To the North — 5
Beating Bunta had felt good, but the exhaustion that crashed down on me afterward was something else entirely. It had been a long time since I'd pushed my mana that hard, I supposed. I'd thought it would be fine when I used it, but splitting that armor had clearly been a stretch too far.
So there I was, barely keeping myself upright with my sword still in hand, when someone stepped up beside me and slipped a shoulder under my arm.
"You pushed yourself, didn't you? Was it really that important to catch my eye?"
Adele asked with a playful grin. Not that I could honestly claim I'd had no intention of impressing her—I had thought, at the very least, that I needed to show myself capable of earning support. When I answered with an awkward smile, she patted my shoulder and let a thread of mana flow into my body. Enough to steady me, subtle enough that no one else would notice. I looked at her, and she pressed a finger briefly to her lips before pulling away.
The gesture said, don't mention it. I nodded and could only watch her in silence.
"I didn't expect you to beat Bunta. Still, I'd say he's the most skilled of my adjutants. His temper flares up sometimes, but that's his only flaw."
"It was a close call. If it had dragged on much longer, I would have lost."
"Don't say that in front of Bunta. You're better off teasing him about being unable to fight at all."
I knew Bunta's temperament well enough. If I acted humble, he'd only fly into a rage—so teasing was the kinder option. His pride was fixed so absolutely in place that extending a hand to him now, sitting slumped on the ground, would likely do more harm than good.
Crack.
I'd barely finished the thought when the sword in my hand, unable to endure any more mana, snapped. I stared blankly as the blade crumbled away, then dropped the hilt that was all that remained and let out a small laugh. So much for it lasting one more fight. I'd need a new sword after all.
"Last I checked, my sword is in perfect condition."
"Yours isn't exactly an ordinary sword, is it? In any case, I'll have to get myself a new one."
At that, Adele shook her head. No need for that, she said, and with a faint smile she added, "You don't need to buy one. Just bill me."
"I'm sorry—what? Surely not—"
"You're my adjutant now. You think I can't manage a single sword? Don't worry about things like that."
Chest puffed out, Adele drew close and whispered as if boasting, "For what it's worth, I'm rather rich."
"...Is that so."
I honestly had no idea how to respond, so simply agreeing with her was all I could manage. Her habit of not-so-subtly bragging about her wealth was exactly the same as before. Then again, if it had changed, that would have been stranger.
Once things had been more or less settled, my days consisted of nothing more than lying in my room and letting time pass. I had become Adele's adjutant, but my formal appointment was still a little way off, and even when I did begin, it would come after the Barbarian Subjugation—so there was plenty of slack.
"...No response, then."
I had tried reaching Mirajen, but there wasn't the faintest sign of an answer. I knew she'd be busy in her own way, but I hadn't imagined she'd charge recklessly all the way up to the Northwestern Region. I'd told her not to act rashly and to prioritize her own safety above all if anything went wrong—surely, at this point, she'd at least be looking after herself.
The barbarians of the North were far crueler creatures. The land had always been close to lawless; it was only Adele's unification of it that had imposed any order at all. Left to itself, it was a place where, by now, the barbarians might well be parading people around on poles and think nothing of it.
Mirajen surely knew that too. And yet—if anything, she was likely worrying more about her own station than I gave her credit for. That, I suspected, was what had driven her north.
Haaah.
The sigh that slipped out unbidden was born of the helplessness that kept circling in my head. That was the real reason I so rarely took up a sword anymore.
There had been a time when I believed the sword could accomplish everything—and when, in the end, it accomplished nothing, and I repeated regression after regression. When I was finally called Sword Saint and had even attained enlightenment, I was confident I could do anything. With a sword in hand I could cut down half a dozen knights without breaking a sweat, so surely no assassin could kill me. I had come to believe that death and I were far apart.
In those days, I kept Yuria in good humor, and my relations with Theresia and the Princess were decent enough. Whatever crisis came, I thought I could overcome it. Even if I were branded a traitor, I could simply flee. It was that careless ease of thinking that had been my ruin.
One thing I had learned through so many regressions: there were always things I didn't know, and always unforeseen variables waiting to spring out. If it were simply that I was too dull to foresee them, I'd have shrugged it off—but even facing the same situation again and again, peculiar circumstances would occasionally arise. Yuria's madness growing more severe, say, or Theresia revealing her true colors early and pulling some unanticipated scheme.
That was exactly why, in this life, I had removed Theresia a little sooner. Whatever variable she might have become, it no longer mattered. There could be no lingering attachment in killing her now. What I watched for, instead, was the way my life had warped so strangely in every single loop.
A hundred lives was no small number. It was enough time for a man without talent to become a Sword Saint, enough time for a naive fool to accomplish great things and still have room to spare. Three hundred years, if you converted the lives I'd lived into time—perhaps that much, or more.
And yet even so, I could not bend my fate. It wasn't even that I'd lived to avoid dying.
I had lived to earn trust—hoping, perhaps, that people already twisted might yet change. At least up through my last loop, I had carried the hope that Yuria and Theresia might come to repent. Surviving the treason charges had been a secondary concern; that hope alone had remained constant.
Surviving was never my purpose. However ugly it made me, I had simply lived wanting to be trusted. That they would trust me as much as I trusted them. That when I found myself in the most dangerous of situations, they would step forward for me. That was all I had ever wanted.
...Not that, by now, I had abandoned such expectations entirely.
