Civil Servant Marygold (9): Screams. Death. Flames. Smoke.

Screams. Death. Flames. Smoke. Bloodshot eyes. Mud. Blazes. Shouts. The sound of horses galloping, steel clashing against steel, people rolling on the ground and those chasing them.

To Lancel, the battlefield was perhaps more familiar than his own home. At the very least, he'd spent over fifty years here before dying in this very place. Back in the days when he endlessly pursued strength. Back when he still had so much drive left in him. Back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠when he wandered ceaselessly in search of people he'd never see again.

Lancel came face-to-face with a man whose eyes mirrored those from his own past. A man trudging through the wheat field, sword in hand, with the blazing battlefield at his back.

"Sir Lancel. I have one final request."

"You're always so full of ambition."

As the approaching Adelhardt's aura grew palpable, Lancel drew his sword. The energy radiating from his body was noticeably different from before.

"Lower your stance. Fall back."

"Sir Lancel...!"

Marygold's cry faded into the distance. Lancel moved forward with swift steps. Adelhardt did the same. A boiling energy surged from his entire body, trickling toward the tip of his blade. The sword, shrouded in heat haze, emitted a faint blue glow.

"You've grown, Adelhardt."

"Thanks to your teachings, Sir Lancel. I am deeply grateful."

"Genius really is a joy to teach."

"I've learned that surpassing one's master is a disciple's duty."

"I'm not quite your master."

Their swords flew toward each other simultaneously.

Ka-gang!

Lancel's blade slid along the other's like water, tracing a perfect arc as it sliced through Adelhardt's body.

"...!"

Adelhardt dropped to his knees in the wheat field. Sliced wheat leaves scattered down like flower petals.

"...How...?"

It ended in a single clash. No second exchange.

"I thought I'd closed the gap..."

His face held emptiness, awe, and grief. Adelhardt had grown step by step over the years, shedding blood, sweat, frustration, and tears. Yet the duel ended before a second clash. The more he dwelled on it, the more futile it felt.

Lancel had experienced the same several times himself. Decades melting away in a single arrow or sword stroke.

"..."

Adelhardt finally gazed at his fallen sword hilt with a relieved expression.

"I'm ashamed to have shown you such poor swordsmanship."

"Blame it on bad luck."

Lancel helped Marygold, who had been standing back, to her feet as he replied.

"You might've even surpassed me with enough time and a proper teacher."

There were many geniuses on this continent, and Adelhardt was among the best, but he still lacked the time and opportunities to surpass Lancel.

"Your talent far outshines a mere mortal like me, head to toe. I'm serious."

"You overpraise me."

With those final words, Lancel left the collapsing Adelhardt behind and crossed the wheat field once more.

"Hek, hek!"

"Tired already?"

"N-no, hek, hek, hek!"

He grabbed the panting Marygold's arm and ran for a while. That's when it happened.

"Sir Lancel! Ahead!"

Hundreds of cavalry blocked Lancel's path, the battlefield at their backs.

"Administrator Mary! So you're here! We've been searching for you!"

It was the Fifth Prince in his armor, flanked by his knights. Even Count ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Runter, who had just lost his son, was there.

"There's nowhere left for you to run in this vast plain. Die here or come with me—those are your only choices! Choose, Administrator Mary... no."

He tossed his helmet aside, emotions flashing across his face: rage, love-hate, curses, possessiveness.

"Marygold."

Lancel pushed the trembling Marygold behind him once more.

"Obsessive men aren't popular, Your Highness."

22.

"Wasting your precious life on just one woman. You're a fool, Lancel Dante."

"And here I thought the prince wagering tens of thousands of fates on one woman wouldn't say that. Won't you fight the war? Don't you pity the soldiers battling without their commander over there?"

"You know nothing."

The Fifth Prince bared his teeth in a grin.

"To me, she's worth it."

Smoke from the burning wheat field rose to the heavens. The prince pointed at Lancel.

"Capture Administrator Mary alive. Kill Lancel Dante here and bring me his head. He's sure to be trouble if left alive."

Marygold's face drained of color.

