A Single Night's Love
He had returned to the past. The cycle of death and regression—an ordeal he had endured dozens of times since becoming the Hero—held nothing novel anymore, but the point in time to which he had returned was completely unexpected.
When I received the marriage proposal?
By his reckoning, his regression ability always returned him to the pivotal crossroads leading to his demise; thus, hurtling several weeks back into the past was profoundly strange. And with good reason: if the true turning point that sealed his doom lay this far back, didn't that mean agreeing to marry in the first place had been the mistake all along?
"Very well, then give it some thought."
The Duke's voice snapped Einzel back to his senses.
"Yes, Your Grace. If you'll excuse me..."
He quickly exited the Luderan estate and boarded a waiting carriage. Perhaps he had made a reckless decision in the previous timeline, using his sheer exhaustion as an excuse. As the carriage rattled along the cobblestone road, his expression hardened into a grim scowl.
Back at his quarters, he turned the matter of the marriage to Sayne over in his mind.
First, for reasons unknown, House Luderan wanted him betrothed to Sayne.
Second, he had longed for an anchor to keep himself grounded, so he accepted the proposal, and the wedding was held.
Third, something went terribly wrong with Sayne along the way, and she murdered him.
Of these three points, what eluded him were why House Luderan had sought him out, and what Sayne's underlying issue had been. The motive behind House Luderan's proposal remained an enigma for now. However, what went wrong with Sayne was something he could deduce.
When asked for her thoughts regarding the betrothal, Sayne had indicated she wasn't opposed, yet she hadn't shown any genuine enthusiasm either. The problem was that her answer had been given when summoned before Duke Luderan himself.
What kind of man was the Duke of Luderan?
Officially, Duke Luderan was the supreme commander of the Imperial military and the patriarch of the Empire's premier noble household. There had to be a driving force behind how he attained and held such power—a reality Einzel had foolishly overlooked. Duke Luderan was a thorough, uncompromising man. He exhibited meticulous precision in his daily affairs, and even demonstrated it when he arranged the engagement ceremony the instant Einzel gave his assent.
Would such a man fail to apply that same ruthless thoroughness when questioning his own daughter?
...Yes. Sayne likely harbored her own reasons to reject the marriage, only to be thoroughly crushed beneath the weight of Duke Luderan's will. Reasons weighty enough to drive her to take her own life after murdering him. Those festering grievances and pent-up emotions must have driven her to kill him on their wedding night.
In that case, the reason Sayne had stabbed him was clear. Now came the question of what he ought to do next.
...Can't I just decline?
A wave of relief washed over him at this sudden, straightforward answer. Indeed, when he thought about it, House Luderan had no compelling reason to cling to him desperately. If he simply refused the marriage proposal from House Luderan, that would be the end of it. Sayne was gorgeous, and House Luderan was a prominent ducal family second to none. Even without him, suitors willing to line up by the cartload to marry her were dime a dozen.
Right. Let's just turn it down.
He set pen to paper and began drafting his polite refusal.
Several days drifted by in tranquil, uneventful peace. Eventually, however, a letter from Duke Luderan arrived one morning. Even though he knew it was unlikely, Einzel couldn't help fretting over whether the Duke might take offense. Yet when he unfolded the parchment, there was nothing out of the ordinary. It contained only a few courteous words expressing regret; none of the disasters he had feared had materialized.
He exhaled a long sigh and slumped back onto the sofa.
Well, all's well that ends well.
With his mind finally at ease, a faint smile crossed his lips.
That night, thick clouds veiled the moon, and a heavy twilight blanketed the air. The Hero sat reading a book by candlelight, occasionally glancing back at the fluttering curtains. And when he turned around just as he had before, his instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong.
Silence swallowed the wind.
An unnatural quiet and a bone-chilling aura descended, like sinking into the crushing depths of an abyss. The Hero rose slowly from his chair.
A masked man holding a sword stood before him.
Einzel swiftly summoned the Holy Sword. A halo of light flared along the masked man's blade, coalescing into fine, razor-sharp threads of luminescence wrapping tightly around the steel.
A High Expert.
It was a realm attained by only a select few among Experts, marked by its signature technique: Sword Threads. Only then did he realize his assailant was no common bandit, but an assassin who had come specifically for him. Cold sweat trickled down his neck.
Though he had barely learned to manifest Sword Qi through Sayne's guidance, he was still a half-baked fighter who relied on the Holy Sword just to draw out mana. Worse, his opponent was not merely an Expert, but a High Expert. Generously speaking, his chances of victory were less than one in ten. He could taste death on his tongue.
