Chapter 140

‘What the…’

Lloyd’s eyes widened in shock.

Or at least, he tried to widen them.

But his eyes wouldn’t move.

No—his entire body wouldn’t move.

Suddenly, he felt unbearably heavy.

His breathing caught in his throat.

Heat. Dry, searing heat enveloped him from head to toe.

And then came dizziness.

‘Am I… lying down?’

His vision was blurry—far blurrier than usual.

Even so, he tried to take in his surroundings.

Then—

“Javier… I think… this is the end for me.”

His mouth moved on its own.

No—his ‘future’ self was the one speaking.

A hoarse, exhausted voice.

Labored breathing. Words barely squeezed out.

‘What is this… what’s happening?’

His chest tightened.

Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

That voice, that shortness of breath, the burning heat in his body… none of it felt normal.

‘Looks like I’m sick.’

Even without being told, his instincts said as much.

‘Indoors… judging by the faint ceiling, I’m in a bedroom? Not fancy, but tidy.’

He was lying there—feverish, gasping for breath, trying to speak through the pain.

‘Perfect. It’s the “sick and dying” scene. Leaving a final will before I die.’

The realization came with a strange wave of relief.

‘Yeah… actually, this isn’t bad. Dying of illness is a pretty gentle ending. It’s unsettling to watch my own death, but still.’

No reason to panic.

The [Ending Spoiler] skill showed the story’s conclusion in advance.

And in the end, every life ends in death.

No one lived forever.

He was no exception.

‘So if I’m dying of illness, that means I lived long enough to grow old and die peacefully. Not bad at all.’

That thought comforted him.

He decided to observe calmly.

‘Might as well see what disease gets me. Then I can prevent it. Maybe even extend my lazy old-man life by a few years.’

That’s why [Ending Spoiler] was so great.

Better than those ‘Mysteries of Life and Death’ TV shows.

This one was personalized.

A perfect, custom-tailored health warning system.

Lloyd was immersed in the scene—until…

“Please, Lord Lloyd. Hold on a little longer.”

A voice came from his blurred vision.

Someone sitting beside the bed.

‘That voice… Javier.’

He turned his gaze slightly.

But it was blurry—like a heavily pixelated photo.

Still, he could tell. Javier’s oval face, his silver hair.

‘Damn. Even with my vision like this, he still looks handsome. That jawline hasn’t collapsed with age?’

A perfectly shaped face.

The sight annoyed him slightly.

Then came Javier’s trembling voice.

“You can’t leave us like this…”

The tone was filled with sorrow—and desperation.

Lloyd could feel Javier clutching his hand.

That hand trembled faintly.

‘So the kid’s crying because I’m dying, huh?’

Maybe they’d stayed together until old age—bickering and working side by side.

That thought almost made him smile.

“Please… just a little longer. Hold on.”

Javier’s plea came out like a whisper.

His grip tightened.

And then—warm, clear energy flowed into Lloyd’s body.

Mana.

‘Emergency treatment?’

Yes. That was exactly it.

Javier’s mana entered through his hand, up his arm, and into his chest.

It spread outward, pushing away the sickly, dark energy inside him.

At the same time, a rhythmic pressure pulsed against his chest.

‘He’s doing CPR.’

Lloyd understood immediately.

He was moments from death, and Javier was desperately trying to keep him alive.

That desperate sincerity made his chest ache.

“Lord Lloyd… the physician will be here soon. Please endure.”

“No… haah… I think… it’s too late.”

“But, Lord Lloyd—”

Future Lloyd’s voice came out weakly, yet calmly comforting Javier.

After a brief, painful breath, he spoke slowly again.

And Lloyd just knew.

‘This is it. My last words.’

His heart was failing despite Javier’s efforts.

Breathing hurt.

His strength was slipping away—fast.

Only seconds left.

A few final words before death.

He focused all his attention.

‘Let’s hear what I say.’

His future self’s trembling lips moved.

The air vibrated with the sound of his dying breath—his last will.

