Revealing the Absence of Memory
Eisenhardt decided to reveal that he had no memories. The man before him had already come knowing, through some prior examination, that all of his—rather, this body's—memories were gone. There was no need to lie or put on airs. Honesty was the better play. He had to emphasize that he truly remembered nothing. If he tried to scheme and got caught, the consequences would be dire. For instance, someone might suspect possession. He needed to remain the demented Sword Saint. At least this elf seemed comfortable around him. Of course, it might simply be because she knew his memories were gone, but it didn't feel that way. Her attitude was too natural, as though she had always treated him this way. She was at least on equal footing with the Sword Saint... Starting a fight would carry far too much risk. In truth, he should have done it before the examination. If only he had realized he was the Sword Saint a little sooner... Regret wouldn't change anything now.
"I remember neither my name, my age, nor the life I have lived."
"How curious that you still recall the common tongue."
"Indeed."
"Pfft..."
Ah, he'd dropped the formal tone too far. Suddenly switching to honorifics left him unsure how much deference was appropriate. At that moment, his qi sense detected someone approaching from afar. It was the knight from earlier. Whether she knew or not, the flying elf continued to address him with a bright smile.
"You're a rather adorable child, aren't you?"
"Thank... you?"
Adorable...? A wave of cognitive dissonance struck him as he pictured his own face. The flying elf laughed again, apparently finding his expression amusing.
"... Pfft."
She laughed for quite some time before apologizing. Then she added,
"You don't need to use formal speech with me."
Well, using honorifics with this face would have looked strange anyway.
"It's not your face that's the problem. It's your position."
"... Does it show on my face?"
"A little?"
He would have to be careful.
"I do prefer formal speech, but... it can't be helped. You may use it when we're alone."
There was something refreshing about the cheerful way she spoke.
"I'll remember that."
"Ah, right. My name is Luniere. Remember that as well."
"I will."
Her light laughter accompanied the knight's reappearance. This was already the third time today; he was starting to feel oddly attached. At the end of the path the flying elf—Luniere—had left open, the knight bowed once more. Eisenhardt had expected him to straighten after a proper greeting, yet the man remained bent at the waist. Sensing something amiss, Eisenhardt gave a slight nod, and only then did the knight raise his head. He had managed on his own earlier, so what was different now?
The knight approached with quick steps, whether aware of Eisenhardt's confusion or not. He offered Luniere a bow slightly less deep than the one he had given Eisenhardt. She acknowledged it with a mere nod before getting to the point.
"His Majesty has summoned you for an audience."
What? The sudden announcement left him flustered, but he quickly realized he had no choice in the matter. All he could do was accept it with composure.
"Very well."
"I will escort you."
Eisenhardt took a step forward, then paused as he glanced down at his attire. He was dressed in what was clearly loungewear, and he stopped in his tracks.
"It's fine. The summons was urgent, so no one will fault you for it."
"I see."
The casual way she spoke of the Emperor suggested she truly held a high position. Praising his past self for choosing not to fight, Eisenhardt followed the knight.
Leaving the corridor that resembled a room, they entered a proper hallway stretching left and right. This was no makeshift passage connecting rooms; it was a genuine corridor meant for passage.
"This way."
Following the knight's guidance, Eisenhardt turned his head toward the window. Sunlight poured in—so bright it made him want to flee. But he couldn't...
"Hup...! Sir Eisenhardt!"
At the sudden voice, he looked ahead to see a man bowing deeply at the waist. His instincts whispered that this man, too, was a knight. He had already sensed the presence; he simply hadn't paid it any mind. After a brief hesitation, Eisenhardt gave a small nod. The knight immediately straightened. As Eisenhardt passed, he patted the man's shoulder a few times. The knight's body trembled violently in response. Why, Eisenhardt had no idea. It would have felt cold to simply walk by without a word. Through his qi sense, he could tell the man had frozen in place, still trembling. What was that about? Was he afraid? Eisenhardt looked down at the hand that had touched the knight's shoulder. ... He sincerely hoped he hadn't unconsciously unleashed the Sword Saint's ultimate technique.
They walked on in a daze until they reached a massive door. Even from a distance, it was clear this was no ordinary place. His qi sense, which had been feeding him information about everything around him, could not penetrate inside. Some kind of magic, no doubt. He felt he could break through if he tried, but he wasn't insane enough to attempt it. Better to stay quiet and obedient. Armored guards stood on either side of the door. His qi sense told him both felt the same level of tension as the previous knight, yet they showed not a single sign of it on their faces. Truly the elite.
After a brief silence, the guard on the right opened his mouth.
"Moritz von Sach—"
—Creak!
The door swung open before he could finish. Magic, apparently. Creak! The inner door followed. There was something oddly irritable about the motion. Eisenhardt stood quietly, waiting, but everyone was only watching him. Was he supposed to enter alone?
"It is a private audience."
"... I see."
With no other option, he sighed inwardly and stepped forward.
"It was an honor to accompany you."
Turning, he saw Moritz von Sach—whatever came after "Sach"—bowing at the waist, unlike before. Eisenhardt had been about to nod in return when he remembered the name and spoke instead.
"Well done, Moritz."
As the superior, using the man's given name should be acceptable. After speaking, he turned to face forward once more. At the far end, beyond the unnatural darkness, he could see the final door waiting behind the two that had already opened. For now... he would go. He forced his reluctant feet to move.
