The Life of Charles Otto Leopold von Eberhart.
That was the book's title. That was, of course, weird. But there was something even more disturbing: its text was written in characters I shouldn't have been able to read. No known language in the human continents used those symbols. And yet, somehow, I understood its meaning.
"Is…this some sort of prank?" I murmured, skeptical. It was the only reasonable explanation, yet my instincts said otherwise. I wanted to open it, to confirm its contents, but something inside me screamed of danger.
Don't open it.
But how was I supposed to confirm its contents if I didn't?
Don't open it.
How could I be sure it was just a joke if I didn't?
Don't open it.
I stared at the book, and for a moment, it felt like the book stared back. A shiver crawled up my spine. It was…ominous.
Gerlinde had gone out of her way to bring it to me, desperately. Even in her condition, she had come all the way to my office to hand me this book.
That meant it was important.
That meant it held something she wanted me to see.
If anyone else had brought it, I probably wouldn't have bothered. But it was Gerlinde. That changed everything.
I made up my mind.
Don't open it.
I ignored the voice echoing in my head. Slowly, with trembling hands, I opened the book.
Its pages were thin and delicate, with no index or introduction. A few blank pages sat at the beginning before the text suddenly started.
"What…is this…?"
It was strange. As the title suggested, the book spoke about me—my life. It explained my past with eerie accuracy, right from the moment I was born. Not only was every event detailed, but it included my thoughts, written from my point of view— almost as if I had penned it myself, like reading a diary I never wrote.
Everything was there.
And everything was true.
How I was as a child, my relationships with my siblings, about Gerlinde, how I changed after my first court session. Nothing was left out.
How was this possible?
But still, it was fine. All of that was information others could have known. Gerlinde, Therese—even Greta could have written it. The thoughts were unsettlingly detailed, but maybe… they just knew me that well.
However…
"…"
There was something I was sure no one else could have known. I never spoke of it. No one else was there when it happened.
And yet…
"...It's all written here," I whispered in disbelief. My legs trembled slightly; sweat covered my palms. I was terrified—not just because of what I read, but because of what I might read next.
As I feared, nothing was omitted. Not every mundane day was written, but every significant moment—every turning point—was there.
How?
How did the author of this book know my secret?
I couldn't believe my eyes.
Soon, I reached the present. But something was wrong.
Even though I'd caught up to current events, there were still more pages left.
"…"
A chill crept down my spine.
I moved back to the sofa, my legs too weak to stand. I sank into the cushions and began reading again.
My face went pale. As I had feared, today's events were written down in detail—my game with Gerlinde, the court session, my conversation with the old man, and even me sitting on the couch reading the book.
I looked around, startled. I felt watched—as if eyes were on me from every wall of the room. Like an animal in a cage. Like a slave on display.
But the worst part was…the book wasn't finished. Its words continued. My hands shook as I snapped it shut, shoving it behind a cushion.
If what the book said was true, then—
KnockKnockKnock
Three sharp knocks at the door. Without waiting for a response, it swung open.
Therese stepped inside. I should have been surprised by her sudden appearance, but I wasn't. I had already predicted it.
Or rather—the book had.
"Charles! So you are back! You really went overboard this time!" she yelled with a sharp voice. She must have seen Gerlinde's condition and rushed here to scold me.
"…"
But I couldn't utter a word. My mind was still reeling from what I had just read.
"Are you listening to me? We came here to check on Gerlinde, but we found no one. Then, when we searched for her, a servant told us she'd been taken to her room because she was ill. What did you do to her…? Charles…?"
Her anger seemed to blind her at first, but as she spoke, she finally realised the state i was in—my face pale as if drained of life.
"...I'm sorry. It's entirely my fault. I made her drink too much…" I replied, my mind still distant.
"You made her drink? You know she's not good with that! Wait… Are you okay, Charles? I thought Gerlinde was in bad shape, but you look even worse. Geez, you really overdid it this time…" Her voice softened, concern replacing the anger on her face. Maybe it was because of my apologies—or perhaps because I looked like a ghost.
