Living with Erti (2)
Erti's memories and the pocket dimension created by Roia's grand temple.
This was a special place. From the moment we entered the trial, the flow of time had diverged from the real world.
It had been four days since we began Roia's trial. But in real-world time, less than an hour had passed.
I was in this village called Lernau. On the hill we'd come to on the first day of the trial with Erti, we'd crossed swords for three straight days.
And during those three days, I'd died nearly a hundred times at Erti's hands.
Erti floated before me, angelic wings sprouting from her back. She muttered to herself.
"Still, it doesn't seem like you've slacked on training just because of your bloodline. You managed to hold out for at least a minute against Graiel, after all."
Erti had recreated Graiel's power using the pocket dimension and Roia's might. Exactly as we'd seen it on the Vernige Plains. Erti as Graiel was a living nightmare.
"Back to life again?"
I hurriedly felt my neck at her words.
I'm alive. Or... did I die and come back again?
Just moments ago, Erti's sword had sliced through my neck. I'd revived like this, but true to the name of Roia's trial, the sensation of death lingered vividly.
The agony of brushing death, that nauseating feeling—every death etched it into me with crystal clarity.
I let out a silent sigh of relief, careful not to let it show to Erti.
Dying sucks every damn time. Even after so many deaths.
Despite repeating death countless times, I could never get used to that final sensation.
My body now was as Erti had warned beforehand—altered for the trial.
My appearance and build were the same, but my physical abilities had dropped to the level of an Essemont soldier.
Mana roads and mana heart downgraded to a regular soldier's level.
The moment that change hit, I belatedly realized just how incredible my usual body had been.
Even this ordinary soldier's physique, unscathed and plain, felt like lead weights dragging every limb.
At least I could still use mana. That meant Lion Heart Sword, the alchemy and spirit arts I'd mastered—they all worked fine.
But against that damn Erti...
The shattered holy sword Erti. Yet she could borrow Roia's power.
Erti hadn't just replicated Graiel's strength; she'd transformed the beast's original spear into a sword.
Thus, Erti mimicked even Sword Empress Atlin's swordsmanship perfectly. In other words, she'd become a transcendent monster wielding the completed Lion Heart Sword.
No wonder I couldn't hold a candle to her right now.
"Ready for another round? We can call it for today if it's too much."
"No. Just give me five minutes."
"Hmmm. The result will be the same, but I like that spirit of yours. Fine. I'll wait."
I circulated the Fusion Method cultivation technique through my entire body. Instantly, the overload made me vomit blood.
Urk. As expected, a normal body can't handle the Fusion Method.
But this body was doomed to die to Erti anyway.
With plain mana circulation alone, I couldn't react at all to Erti's attacks moving at Graiel's speed.
Even if the body breaks... I need to get used to Erti's attacks.
In my first ten deaths against her, I hadn't even glimpsed the tip of her blade.
By the eleventh death, when I finally reacted to her sword, Erti was the surprised one.
You must have studied Lion Heart Sword properly. No way your dynamic vision and reflexes in that ordinary body could track that strike.
She was right. Just like against Izeltier, I'd anticipated the attack and moved before it fully formed.
But I still died. By the fiftieth death, I hit the limit of standard circulation and introduced the Fusion Method to this body.
Feels like I'm dying. Every mana cycle burns my guts.
Five minutes passed. I'd forced the Fusion Method to refine my mana as much as possible. Of course, this body would soon crumble from the side effects.
But dying to Erti comes first anyway. Doesn't matter.
What mattered was the proficiency and experience I could gain facing her.
I gripped my sword again in that state. A pathetic mana blade formed there—laughable compared to my usual.
"Shall we begin, then?"
In that instant, Erti's demeanor shifted. No longer the leisurely angel-flapping village girl or holy sword. Before me stood the fallen angel from atop the Vernige Plains.
Demon aura surged like countless needles piercing my flesh.
No stabilizing effect from Agnes's Rosario now. I had to take that nauseating cursed energy full force into my body.
It terrified me to my core, a chill so deep my whole body shuddered—like sleep paralysis crushing me down.
Hold it together.
Borrowing a sliver of divine power from Roia and alchemy god Istia, I barely pushed back the demon aura.
No time for further thought. Erti's sword thrust straight for my neck—an all-too-familiar path. Lion Heart Sword First Chapter, First Form.
Erti had killed me a hundred times using only that basic strike.
Not getting hit again.
Our swords clashed. Right after, some of Erti's wing feathers drifted to the ground.
"Oh my. You hit me this time?"
Her face lit up with surprise. I seethed inwardly, frustrated at failing to land a fatal blow.
"But twice? No way. Daring to scar a maiden's body? Cheeky. Fine, I'll relieve you of your head personally."
Sure enough, her second strike blackened my vision once more.
***
When I revived, the sun was already setting over the village.
"Shall we head back? It's dinner time."
The two of us descended the hill. Soon, we entered a rundown house in the village—the love nest of Atlin and the coachman.
Over the past few days, Erti and I had used this place as our trial lodging.
This virtual space meant no real need to wash, but Erti insisted I bathe to keep my sanity intact.
"A warm bath will stabilize your mind. Can't have you turning undead after all those deaths, right?"
She sure knows how to talk.
She was the one who'd killed me a hundred times, yet her words grated annoyingly.
Still, I silently slipped into the wooden tub in the corner and washed quietly.
She's not wrong, though.
Agnes's Rosario aside, my mind was holding up surprisingly well.
But this was a special pocket dimension, filled with irrational deaths. My mental limits could snap any moment.
As Erti said, maintaining sanity while I could was key.
Though I doubt it'll be an issue.
Erti had been amazed at how steadily I endured.
