Darkness Crumbles
A pure white sword path sliced through the pitch-black curtain. A faint light in its midst gradually swelled, soon transforming the surrounding scenery back to that original place. A babbling stream. Two horses and a mercenary, now cold corpses. The fishy tang of blood teasing the nostrils. Whoosh—the wind blew in, tousling the boy's black hair. A long sunset stretched through the forest. Space twisted in a semicircle around Licht. The landscape beyond the warped space appeared distorted. Blue currents crackled and sparked intermittently. And beneath it all, the corpse of Gust—his waist completely bisected. Even in instant death, the Execution Sword remained clutched in his right hand. Eyes bulging wide. He likely never understood what had struck him right up to the end. From beneath the torso that was all that remained of his body, severed entrails spilled out with hot blood.
"Cough!"
Licht, his eyes unfocused as he scanned the area, suddenly vomited blood.
"Cough, cough!"
The circles raged wildly out of control. The 7th-circle unique magic, Eclipse. He'd used it once before in a spar with Shult, but it was still an unfinished spell, not yet fully optimized. To seize all the energy in the area, including mana itself, and isolate the space entirely—it bordered on the miraculous. And now, Licht's body was too frail to even weave six circles properly. He'd forcibly linked the sixth and seventh using profound insights. It was on another level from the fifth. Back then, he could suppress it himself. But now...
"Ah..."
Drip, drip. Blood poured. Droplets of it stained his clothes red. His vision spun. His head throbbed as if someone had bashed it viciously. Staking his life wasn't an empty phrase. Not one, not two, but three Executioners. No way he could face them with five circles. The moment he'd drawn the Ascension Sword, he'd resolved to weave six. No—more than that.
'Not yet...'
Step.
'Finish...'
Step.
Moving was agony. Every joint screamed from the backlash of forcing mana through his body like explosions. Yet Licht advanced step by certain step. With astonishing mental fortitude, he suppressed the wildly tangled, rampaging circles. He couldn't stop yet. One more was still alive.
The fourth Executioner. Yon Schneider.
"Gah! Ack! Urgh, heuk..."
The highest-ranking man who had led the two others was coughing up blood, dying. In that split second, he'd somehow twisted away, so his body wasn't bisected. Was it the skill befitting the 4th Seat, a cut above the rest? Or some hidden sacred relic? 'The second.'
He pondered as he walked toward the man. This wasn't his first time facing the 4th Executioner. In his previous life, when Licht had been on the cusp of 6th circle, they'd clashed in a desperate fight to the death. The differences? It had been one-on-one then, not three-against-one, and his Execution Sword had been a touch sharper.
'Still...'
His reaction speed was incredible. No sacred relic—it didn't feel like that. Dodging half of Licht's 7th-circle unique magic Eclipse must have been pure instinct and innate reflexes. He was the first to ever keep up with Licht's reactions back then.
But that was all over now. The man was barely clinging to life. From his left waist, nearly to the right end—his central nerves and spine were utterly severed. It was a miracle he hadn't died instantly like Gust. Somehow, immense holy power was holding onto his last thread of life.
"Kahak! Kack! Heuk... kuhuhu..."
Licht halted before the dying man. In his hand was only the bloodied Ascension Sword gripped in his right. The Azure Flower had long since melted into the air. As he leveled the golden blade, the man let out a laugh—pain or mockery unclear.
"7th circle... space magic..."
"......"
"Rumors of your victory at Cherbito weren't exaggeration, after all. Now I understand why Bryce and Kars fell."
Blood spewed from his mouth as he murmured in lament.
"But... I still don't get it. How does someone your age possess such power? This isn't about talent or effort. It's impossible. You..."
His emotions surged.
"Who... are you?"
Who are you?
Licht gave no answer to the man's final words. He couldn't, even to himself. Ghost of the battlefield. A lingering spirit unable to pass on. The world's sole regressor, returned against time. None precisely defined him. He lived without regrets. He wouldn't repeat his past life's mistakes. So was he different from before? "No answer...?"
The man forced out words. His ragged breaths had steadied somehow.
"It was His Holiness the Pope's command. Kill Bryce and Kars, execute the heretic who defied God's will."
"......"
"Yes, you're a heretic who defied God's will. Yet for some reason, the omniscient Isterria smiled upon you. Not us, the rightful blades of the Pope."
His breath faded. His hazy eyes dimmed.
"Is this... also God's will...?"
"...Done talking?"
"A fatal wound. You could drop dead any moment yourself, yet you feign composure."
The man raised his right arm. Like dead Gust, he gripped an Execution Sword.
"Now I don't even know who's the heretic."
It was literal. The goddess of light, Isterria, was absolute. The one true god who created the world. The Pope who spoke for her was supremely holy and sacred, and his blades—the Executioners—equally so. Defeat was impossible. Failure, too. For decades as an Executioner, that word had no place in his life. And today, he lost. Three Executioners to one man. To the very heretic they'd been ordered to execute. Was this God's will? His steadfast faith shook for the first time.
