childhood friends.

"I thought..." the man who was standing spoke, with rain trailing down his jaw. "you’d run, you could have at least saved your family, krepin, why did you have to make such a foolish choice."

The kneeling figure—Krepin, left out a quiet laugh, one which cracked midway revealing a deeper sorrow than his expression could tell.

"And go where?"

He asked with a hoarse tone.

"Tell me, Nirva... where does a man run when even the heavens despise him?"

Nirva allowed his gaze to wander to the spear, then back to Krepin.

"You shouldn’t have taken it, you knew what it was, you knew there would be consequences!"

The battlefield fell into an unsettling silence, leaving behind only the patter of rain.

"I needed it..."

Krepin’s fingers tightened around Apeiron.

"You were chosen as the champion of Kretus but my country was about to be ruined by the hands of an evil god... I did it to save my people, to save my family."

Krepin finally raised his head causing Augusta to reel in shock.

His eyes... there was something wrong about it, she would know because she had once been in a similar situation.

Krepin looked less like a human and more like a corpse.

But what stunned Augusta was the uncanny resemblance Krepin bore to her father.

"The gods are cruel, Nirva," he chuckled like a broken puppet. "I stole the divine relic to save my family but in the end I was cursed to lose them, I was forced to watch them die."

He laughed.

Nirva could no longer bear the sight, his lips quivered while his eyes moistened with unshed tears.

He looked away.

Krepin looked at Apeiron, then he whispered silently.

"Nirva... my son... he’s all I have left of my blood. Promise me you’ll take care of him, do not let him end up like his foolish father."

Such were the last words Krepin uttered before plunging the divine spear to his chest.

The moment he did, the world trembled.