I hadn't expected it myself, but I had a vague idea why.
Lion Heart Sword. And Atlin von Reinhardt.
Sword Empress Atlin. Her perfected Lion Heart Sword in the deathmatch with Graiel.
A sword form beyond my White Night, the pinnacle of beauty and perfection humanity could forge.
That scene had burned deep into my mind.
Without Agnes's Rosario now, it wasn't some saintly compulsion.
Reinhardt... Am I already a Reinhardt too?
Sync with Yulian's body was over fifty percent. Identifying as a Reinhardt family member felt natural, no resistance at all.
So I wanted Atlin's Lion Heart Sword as my own.
As if it were my destiny.
Even amid endless deaths, that fire ignited. Erti was perfectly recreating Atlin's Lion Heart Sword right now.
I'll learn every bit of Lion Heart Sword from her. Not missing a single thing.
Beyond that, the Essemont army's annihilation on the Vernige Plains, Atlin's despair—those battlefield emotions were steeling my mind instead.
That brutal scene was our near future.
The moment I learned how utterly shitty experiencing death was, I desperately wanted to survive in Iseland.
I don't want to die. Or watch anyone else die.
I steeled myself in the bath.
"Done bathing? You look refreshed now."
As I emerged, just like the past few days, a lavish dinner spread awaited on the table.
***
Erti propped her chin on her palms, watching me eat intently.
"Why stare like that? It'll ruin my digestion."
"How is it? Delicious? I made it all myself."
"It's decent."
"That's all the reaction I get? It's got Mom's touch, you know."
In Roia's pocket dimension, Erti wielded Roia's authority freely.
Like conjuring the warm bathwater earlier, she'd fetched ingredients from somewhere and prepared this feast while I bathed.
It was to keep my mind steady, she'd explained.
"Mom's touch?"
"Atlin had zero talent for cooking. Agnes was different. She wasn't great at first, but after meeting Riel, she learned."
I knew that. From the DLC with Riel and Agnes's story. She'd often made lunches for Riel's extremists.
Really for the Riel she loved, but tsundere Agnes expressed it indirectly like that.
"Whenever Agnes cooked, her ring finger—me—was there too. I learned her skills visually. And cooking basics are knife work. As a holy sword, that's my foundation. I'm a natural."
Erti stared piercingly at my face. Her intense gaze unnerved me; I averted my eyes and kept eating.
Well, at least mealtime's pleasant.
To an outsider, we might look like a rural newlywed couple sharing a blissful meal.
Erti's spread was hearty.
Not as opulent as my mansion's fare, fitting the village house vibe—breads, simple meats, veggie dishes—all brimming with care.
Two people across such a table made quite the picture.
And if Erti just kept her mouth shut, she's a beauty.
Borrowing Atlin's looks, but the vibe was worlds apart. Cold northern duke, Sword Empress Atlin—the archetypal ice queen.
Atlin's face held more expressions, sometimes performative.
Her waist-length white hair was tied at the end with a ribbon, suiting her village girl attire.
Even in such plain clothes, her beauty shone undeniable. Hard to believe she was a sword.
What the hell is she thinking? With a sword.
I caught myself pondering Erti. She grinned, still watching me.
Feeling awkward, I spoke first.
"Why keep staring?"
"It's fascinating. Your face is a dead ringer for that playboy Riel, but hair and eyes are pure Agnes. And Atlin too."
Erti couldn't hide a fleeting wistful glint.
Holy sword Sielertia, who'd spent ages with the Reinhardts.
Especially cherished Atlin and Agnes. Their blood lived in Yulian—this must hit her deep.
Her emotions felt more human than human, stirring something odd in me.
Erti's not human. Just a sword. No need to overthink.
Even with those girlish expressions, she was the terrifying sword who'd sliced my neck a hundred times smiling.
We finished eating. I rose from the table, ready for bed.
Atlin and the coachman might've shared a room back then, but Erti and I were nothing like that—no obligation.
"I'll head to bed first, then. Thanks for the meal, Erti."
"Hmph. A cup of tea after dinner is civilized. You're lacking refinement, leaving me alone?"
"You've severed my head so often, I'm just tired."
"Fair point. Rest well, then. You'll lose it to me again tomorrow."
I left her smirking and entered my room. I lay straight on the bed.
For tomorrow. Or rather, what I'd attempt soon after. My body was nerfed, but system and traits remained.
Dream Demon trait. Perfect time to use it.
I closed my eyes.
***
The Dream Demon trait worked on others and myself alike.
I planned to cast it on myself for a lucid dream on purpose.
Can't waste sleep time. Idling means endless beheadings.
A hundred deaths had given me a feel for Erti's swings.
Before those sensations faded from my body, I needed to dream.
Damn. Not working easily.
It wasn't simple. The trait had evolved to a high level, but this nerfed body was the issue.
Simply put, nerfed physique reverted the trait's potency to when I first got it.
"Sigh. No helping it."
Dream Demons thrive on human lust. I needed impure thoughts to activate the weakened trait properly.
In other words, get the tyrant hard. And right beyond this thin rural wall was young, pretty Erti.
Not human, sure—the holy sword who'd toyed with my neck—but that bred a dark, vengeful lust. Perfect fuel.
Damn bitch!
I pictured Erti, closed my eyes, slipped a hand into my pants, and stroked to erection. It rose quickly.
Feels like losing somehow. But for the trial...
The lust triggered the Dream Demon trait. Not another's dream, but my own. The lucid dream realm engulfed my tiny room.
Moments later, I slipped into that drowsy lucid state—body asleep, mind awake.
Then, something unexpected happened. My door creaked open. Someone entered. Erti.