Chapter 125
Chapter 125
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 125
Chapter Title: Chasing the Scream (2)
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"This is the village where I... turned myself in."
It was a landscape etched clearly in his memory. This was the very village where Ronan had killed a man and surrendered himself, only to be dragged off to the Penal Legion.
Ronan slowly surveyed his surroundings. It must have rained the day before, as puddles had gathered all over the streets. Squatting down in front of one puddle, Ronan checked his appearance.
'...No wonder they'd mistake me for a beggar.'
Recalling what had happened just moments ago, Ronan chuckled softly. The ragged clothes draped over his body were so caked in mud that the filth hardly seemed like a flaw.
This was how he always dressed during his wandering days. His face looked a bit more weathered, matching the year he had enlisted in the Penal Legion. He hadn't expected the illusion not only to recreate the surroundings but even alter his own body.
'Everything's exactly the same as back then. What was the name of this village again?'
The roads were well-paved, and there were plenty of passersby—it was a fairly prosperous village. Beyond the village stretched a wide avenue leading to a solitary castle at its end.
It was laughable compared to the imperial palace in the capital, but it was respectable enough in its own right. Seeing the family crest fluttering from the ramparts, Ronan snapped his fingers.
'Right. It was ruled by some Baron Dantel or whatever.'
He remembered being hauled there to process his enlistment into the Penal Legion. Even the scene of the usually indolent baron personally showing up and throwing a tantrum, insisting Ronan had to die by his own hand.
'If the conscription officer hadn't stopped me, I would've killed that bastard too. Good times.'
It wasn't particularly strange, since the baron's son had been among those Ronan killed. As he reminisced, Ronan twisted his lips.
"So, what are you trying to show me this time?"
Ronan stood up. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. The slightly humid air carried the savory scent of baking bread.
Perhaps because this was a stronger curse, the mental world felt far more intricately rendered. It had been the same when he first entered Nimbuton during his initial release, indistinguishable from reality.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing in the middle of the street?"
"If you don't want a beating until you shit your pants, keep walking."
"Eek...! Th-this is why beggars these days...!"
Even the passersby's contemptuous stares at his beggar-like appearance overflowed with realism. As Ronan glanced around, his eyes fixed on one spot.
"Hm?"
"Hehe, eat up."
A girl in an apron was crouched down. She looked about seven or eight years old, a tiny little thing.
Every time she giggled, her missing front teeth peeked out. But it wasn't the gap-toothed kid that caught Ronan's eye.
"Hmm?"
A hefty pup had buried its head in front of the girl, chowing down on bread. Its stylishly curved tail wagged side to side. Ronan tilted his head.
'Where have I seen that dog before...?'
Its sleek form felt strangely familiar. The girl kept petting it mid-meal, but it didn't snap or anything—clearly a soft-hearted mutt. Then the dog finished the bread and lifted its head.
"All done? Good boy."
"...Huh?"
Ronan's eyes widened. It couldn't be helped. The wolfish pointed snout, the half-severed left ear. Those piercing blue eyes were too striking to mistake for anything else on a dog's face. The dog licked its chops and started lapping at the girl's face.
"Hahaha, that tickles!"
He never imagined they'd reunite like this. Ronan stood there stunned for a long while before finally speaking.
"...Sita."
"Woof?"
The dog licking the girl turned to Ronan. The moment it blinked dumbly, Ronan knew for sure—this was Sita.
The original Sita, who used to ride on his shoulder and yap away. The one who had traveled with him for about a year before poachers took its life, in a way one of the culprits that led Ronan to enlist in the Penal Legion.
"You little... "
It had been decades since their reunion. Just as he started to say more, a shrill woman's voice called from afar.
"Hey! Camilla! I have an errand for you—what are you doing over there?"
"Eek, coming right now!"
The startled girl jumped up. Across the avenue, a middle-aged woman stood with hands on her hips, glaring. She seemed like the girl's mother or employer. After one last pat for Sita, the girl dashed toward the avenue.
"Hehe, gotta go! Bye-bye!"
