Records of Regression (4)
The gap in the tracks connecting island to island.
An empty space where magical dust drifts aimlessly.
"……."
Sylvia sits atop a pile of stones in that dark clearing, staring into the void.
Captured in her pupils are the rocks and flows of mana orbiting like planets caught in the floating island's gravity.
"Have you sorted out your thoughts?"
Idnik asks, taking a single step closer with a rustle of footsteps. Sylvia nods silently.
A magpie lands on her shoulder.
Its feathers sharper and fiercer than before. The bear-panda slumbers against her thigh.
"So, what will you do?"
"……."
Sylvia gazes at the countless fragments shimmering in the sky above.
Matter that failed to form an island, shattered fragments assembling into someone's shape. Carving out her own memories.
……Deculein von Grahan Yukline.
Are the feelings he harbors for me nothing more than guilt, pity, sympathy?
But how can he claim to care for me after killing my mother?
Sylvia recalls his blue eyes.
Dazzling like crystal, yet endlessly cold and ruthless.
……Veins bulging across that beautiful face.
The red staining him.
Her mother's blood.
"He'll hate me to death. Until the ends of the earth, with all his might."
"……."
Idnik says nothing. She simply watches the scene Sylvia conjures, beholds the torrent of mana.
Shooooaaaah…….
Rocks wandering the void, grains of sand, dying moss—they cling to this small patch of earth, slowly growing in size.
Those that failed to become islands, the rejects, now form one anew.
—Idnik.
A voice calls to Idnik then, ringing mysteriously as if descending from the heavens.
Idnik and Sylvia turn toward it.
"……It's been a while."
A blue figure hovers there. A form rippling like an illusion, composed entirely of mana.
Perfectly sculpted male torso—upper body only—yet towering two meters tall.
Idnik names him.
"Lordran."
The divine soldier Lordran.
A transcendent being of the magical world, and the floating islands' most notorious fugitive.
His title 'Soldier of the Gods' stems purely from that bizarre appearance.
—The 'Voice' draws near.
"I know. What of my request?"
Lordran turns to Sylvia. She meets his gaze impassively from her seat.
He speaks.
It was you who killed her.
"……."
Sylvia's face hardens coldly.
Pain like a blade slicing her heart.
Your mana unconsciously manifested a creation that devoured the demon 'Nesius.' The creation and demon fused, mutating into something new.
"So it's partly the demon's fault?"
Sylvia shakes her head at Idnik's words. She needs no excuses.
"Then I'm a murderer too. The person I killed must have had family…… I'm no different from that professor."
Idnik lets out a small sigh.
Daughter of Cielia, born of the Illayde bloodline. No matter how you slice it, a poor combination.
"But."
Sylvia turns to Idnik.
"What is the 'Voice'?"
"……A demon."
"Demon."
"Indeed. An ancient demon simply called the 'Voice.' Demons with human or monstrous forms are easier to deal with—at least you can kill them. But ones like this 'Voice' that are 'phenomena' or 'concepts'? Exceedingly troublesome."
Sylvia shoots to her feet.
She strides forward and looks up at Lordran.
"Then Yukline deals with that demon? Does Deculein go to him?"
Lordran stares silently into her eyes.
Dry, arid jewels of gold. Vast seas of mana churning within.
You possess the quality of 'Eternal Indestructibility.'
With those words, Lordran departs.
Praise from a historic figure of the magical world.
Yet Sylvia shows not the slightest flicker of emotion. She simply stares at the empty sky and murmurs.
"On the floating islands, there's an unwritten rule: the one who discovers an island claims it."
She extends her hand. Mana erupts from her slender frame like a volcano.
Kwaaaaaah—!
The surging mana gathers fragments from the area, imbuing each speck of matter with color.
Recreating the whole into a proper 'island.'
"So this island is mine."
"Hm."
Idnik crosses her arms. A tree sprouts right beside her, against which she leans casually.
"In that case, what's the island's name? You'll need one to register ownership."
Sylvia turns to her.
"……Nameless Island is fine."
I arrive at the imperial palace. I walk the corridors without meeting anyone.
Kairon's words are being inscribed on the transmission paper.
[The underground door has opened.]
"Sir Kairon."
I reach the wooden door leading to the palace underground. Kairon stands beside it like a statue.
