Eugene took a few steps forward but made sure not to get too close to the figure. Instead, he stopped himself only a moment after he started walking. He could feel his startled heart thumping rapidly. He felt as if the world was swirling around him, and only a single phrase managed to find its way out of his lips.

“Hey, you little bastard.”

Eugene didn’t hold himself back. In fact, he had no reason to do so. Vermouth deserved much worse, and not just curses either. Even if Eugene decided to slap and strike him, Vermouth only deserved to accept whatever he was given. But Eugene couldn’t grab him by the collar. It wasn’t that he had grown a soft spot for Vermouth after parting for three hundred years but because what appeared in front of him was only a vision of Vermouth.

“…You, who stand before me now,” said Vermouth. It was unmistakably only a vision, but he looked vivid as if Vermouth really was sitting before Eugene’s eyes. However, Eugene couldn’t sense Vermouth’s presence.

Eugene wondered which time period the vision belonged to. His hair looked tidier, and his attire was cleaner than when they had entered the Castle of the Demon King of Incarceration. Was it when he became known as the Great Vermouth, or during the time he served as the Grand Duke of Kiehl? Or… was it after he faked his own death?

“Is it you, Hamel?” It was a simple question.

Eugene clenched his fists and glared at Vermouth.

“It must be so since this vision won’t make an appearance unless it’s you. How long has it been? It’s impossible for me to get it exactly right, but I presume about three hundred years would have passed,” Vermouth continued.

Vermouth had rarely donned a smile since three hundred years ago. He wasn’t always as apathetic as a wooden doll, but he was expressionless during most situations, just like he was now. Vermouth sat in an upright position, and he looked calm without any other expressions.

Vermouth looked exactly as Eugene remembered, which...