She deftly wove through the throng of carriages and people. Sita licked its chops and sidled up to sit beside Ronan.
"...Been well?"
"Woof."
"You punk. Your master's getting beat by thugs, and you're over here chowing down carefree."
"Woof woof."
Sita pretended not to hear, scratching its ear with a hind paw. Ronan let out a hollow laugh. He'd momentarily forgotten this was Sita's nature.
They traveled together to alleviate the loneliness of wandering, but it wasn't a master-servant bond. More like a companion who came and went as it pleased. Seeing even that brazen attitude as endearing meant he'd missed it after all.
A butcher shop was right next door. Ronan bought a sausage with the coins he'd taken from the pig and offered it to Sita. His task was set anyway—might as well enjoy it.
"Here, help me out in return."
"Woof!"
Sita barked as if to say, trust me. Ronan picked up a stick and switched his power source. Luckily, sans the sword, his abilities remained intact. Gleaming mana climbed the twig.
"Find one that smells like this."
"Woof."
Ronan let Sita sniff it, then started walking. He didn't really think tracking like this would work, but that wasn't his concern. He just wanted to hang with the mutt.
Ronan strolled the illusion-made village with Sita. Having scarfed the sausage, Sita pressed its nose to the ground, sniffing diligently.
The culprit behind this curse hadn't shown yet. Watching Sita's back, Ronan twisted his lips.
"By the way... you being alive means that incident hasn't happened yet."
"Woof?"
Ronan's expression darkened abruptly. The event that turned him into a penal soldier had gone down right here in this village.
"Still pisses me off thinking about it."
Even after all these years, the memory burned vivid. The sixth day of the Blue Pine Moon. While staying in this village, he'd separated from Sita and that was when it happened. It started with witnessing the carriage accident scene.
A crowd of at least a hundred buzzed along the avenue. A fancy four-horse carriage stood in the middle of the road. A woman who looked like the mother clutched a blood-soaked sack-like bundle, sobbing.
-Aaaah! Aaaaaah!!
It took Ronan a few seconds to realize it was a person. The child's face and body, trampled by hooves, were unrecognizable mush.
Beside her lay Sita, dead with arrows riddling its body. Four men and women had shot them. They cackled next to a youth kicking the coachman's shin, complaining the carriage was dirty. Their vile conversation still rang in his ears.
-Why'd that mutt charge like that? Some pet of that old hag's?
-Dunno. I hit it in the head, so you buy the beer.
No onlookers offered help. Judging by the youth's fine clothes, he was someone important. Ronan approached slowly, hand on his sword hilt. One of the bowmen glared.
-Huh? What's this beggar want?
After that, memory blurred. But he recalled coming to amid piles of corpses. The sword in his hand was snapped in half.
No more gawkers. The youth and archers' heads rolled at his feet. The poachers bore hook tattoos symbolizing Caribolo's Snare.
-Caribolo...
That was when Ronan started despising poachers. About ten armored soldiers' bodies littered the scene too, their armor bearing the same crest as the castle flag in the distance.
Noble guards. That's when Ronan realized the youth was Baron Dantel's son. He stomped the head to pulp, then picked up Sita's body.
As he buried Sita in the nearby woods and turned to leave, bushes rustled. Four village guards appeared, spears leveled.
-D-don't move... you monster!
Ronan tossed his sword without hesitation. Taken into custody meekly, his talents earned him a Penal Legion spot instead of execution.
"Damn it."
He'd dredged up an unpleasant memory. He didn't know how the mental world would play out, but doing nothing meant the incident would likely repeat soon. Ronan shook his head.
"It's not even real anyway."
If he patrolled deliberately, he might prevent it. But his goal wasn't to toy with a past release.
He'd wander like before, and if he spotted the culprit, just cut them down. Keep Sita lured with sausages.
'Won't die in reality either. The future's changed.'
The empire post-regression had undergone major shifts. Nebula Klazje's atrocities surfaced, purging nobles.