"...Yeah. You're right." I forced the words out. "Can I ask you to leave me alone for a moment? I just need to rest. As soon as I feel better, I'll go to Gerlinde's room and apologize properly."
"You're being…oddly honest. Okay, then… But make sure you go, alright? And if you're really feeling that bad, maybe you should call one of the doctors." Her surprise was written all over her face.
Was it because I looked sick—something that rarely happened? Or was it because I was acting unusually sincere?
"It's nothing serious. …I just need to rest a bit."
"Alright. Just don't be faking it to avoid trouble. Greta isn't with me right now because she's taking care of Gerlinde, but she's definitely going to give you a piece of her mind later. Be ready," she said before leaving the room.
It seemed I was still going to get scolded. I expected that much. But none of it mattered right now.
The moment I was sure Therese had left, I immediately grabbed the book again.
As expected, my exchange with Therese was already written on its pages. This book didn't just know my past—it contained my future.
That conversation had calmed me just enough to think clearly. My hands still trembled slightly, but not as badly as before.
Slowly, I turned the pages and began reading again.
I was still scared, of course. But my curiosity was growing, pushing me to keep reading.
If this book really had my future in it, then I could use it to check on the results of my ongoing plans.
I didn't know who had written it or why they'd given it to me.
But it was more than a gift—it was a blessing. A blessing greater than any magic bestowed by the gods.
I read.
And I kept reading.
That night, I would go to Gerlinde's room to apologize. She would complain, of course, but eventually, she'd forgive me. After that, I'd endure a lecture from both Therese and Greta, followed by a private conversation with Therese where I'd finally tell her I had no intention of going to Benev. She would be disappointed, she would protest, but in the end, she would accept it.
The next day, I would speak with my father alongside Therese to bring him the news. He probably expected my answer—his reaction would be as indifferent as always.
After that, my days would continue as normal. Then, the kingdom would receive a notification from the Republic: they claimed they had nothing to explain and declared they would halt the tribute without negotiation.
That would spark tension between the two countries, and war would loom on the horizon. By that time, a month from now, Therese would already be on her way to Benev. It was dangerous, of course. To travel to Benev from our kingdom, you had to pass through either Republic territory or the lands of the Hochfeld Kingdom.
I can't let that happen, I thought to myself.
But then…
"...What?"
I realized I was worrying about the wrong person.
I read the next paragraphs—not once, not twice, but three times.
Still, the words didn't change.
One night, I would have a meeting with my father. It was an important one, meant to decide my role in the upcoming war. I was no longer a child—at twenty, I would have to help the kingdom somehow.
"...You can't be serious."
It would happen quickly.
During that conversation, both my father and I would be assassinated. The tea we would drink was going to be poisoned. Something strong enough to take effect almost immediately.
Since it was written from my perspective, I didn't know who the culprit was. But the disbelief—the shock I felt as I collapsed to the ground—was palpable.
Who?
Why?
How?
I turned the page, but the next one was blank. There were still many pages left in the book, yet they were all empty.
Like I was trying to erase reality itself, I flipped through each one frantically, hoping for some sign, some reassurance that this was all just an elaborate joke.
But the only thing I found was a name:
from Sara.
That was it—written on the very last page.
My mind was a mess. Too much information had been forced into my brain; I couldn't process it. I stood up from the sofa and poured myself a glass of water, then grabbed the book and walked to my desk.
I sank into the chair, closed my eyes, and tried to calm my breathing. In this state, I couldn't think straight, and right now, more than anything, I needed to think. To reason. To reach a conclusion.
I inhaled deeply. Exhaled slowly.
Little by little, my mind cleared.
It surprised me. One of my skills had always been my iron control over my emotions, yet just moments ago, I had been on the verge of throwing myself out of the window. It wasn't like me—but that only proved how shocking the book had been.
Now, I was fine.
Or rather, my mind was fine.
Suddenly, everything around me faded into blackness. I stood alone in an empty, infinite void. No walls, no ceiling—just emptiness.
