224. The Wooden Pocket Watch. (3)
Ifrin opened her eyes. Instinctively, her pupils rolled around. She scanned her surroundings.
“……”
Still, the blizzard raging in Recor Dak.
On the sofa in Julie's office.
“……Ah.”
Right in the heart of despair.
Ifrin, who had hoped it was a dream—what she desperately wished was a dream—sat up blankly, propping herself only on her upper body.
“……Awake, are you?”
Delik's snickering laugh from where he sat at a nearby table. But Ifrin had no strength left to reply.
“Ifrin. What had you screaming like that?”
“……”
She clenched her teeth. Her lower lip trembled as if holding back tears.
Delik spoke.
“Pulling that pitiful act with your puffy face doesn't convince anyone.”
“……Where's it puffy?”
“You said you ate all the fried potatoes yourself?”
“……”
Ifrin lay back down on the sofa. Staring up at the ceiling, she pondered the next turn of events.
Now, the Altar's ambush would come. We'd scatter in all directions, and as everyone died one by one, I'd just run and regress.
And that would repeat infinitely.
As far as Ifrin could see, there was no hope at all. Not even half a day left, starting now.
Delik asked.
“Right, when you regress, do you go back to early March?”
“……If only it took me back to February, I could stop everything.”
February. Back to when Deculein explained the entrance requirements…
Crunch—
At that moment, Delik took a bite of something.
Chew chew— chew chew—
The sound kept nagging at her. Ifrin's head, which had been blankly fixed on the ceiling, slowly turned.
“……What's that?”
“Sandwich.”
“……Why does it smell like meat?”
“'Cause I put meat in it.”
“……”
Ifrin sat up slightly. She plopped down on the chair next to Delik.
“Ifrin. Didn't Professor Deculein leave you a letter?”
“……It's nothing special.”
“You showed it to Julie, though.”
“……”
Ifrin handed the letter from her bosom to Delik. In exchange, like a trade, she got a piece of sandwich.
As Ifrin took a big bite, Delik read the letter.
“……Ifrin. I leave this letter for you.”
Ifrin chewed her sandwich, lost in thought.
……She thought, but no solutions came.
Her motivation and resolve had already crumbled almost entirely.
“You will surely understand the meaning of this letter.”
Delik finished reading Deculein's letter.
Just two short lines.
Ifrin let out a needless sigh.
“Sigh.”
“……I too shall surely keep my promise.”
But Delik's voice took on a strangely serious tone as he continued.
Ifrin pouted. She shot Delik a sullen glare.
“What promise are you keeping?”
“……Hm?”
Delik raised an eyebrow. Ifrin pressed.
“What promise do you mean?”
“What're you talking about?”
Delik furrowed his brow. Ifrin mirrored his expression.
“You just said you'd keep the promise.”
“……I was just reading it?”
“Reading what?”
“The letter.”
“?”
Ifrin's face twisted in confusion as she glanced between Delik and the letter.
Delik did the same, looking back and forth between Ifrin and the letter.
“……”
“……”
The two fell silent, neither understanding the other.
Outside the window, the blizzard still howled, and the fireplace crackled quietly—until suddenly.
Crackle—
“……!”
A sharp jolt of electricity surged through Ifrin's mind. She bolted upright in realization.
“Give it here!”
She snatched it away with telekinesis. Delik stammered in confusion.
“Wh-what? What's wrong? It's only three lines. Hidden meaning?”
Three lines.
Those words made Ifrin's heart pound fiercely.
Originally, Deculein's letter had only two lines.
“Ifrin?”
“……”
Ifrin's hand trembled as she clutched the letter. Her eyes reddened as she read the lines.
[Ifrin.
I leave this letter for you.]
A letter she'd read thousands of times—still heartbreakingly short.
But a single tear fell upon it, smudging the ink.
[You will surely understand the meaning of this letter.]
Words she'd puzzled over endlessly, claiming she had no idea.
But now.