"How fares Her Majesty?"
"She has retired to her chambers."
I am certain. The underground door opens only when Sophien is 'overcome by sloth.'
Kairon asks.
"Do you intend to enter?"
"And you?"
Kairon remains expressionless, hand on his sword. He means to escort me.
"Yes. Should Nesius emerge from this door, I ask that you track it rather than slay it."
I approach slowly and push the door handle.
"So be it."
Kreeeeak—
Beyond the stiffly opening door looms a sentence announcing the quest's resumption.
Imperial Palace's Darkness · Demon's Mirror: Round 2
……The imperial palace gardens.
Sophien walks the lakeside, enduring her pain. She's revived, yes, but the agony feels like her body hacked apart by an axe.
Chirp-chirp— chirp-chirp—
The birdsong grates.
Sophien asks her attendant.
"What date is it?"
"June 3rd."
"……."
Have I truly regressed?
Half a year since death, she can only accept it now.
Damn it all.
At first, relief washed over her, but soon she realized things were even worse.
Time rewound, but the illness remained untouched.
"Haa……."
Sighing, Sophien stumbles along before collapsing by the lake. She peers into its pristine surface.
"……!"
Horror flickers in her widened eyes.
She stumbles back a step, two, then falls flat on her rear.
"Ugh!"
"Your Highness! Are you all right?"
"Your Highness—!"
Attendants rush in clamorously. Pushed to her feet, Sophien shoves them away first.
"Are you alr—"
"I'm fine. Go away. All of you, leave."
The attendants retreat hesitantly. Sophien swallows hard.
Gulp—
The garden's clear lake.
Its mirror-like surface…… she gazes into it steadily.
"……You."
A man is there.
The one who once introduced himself as her professor.
A hallucination from her pre-regression illness.
He speaks.
—Greetings once more, Your Highness.
Sophien instinctively turns. No one stands where he should be.
She thrusts her face back to the lake.
"Professor?"
—Yes. That is I.
"……How?"
Upon realizing her regression, Sophien had a composite sketch made of the professor and ordered a search.
Yet no such man existed anywhere on the continent.
She'd thought it mere mental illness…….
—I told you before.
The professor reappearing now speaks with his usual arrogance and handsome features.
—I shall always accompany Your Highness on this path.
"……."
Sophien stares blankly. She touches his face—her hand to the lakeside.
Splash.
"Eek! Your Highness! Stop!"
"No!"
"No matter the pain, not your own life……."
Misinterpreting, attendants swarm. Dragged away, Sophien is nearly confined to her room.
Even then, her mind reels.
—Are you all right?
"……."
The professor who won't vanish.
A mirror's illusion.
Her madness.
As she remains still, he mutters like a sigh.
—I exist in reality. If it's hard to believe, bring someone tight-lipped and trustworthy. I shall show myself to him as wel—
"No. Enough."
Sophien shakes her head firmly.
"I believe you, Professor. You alone connect to my previous life……."
……The next two months.
I spend them with Sophien of the 2nd round. The 'quest objective' remains vague for now, so I stay put.
In simple terms, 'exploration.'
Admittedly, few activities suit past Sophien.
Frail as she is, outings are impossible; most time passes in the gardens or palace.
In this mirror, my role is mere conversation partner.
In that time, Sophien confides much.
Her life: a history of surgeries and healings. Endless false hopes and torturous optimism.
Merely nine years, yet heavier than any other's lifetime.
Sophien recounts it all in flat tones.
—How cruel.
Time passes…… to today.
—I am still dying.
Sophien says. Deathbed-bound, her end nears.
—Even after this miracle of regression…… Professor.
"Yes."
Sophien pauses, gritting her teeth.
—If I…… live again…… ugh.
Agony wracks her body.
—Will I see you then too……?
"Of course."
I reply instantly. Sophien offers a wry smile.
—Good…….
"What is good about it?"
—You're handsome. If you looked like those eunuchs…… I'd have smashed that first mirror.
Thoroughly pragmatic.
Yet no laughter comes.
……Two months.
I witness this child's path to death.
Such pity doesn't torment me, but restraint is my cultivated courtesy, dignity, refinement.
—Professor. Not death…… I fear the pain…….
That moment.