The man thrust his raised Execution Sword into his own left chest. His body shuddered once. But only briefly. He spewed a gush of blood, and his right arm fell limp to the side. The light in his eyes vanished, like the others.
The last Executioner was dead.
Licht surveyed the area, Ascension Sword in hand. Dusk had fallen over the crimson sunset. Corpses of two horses and five men. And the sole survivor: himself. Strength drained from his body. With numb exhaustion, the Ascension Sword slipped from his right hand.
Clang.
Only when he heard the sword hit the ground did Licht realize he was collapsing. His heart burned. His exhales scorched. Vision blurred. Consciousness dulled. 'Control...' Impossible. The seven hopelessly tangled circles ignored him. Unlike his first Mana Blade, calming this rampage required a 7th-circle+ grand mage or high priest rivaling a cardinal. But none were here. Only Licht remained. This was why he'd braced for death when weaving the seventh circle.
He tried to untangle them but soon gave up, releasing the circles. Sensation vanished. The heart scorching his chest, the pounding headache—all gone. Instead, a faint floating feeling. Licht knew what this heralded. He'd felt it once before, after slaying the Holy Sword. Death loomed. Realizing it drew a hollow laugh. Even after time regression's miracle, his end was this pathetic. He hadn't even reached the Holy Kingdom, let alone the Orkin Empire.
In his fading mind, he mocked himself inwardly. 'This too.'
God's will?
As consciousness slipped, such thoughts filled him. Ten years on, he hadn't changed from when he'd left the family. Too weak to uphold even one conviction. The Emperor might regret their sole vow seeing him like this. Amid those thoughts, something squirmed in his bosom. Unbidden by his will, it rose before his eyes.
The Sage's Tower's top floor. The silver pocket watch he'd carried as a talisman since receiving it from the Great Sage. Licht gazed at it hazily, then reached out. It shimmered like a mirage about to vanish. Yet strangely, a faint, warm glow reached him through the numbness. Golden radiance erupted, enveloping everything. The boy lost consciousness.
***
Hot. So hot. His heart blazed like fire, driving him mad. He groaned with ragged breaths. Opening his eyes revealed the same forest. No.
'Different.'
Where is this?
'Me.'
Why am I alive?
His body shivered. The wind chilled. His heart still felt ready to burst, and fever-sweat soaked him entirely.
"Ah..."
His mind was foggy. Like wandering a dream. Maybe it wasn't real. He'd killed all three Executioners and collapsed. The forcibly woven seven circles on the verge of exploding. No way he survived. He'd seen the pocket watch rise and golden light burst forth—but so what? His condition was dire enough for instant death. He'd even blacked out. No survival possible. Still wasn't. Consciousness flickered. Senses dulled. His trembling body wouldn't obey. He saw something, but couldn't comprehend it. Thoughts wouldn't connect. Yet Licht rose somehow. Unaware he was even doing so. And he walked aimlessly.
The heart's circles still burned to burst, legs shook relentlessly—but he walked. 'What.'
'Am I doing?'
'Walking?'
Where to? The scenery had shifted slightly. Same forest, but no stream sounds. Had he moved unconsciously while out? No— if it's a dream, why think like this? Breath came short after a few steps. But he couldn't feel it. His gaze fixed ahead, legs advanced unwittingly. Like all life chasing fire. Instinct. He didn't know where or what toward. Yet he pressed on. With each step, he drew closer to whatever he blindly pursued. Then his legs buckled. Body swayed. Vision spun. A shock surged through him. The cold, hard ground's faint touch. Too real for a dream.
'Dream.'
A dream. 'A...'
'Dream...?'
Really? Doubt arose for the first time. Was this truly a dream? Not quite a life-flashing montage. The one after battling Orkin's Seven Swords felt different. But doubt didn't linger. It didn't matter anymore. Dream or reality, circles rampaged, body broken, senses distant. Death was certain. Crawling awhile, Licht slumped fully.
'Sebrik, Lena.'
Suddenly, the two most precious came to mind at the end. 'Aila.'
And the girl who'd first shown him kindness without strings. 'Jack, Ranin.'
The loyal mercenaries who'd died because of him. 'I.'
Killed them. Treated them as disposable in his subconscious. Knew death was possible, yet traveled together. Could've sent them straight to El Sion, but didn't. Gave worthless mana stones as false charity to justify it. Too late when realized. Sick hypocrite. He loathed that fleeting thought in himself. Like his pre- and post-regression selves merging. 'Excuses.'
Rationalizations. Was this atonement? Licht slowly closed his eyes. Eyelids fell heavy. The pocket watch dangled limply over his neck, no longer glowing. The Ascension Sword lay powerless atop his right hand—when had it followed? As consciousness faded...
"————"
A sound. With rustling bushes. Barely audible, but instinct told Licht: the approaching presence was what he'd chased unconsciously. 'Holy power...'
Stronger than any he'd sensed. Akin to the golden light from the watch. The presence halted. Long hair cascaded like night sky. Platinum strands gleaming in moonlight. A girl murmuring nonstop. Just before vision sealed, Licht saw golden eyes gazing down in panic.