I began to walk through this void, the world inside my mind. Every time I stopped, information would materialize before me—clear, structured, waiting for me to grasp it.
This was my sanctuary. A place where I could concentrate, reason, and think at my full potential.
Immediately, I started formulating questions. And before me, the possible answers appeared, like fragments of truth waiting to be assembled.
What was this book?
The book contained information about my past and my future. It resembled a diary gifted to me by my future self, written entirely from my point of view. My past was described with unnerving accuracy—even the secrets only I should have known. At the same time, I had been able to prove that the future written within it was legitimate; I had anticipated my sister barging into my room just as the book predicted.
Who had written the book?
The book was signed by an unknown person named Sara. However, the term "unknown" was hardly fitting. The book was able to foresee my future, and the disciple of the Goddess of Time was named Sara. Was it merely a coincidence? Or was the author of this book attempting to impersonate the Divine Princess Sara? Or perhaps...was it Princess Sara herself who wrote it? I needed to explore these possibilities to better understand the situation.
Was it a coincidence?
It could be. There was a chance that the author's name was simply Sara. Since ancient times, it wasn't uncommon to name women blessed with wind magic after the Divine Princess. If the author was indeed a wind magic user, it was possible that she possessed powers tied to time itself. But such abilities were already considered rare, and what was depicted in the book went far beyond a simple prophecy. It was a complete recording of my life, past and future. The sheer detail made this scenario improbable.
Was the author impersonating the Divine Princess Sara?
This could also be the case. Yet, it shared the same flaw as the previous theory: the person would still need to be a wind magic user blessed with extraordinary power. If this were true, then why try to impersonate the Divine Princess? What purpose would it serve? I couldn't think of any plausible reason.
Was the author actually the Divine Princess Sara herself?
This was the most compelling theory. Only the disciple of the Goddess of Time could wield such unimaginable power. Furthermore, the book was written in an unknown language—one I didn't know, yet somehow understood. Some sort of ancient magic was undoubtedly at play. However, this theory collapsed when I considered that she died more than a thousand years ago. The book did look old—very old—but not ancient enough to be a millennium old. That would imply that Princess Sara could see thousands of years into the future with perfect clarity. While not entirely impossible given her divine lineage, it seemed incredibly far-fetched.
In the end, I couldn't determine who wrote the book. Yet, the most plausible answer was still that it had been written by Princess Sara herself. So little was known about the Divine Princess's true power. It was said that her abilities far surpassed those of any current magic user. Even though it was difficult to believe, it remained a possibility.
Why had this book been written, and why had it been handed to me?
That was the question that plagued me the most. No matter how I looked at it, this book was a gift—a gift that predicted my death and provided me with a path to avoid it. But why? Why would someone—especially someone like the Divine Princess—give me something like this? I didn't believe in charity. If someone gave you something, it meant they wanted something in return. But what could I possibly offer to someone like her?
Of course, the book could also be fake. The fact that it predicted my sister's visit was impressive, but it could have easily been an elaborate setup to win my trust. Perhaps the author could see glimpses of my future and simply wrote enough to convince me. After that, they might have fabricated the rest to manipulate my actions. That was a possibility too.
There were so many possibilities, but I lacked crucial information.
If I knew who wrote this book…
Right now, what I wanted most was the author's identity. If I could learn who they were, I might be able to find out what they were planning. They knew too much about me. The future described in the book was, of course, a problem, but I was more concerned with how much they knew about my past.
I needed to find the author somehow. Normally, it would have been nearly impossible.
Still, there was one person who might know something.
Gerlinde…
She had been the one to bring me the book. That meant she must have received it from someone. Of course, I didn't expect the author themselves to have handed it over, but knowing who had given the book to her might offer clues about the author's true identity.
I had to speak with her and ask about it. However…
If the future written in the book was true…
How did I die?
I was in a meeting with the King to determine my role in the upcoming war. During the last war, I had been fourteen and was given no role. Now that I was twenty, I would undoubtedly be expected to contribute.
In that meeting, my father and I would talk in his quarters. Apart from his personal maids, one other person would be present.
