Regression (2)

Lidia's diaries were worth far more than ordinary journals.

They recorded everything the traitors had done and everything they still intended to do, along with every kind of corruption festering inside the Empire and the names of those responsible.

That list held the names of people already dead by their hands—and, just as chillingly, the names of men who still strutted about in perfect health.

Of all four volumes, one sentence stayed with me above the rest.

To keep the Empire from falling—that was why Lidia had raised her banner against it. Perhaps the traitor had loved the Empire more than anyone else.

At the time, the Empire was stronger than any other nation on the continent, in military might and in wealth alike.

Suggest that such an empire would soon collapse, and anyone listening would have scoffed. Pure doomsaying—the sort of nonsense only heretics muttered in dark corners.

And yet I could not dismiss it, because the woman who had written those words was Lidia. She was the most brilliant person I had ever known, and the world agreed. If she had left such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a warning behind, there had to be a reason.

Is the Empire really going to fall because of corruption…?

Ten years. That was how long it took me to find the answer.

To put it bluntly: it fell. Or rather, it stood on the brink of falling.

Those damned nobles kept right on lining their pockets. The treasury withered year by year, and the common people's lives sank into misery. On top of that, the former First Prince—now the new Emperor—became so besotted with a foreign woman that imperial gold and treasure poured out of the realm in a steady stream.

Once the finances that held the nation together began to fail, an age of chaos truly began. People starved in the streets. Honest work was abandoned for the alleys of vagrancy. Nobles raised ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠private armies under the pretext of rising crime rates.

The greatest power on the continent no longer existed—and its neighbors were already massing troops along the borders, waiting to carve it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up.

Only ten years. The span it took a man in his mid-twenties to become a man in his mid-thirties. In that brief time, the Empire had changed beyond recognition.

Lidia… you already knew, didn't you.

I laid flowers on the grave I had made for her halfway up the mountain, then turned and walked away.

About a year after that—eleven years after Lidia's death—the war began. Terhen, the nation that had been eyeing the half-ruined Empire for years, struck the western border. As vice-commander of the Imperial Knights, I was charged with guarding the Emperor, and so I heard the reports from the front as they came in.

"The Second Battalion has been annihilated on the western border…"

"The line has collapsed as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠far as the Rodman Count's territory…"

"At this rate, they'll reach the Imperial Capital in a fortnight…"

The imperial army that had once been the terror of the continent no longer existed. In its place stood only soft, self-serving men who cared more for their purses than their posts. Of course the front was buckling.

That they were holding at all, under the circumstances, was almost impressive. There were a few decent soldiers among them, true—but a handful of good men can never do more than be swept away by the tide.

With every passing day, the Empire's end drew closer. Terhen's forces raced toward the capital. From the east, another nation began devouring imperial land as well; there was no hope left worth naming.

I found myself marveling all over again. How had Lidia foreseen every last piece of it—back when the Empire still stood as the strongest power on the continent?

Dong—! Dong—! Dong—!

A great bell pealed through the air, loud enough to scour every thought from my head. Terhen's army had reached the outskirts of the imperial palace.

If the rebels had succeeded… would the Empire's future have been different?

I entertained that empty question as I drew the sword at my hip. I would defend this Empire to the last—the same Empire I had tried to protect even as I killed the woman I loved. I loved it too. I had simply chosen a different way of showing it.

Death did not frighten me. It was the price of the path I had taken.

Before long the enemy stormed the palace, flooding into the Emperor's study itself. Countless men died on the edge of my blade. But I was one man against an army, and my defeat had been written from the start.

Hrrk—.

Three swords buried in my body hurt more than I would have believed. Breath would not come. Hot blood poured from my mouth. And yet, for all the weight crushing my flesh, my heart had never felt lighter.

Eleven years after the day Lidia died, I followed her at last.

Hah—!

I sucked in a great breath and snapped my eyes open. My whole body was soaked in sweat, as if I had clawed my way out of a nightmare.

Why? Why was I alive?

I had died. I had been the last sword standing between a fool of an Emperor and his enemies; I had cut down dozens of Terhen's soldiers and fallen with honor. That I was lying here whole and breathing defied every scrap of sense I possessed.

As my ragged breathing settled, a cold clarity returned to my thoughts. Only then did I begin to take in my surroundings.