Beneath those same sentences, in elegant script, an added line that hadn't existed before regression.
[……I too shall surely keep my promise.]
In that instant, Deculein's faint voice echoed in Ifrin's ears.
—Don't worry.
Words he'd left while saving her before her regression.
—I won't pass the burden to you. You're still too young for that yoke.
A smile tugged at Ifrin's lips in recollection, yet her nose stung oddly.
—But I promise you this.
Her heart, trembling in despair and screams, soaked in hope once more.
“Ifrin, you idiot, explain—”
Delik called, but Ifrin saw nothing now. Nothing mattered.
Only a certain someone's voice reached her.
—It will only be for a moment, Ifrin. You might feel lonely in that time.
……Only for a moment.
Those words finally melted her heart.
They unraveled the burdens and responsibilities crushing her, thread by thread.
—I will surely follow your time, even if belatedly.
His final whisper.
—I will overcome the regression.
Overcoming regression.
“……Ah.”
Ifrin finally understood that impossible phrase.
She grasped the letter's true purpose.
Just as Deculein said, she had surely realized it.
“……I see.”
Ifrin looked out the window again.
The blizzard swirling through the dark sky. A bird gliding boldly through it.
Gazing at its beautiful, steadfast flight, Ifrin felt one certainty.
A truth so obvious, she repeated it inwardly.
……Deculein will surely return alive.
Recor Dak's underground passages.
Ifrin's group walked the subterranean path, evacuating before the Altar's raid.
“When I regress, not everything changes.”
Ifrin said.
“Here's what I think. The world's regression and my regression are different.”
“Hm?”
Reactions varied. Sylvia nodded as if grasping it somewhat, but Allen, Delik, and Julie looked puzzled.
“Meaning, the ‘world's regression’ and ‘my regression’ have different baselines. Once April 9th hits, I regress along with the world.”
The trigger date was the same: April 9th.
But the point differed.
“The world might go back to January, or February. Or maybe all the way to the continent's creation.”
“……And?”
“But my regression keeps looping from ‘March in Recor Dak’ right now.”
In other words, the world's regression was grander.
Diagrammatically: ‘World's Regression ⊃ Ifrin's Regression’.
They regressed together, but Ifrin's lagged behind in timeline.
“Then Deculein can't survive.”
Sylvia's steps halted abruptly. She glared at Ifrin.
“Your regression point is after the professor's death.”
“……”
Delik swallowed hard. The underground air chilled instantly.
Ifrin chuckled and shook her head.
“No. It's fine.”
“How is that fine, you idiot Ifrin?”
“Sylvia. What do you think of Professor Deculein?”
“……”
Sylvia's brow twitched sharply.
Of course. She hated riddles.
Ifrin continued softly.
“The professor is always constant. Unchanging like a pine tree, unyielding. He never bows to anyone.”
Gulp—
Delik swallowed again. His wide eyes fixed on Ifrin's robe pocket, as if realizing something.
“Ifrin, don't tell me.”
“Yes. This letter.”
Ifrin showed Deculein's letter.
[Ifrin.
I leave this letter for you.
You will surely understand the meaning of this letter.
……I too shall surely keep my promise.]
“I've regressed twice already. But this last line.”
The elegant, noble script promising to keep his word.
Undeniably Deculein's handwriting.
“It wasn't there in previous loops.”
“Then……”
“The professor is overcoming this ‘world's regression’.”
Everyone fell silent.
Overcoming regression.
Regression itself was already archmage-level magic, and now overcoming it?
“……So. Professor Deculein will surely return.”
Ifrin declared firmly.
“If we just keep this loop going.”
In the northern underground. But in the cozy cabin conjured by Sylvia's talent, Julie stood watch.
Sylvia had made her a chair, so it wasn't uncomfortable.
“……Do you believe it?”
Her vice officer Reilly, on the same watch, asked. Julie turned and nodded.
“I have to. No matter how hard it is to believe.”