What left me wondering was only why my death, alone, never changed. As if it were fixed. As if it could not be evaded. Just when I thought success was finally within reach, hope would collapse in an instant—and so, across all those lives, I had never once been able to let my guard down. Even now, that hadn't changed.
Was I doing well, truly? Even if the path I walked now differed from before, could I really stretch my sword toward the Crown Prince's throat? That, at least, remained an open question.
Should I have lived for myself? At the question that surfaced unbidden, I stared at the ceiling for a while. It might well have been the easiest way to escape death. If I had treated people as tools—used them, discarded them when they became unnecessary—I could have ended my regressions long ago.
But then how would I be any different from Yuria?
When I began this 101st life, what I had in mind was not living for myself. I simply wished for an eternal death—one final mark, the endpoint of this regression I had started. And so I thought: had I done well, all things considered? I couldn't say I was entirely satisfied, but I was certainly moving in the direction I intended. All I had to do was keep going. Living in order to die wasn't exactly pleasant, but for me, death was as fine an ending as any.
Just as I closed my eyes again and began emptying my mind, a vibration stirred from the artifact tucked against my chest. Thinking it might be Mirajen, I answered—only to hear an unexpected voice come through.
"—Can you... hear me? They said Sir Taylor would be receiving."
The voice, hesitant and careful, belonged to Adrian. I was still puzzling over why her voice was coming through when Mirajen's voice chimed noisily beside her. So the two of them were together, then. Mirajen had surely come out on some errand—but surely not all the way to the Northwestern Region.
Though apparently it wasn't the Northwest after all, because behind her I heard Mirajen talking about the Magic Tower. The Magic Tower... that would explain Adrian's voice. The Moon Tower stood close by the Magic Tower, so if Adrian were answering from there, her voice could be relayed remotely through this artifact.
"Then you're not in the Northwestern Region. It's been some time—my greetings to you."
"Ah—Sir Taylor! Yes, it is you. Mirajen said she'd connect the artifact and I was so surprised, but I thought, of course, it would be you, Sir Taylor."
"Her Highness the Princess said that, did she... I was startled to hear she'd gone all the way to the Northwest, and now she startles me in yet another way."
"Ahaha, that's just how Mirajen is. Honestly, I think it's a good thing. Because of that personality of hers, time spent with her is always fun."
Fun, was it. If we were measuring by fun, no woman alive rivaled Mirajen. She was forever upending people's expectations with ideas no one could have anticipated, and when we were lovers, I'd laughed quite a lot because of her.
After chatting a while about Mirajen, Adrian asked after my wellbeing.
"By the way, I heard you've gone to the North. If you'd been living near the capital and then moved there, adjusting must have been difficult. Are you managing all right?"
"Quite well, thank you. The Archduchess has been looking after me, fortunately, so I'm getting along without any trouble."
"...Ah. The Archduchess is taking good care of you, is she. That's a relief."
Her voice had gone a shade darker than before—but then Adrian brightened with a laugh and pressed on.
"Mirajen is in the Northwestern Region right now, you know. Do you happen to know that?"
"I do—but aren't you with her? I thought I heard her voice."
"That's coming from the crystal beside me. I need to teach her how to connect the artifact, you see."
I see—so Adrian was in the capital while Mirajen remained in the Northwest. If Adrian had come north as well, it would have given me a headache in more ways than one. For reasons I couldn't quite name, things between her and Adele were distinctly poor, and who knew what friction might arise with the two of them in the same place.
"Still, I didn't expect you to reach out like this, Saintess."
"Ah—um. I asked you not to call me Saintess, remember. Have you perhaps forgotten...?"
At that careful question, I paused, then eventually recalled what she'd said last time. She'd asked me to call her by name. But addressing a Saintess by her given name was no small matter. If others found out, misunderstandings might follow. Still, I could not refuse her request, so after a moment I spoke carefully.
"Then... would Adrian be acceptable?"
"Yes, that would be lovely. I'd say we're close enough for that by now, wouldn't you?"
"Then I think you may call me Robert as well. Honestly, my calling you anything less formal is already a breach of courtesy."
At that, a long silence settled over the artifact. Every now and then came a small sound—Ro... Ro...—and after the stillness had stretched on for some time, I spoke her name aloud. Adrian's voice returned.
"Ahhh, yes. I'm listening. Robe—no, I mean, Sir Taylor."
"If it's difficult, just call me whatever's comfortable. I wasn't trying to force anything."
"I'm sorry. I'm just not used to saying other people's names."
Mirajen had known me since childhood, but Adrian and I were still newly acquainted—that much was only natural. It was an odd arrangement, me calling the Saintess by name while she addressed me as Sir Taylor. But what of it? The further this relationship progressed, the better direction this life bent toward. That fact had not changed.
I was still chuckling at the thought, about to continue the conversation, when a voice came from beyond the door. Adele's—the same woman who had vanished after leaving me to my room earlier.
"Robert. It's about time you came down."
"Understood. I'll be right out."
No doubt this was the finalizing of my appointment as her adjutant. I had answered Adele and was about to wrap things up when a cool tone drifted through the artifact.
"...You call each other by name, I see?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, nothing. I simply heard a woman's voice just now—calling you Robert, Sir Taylor. I was only wondering whether I'd misheard."
Having said that, Adrian let out a small laugh—and then her lips moved again, in a voice colder than any before it. It was unmistakably still gentle. And yet something in that gentleness sent a chill crawling up my spine.
"Would it be all right if I heard the whole story—every detail?"
Under that serene threat, I had no choice but to open my mouth.