Chapter 372: There Is One More (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 372: There Is One More (1)
Scent, sound, touch.
They are not mere memories, but the senses of lived experience—keys that unlock and retrieve the moments of a certain day, at a certain time.
Though humans forget most of what they experience, events imbued with sensory details are remembered longer and more vividly. It is the scent of lavender that makes Ririe recall Demirea’s embrace on a spring outing; the sound of rain that makes Euria think of Arsen roasting a wild chicken on a secluded road; the touch of soft cloth that reminds Hina of the day she first embroidered a long, long name onto Lucy’s collar.
“Vice-Commander, you’re still the Crown Prince.”
“What.”
“I’m a lightweight.”
“I know.”
“But I like beer. I don’t really like other drinks, just beer.”
“I don’t care.”
Arsen nodded at the curt reply. He didn’t care whether Franz was interested or not. He had only started babbling because of the pleasant buzz of alcohol and wasn’t looking for anyone’s attention.
“When I drink beer, it reminds me of the day my master first gave me a drink. When I smell it, it feels like my master is right beside me. That’s why I like it.”
Faced with such a story, Franz found he couldn’t bring himself to be cold and simply glanced around. The small, private room of the restaurant, arranged so they could eat and drink comfortably away from prying eyes, came into view.
It was late in the evening on the day they had faced Sispanian and Serenti in the land of Siegfried.
Perhaps forgetting that he was the one who had demanded to be treated to meat, Calian had asked Franz what he wanted for dinner. As Franz was about to ponder the question, the blue-haired crazy mage chimed in, recommending mutton as the only proper choice now that they were in Siegfried.
Franz hadn’t answered. And Calian, who only pretended to consider Arsen’s opinion, had instead asked Ronansite, a knight of Siegfried, for the location of a very expensive restaurant that served grilled cod. Disregarding the opinion of his lackey—who only needed to be fed—Calian had chosen this menu to show Franz, who had apologized for remembering Bern, that everything was fine now.
“That’s why I like beer,” Arsen continued. “You probably don’t have anything like that, Vice-Commander, so you wouldn’t get it.”
Well-grilled cod and shrimp; white bread generously stuffed with black olives; a dish of various grilled vegetables and bacon topped with a refreshing, sweet lemon sauce; a high-quality beef steak boasting an incomparably tender texture; chicken and vegetables piled high on thinly baked flatbread; and a vibrant salad of red fruits and greens.
Whether Calian had ordered with the sole intention of draining his older brother’s coffers, the spread was grander than the meals of most noble families. Franz stared down at the feast and replied.
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah. Figured as much.”
Memories tied to senses. Memories triggered by senses.
Arsen readily agreed with the assumption that Franz had no such thing.
Unlike others who cherished specific sensory memories, Franz remembered countless events and their accompanying sensations in exhaustive detail. If someone said, “The smell of this leather reminds me of the day I saddled the horse I was gifted as a child,” Franz could never truly empathize. In a mind that simultaneously recalled dozens, even hundreds, of objects with a similar leather scent and all their associated events, no single memory could ever stand out.
Just as when he caught the scent of Renieri, countless memories would flood his mind at once—from things he had seen and heard before he even knew the meaning of words, to the dagger aimed at his heart on that final day.
“But now I do. Even I have one.”
Half tipsy and half curious, Arsen, who was pleasantly buzzed after three glasses of beer, made no effort to hide his surprise.
Franz glanced at the blue-haired crazy mage, whose face clearly said, There’s no way you would know such a sentimental thing, and spoke.
“The smell of Lucy’s paws.”
“...How on earth did you end up smelling that?”
“Somehow.”
The smell of Lucy’s paws, which he had caught in a royal palace otherwise filled with the scent of Renieri, roses, and countless other fragrances. And the smell of Anne’s belly. When he smelled those pleasant scents—which even Franz could not bring himself to call a “fragrance”—the warm memory of the day he first met Lucy and Anne came flooding back.
“And the sound of the seashell.”
Franz wasn’t finished.
Arsen chuckled, recalling the sand-filled seashell sitting on the desk in the Vice-Commander’s office. He thought Needlen had truly accomplished a remarkable feat by planting such a singular memory in the Crown Prince’s head.
“The feel of Lenisita’s downy feathers. The smell of the waves. The crackle of a bonfire.”
“You certainly have quite a few.”
“And… grilled cod.”
