Chapter 28 Going Home
1368words
Just as this thought was about to drown me in despair, all the chaos abruptly ceased.
It felt like falling from ten thousand meters high into the deep sea, then being suddenly pulled up right before hitting the bottom. After an intense sensation of weightlessness, I felt my back slam hard against some solid surface.
Everything became quiet.
I was breathing rapidly, and it took a full half minute for my wildly beating heart to return to its normal rhythm. The white light that had enveloped us had dissipated, replaced by a dim yet soft illumination. The air no longer carried the sweet and pungent smell of magical elements, but rather a scent both familiar and strange to me—a mixture of dust, old paper, and the city air drifting in from outside, tinged with the smell of exhaust fumes.
I slowly opened my eyes.
What came into view was a ceiling covered with yellowing wallpaper and a simple, dusty flush-mounted light. I stiffly turned my neck, scanning every corner of the room. The bookshelf against the wall was packed with various novels and professional books, on the desk sat my half-finished cup of coffee, and beside it, the laptop screen was black, but the power indicator light was still blinking. On the wall hung a poster of my favorite band, with the lead singer's exuberant smile looking somewhat unreal in the fading sunset.
This is... my apartment.
My home in the real world.
An indescribable mixture of ecstasy and sorrow instantly overwhelmed me. I'm back. I'm really back. Everything here is exactly the same as when I left, as if I had just experienced an incredibly long and vivid dream. The calendar on the desk still showed that afternoon two years ago, when I was struck by a strange bolt of lightning and lost consciousness.
But this was not a dream.
I lowered my head, the heavy weight in my arms reminding me that I had not returned alone.
Frederick lay quietly in my arms, eyes tightly closed, brows slightly furrowed, as if even in sleep he was not at peace. His silver hair spread messily across my old carpet, creating an absurd yet wonderful collision with the incongruous modern surroundings. His clothes were already in tatters from the battle and time-space travel, revealing skin covered with tiny wounds and dust.
I extended a trembling hand to check for his breath.
When that faint but warm flow of air brushed against my fingertips, my tightly wound nerves finally relaxed, and tears sprang forth without warning.
He was still alive. I had brought him back.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and could only frantically wipe away my tears, then carefully help him up from the cold floor. He was much heavier than I had imagined; his body, having lost its magic power, was just that of an exhausted ordinary person. With tremendous effort, practically dragging and pulling, I finally managed to move him onto my not-so-spacious single bed.
The evening sunlight projected through the gaps in the blinds, carving strips of alternating light and shadow across the room. I wrung out a wet towel, knelt beside the bed, and began to gently wipe the blood and dirt from his face. His skin was very pale, a near-transparent color that suggested a long absence from sunlight. When the dried blood was wiped away, revealing his original features, my movements involuntarily paused.
Without that black armor symbolizing supreme power and cruel tyranny, without those silver eyes always burning with hatred and madness, he looked... so young. Those deep lines between his brows seemed to have softened, the contours of his jaw still sharp but no longer tense. It was as if he had shed the shackles heavy enough to crush his soul, returning to the youth deep in my memories. That student of mine who would secretly blush at my praise, who would stubbornly practice the simplest fireball spell until late into the night.
Just then, his eyelashes trembled slightly, and his eyes slowly opened.
Those silver pupils, in the confusion of first awakening, were like two dust-covered moons. He didn't focus immediately, just stared blankly at the ceiling above my head. A few seconds later, a trace of confusion and vigilance appeared in his eyes. He sat up abruptly, his gaze quickly scanning this completely unfamiliar room filled with various oddly shaped "alchemical creations."
His body instantly tensed, an instinctive reaction forged through countless life-and-death struggles. I saw his hand unconsciously tighten, as if wanting to summon that world-destroying dark power, but his palm remained empty, and nothing happened.
A flash of panic crossed the depths of his eyes.
"Don't be afraid." I immediately spoke, my voice somewhat hoarse with excitement, "We're safe, Frederick. We're home."
He turned his head abruptly, his gaze finally locking firmly on my face. His eyes were filled with scrutiny, doubt, and a deep, complex emotion that I couldn't decipher.
"Home?" he began, his voice as dry as sandpaper rubbing together, "This place... where is this? What are those metal boxes? Why do the walls glow?" He pointed at the steady stream of cars flowing on the street outside the window, and at the desk lamp on my table, his eyes filled with incomprehensible shock.
"This is my world. My original place," I explained patiently. "There's no magic here, no deities, and no system. What you see are transportation vehicles called 'cars,' and that is an 'electric light.'"
I tried to describe to him a completely new worldview that he had never encountered before. He listened in silence, his expression gradually shifting from initial vigilance and shock to an almost exhausted bewilderment. He had lost everything—his power, his kingdom, all the laws he was familiar with—and arrived in a place he could not comprehend at all. He was like a plant uprooted and thrown into unfamiliar soil.
Looking at him, I felt a sharp pain in my heart. Was I... too selfish? In trying to free him from that painful prison, I had placed him in an even more helpless and bewildering situation.
As if seeing through my concerns, he suddenly reached out and gently took my hand that was resting on the edge of the bed. His palm was cold, but the touch felt incredibly real.
The last rays of the sunset had completely sunk down, and the final glow of twilight shone through the window, bathing half of his face in a warm golden hue. I had already wiped away the blood from the corner of his mouth, but a faint trace still remained on that patch of skin, like some cruel yet beautiful medal.
He looked at me, and in those silver eyes, all the confusion, panic, and unease gradually faded away, replaced by an unprecedented, crystalline calm. Then, he smiled. It wasn't like the cold, mocking, and cruel sneer of Frederick the Demon King, nor was it the bitter self-mockery of that man burdened with hatred.
It was the smile of a youth who had shed all his burdens—heartfelt, uninhibited, and radiant.
The next second, he suddenly pulled me toward him, using all his strength to hold me tightly, so tightly in his arms. His arms wrapped around my back, squeezing so hard as if he wanted to break my bones, to knead me into his flesh and blood, never to be separated again. I could hear his intense heartbeat, one after another, powerfully striking against my chest.
He was trembling.
I gave up struggling and just quietly leaned in his embrace, reaching out my arms to gently hold him back.
"Alright," he said next to my ear, his voice carrying a hint of hoarseness from choking up, yet unmistakably clear.
"I'll go home with the mentor."