Incompetents like Baron Dantel lost their lands nine times out of ten. Accidents were coincidences stacked—so the girl wouldn't die.
'So, got nothing to do with me.'
Repeating that, Ronan walked on. The village under blue skies was perfectly peaceful.
The bread scent thickened. One step. Two. Exactly ten steps in, Ronan froze.
"Fuck."
His feet stuck like glue to the sole. Mood soured—he had to stop the accident first.
Problem: he vaguely recalled the spot but not the date. Then a familiar scrawny back caught his eye, like a walking skeleton. Ronan's face lit up.
"Aha."
It was the boy from the pig's gang he'd beaten. Sneaking up, Ronan threw an arm around his shoulders.
"Hey, punk."
"Eeeeek! Y-you!"
The skeleton's face went sheet-white. He thrashed to escape, but Ronan's grip held. Ronan growled, tightening his arm.
"Shut up. Answer straight if you don't want the same as that pig. What day is it?"
"Gak... Wh-what's that got to—"
"What day?"
"Keurk...! F-fifth of the Blue Pine Moon! Yeah! Don't hit me!"
"What?"
Ronan furrowed his brow. The exact day of the accident.
'No way.'
The worst scenario flashed. Maybe coincidence, but the bread-giving girl's size matched the bloodied bundle the woman held.
'Then the reason Sita charged...'
Sita was brash but repaid favors. Suddenly, Ronan realized the calling woman's outline closely resembled the sobbing mother.
Of all the rotten luck. Muttering that, Ronan tossed all remaining sausages to Sita.
"Wait here."
"Woof."
Sita obediently sat and started munching. This was a boring plot. Ronan turned and sprinted to the accident site.
"Even for a curse, this is...!"
Luckily not far. Scenery blurred past. Rounding the corner, the avenue appeared—and a scream erupted.
"Kyaaaaah!"
"D-danger!"
A massive four-horse carriage barreled down the avenue, freakishly fast compared to others. The coachman, hat pulled low, spat at pedestrians.
"Uahaha!"
"Shit."
Ronan's face hardened. Worst always happened. Avenue's center, twenty paces straight from the carriage—the girl from before picked up scattered bread on the ground.
"One... two..."
Distance closed in seconds. Hearing hooves late, the girl turned.
"Huh?"
A sudden shadow engulfed her face—the horses'.
"What's this brat?"
The coachman spat curses like at an annoying pebble. No intent to stop. Reaching the roadside, Ronan bellowed at full volume.
"Damn it, stop!"
But his voice drowned in the crowd's screams. Too late to save directly. Judging fast, Ronan snatched a rolling stone. His arm vanished from view.
"Huh?"
Thwack! The stone nailed the coachman's head. He tumbled off unconscious. Crunch—bones shattered. Reins yanked, veering the carriage.
"Hiiihihiing!"
"Get out of the way!"
Frightened horses bucked. Speed slowed some, but still too far to save her.
Gonna fail again? As Ronan bit his lip, a shadow darted past.
"Sita?"
"Woof!"
Like wind, Sita reached her instantly. As a hoof descended on her head, Sita bit her scruff and flung her roadside. Thud! Sita flew far, rammed by a horse.
"...!"
Ronan's eyes widened. The flying dog tumbled across pavement. The barely saved girl ran to Sita.
"Puppy!"
"Kiiin... kiiiing..."
Red blood pooled under the panting Sita on the ground. Something snapped in Ronan's mind.
"You..."
A familiar sensation after ages. Fury peaked like this. Tar boiled in his gut. Then the carriage halted. An irritated voice from inside.
"Why stop? What's going on?"
Creeeak—the ornate door opened, and a tall woman stepped out. Exceptionally so for a woman. Seeing blood on the carriage, she scowled.
"Filthy."
Like eyeing a bug. Confirming her face, Ronan froze.
"What..."
"Tch, what's this beggar?"
The woman meeting his eyes clicked her tongue. Black straight hair fell to her waist. Outfit differed, but unmistakably someone he knew. Ronan's mouth parted softly.
"...Senior?"