With a soft clack, Arsen set down his glass, having finished his third beer, and looked at Franz. He pointed to one of the plates before them.
“You mean this cod today?”
“No. A different one.”
The surprisingly soft downy feathers of Lenisita, which everyone else found unsettling; the white waves that had wet his soles before rising to his insteps and ankles; the fishy smell wafting from his younger brother’s hands; the voices murmuring before the bonfire. And grilled cod.
Franz, who was keeping the blue-haired crazy mage company while Calian was away—having stepped out briefly after receiving a message from Chase—stopped reminiscing and frowned. He suddenly wondered since when he had started answering this man so obediently.
Slide.
He pushed the beer glass across the table toward Arsen. It had been served for his younger brother, but its foam was slowly dissipating in the owner’s absence.
“I’ve already had three glasses.”
“No, you haven’t.”
The server kept clearing away the empty glasses each time a fresh beer was brought, so Arsen tilted his head, staring at the single empty glass before him. He tried to calculate if he had drunk one or two more before this one. But then he looked at the man across from him—someone who would never make such a simple mistake, nor ever be pleased to see him drunk—staring back with an unshakeable expression that said, You haven’t had three glasses yet. Arsen simply nodded.
“Right. Then I’ll drink more.”
What did it matter if it was two glasses or three? The Crown Prince would handle the aftermath, and today was a glorious day on which he had finally completed his collection. He had to drink.
Having made up his mind, Arsen reached for the beer glass that had belonged to Calian but was now his.
Franz had never seen anyone dare to act rowdy in his presence. He had only ever seen Arsen being carried back by Kyrie after drinking, which led him to assume that Arsen, like Calian, would simply fall asleep quietly when drunk. Thus, he had handed over the fourth glass merely to quiet the noisy mage down. Arsen reached for the glass, pretending to be completely oblivious to Franz’s misunderstandings and misjudgments.
* * *
Grilled cod.
To Franz, grilled cod was an exceptionally unique dish. It was unique not because it was seafood, which he rarely touched, but because of the vivid, unfamiliar sensations he remembered so clearly. It was different from meat that smelled of meat or fruit that tasted of fruit. It was a dish that conjured the scent of hops, the sound of a violin, and the image of a wooden plate.
The tavern he had followed Calian to. Whenever he recalled that place, it brought back the deep, salty scent of the sea, the smell of old wood from the tables and walls, and the unique, sour aroma that Calian had explained was from something called hops.
The tavern owner’s heavy footsteps, the chatter of the patrons, the clinking of coins in the hat of a child who had just finished a clumsy violin performance.
The smooth feel of the wooden plate, the rough texture of the scratches on the table, the cold touch of the metal fork and knife.
To Franz, grilled cod was all of those things. He had gained a memory where the scent of hops, a wooden plate, and the sound of a clumsy violin could linger.
“What are you thinking about so deeply?”
The question came from Calian, who had just thawed a giant shrimp and placed it back in front of the blue-haired crazy mage.
Franz wondered whether to call the act kind or to lament the wasted mana.
Calian had just shrugged, asking what the big deal was if his lackey got drunk and wanted to freeze some shrimp. He had then kindly thawed the frozen shrimp and placed it in front of Arsen for the sixth time. The blue-haired crazy mage grinned foolishly at the giant shrimp that had become his victim for the day. Franz turned away from a face he had no desire to look at any longer and replied.
“It’s different. From the first time.”
“The cod?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, if it doesn’t suit your taste, we can order something else…”
“No.”
“Then what’s so different?”
“The smell, the sound, the feel. Those are different.”
“How so?”
“Everything. There’s no sea, no smell of salt. Everything is different.”
The restaurant they were in now was exactly that. It served the same grilled cod, but the smell, the sound, and the feel were entirely different.
No endless sea stretched outside the window; instead, the distant lights of the Siegfried Mansion flickered in the dark. Instead of the smell of old wood, the savory aroma of potatoes and pumpkins roasting alongside the cod filled the air. Instead of a child’s clumsy violin, the deep, resonant notes of a cello played by a professional musician drifted through the wall. And instead of the rough scratches of a wooden table, his fingers brushed against the smooth glass top of a table engraved with elaborate carvings.
“Is it strange that it’s so different?”
“A little.”
“Restaurants that serve similar dishes can’t all be the same. There are expensive, high-end establishments, moderately priced but delicious taverns, and everything in between.”
“Isn’t the royal palace always the same, no matter what?”