'Nesius' manifests beside her. To me, they appear as ordinary skeletons.
Scythe-wielding skeletons.
Reapers.
"Worry not, Your Highness."
Proof I feel no fear—yet Sophien will die soon.
"Next time as well, I shall be at your side."
—……Yes. Reassuring…….
I cannot slay those demons.
Trapped in this mirror, I extend no aid to Sophien beyond.
—Hoping…… to see you again…… I wish it too…….
Sophien on the bed closes her eyes peacefully.
Nesius reaches for the sleeping girl, harvesting regression essence.
Like bees with honey.
Static crackles—
The number '2' shakes before my eyes, replaced by……
I open my eyes.
Kairon speaks simultaneously.
"Deculein."
"……."
I look at him.
Lift my gaze, scanning surroundings.
The imperial palace.
Two months with Sophien scatter like a dream; reality returns.
"Deculein?"
Questions flood my mind.
Why leap from 2nd round straight to 7th?
Disconnected rounds mean breaking promises.
"Deculein. Are you well?"
Obsessive compulsion throbs veins at my temple. Irritation surges.
I turn to Kairon.
"……I am fine. How many days have passed?"
"Not even one. Did you learn anything?"
I shake my head.
"Not even the objective yet."
Knock-knock—on the underground wooden door. No reply, naturally.
Kairon says.
"Not even the objective?"
"……This world has demons that 'exist,' demons that are 'phenomena,' and demons that are 'concepts.' Nesius is a third-rate 'existing' demon. Whereas—"
"The one underground is a phenomenon."
"Yes. Both 'phenomenon' and 'concept.'"
……This underground past is Sophien's world.
Pre-regression—discarded upon her death.
Demon's Mirror doesn't recreate her past.
It 'stores' worlds Sophien abandoned through regression.
Thus, this underground world is real, not false.
Still hypothesis, but likely linked to current Sophien's memories too.
"Deculein. I'm tracking Nesius now."
"Fortunate."
Kairon here and the one tailing Nesius: same soul, different bodies.
Kairon's 'mana talent.'
"Inform me when it reaches its destination."
I walk the palace corridors.
But at some point, I turn back to Kairon.
"Nesius surely stores Her Majesty's essence somewhere…… Kairon."
Kairon faces me wordlessly.
I ask him.
"How far would you sacrifice for Her Majesty?"
"Everything."
Kairon's answer.
"……."
Sophien opens her eyes.
A strangely melancholic, depressing mood. An emotion rare in this life.
From somewhere, Kairon speaks.
"Awake, Your Majesty?"
Sophien looks there.
Like a metronome, the knight stands announcing reality.
"Can't you tell?"
"How do you feel?"
"……What of Deculein's lecture?"
Sophien asks idly. She'd dozed off midway.
"The lecture concluded, but a cat tampered with the 80th floor's barrier—notes flew everywhere."
"……I see. The cat's unharmed?"
"Yes. Some mages lost reason, but the chairman intervened. Now—"
Meow~ A red-furred Munchkin atop Kairon's head cries out.
"Indeed."
Nodding, Sophien rises and leans by the window.
The palace gardens beyond, brimming.
Gazing at spring's scenery, savoring its rich allure, she murmurs softly.
"……Kairon."
"Yes."
"When I was young."
Sophien cautiously probes a memory—hazy, from a vanished day.
"Speak."
"……No. Nothing."
A sadly sunken past.
Faint tones crumble at her ear.
—Next time as well, I shall be here.
After that, 'he' never came.
He broke the promise.
Yet…….
Who was 'he'?
"A strange dream."
Sophien sits back on the bed.
Wind drifts through the window, tousling her hair. Fragrant petals cling to her pale face.
"I see."
Kairon says. Sophien regards him.
"……Kairon, was it you?"
"More details needed."
"No. Enough."
The emperor returned to reality buries unfamiliar memories deep, yawns as usual.
"Yawwwn…… Any business today?"
"Trial for merchant guilds who donated magic stones to the Altar."
"Ah, those idiots—shall I behead them myself?"
"Forbidden. The trial isn't over."
"Anyway. Before drowsiness hits, let's do something. Today I've some stamina……."
……Thus, enthusiastically rolling up sleeves, only to flop like an octopus again.
"……."
Deculein watches from afar.