...I can't just die again like this.
He needed to assess whatever advantages he possessed. What edge did he hold over his enemy? Archery was out of the question in close quarters, but he could still cast basic magic and miracles. He threw up a protective barrier around his body. Naturally, he held no illusions that such a fragile shield could fully halt an attack laced with Sword Threads. Even so, it could turn an instantly fatal blow into a near-fatal one, and with Holy Power, even severe wounds could be healed.
Einzel lunged forward first. The masked man was flesh and blood; a clean strike with a sword would fell him just the same. It was far better to take the initiative and force the enemy on the defensive.
And then—
Clang!
The blade struck true against flesh, yet instead of the wet tearing of meat, it deflected with the sharp ring of metal clashing against steel. Einzel turned deathly pale.
Body-Protecting Ganggi.
A technique that reinforced the wielder's flesh using internal mana to repel hostile blows—an art accessible only to those High Experts standing on the very threshold of Master. His assessment shattered completely.
I can't win. Not a chance.
Seized by panic, he spun on his heel and fled.
"Futile."
The masked assassin closed the distance in an instant.
"Kh!"
Einzel fired mana bullets over his shoulder to slow his pursuer, but seeing the man advance without flinching, he realized resistance was useless and simply ran with all his might. Yet the masked man intercepted him before he could break away. Leaping through the air, the assassin cut off his escape, and in the split second Einzel faltered, severed his arm clean through the barrier.
"Aaaaargh!"
Blood erupted in a crimson geyser.
Not yet. Don't lose your mind yet.
Flinging the blood gushing from his severed stump, he blinded the masked man's eyes. Squeezing out every ounce of his remaining strength, he swung the Holy Sword. Cruelly, the man merely leaned back a fraction, and the blade did nothing more than graze the fabric of his mask.
A sword thrust surged toward his heart, and Einzel died.
Sayne stared at the projection with a dry, hollow gaze. Without grimacing or betraying panic, she watched him die in stoic silence, her brow furrowed in quiet gravity.
"Um, Sayne..."
"I'm stepping out for a moment."
The moment the projection faded, Sayne walked out of the room where the women had gathered. She slumped down onto the stone steps of the tower.
...She had killed him.
When the engagement had been discussed, she thought there might have been friction. She thought she might have played some part, directly or indirectly, in his demise. Yet never... never did she fathom that she had personally taken his life.
In her memories, when summoned before her father to reluctantly accept the union, she remembered thinking she might lose her mind. Yet the possibility that she herself would murder him had never crossed her mind. She had underestimated the wrath she harbored within herself. Or perhaps she had merely buried it, writing it off as the past.
Worse still, she recognized the masked man from the final moments of the vision. The burn scar on his jaw gave him away. His name was Jacques Lucolson—the deadliest blade among House Luderan's retainers, and the First Legion Commander of the Empire. Even now, he remained the supreme blade serving House Luderan beneath her command.
A man she had known since childhood, now her most trusted subordinate, had executed the Hero before her very eyes. Her father—the leash that had choked her entire life—had swung his sharpest blade to sever the throat of a Hero who dared defy his will.
She did not even know what to say. Words clawed at her throat, something she desperately wanted to vomit out straight from her heart, but it remained lodged in her chest.
Cough, cough...
Attempting to drag it out forced a harsh fit of coughing from her lungs. She still could not articulate her true feelings. She didn't know what emotions churned inside her, nor what words she wanted to speak.
...I truly know nothing at all, she mocked herself, a dry, bitter chuckle escaping her lips.
What on earth had he thought whenever he looked at her? How had he felt, greeting each new morning beside the very woman who had slaughtered him?
...Had he resented her enough to kill her a few times in return? Oddly enough, picturing that eased her torment ever so slightly. She had become a sinner in her own eyes, clutching at pain as though punishment alone could absolve her guilt.
Deep within her soul, she desperately prayed that he had despised her. For if he had not hated her, where was all that untethered agony supposed to go? Had he buried all that loneliness, agony, and terror deep inside his own breast, sealing it within his heart? She could never bear to let another sacrifice so much on her behalf. That simply was not who she was.
She recited a passage she had once read in the holy scriptures:
He who harms another shall himself be harmed.
It had to be so. Therefore, she had no right to complain even if she bore the full brunt of his hatred. Any foolish thought that he had betrayed her had long since been cast away. After all, she was the one who had wounded him first.
Biting her lip, she rose and started down the stairs. She wanted a drink. Something burning and merciless, strong enough to drown everything out.