“Everyone in the royal palace is subjected to the same training and education. You can’t compare it to a place like this. This is where people actually live.”
Franz smirked. It was a remarkably thorny remark from someone who had once declared he would simply rot in the palace for the rest of his life on behalf of Franz, who had no interest in the throne, and Randel, who had no interest in Kairis.
Then again, what good could anyone say about a palace that had forced those children to grow up without a single special, lasting memory?
“Even in the same world, what happens is so different depending on who you are. A place where people live can’t help but be different.”
Yet Calian had said those words. Franz glanced at his younger brother and picked up his wine glass. Bringing Sizlinu—the renowned wine of Siegfried—to his lips, he replied.
“It’s a world made by a god who doesn’t know what it means to live. How strange.”
Calian’s hand paused for a fraction of a second as he was about to cut a piece of freshly grilled cod. Then, as if nothing had happened, he popped the bite into his mouth, chewed, and replied.
“Indeed. It was made by a god who doesn’t know what it means to live, yet here we are, living in it. It’s quite amusing.”
“So. When are you going to tell me?”
“Do you mean my conversation with Brother Chase, or about Serenti?”
“Both.”
Calian, who had completely given up on keeping secrets from Franz, chuckled and readily began to explain.
“It seems Arianne is indeed coming for His Majesty’s birthday festival. She departs tomorrow, and Brother Chase is worried sick. They can’t open a teleportation magic circle for her, of course, but she even refused my master’s help, insisting on traveling through Kairis properly so she can sightsee. Because of that, I was given a heads-up about her escort.”
“Who?”
“The Yellow Robin—no, that knight named Servain Chamberman is coming as her escort. But since Arianne’s name has become so famous, Brother Chase couldn’t put his mind at ease.”
Franz’s eyes drifted toward the corner of the table he had been trying to ignore. The blue-haired crazy mage, having finally lost interest in the frozen shrimp, was now reaching for the grilled cod on Calian’s plate.
“If the escort is unreliable, we could speak to His Majesty and send Valkan.”
“Ah. What Brother Chase requested isn’t an escort, but rather… for us to turn a blind eye.”
Seeing Calian’s sweet smile, Arsen—drunk as he was—withdrew his hand, quietly leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. Calian nodded in satisfaction and continued.
“He asked us not to be surprised if someone whose appearance doesn’t match their true identity arrives.”
“…Are you saying he’s sending that knight?”
“Yes. Teilan Castrin. My former master will disguise himself as Sir Chamberman and come here. Back in the palace, Sir Chamberman will take on Teilan’s appearance. There’s little risk of exposure over there, but here, there are far too many people who would recognize Sir Castrin. That’s why he warned us.”
It was hard to guarantee that the fiancée of a newly crowned king wouldn’t fall prey to some insidious plot on her journey. That was why Chase was sending Teilan. By using the magic disguise tool Hina had used in Secritia, they would alter Teilan’s appearance to match Servain’s.
“I can’t tell if that former brother of yours is the devious one, or if his fiancée is.”
At this assessment, delivered as Franz set down his glass of Sizlinu, Calian grinned.
“Have you already figured out why Arianne is insisting on coming?”
“They want to smuggle that Sword Master into this land by any means necessary, don’t they?”
“Yes. No matter what happens, I’m not the only one who needs to be stronger than in the past. Besides, if Sir Castrin comes here, won’t every living Sword Master on the continent be gathered in one place? That would benefit everyone.”
It was to allow Teilan to meet the other Sword Masters. When Calian had first brought Teilan here, he had been ignorant of the ‘past,’ but that was no longer the case. By bringing him together with Suleiman, Calian, and Siona, they hoped to create an opportunity for everyone to grow stronger.
However, sending Teilan away would leave Chase’s safety compromised. Thus, they had devised a plan to swap their appearances using the magic disguise tool. Servain was someone they could trust implicitly.
The problem was, there was no one of sufficient status to justify Servain—the Commander of the Royal Guard who personally escorted Chase—accompanying the delegation. Therefore, Arianne had stepped up to lead it herself. She was the only one who could provide a plausible pretext for Teilan, disguised as Servain, to travel here. Even if the ruse was exposed, she was the only one who could give Lemain a convincing reason for Chase’s scheme. If they claimed a young king, blinded by worry for his fiancée, had secretly assigned a Sword Master as her personal escort, Lemain would have no choice but to accept it.
