Warrior Marygold (4)

7. In the instant their blades clashed, a torrent of emotions surged between them. Sweat mingled, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ragged breaths were exchanged, and bloodshot eyes locked in scrutiny—every act forged an unbreakable bond. Back in his early childhood, when Lancel had first transmigrated into this world, before the prison of infinite regression had claimed him, his old master had taught him that this was the essence of the warrior's way. The camaraderie born from battle.

His master had been a devout believer in it. No, a fanatic. He'd preached that true love was born from fighting with the intent to kill the one standing before you. You get the idea? He wasn't joking when he claimed duels were better than sex. Of course, the common verdict was that he was just a war-crazed lunatic.

Today, Lancel felt like he finally understood.

"Hah!"

The emotions packed into Marygold's sword hilt were a chaotic mess of unresolved wandering. Her blade tips flew at him in disarray, still riddled with hesitation. From her grip to her shoulders, waist to knees, toes to the crown of her head—every tiny tremor screamed of uncollected turmoil. In that flow, Lancel sensed her drift as inevitably as fate itself.

"If you've drawn your sword, don't hesitate, Mary. Look straight at the person in front of you."

Lancel shifted his stance with the wooden sword.

"In this world right now, there's only you and me. No one else."

"……!"

A straight upright blade, body sideways. It was as if the sword concealed his entire form. Marygold fell into the illusion that she faced not a man, but a blade incarnate.

"That's..."

The dazed 3rd Prince's mouth parted slightly.

"The ancient imperial swordsmanship."

Lancel's form blurred for an instant. At the same moment, a massive shock roiled inside the 3rd Prince.

"Kuh!"

The prince hurriedly clamped his mouth shut. It was the impact from Lancel's wooden sword striking Marygold twice.

"Hng... huh?"

Marygold's face went blank, expecting pain that never came.

"I went easy. Real easy."

A lie. He'd hit her full force. Of course, Marygold had no way of knowing. Every bit of damage she took ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right now belonged to the 3rd Prince. Lancel had no reason to hold back.

His wooden sword relentlessly hammered her openings. In counter, retreat, advance—he shadowed her like a ghost, pressing without mercy.

"What the hell..."

"Is this? How's any of this happening?"

Confusion spread across the mercenaries' faces.

"Your skills have improved, young master."

"Improved? This is... a completely different person."

Even the escorts' faces twitched.

Objectively, Lancel's swordplay wasn't flashy. Just brutally efficient. Deceptively cunning.

"Mary."

"I'll end it quick."

Each time the wooden sword struck Mary, the red rings flickering in her eyes faded thinner.

—Remaining mana: 35%

Stumble!

"Are you alright?"

Hestie's voice came from behind as the 3rd Prince staggered. Cold sweat beaded his face.

"How can a mana-less human... counter my magic...?"

His pupils trembled aimlessly. Even as a tavern wench, she was tougher than greenhorn mercenaries. And from the moment high-rank Overflow magic took hold, she wasn't human anymore. A monster, on par with beasts or demons.

To suppress that with pure sword skill? The 3rd Prince had never witnessed such a feat. Not once.

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

Feeling his mana drain in a flash, the prince slowly collapsed to the floor. A congenital magic genius, this was his first true mana exhaustion since early childhood.

—Remaining mana: 10%.

—Remaining mana: 9%.

—Remaining mana: 8%... 5%.

As Lancel's sword swung for the final time, their wooden blades crossed and shattered together. Amid flying splinters, Marygold's eyes lost their color for a split second.

Lancel caught her crumpling body in both arms. Her feverish heat seeped through, scorching like fire. He met her glistening eyes.

"Mary, why'd you come at me like that?"

We weren't strangers, were we? That's what Lancel wanted to ask.

"......I wanted to know."

Marygold's weary lips parted slowly. Her voice, drained of stamina and spirit, was a fragile thread that might snap without careful listening.

"Know? What?"

"The man... in my dreams... what kind of... person he is."

Dreams? Lancel couldn't press further. Her eyes had fully closed by then. But he understood.

She remembers the previous loops? Not completely, perhaps. Fragments lingered within her. Why else lunge at a stranger and say such things?

Lancel gazed at Marygold's face. Her body had grown unrecognizably from their first meeting. Yet in his arms, she felt impossibly light. As if she'd scatter any moment.

* * *

"Kuhuk!"

The 3rd Prince shook off Hestie's support and bolted into the alley. A black clot of blood erupted from his mouth onto the ground. Mana drained too swiftly, inflicting internal wounds.

"Hahaha."

He wiped his mouth, letting out hollow laughter.

"A knight who wields the old empire's sword... Father would've loved that if he were alive."

A complex smile twisted his lips, tangled with myriad emotions.

8. Lancel tried to lay Marygold gently on the bed. Or so he intended. Peeling off the leech-like girl proved impossible. Her grip was ironclad, unbelievable for someone exhausted.

Deciding against forcing it, Lancel relented.

She'll let go eventually if I stay still.

In the end, he climbed onto the bed beside her. A wildflower scent wafted from her sweat-damp, fever-hot body. A nostalgic aroma.

Lancel closed his eyes. Memories surfaced of first awakening in this world. The days when everything was alien, when he knew nothing.

'......'

Two hundred years of life blurred old memories. But some never faded.

Princess.

Closing his eyes made it vivid.

Lancel couldn't bring himself to push Marygold away. He stayed like that for a long while. By now, her familiar Pina was probably throwing a fit. Some random man hugging her master and all.

Not my fault. Your master's the one clinging.

When he tried to pull away slightly, her arms only tightened. The sun had set by the time Lancel finally escaped her grasp.

9. The next day.

"Here, Marygold. Your bronze badge."

When Marygold regained her senses and returned to the guild, Lancel handed her the copper medallion. She stared at it blankly, as if caught off guard.

"C-can I really take this, um, Master?"

"......Call me Master."

"Master."

"I wasn't gonna give it at first."

Lancel shook his head at the other mercenaries who'd received iron badges.

"But the average level here's just pathetic."

They all averted their eyes. Even Lancel was surprised. Sure, he'd scraped them together hastily, but for the capital's mercenaries to average this low?

Only one had earned silver, and bronze recipients barely numbered two hands' worth.

"Bronze badge..."

Marygold flushed, gazing at the medallion in her palm.

"When can I start taking requests?"

"Today if you want. Why?"

"......Life's a bit tight right now..."

Lancel barely suppressed the urge to say, Want me to spot you some cash?

No, can't. What if she marries me again? She's future empress material.

Anyone overhearing might peg him for a narcissist, but facts were facts—it had happened before.

After a moment's thought, Lancel beckoned Hestie.

"Hestie, line up some requests for Mary first."

"For a fresh bronze badge? Not much fits. Escort duty, thief busts, sewer cleaning, debt collection, brothel troublemakers, that sort of small stuff."

"I'll do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it! Anything!"

Marygold glanced at Lancel as she spoke.

What? He couldn't fathom why she eyed him like that.

"Give me all of them! I'll handle everything!"

"One at a time. One at a time."

Marygold's persistent gaze unnerved Lancel, but he chalked it up to imagination.

......I didn't screw up again, did I?