Not Much Time Left
Not Much Time Left
In the end, Rosaria and Canaria returned to their lodging and each took someone aside for counseling. Naturally, Rosaria handled Isabella while Canaria took Zeke.
The temperature difference between the two sessions was extreme.
"...So that's what they said to you."
Rosaria was warm and gentle. After all, this was practically the first time a friend had come to him for romance advice. Though his own situation was different, Rosaria had spent a long time with Canaria. He empathized with those feelings, offering kind counsel as if embracing Isabella, soothing her confusion with gentleness.
"...They spouted that kind of nonsense?"
But Canaria was cold and sharp. She couldn't fathom why this bastard, of all people, had to develop feelings — and for Isabella, of all people.
The very person who had cast Isabella's life into the abyss was now falling in love with her, and Canaria was supposed to play the role of accepting that. It was something Canaria simply could not comprehend.
And so, Canaria drove her fist into Zeke's abdomen, divine power laced into the blow. With the sensation of bones breaking, Zeke clutched his stomach and began to collapse.
"...I told you to know your place, didn't I?"
It was closer to venting anger than counseling. Canaria, too, was a victim of that day — and perhaps, the victim who had suffered the greatest shock of all.
The one who bore the deepest resentment was her.
Rosaria became a corpse,
Isabella became a wreck.
And tragically, it was Canaria who witnessed both. With her own hands she erased her friend's memories and touched her lover's body, pouring even her own lifespan into trying to bring her back.
"Do you know why I despise you?"
Canaria stopped the beating then, grabbing Zeke by the hair where bruises were already forming, and asked.
"If you had just said that one thing — that you called off the assassins you sent to Isabella that day — so many things would have changed. You do know what made Rosaria and me hesitate there, don't you?"
The biggest factor that made them hesitate was Isabella's life. If Zeke had told them about it, if he had withdrawn the sword he held to Isabella's siblings' throats.
If he had chosen justice over orders.
"Rosaria might not have died that day."
Canaria pressed down on Zeke's throat, interrogating him.
"If Rosaria hadn't died, she might have brought back everyone you took hostage."
Her grip tightened.
It was agonizing, but Zeke said nothing. He merely accepted the pain with humility.
"If that had happened, I might not have manipulated the world's memories. Then Isabella would have kept on knowing nothing, living happily in Fran."
But the past hadn't flowed in that direction. At the crossroads, Zeke's greed-driven choice sent history hurtling down the worst possible path.
"But reality is different, isn't it? Because of your hypocrisy, your greed — everything was ruined!"
Canaria's voice burned with killing intent.
Just recalling that day still made her heart ache.
"Rosaria died. Right before my eyes, she took her own life and ended it all in the cold snowfield."
-...I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise to stay with you forever.
The image of those final moments still surfaced. Rosaria, looking like a fading life itself, apologizing to Canaria over and over.
Canaria could never forget the bitter taste of blood from that last kiss they shared.
Tears began to stream from those silver eyes.
"In the end, that incident triggered the Demon King's awakening. You do realize, don't you — that if not for Erika, innocent citizens of the Holy Kingdom who knew nothing would have been sacrificed because of you?"
Rosaria died, and everyone Rosaria had tried to protect nearly died too. Without Erika's quick thinking, every person at that scene would have turned to pillars of salt and crumbled to dust.
"And after the awakening? I altered the world's memories. Because of that, Isabella sensed something was wrong and deliberately left Fran, making her way all the way to the Holy Kingdom."
Bam! Canaria slammed Zeke down.
With tears streaming from both eyes, she fixed her killing-intent-laced gaze on Zeke.
"You wouldn't know, you never saw it. The expression Isabella wore that day, the sounds she made as she wailed before Rosaria's corpse — her friend — the way she cursed someone, and who she cursed!"
Crunch. The wooden floorboards cracked. Zeke's expression began to crumble. Physical pain was part of it, but about eighty percent was the psychological agony from Canaria's words.
"If you knew that, you wouldn't be able to stand before her! If you knew, you wouldn't be able to say things like you'll atone, like you'll make her happy!"
Canaria poured out her pent-up fury.
Zeke simply accepted it.
Offering no resistance, he stared back at her with open eyes.
The Demon King was not there.
Only a dying lamp remained in that place.
The Canaria before him now was a girl.
A sorrowful creature who had witnessed a friend's agony and was now unleashing her rage upon the one who caused it.
Of course, Canaria knew.
Zeke alone wasn't to blame for everything. If anyone was the root cause, it was the Pope — who was dead now. But even so, Zeke was not without guilt.
"...That day, the only person who could have made a different choice was you — Jik Seikrid."