“So that was why she insisted on coming, despite knowing the danger.”
“Yes. In all things, the most important element is justification.”
Franz let out a dry laugh, finally grasping the motive behind Arianne’s uncharacteristic stubbornness.
He watched Calian for a moment. His younger brother had only just begun his meal, having been called away by Chase almost as soon as they arrived. Although Franz had more questions, he decided to let his brother eat first.
Putting aside his curiosity, Franz sat quietly and listened to the cello music. After some time, Calian finished his meal and spoke.
“I didn’t hear a single word. From Serenti.”
Franz’s gaze snapped to him.
Calian nodded, confirming he hadn’t misheard.
“I asked many questions, and Serenti answered. But I couldn’t hear her.”
“That’s strange.”
“It is.”
“Does that mean it might not have been Serenti who silenced you and erased your memories all this time?”
“I don’t know if it was Serenti who did it before, but surely she wouldn’t block the very answers she promised to give. Not unless she’s a lunatic.”
“Watch your language.”
“…Unless she is a crazy deity.”
“No.”
“Unless she’s a lunatic… sir.”
Franz, deciding that swearing at Serenti was fine but speaking informally to him was not, finally nodded. Calian let out a soft chuckle and continued.
“Anyway, isn’t it strange? That Serenti’s voice could be blocked.”
“...There is one more.”
“Yes. There is one more. Another existence capable of silencing Serenti.”
Yes. There was one more.
“I think I know who it is. What about you, Brother?”
“How could I not? It’s impossible not to.”
An existence whose birth even Serenti had been blind to, an existence she could not stop on her own, forcing her to borrow the strength of Sispanian and the heroes. An existence she ultimately failed to defeat even then, choosing instead to fall into slumber alongside it.
“The bastard who took the white piece and started the game without Serenti’s knowledge. I wonder if he took the white piece in my past as well. If it’s him, he would certainly be capable of erasing intact memories, silencing voices, and mimicking Serenti’s actions perfectly.”
“Does that mean… I played the hero to stop the Evil God who reawakened alongside Serenti? And then, having failed, I turned back time.”
“Yes. That’s what I believe.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Franz tapped his fingers against the Sizlinu glass he had picked up again.
“The time the Sea Dragon played a trick on you, and I wandered around alone. And her warning that if the Axis of Time turns back again, I will be the one left behind. I’ve thought about it.”
“...Yes.”
Franz opened his mouth to say more, but then closed it.
Back when the Sea Dragon departed and the world’s time resumed. When time had frozen and then thawed… was it truly the Sea Dragon’s will that allowed you to move and think? Was she truly capable of wielding the Axis of Time so completely that she could freeze everyone else and pull you out alone to converse? Or did she merely stop time, and simply speak to you because you had already broken free from its frozen flow?
When you worried about me being left behind, did you truly never think of that?
The past that no one else remembers. The turning back of time. Have you never wondered how you came to know of it? Why don’t you wonder why you were forgotten? While hurting so deeply because of it, why have you never once sought the reason? Why were you the one forgotten in this life?
He wanted to ask, but the words refused to form. He kept his mouth shut. Instead, he stared down at the sloshing wine—the exact color of Calian’s eyes—and spoke of something else.
"Amusing."
Calian smiled. Franz was the one who said it, but it was Calian who smiled.
"Do you think so too, Brother?" he asked, as if he'd heard every unspoken question. He then added, "Yes. It seems there was at least one more."
This wasn't just the second loop. The original Bern must have been the first to turn the Axis of Time, but he’d forgotten everything. Then, in that new timeline, Franz turned the axis a second time. And Bern, having already been through one reset, was the only one left behind.
"......It seems so."
And that abandoned Bern must have found his way into Calian's body.
"Calian."
"Living a second life… it's not a pleasant experience. I know that firsthand."
Calian looked at Franz, who was still holding the bitter wine.
His voice remained quiet and steady.
"So I will never teach you how, Brother. I don't care who I have to hunt down and kill, or what I have to destroy. I would die before I let you learn. I will make certain you never have to. Never."
Whatever being or force was responsible for this, he would find it, kill it, and erase it from existence. That was all there was to it. He would see it done. Vaguely aware that he was walking a path that could be his final chance or another nightmare, Calian spoke again.
"So don't worry."
"I'm not," Franz replied. "I'm sure my little brother will handle it and keep me alive."
His tone was perfectly nonchalant, without a shred of worry.