#
The door closed without a sound. Moritz von Sachsen stood before it, his body trembling. His waist remained bent; he hadn't the presence of mind to straighten. The moment he met Sir Eisenhardt's eyes—or rather, the moment he stepped into Sir Eisenhardt's domain—he had known. The empire's famed sword had returned. The sharp qi sense that felt like blades pointed from every direction announced it clearly.
When he finally faced the man, however, everything was different. Those two eyes, sharp and brilliantly clear, held a vitality absent for the past several months. The inner demon must have been completely resolved. And to be addressed by name... Sir Eisenhardt surely remembered everything he had done in service. Even in the grip of the inner demon, his mind had remained sound. Overcome with admiration, Moritz pounded his chest. The gesture came from both overwhelming emotion and reverence. As expected, the world rewarded sincere effort. The long period of humiliation was over. With the key player returned, the Emperor's faction could rise again.
"Hoo..."
After steadying his breathing and shaking off the emotion, Moritz walked lightly down the corridor. At the same time, a similar scene unfolded elsewhere.
A vast hall. An empty, solemn space dominated by open space. Upon entering through the door, one faced a raised dais of seven steps, atop which sat a throne. A red carpet stretched along the path leading to it. At either end of the carpet stood two men: a young man with brilliant golden hair and golden eyes, and an elderly man with faded ashen hair and deep blue eyes. Emperor and Eisenhardt, respectively.
Though the distance between them was considerable, both men were far from ordinary, so it was close enough for them to meet each other's gaze. Moritz von Sachsen had sensed the empire's sword returning upon seeing Eisenhardt's eyes. The Emperor felt the exact opposite.
"Haa... So it's true."
"... Yes."
The Eisenhardt he remembered had never possessed such clear eyes. Those eyes had been worn down, dulled, and cold—nothing like these bright, lively ones.
"Unfortunately."
"Yes."
Caelum Eberhardt, the rightful ruler of the Aureum Empire, sighed once more.
"So it has come to this."
"..."
Eisenhardt felt vaguely sulky, though that reaction itself was an act of disloyalty born from not knowing the Emperor. The current Emperor Caelum Eberhardt bore the epithet Iron-blooded. His predecessors had been the same, and the truth bore it out. He rarely showed emotion, yet here he was, sighing twice in front of another person. With the mind of a modern man, Eisenhardt only felt the mild sensation of having annoyed his superior. Had Moritz von Sachsen been in his place, however, he might well have fainted on the spot. Knowing this, the Emperor could finally accept that Eisenhardt had truly lost his memories. Though called Iron-blooded, the Emperor was not a man who maintained composure even before his own sighs.
At the same time, the Emperor noticed something else.
"You're calm."
"...?"
"I heard nearly all your memories are gone, yet you remain remarkably composed."
It was around this point that Eisenhardt sensed he had made a mistake. Standing too nonchalantly had been the problem. He now realized he should have reacted somehow to those two sighs. Yet that very lack of reaction was what the Emperor had wanted to see.
"And innocent."
"?"
If he had reacted awkwardly, he would have been suspected. But his pure, guileless demeanor dispelled even the Emperor's doubts. There was no other explanation—this man had truly lost his memories. Not all the news was bad, however.
"Your edge remains. Perhaps it has even sharpened."
"...??"
Unlike before, when his presence had been sluggish, his qi sense now cut like a blade. Though he seemed unable to control it, that was still better than having none at all. It meant his martial prowess had returned.
"You have returned, Sword of the Empire."
Eisenhardt, who had been hearing nothing but incomprehensible remarks, was beginning to feel dizzy. Without thinking, he answered.
"... I suppose so?"
"... Hah."
The Emperor's weak laughter echoed through the golden hall. It came in broken bursts, like a malfunctioning cassette tape, and Eisenhardt's eyes trembled more violently with each one. He felt as though trying to respond had only made things worse. But as mentioned earlier, the Emperor's epithet was Iron-blooded. His laughter was exceedingly rare. It was so precious that this was the first time he had laughed so openly since taking the throne. Though born of disbelief, the laughter held meaning. It was the transmigrator's second stroke of luck. The first had been earning Luniere's favor. Both instances had come from wielding ignorance and innocence as weapons.
The Emperor regarded Eisenhardt with an expression far more refreshed than usual.
"Unfortunately, the empire cannot release you. You already offered your sword in the past. Even if your memories are gone, the records remain. You are still the empire's Sword Saint and Imperial Knight Commander."
This, too, was an unusually friendly tone—one that would have shocked anyone who knew the Emperor. Since Eisenhardt did not, it meant nothing to him.
"...???"
Information kept piling up, yet the pace was so rapid that Eisenhardt felt only confusion. It almost seemed as though the Emperor was toying with him. Even knowing he had lost his memories, the conversation remained thoroughly inconsiderate. It felt as though they were simply saying whatever they pleased. This was why one shouldn't associate with superiors.
"Therefore, you must also attend the conference in one week's time. I understand your confusion, but what can be done? Duty must be fulfilled."
The Emperor's instructions were threefold. First, the loss of memory must be treated as top secret and never revealed under any circumstances. Second, he must fill in his common knowledge as quickly as possible; he would be given one week until the conference. Third, he must not attempt to test his martial prowess. He was not to draw a sword or exert his power.
"Do you require further explanation?"
After a moment's thought, Eisenhardt nodded at the Emperor's words.
"If you understand, you may withdraw."
"... Yes, Your Majesty."
"Address me as 'Your Imperial Majesty.'"
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."
"Good. I shall trust you, then."
Even as he left, the question that plagued Eisenhardt was this: he had nodded when asked if he needed more explanation, so why had he been dismissed? This was why one shouldn't associate with superiors.
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