"S-surrender...! I'll surrender...!"

"Stay put."

Lancel struck the nape of Marygold's neck with his scabbard as she tried to step forward.

"Kek!"

He gently laid her down as she crumpled.

Did I hit too hard?

He checked her nose with his finger—she was breathing. She even snored lightly, her face utterly at peace in sleep.

She's fine.

Lancel chuckled. The cavalry closed in from behind. Count Runter approached on foot.

"Lancel. Your presence here means my son is no longer of this world, I presume."

"That's about right. I'm sorry for taking your precious son to the afterlife, Count. Truly."

"No need to apologize. If anything, I'm the sorry one. I abandoned my knightly honor for revenge."

"Group lynchings don't really fit chivalry."

Lancel raised his sword. Over three hundred knights faced him, including Count Runter. Victory was impossible, of course. But this was a battlefield. He knew well how to shatter their morale.

"Die cleanly, Lancel Dante."

Lancel charged straight at the sneering Fifth Prince.

"What...!"

"Y-Your Highness!"

Space seemed to compress; the prince's face was suddenly close. He drew his sword in panic, but too late. Lancel's blade pierced the prince's heart effortlessly.

He saw the prince's hardened face as he vomited blood.

"...Lancel... Dan...!"

"I'm so glad I didn't send Marygold to you at first. Hell, I might even thank the Sixth Prince. Come to think of it, everything he's done has helped me."

Lancel shook the blood from his blade onto the wheat. The prince's body slid from his horse.

"H-His Highness...!"

The knights' belated cries of horror followed.

"Lancel Dante!"

"Traitor! Seize him!"

"Murderer of imperial blood! Kill him!"

Traitor, huh. In this case, a traitor to traitors?

Hm.

Who knows.

"Die!"

"Traitor Lancel Dante!"

Swords rained down on him.

...

"Here! Over here!"

"...What... what the hell happened here?"

The imperial support forces, rushing to the wheat field on urgent news, were dumbfounded. Far from the main battlefield, one section of the field was littered with corpses. An area they hadn't even monitored.

Dozens of armored knights lay scattered there.

"Hiiik!"

A man in gold-adorned armor soon caught their eyes.

"The Fifth Prince...! Prince Erwin!"

"Then all these are..."

Every corpse in the vast field was one of the Fifth Prince's knights.

23.

"Peaceful."

The evening was so serene it belied the battlefield, filled only with the chirp of crickets. Lancel shifted his gaze downward. Marygold lay cradled in his arms. They were alone in the dim cave.

"Whew."

It was a fight he couldn't win anyway, so Lancel chose flight. As casualties mounted past dozens, the knights' morale visibly crumbled without their lord. Seizing that one chaotic moment, Lancel bolted.

He crouched low in the waist-high wheat, dragging Marygold with one hand—cowardly, yes. Now, just over the valley, and the road to the capital would open. Find a village for supplies and a cart, or wait for the capital-bound train.

So far, so good.

But Lancel had ducked into a cave in haste. He had no choice.

"Count Runter, abandoning chivalry entirely was a bit much."

Lancel clutched a particularly deep wound among ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠many. Something small was embedded in his chest—a palm-sized arrow. A bolt from a crossbow.

What could he do? Dozens of knights firing crossbows in the melee—it was too much to dodge everything. In the end, Count Runter's bolt pierced him, leading to this state.

The count had avenged his son after all.

Third-loop Lancel wouldn't have taken such a hit. Or he'd have survived unscathed. But for this slothful version, both were impossible.

Honestly, how can anyone stay motivated for centuries straight?

Lancel felt wronged. He'd trained sporadically for exercise, hadn't he? Lazy, sure, but not a total slob. That's what he wanted to claim.

"Mm."

As he grimaced bitterly, Marygold stirred in his arms.

"...Sir Lancel...?"

He felt her awaken from sleep.

"Where... what happened?"

"Everything went fine. Just one more mountain to cross. Train comes next month, so rest up and we'll take it."

Lancel muttered like he was making excuses. It didn't last.

