The Apostle Falls, the Lady Regresses

The Apostle Olaf's head hit the floor before the regressed Young Lady. The embodiment of evil from the novel—who had killed Yuria's father—was meeting its end at the hands of her lady's butler.

Haa... It was unbelievable. I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I'd killed an Apostle with my own hands. This powerhouse who never lost to anyone... dead by my hand. To be honest, I'd braced myself for mutual destruction, so things working out this smoothly felt like a miracle.

I shoved the Apostle's severed head out of the Young Lady's sight and muttered under my breath.

"It's over."

The Young Lady's eyes should only behold beauty, not horrors like this.

After hiding the corpse behind some building rubble, I confirmed Olaf's body wouldn't twitch again. Then I stared at my clenched fist.

Kkuwaaak... It was the same fist as always, but it felt different now. Sturdier, overflowing with power. Like I'd been reborn in a new body.

Is this what a Sword Master feels like? Nothing seemed outwardly changed, but I had the sense I could do anything. Even face the Empire's greatest swordsman without flinching.

I nearly called up my status window in my mind, but hesitated and checked on the Young Lady first. Extended lifespan was great, but her well-being came before anything.

Using black magic potent enough to overwhelm an Apostle couldn't have been kind to her body. Serious internal injuries? Lingering aftereffects? A bad premonition gripped me, and I whipped my gaze toward her.

"Young Lady!"

"Ungnya."

Leaning against the wall, she looked utterly drained, slouched over. Thankfully, it seemed like only minor internal damage—she waved lazily at me with serene eyes.

"Young Lady!?"

One particularly striking detail...

"Jjiphal."

...was how her body had changed.

I blurted in shock, staring down at her. She'd shrunk into a tiny, dwarfish version of herself.

It wasn't some freak mutation—no extra ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arms or dwarf-like stunted torso. Just... chubby cheeks puffed out round. Eyes sharper, more venomous. But in a way that made her look utterly incapable of malice, no matter what.

"Pfft..."

"Don't laugh!"

Catching sight of her childlike form after so long, I burst out laughing and shouted at her.

"What is that?!"

The Young Lady had regressed. Back to that seven-year-old girl I'd first met.

"Puhaha! No, kuh... heh."

"Eeeek...!"

She looked up at me, cheeks inflating even more like balloons as she balled her tiny fists and glared.

"Don't. Laugh!"

"How could I not? Your body's—khk..."

"Eeeek... I said don't laugh."

"...Haa."

Any more teasing and she'd burst into tears, so I stopped and approached her.

"Why'd your body end up like this?"

She shook her head and answered in an innocently childish voice.

"Dunno."

"That's bad."

"Not bad."

"Really?"

She glanced at her shrunken hands and nodded.

"Just one day, it'll go back."

"Oh..."

"Black magic ran low, so it'll fill up quick."

"...Huh?"

"It's fine. I can refill it fast."

"How?"

She grinned like a little villain and winked.

"Secret."

A black magic-wielding evil lady, now looking the part of a true little baddie. I wanted to scold her, but nagging this adorable form felt impossible. I sighed softly and shook my head.

She spread her arms wide, gazing up at me with sparkling eyes, begging for a hug. I widened my eyes and shook my head.

"Huggie..."

"Young Lady."

"Ung?"

I looked down at her legs.

"Young Lady, right now..."

Her tiny legs stood firm on their own. I knew it was temporary, knew it was black magic backlash, but seeing her stand after so long moved me to tears.

In a trembling voice, I said,

"Young Lady... you're standing right now."

"Ung?"

She looked down at her legs, wiggling her pale toes. A question mark popped over her head, then an exclamation as her thighs jiggled—followed by a bizarre shriek.

"Hiiiik?! Eeeeeek?!"

"Young Lady..."

Overcome with emotion, she looked up at me with teary eyes.

"Ricardo..."

"Young Lady."

"Still... hug me."

"..."

She really had no sense of sentiment. With a deep sigh, I scooped her up princess-style. Her shrunken body was feather-light as I carried her away from the gruesome sights.