Gerlinde.
It wasn't unusual—she was my personal servant. It would actually be strange if she weren't there. However…
If the book spoke the truth, I would die of poisoning after drinking tea. My father would meet the same fate.
That meant that someone in the room—an accomplice of the culprit—had poisoned us. Naturally, the person who prepared the tea was the most suspicious.
Who was it?
My father always enjoyed Gerlinde's tea. Every time we spoke, he would have her prepare it.
That meant Gerlinde was the one who prepared the tea that would kill both my father and me.
My head cooled. All evidence seemed to point toward Gerlinde being an accomplice.
But was it really true? I had known her forever. Despite our occasional arguments, I thought we shared a good relationship. I trusted her, and I wanted to believe she trusted me as well.
Still, the clues indicated her involvement. Was the book lying?
I could simply confront her and ask her the truth. I knew her well enough to see if she was being honest or not. Yet, my death was supposed to happen in a month, which meant the real culprit might not have contacted her yet.
It was a tricky situation.
Even so, I needed to talk to her. That was the only way to resolve my doubts.
However, before speaking to her, there was something else I needed to consider…
Who was the real culprit?
Of course, the person who poisoned us was just an accomplice. I was certain there was someone orchestrating everything from the shadows.
Who was it?
Who wanted both me and the King dead? Who stood to gain the most from our deaths?
The answer came to me immediately: my older brother, Maximilian.
Maximilian had a clear motive to want the King dead. War was approaching—a perfect opportunity to demonstrate his capabilities as a leader—yet the King had postponed his ascension. Max had every reason to want our father out of the picture to seize the throne. But there was a problem. With the King dead, succession wouldn't be automatic. Unlike other kingdoms, Eberhart did not follow strict birthright succession; the throne was contested. Lud, I, or even Therese could fight for the crown.
Though the King had already given his blessings to Max, once the King was gone, nothing would be set in stone. Lud would certainly challenge him. And Max knew that both Therese and I were vocal supporters of Lud.
So, in the end…
Therese!
Maximilian must have decided to kill me as well. But that would mean Therese was also a target. The book mentioned nothing of her fate, but she had been on her way to Benev at the time of my death. But that didn't mean she was safe: she could have been ambushed on her way back.
What about Lud? Was Max going to kill him as well?
Probably not. It would be far too obvious. If the court turned against him, he would never be accepted as king. But eliminating me, the King, and perhaps even Therese would clear his path subtly.
My brain screamed that this was the most logical scenario.
And yet, my instincts told me otherwise.
True, killing Lud outright would be too brazen. But killing me, my father, and potentially Therese? That was just as suspicious. Max may not have been the most brilliant of us, but he wasn't stupid enough to act so blatantly.
Besides, I knew the sort of environment I was raised in. Despite being family, we siblings were always locked in a silent, deadly competition. As harsh as it sounded, I had always considered the possibility that one of my brothers might attempt to take my life—or Therese's.
And yet, I still died. How? How had I failed to anticipate it? Of course, if the blow came from someone you didn't expect to betray you…
Gerlinde.
Had Max allied with her? Or was it someone else entirely? Had it really been Gerlinde? Or had she been set up, forced into a corner where she had no choice but to be the scapegoat?
What was I missing? What detail had I overlooked?
Did I truly have all the information I needed?
The black space around me began to dissolve. My mind, strained from relentless thought, forced me back to reality. It had only been a few seconds since I started analyzing the book's contents, but it had felt like an eternity. Normally, I could think for hours on end, but the possibility of Gerlinde's betrayal clawed at my sanity.
I opened my eyes slowly and glanced at the clock. It was still before lunchtime.
There were still important aspects of the book I needed to consider. But first, I needed more information.
Gerlinde… Was it really you?
For now, she was my only source of information.
I stood up from my seat, my movements slow and deliberate as I prepared to head to her quarters. My mind was cold. I felt nothing.
But I was resolute.
Even if she was my childhood friend, I would not let anyone stand in my way.
Anyone.
Not even those I once considered family.