Marygold sensed something off and groped his body. Seeing her palm slick with blood, her eyes welled up instantly.

"This, what..."

"...Tripped and rolled on the way?"

Lancel made a joke that wouldn't land. Spotting the arrow in his chest, fat tears poured from her eyes.

"Sir Lancel...!"

"Mary, people die."

Not even his killer line worked.

"Everything, everything..."

Tears gushed from her eyes like a faucet.

"Everything... it's all because of me, Sir Lancel."

"No. It's my laziness. So..."

"It's because of me, because of me—everyone close to me disappears. Always, every time..."

Her voice trembled aimlessly.

"The people I love, my mom, dad, dog, horse, butler, home, wildflowers in the front yard, friends, even you, Sir Lancel... all because of me..."

"Self-deprecation doesn't suit you, Administrator Mary."

"But it's true. All of it."

Lancel's eyes darkened.

...So that's why she kept her distance at first?

Marygold truly had a cursed fate. Beyond losing family, name, and status at ten, some demon clung to her life. Lancel wondered if he was part of it now.

Regret surged. What if he'd done better? Thought harder? Tried more?

Next time, I'll... do... better...

At what?

...Just... anything...

Only now did Lancel understand the regressor's heart—Marygold's. Unlike him, numb to time and death, her feelings for him were genuine, even in her gluttonous laziness.

That was their difference. Him treating her as a tool or insurance, her as fate.

His conscience pricked.

"Hic..."

As her sobs grew, Lancel pinched her nose lightly.

"Mary. Give me a chance."

"...?"

He met her gaze more seriously than ever.

"All the sorrow and tragedy you've endured... every bond and happiness you've lost... I'll prove none of it was your fault."

He wiped her tears, gently brushing back her molten-gold ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hair.

"I'll prove you're not to blame. Just wait until then."

His vision blurred. Too much blood lost. Yeah, surviving this long was a miracle.

"I'll... Marygold... your happiness..."

His eyes closed slowly. Strength ebbed from his body.

I'll...

A choked sob escaped Marygold's lips, the last sound in his ears.

Thus, ten years passed.

Taang! 'Fire.'

Taang! 'Fire again.' Taang! 'One more.'

As the iron ball shot from the long barrel pierced the armor, ecstasy welled up inside Marygold.

'Success, Master! No malfunctions at all!'

'Yeah. Finally complete.'

It was the fruit of her long-operated workshop. A cannon fired by hand. A hand cannon—a gun.

Marygold had no doubt this would change the era.

'Even a child could kill a knight if they can pull the trigger.'

Magic usable without study, a machine that spat fire, power that pierced armor.

The natural enemy of knighthood.

'Watch. Soon, the age of knights will end.'

Gripping the gun, old memories revived within Marygold. The blackened wheat field in flames, galloping hooves, clashing swords, the swarm of knights overwhelming her fiancé.

'The age of knights that killed him.'

"Technology."

Quitting high office to open a workshop. Lancel clutched his head at Marygold's unpredictable twists.

Of course, since he died midway, ending the regression here would've been trouble. Even this "high official route," which he'd thought orthodox, veering so wildly was disorienting enough.

What now?

Lancel pondered. He needed a goal to replace the Empress ending. And to stop dying pointlessly.

Maybe chase standard endings?

Regular endings—like the "High Official Marygold" he just missed, the ones the game pushed as canon. Marriage was the most standard, but there were plenty others.

What to pick?

Marygold's state was key. No plan survived if she appeared as a wild hermit or something.

Hm.

He'd see when it happened.

* * *

"I hate swordsmen."

The next loop arrived.

"...Knights just rub me wrong."

Lancel met a Marygold gripped by knight phobia.

"Honestly, you too."

Her loathing was so intense, even the usually friendly Lancel couldn't escape her sharp gaze. He was a knight, after all. Son of a proper knightly house.

Beyond iron walls—straight-up hatred...?

Horror. Shock. Hurt feelings.

"Magic's the best! Magic forever! I love magic!"

And so, Lancel met "Apprentice Mage Marygold."

"Magic! Love it! Love it!"

"..."

Obsessively so.