She wiggled her tiny fingers against my cheek, checking for injuries, probing for pain. Stretching my skin with a bright smile, she frowned and asked,

"Not hurt?"

I gazed at her warmly.

"No."

"For real."

"For real, I'm fine."

"Heehee."

Convinced by my firm answer, she beamed at me. Her worried touches didn't stop, and neither did my smile. I loved how she fretted endlessly, even after I assured her I was okay.

"More importantly, will you really go back to normal?"

"Ung. Why? Super weird?"

"No. You're great like this too, but personally, I prefer the Young Lady with her treasure pouch."

"Treasure..."

Glancing down at her chest at "treasure pouch," her eyes bulged in horror, face going blank.

"Hiiiik!!!"

She really was hilarious.

"My treasure!"

"I'll fetch it separately later."

"Ung. No sneaking from Ricardo's pouch."

"...Busted?"

"Yup."

I smiled at her playfulness and kept walking. Cradled in my arms, she pouted and asked,

"Ricardo. Am I heavy?"

"Light as a feather. You were always light, but now you're like fluff."

"Heehee... Hey, Ricardo."

"Yes."

"Doesn't it hurt where the old man beat you?"

"..."

She'd only seen my ugly side, never the cool moments, and now she hit where it hurt—literally asking if the beatdown stung. It kinda did, emotionally.

I flicked her forehead lightly and grinned.

"I hit him harder."

"Liar."

"Truth."

"Really?"

"Yes."

The Young Lady—with a Sword Master on the cusp, no, a Sword Master butler—still saw me as fragile, stroking my cheek endlessly. Impossible not to adore her.

Seated in her wheelchair, wrapped in a blanket she'd found somewhere, she gazed at the ruined inn and said,

"But Ricardo, where do we sleep?"

"Good question."

Lots to handle. I gave the vanished inn a wry smile.

Does this world even have home insurance?

Would be nice. Anyway, it'd work out. Pushing personal matters aside, I focused on finishing the fight. Olaf was dead, but one enemy remained.

"Daddy..."

I approached the writhing black mass cautiously, gazing down with mixed feelings. A monster calling for its father on the brink of death tugged at me.

In the novel, this creature died by Yuria's hand alongside Olaf—more like purification by holy power, really. Either way, it couldn't live...

Gripping Tyrbing, I hesitated.

"Young Lady."

"Yeah?"

I pointed at the monster with my sword, asking her take. My head said kill it, but the backstory made me pause.

She shrugged at the black creature.

"Dunno."

"I see."

"Ung."

Fair enough. It'd probably die on its own. Sheathing Tyrbing, I spoke to the dying monster.

"I'm sorry."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

".."

"Sorry for your misfortune because of me."

It reached out tentatively. Not quite a hand, but the touch carried warmth—like comforting reassurance. Patting my shoulder, embracing me softly.

Thank you.

A faint voice from the monster. Laughable, but I couldn't laugh. Gratitude from the man who killed her father—and her—felt wrong.

I bowed my head deeply.

"Thank you."

And so, Olaf's daughter breathed her last. Where she'd go—heaven, hell?—I didn't know. Atheist that I was, wishing her well felt silly.

I nodded faintly and placed my hand on the fading girl's form.

"You did well."

Where she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠vanished, a single photo lay amid black ashes. I bent down, held it to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sunlight, and smiled bitterly.

...

It showed a young Olaf beaming with his little girl.

To the nose-picking Young Lady—who hastily hid her hand behind her back when our eyes met—I chuckled,

"May I build a grave for her?"

My final respect.

At the capital's magic tower branch, Yuria stood before the spatial transfer magic circle, reading the letter from Shartia.

The urgent knock at her dorm at dawn from Princess Shartia had contained something Yuria never expected.

An ill omen she couldn't shake. No one sees their burning hometown and thinks it's fine.

Yuria was terrified. Of her worst fears coming true.

Shartia said to her,

"All set."

"Yes."

"It'll be okay."

Shartia's worried pat on her shoulder offered no comfort.

And so, Yuria stepped into the portal north.