A window washed in moonlight, veiled by a thin curtain. Soft, warm bedding and a bed. A bookshelf lined with fencing manuals and fairy tales. A wooden desk and a lamp glowing gently. And, carelessly left beneath that lamp's light, a sheet of stationery.

Familiar things dragged forgotten memories up from the depths.

Fourteen. More precisely, the night before the banquet celebrating Lidia's fourteenth birthday. That night I had stayed up writing her a letter, fallen asleep over it, and never managed to give it to her.

Was this real? If it was, then I had returned to the past. Or perhaps this was only the life-flash that came at the edge of death—

No. That didn't matter.

If I had truly come back, the Empire had not yet stepped onto the road to ruin. And more than that—Lidia, whom I had killed with my own hands, was still alive. For now, that was enough.

So what did I need to do?

First, stop Lidia from becoming a traitor. And even if I failed at that, I would keep her from dying—by any means, at any cost. Saving the Empire mattered, of course. But an Empire without Lidia was not worth saving. Eleven years of regret had already proven that.

Power. I needed power. The strength to cut out the rot already eating the Empire from within—and that did not mean physical force alone. Political standing, wealth, every lever that could move society. If the Empire could be set right, Lidia would no longer need to stand as a rebel. It was the only plan my dull mind could invent.

Rustle—.

Before I quite realized it, I was standing at the desk, crumpling the letter my younger self had written. Then as now, it was something I could never hand her. The thing was hopelessly inadequate. A voice would be enough to say what needed saying.

The banquet celebrating Lidia's fourteenth birthday. The night before it began.

The moon hung bright in the sky, as it always did on such nights. Naturally, I attended the banquet hosted by the Eslend ducal house. The guest of honor was Lidia—my childhood friend and my fiancée.

"Happy birthday, Lidia."

"Thank you, Cain."

She smiled with her eyes. Hair the color of spun gold, bright brown eyes. At fourteen Lidia still looked a little young, but her beauty was undiminished. Eleven years ago, when I killed her, I had believed I would never see her again.

My only hope had been some meeting in the afterlife—not that I believed in one. So this moment was precious beyond measure. A hope I had carried for years had finally come true. Guilt over her death still twisted in my chest; I forced myself to look past it.

The banquet unfolded in the ordinary way. I stayed glued to Lidia's side as we moved through the hall—or rather, she dragged me along.

"Cain, have you tried this?"

"What is it?"

"It comes from the sea, far away. You know what the sea is, right? That huge lake full of salty water."

"I know that much."

I answered dryly and speared the food with my fork. Shrimp—ugly little things, but excellent on the tongue. Moments of simple conversation like this were so dear to me that a smile rose to my lips of its own accord.

I don't know how much time passed before Lidia took my hand and led me out of the banquet hall. We ended up in the gardens of the Eslend estate, walking slowly beneath the bright moon. I still remembered this night with perfect clarity. It was the night she planted a great question in my mind.

"Cain, sometimes I envy you."

"About what?"

"You don't know anything. There are things in this world you're better off never learning."

The same. Word for word, the same conversation as that day. So far, everything had been.

"No. I know."

"How can you say that when you don't even know what I mean?"

"Whatever it is you're talking about—I know all of it."

I knew how she looked at the world, what choices she would make, and what she would ask of me at the end. Of course, it would not be easy for her to believe me.

"What is that supposed to mean? You're acting strange today."

"Am I…?"

"Mm—you're dark, all over. Your only real virtue was that brightness of yours, and it's gone."

Fair enough. The person inside this body had aged nearly twenty years; it would have been stranger if nothing had changed. I had tried to act normal, but she saw through me all the same. That, if anything, was welcome.

"Lidia, can I ask you one thing?"

"Sure. Ask me anything. I'll tell you everything."

"Do you think I'm not good enough as a husband?"

It was the question I had most wanted to ask the day she declared our engagement broken. Back then I had been just adult enough for pride to stop the words in my throat. At fourteen, though, I could ask it. At fourteen, you still say what you feel.

The question must have landed far outside anything she expected. Lidia blinked her wide eyes and stared at me blankly—then burst out laughing, a bright, ringing sound.

"What? That's what you were fretting over? So that's why your face looked like that."

"Yeah, well…"

"Don't worry. I doubt anyone could suit me better. A fool and a genius—we're a perfect match."

Then why did you say those things that day? The words nearly leapt from my throat; I forced them down. All right. That was enough. A reason to fight for her.

I would put the Empire back as it should be.