“Last year…”

A weak whisper.

“I shouldn’t have… done it that way…”

What?

Last year?

What happened last year?

“I expanded the farmland… thought everything was fine. I was careless. Never imagined such a harsh winter… I wasn’t prepared for the disease… This must be… the price I pay…”

“Lord Lloyd…”

“The refugees who survived that bitter cold… haah… I never thought… I’d follow them… in spring…”

“Sob… Lord Lloyd…”

“I’m sorry… You… should leave…”

His hand slipped free.

Javier’s grasp broke.

His hand fell onto the sheets—limp.

And with that, his breathing stopped.

“Haa…”

The final exhale.

A strange floating sensation.

Was this the moment of death?

Or a small mercy before it?

For an instant—just a brief instant—his blurred vision cleared.

And he saw Javier’s face clearly.

But that face—

wasn’t old.

‘…What?’

Lloyd froze.

‘Hold on.’

If he could, he would’ve rubbed his eyes.

But he didn’t need to. The sight was sharp enough.

Javier’s tear-filled face was young.

Unaged.

The same as he looked now.

Realization struck him like a hammer.

‘Wait. No way.’

Could it be because he’s a Swordmaster? Maybe that’s why he didn’t age?

No—that couldn’t be.

‘Even Swordmasters age. That was true in the novel too—Javier wasn’t immortal.’

So if ‘he’ was old and dying, Javier should’ve aged too.

But he hadn’t.

He looked just as young as ever.

‘Then that means…’

The moment he was witnessing—the death scene—

wasn’t in the distant future.

‘This isn’t me dying of old age.’

His eyes darted frantically.

He needed to confirm.

He saw the hand Javier had been holding.

Thin.

But smooth.

No wrinkles. No age spots.

A slender, youthful hand.

That was ‘his’ hand—the hand of the dying man.

And that was all he needed to see.

‘Flash!’

A blinding light filled his vision.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Then—

‘Creak.’

He was back.

Sitting in his chair.

Right where he’d been before using the skill.

But he barely noticed.

He leaned forward instinctively, elbows on knees, hands over his mouth.

‘Gulp.’

His throat bobbed heavily.

His eyes trembled violently.

‘What… what the hell did I just see?’

‘Thump! Thump! Thump!’

His heart pounded like a drum.

His trembling fingers pressed against his lips.

‘I thought it was just a peaceful death scene…’

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t the distant future.

Javier was still young.

And his own hand—smooth, unaged.

‘Damn it. Damn it!’

Pure instinctive fear.

And at the same time—relief that he’d checked.

Two opposite emotions clashed inside him, sending chills down his spine.

‘Okay… calm down. Breathe.’

He exhaled deeply.

He wasn’t dying right now.

He’d seen it in advance.

Meaning it could still be prevented.

He forced himself to steady his racing heart and ragged breath.

“Haah… unbelievable.”

He shook his head and gave a strained laugh.

Once calm, he began to recall every detail of the vision.

And with that calm came clarity.

‘Alright, let’s organize this. I died. Cause: illness. Not in the distant future.’

A few years later? A few months?

He retraced his final words.

The clues lined up.

‘Next spring. Definitely next spring.’

Several hints supported the conclusion.

‘I said I expanded the farmland last year—and was careless. Mentioned a brutal cold wave. That means the expansion I just finished now will be “last year’s work” in that timeline. So a record cold hits this coming winter.’

That fit perfectly.

‘And I mentioned dying in spring. That seals it.’

The picture was clear now.

He’d finished the terrace project.

Then an unprecedented cold winter hit.

And the following spring, a plague spread—and he died.

‘But the key problem is the disease.’

He remembered it vividly.

He had said he failed to prepare for the epidemic.

That it was punishment for his carelessness.

‘So an epidemic breaks out. The refugees die in droves—and I catch it too.’

And after that?

What about Javier?

He had no way to know.

‘Maybe he buries me and leaves the territory—like in ‘The Iron-Blooded Knight’.’