“Not the regression. That Deculein actually loves you… that's absurd.”
“……”
Julie drew a breath. Gazing into the darkness beyond the passage, she said.
“What's the point in hating the dead?”
“……”
“True or not, I can't afford to waste hatred on it now. And besides.”
She glanced at the bracelet on her wrist.
What did it mean, Deculein's intent in leaving her this? Why this bracelet?
“I'm not saving the professor. I'm saving Her Majesty.”
“……”
Reilly nodded silently. Then she stood stealthily.
“Speaking of, here they come again.”
“Go wake them.”
The faint pursuit of the Altar in the distance. No idea how they tracked them, but they clung like leeches.
“Yes!”
Reilly dashed into the cabin and clang clang clang—banged pot lids. The four dreamers huddled together woke with tousled hair.
“Time to run, everyone.”
“Ah, got it!”
Ifrin rose first. She donned armor under her robe with a hardened face.
Thus, duty and resolve bound her.
The duty to never die.
And the resolve to survive and meet Deculein again…
……And so, the third April 9th arrived.
The fourth April 9th.
The fifth.
The sixth.
The seventh.
Then, the eighth March dawned again.
“……Almost a year now.”
Growing accustomed to regression, Ifrin felt little surprise. She surveyed the northern landscape, gathered the group to explain the plan, and left Recor Dak.
She already knew the safest destination.
Yuren Duchy.
With Allen's 「Stride」, no entry records, and from what she'd learned, Yuren was relatively an ‘Altar-free zone’.
“This spot should work.”
The group arrived at an abandoned, empty lot. Not far from the city, but no need for inns—Sylvia of the Tri-Color was right there.
“……Still a shock. You're the eighth Ifrin already.”
Delik fiddled with his mustache. Ifrin narrowed her eyes.
“Eighth Ifrin? What’s that supposed to mean? Makes me sound not myself.”
“……Aren't you struggling?”
Julie's concern. Ifrin shook her head.
“Nah. I'm good. More shocked that Leok Kingdom's totally Altar territory… that hit hard.”
Leok Kingdom.
The seventh loop's group had stayed there, but it was an Altar den.
Even building a new sanctuary underground.
“Yes. Hard to believe.”
“But good we got intel. When the professor comes later…”
She pulled out the letter again.
[Ifrin.
I leave this letter for you. Lately, déjà vu creeps in, abstract notions arise, unseen afterimages flicker—but explaining them all in words would be inefficient.
Still, you will surely understand this letter's meaning. So remember what I said.
I too shall surely keep my promise, so wait for me.]
The letter growing longer bit by bit. She clutched it to her chest.
Every line precious now. It felt like conversing with the professor across time itself.
“Don't get cocky.”
Smack—Sylvia swatted her back.
“Ow!”
Stinging pain. Ifrin yelped and turned.
“You're not special.”
“Hey, that hurts!”
“……Kid.”
“Yeah. I'm a kid now. Younger than you.”
Ifrin puffed up, arms crossed. Sylvia watched incredulously, shaking her head.
“Your mental age is the real kid.”
“Shut up and build the house.”
Sylvia clicked her tongue, glaring at the empty spot.
A diagram formed there. A splendid three-story mansion.
“Done. Everyone inside.”
“Yes. Thank you, Lady Sylvia.”
All, including Julie, entered contentedly and unpacked. Ifrin flopped onto her private room's bed.
So fluffy.
“Sylvia's talents are straight-up broken…”
She felt it every regression—origins, attributes, whatever, Tri-Color was best.
“……Yawwwn.”
Lying still, sleep came like a breeze.
Whisper whisper—
Ifrin slowly closed her half-lidded eyes.
“Guess I'll sleep for now…”
As sleep claimed her.
No—in that very dream where she truly slumbered.
Ifrin confronted someone she'd forgotten—no, someone who hadn't appeared until now.
—……It's been a while, child of Luna.
Deculein's father. A ghost of the past.
Dikailen.