If so, Javier’s path would eventually mirror the novel’s events.

The irony made Lloyd frown.

‘Well, whatever. That’s not the point.’

What mattered was preventing the outbreak.

‘Great. I just finished a massive project, and now I have to deal with a plague.’

He sighed bitterly.

From luxury to survival mode in seconds.

Lloyd racked his brain, trying to deduce the source.

But—

‘Too little information.’

What kind of disease was it?

How did it spread?

He had no clue.

That was dangerous.

‘Maybe it’s from overcrowding in the refugee camps… but if that’s wrong? Even if I take precautions, it could come from somewhere completely different.’

Then the same ending would repeat.

A meaningless death before he could even enjoy his “sweet life.”

‘No way. I need something solid. Not vague guesses—specific, actionable prep.’

He had to identify the source and route of transmission.

He even considered using [Ending Spoiler] again—to get more clues.

But—

‘The third use costs 80 CP. Are you kidding me?’

The second use had been 40.

Apparently, the cost doubled every time.

And he only had 60 CP left.

He couldn’t afford it.

‘Damn it. Then what caused it?’

Lloyd groaned in frustration.

He spent the entire afternoon pacing and thinking.

By evening, Javier appeared.

“You didn’t come at your usual time, so I came to fetch you.”

“What?”

“For the lullaby, sir.”

“…Ah.” Right.

He’d forgotten.

Every night he sang Javier a lullaby.

But today, he’d been too preoccupied with thoughts of disease and death.

Lloyd chuckled weakly.

“Tch. So that’s why you were crying? Worried you wouldn’t get your lullaby?”

“…Crying? I don’t know what you mean.”

“You, in the ending.”

“Ending?”

“There’s such a thing.”

Lloyd shrugged and stood.

His neck and back ached from hours of sitting.

He figured he’d take Javier to bed and maybe clear his head with a walk.

‘A walk might help me think. Maybe I’ll find a clue.’

He stepped outside with Javier.

They walked silently toward his quarters.

Halfway there—

“Oh, by the way,” Javier said suddenly.

“There’s something I forgot to report earlier.”

“A report? What about?”

“The waste from the refugee camp, sir.”

“Huh? What about it?”

“The pit we dug last time—it’s full.”

“Already?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Well, with this many people, I suppose it was bound to happen.”

Lloyd nodded.

Tens of thousands of refugees lived in the camp.

And the more they ate, the more waste they produced.

He’d ordered them not to dump it anywhere.

They were to dispose of it in large, designated pits only.

But those pits were already filled.

A headache began to throb behind his temples.

‘Great. As if the plague thing wasn’t enough. Should I reduce rations? Less food, less… output? Nah, that’s not right. Dig new pits? Ugh, that could go on forever.’

The sheer volume of waste was staggering.

Even after converting some into fertilizer, there was still far too much.

‘There’s a limit to burying it. Maybe dump it into the river instead? There’s no territory downstream—just empty land. It might actually be the cleanest, easiest way to—wait.’

He froze mid-thought.

Something flickered in his mind.

A flash of realization.

He stopped walking.

His mind started racing.

Clues.

Pieces.

Connecting.

Aligning.

Forming a picture.

‘Plague… waste… river… freezing winter… spring thaw… epidemic…’

The cause.

The connection.

It all clicked.

This was something he’d seen before—

in history.

“1830. Vienna, Austria. Record cold winter. The Danube froze. And then… cholera.”

Lloyd clenched his fist.

At last—he’d found the cause of the coming plague.

(T/N: The 1830 Vienna Cholera Outbreak)
In 1830, Vienna suffered one of Europe’s earliest major cholera outbreaks, part of the first global pandemic that spread west from India. That winter was exceptionally harsh—the Danube River froze, trapping human waste beneath the ice. When spring came, the thaw released contaminated water into the city’s supply, sparking a deadly epidemic. The event later became a key example in Europe’s push for modern sanitation and clean water systems.