It was the sin of choosing wrongly.
Only Zeke had been free of constraints.
It was Canaria and Rosaria who had fallen into the Pope's trap — not Zeke. And yet, he had dithered and made the worst possible choice.
"You should have just not called off the assassins. If you'd been that kind of villain, I would have killed you back then."
By all rights, Zeke was a man who should have died long ago. Until Isabella sensed something wrong and came to the Holy Kingdom, Canaria had believed even Isabella was dead.
"Or, you should have taken our side. If you had, I would have forgiven you. I would have thanked you for the nobility of making such a difficult choice, and I would have stood by you!"
But because he chose neither.
Canaria couldn't do anything about Zeke either.
He had stood in the exact middle of the scales.
Because he leaned toward neither side.
His sin was too small to kill him for.
Yet, it was too great to embrace him.
"...I'm sorry."
Zeke forced his mouth open and apologized.
Zeke, too, was a man who had regretted and been punished. If he had made the right choice that day, he wouldn't have lived on so half-heartedly like this.
He could have sided unreservedly with the Empire.
If he had, he would be dead by now, mouth shut, paying for his sins with punishment in hell.
Or, he could have upheld his own justice.
If he had, he might have been forgiven by now — might not have had to keep living like trash, clinging to life while killing others.
But reality was different.
He had been living as half-hearted garbage.
He had watched half the Empire die before his eyes. He had beheaded his own father with his own hands and become a straw-man king, had put his family and the people who helped him to the test. He hadn't stopped there — to create paradise, he had treated those who never harmed him as potential variables and cut them down.
The price left his mouth bitter.
He stood alone, the sole survivor atop a sea of blood and an island of corpses.
There was no hero's divine mission there,
no oath of a great holy sword.
There was only half-hearted atonement for half-hearted sins.
And the wraiths who died because of it.
"...I truly am sorry."
Zeke's tears fell atop Canaria's.
"...I'm sorry that I made that choice, that day."
It was an apology he had offered countless times before.
But now, its weight was different.
If, until now, he himself had been the subject —
this time, Isabella was the subject of his apology.
It was the first time he had knelt for love.
"...And I am truly sorry that someone like me presumes to love Lady Isabella."
Canaria's teeth ground together.
"...You do understand, don't you?"
Because Zeke was sharp enough to roughly picture what would happen when Isabella's memories returned.
"...Isabella might recover her memories soon. You know full well that the deeper the love, the greater the pain — so why are you doing something so foolish?"
At those words, Zeke flinched.
Soon, she would recover her memories. That fact was the reason.
"...This is advice for your own sake."
Was it a case of even hated affection becoming familiar? Or was it because Isabella was the root cause of her memory loss, and Canaria was yielding because Isabella liked him? Perhaps it was both.
Canaria began to share stories about Isabella — stories she hadn't even told Rosaria.
"...I made a promise with Isabella. If she went to Fran, she was to deliver a letter to her teacher. And if her teacher read that letter and still called her their disciple — then after the year passed, she asked me to return her memories."
If that didn't happen, she had asked to have her memories restored only after Canaria had created paradise.
"...That means Isabella could recover her memories within a month, Jik Seikrid."
There wasn't much time left.
The calendar marking this year was terribly thin.
"Live with the awareness that when that time comes, the memories you hold now might torment you both. Don't cross the line. Make her happy within boundaries that won't leave her wounded."
Zeke's expression crumbled more than ever. The fact that so little time remained terrified him.
"...If you've understood, get out."
Canaria looked exhausted. The moment the binding on her hand released, Zeke turned to leave, his face dazed.
"...Who do you plan to meet looking like that?"
Canaria sighed. Zeke's face was still covered in bruises because she hadn't healed him yet. Since Isabella would obviously worry if she saw him, Canaria reluctantly healed that aggravating face of his.
"...Thank you."
"...Just get lost, quickly."
Canaria chased Zeke out with undiminished coldness.
"...Even leaving takes you forever."
The moment she grumbled, blood began to trickle from Canaria's nose. And that was only the spark — it kept flowing without stopping, enough to stain the white bedsheets red.
"Hgh—!"
Nausea from the foreign sensation. Canaria knew this feeling well, so she didn't spit it out carelessly. Instead, she went to the bathroom and emptied it into the sink.
Dead, blackened blood began to pour from her mouth. It spilled out, staining the sink red, droplets splashing back onto her face.
"...Serena."
And once all the bleeding had stopped, Canaria called that name.
-...I wondered why you suddenly called me.
The moment Serena saw Canaria's dire condition, she realized why she had been summoned.
-...I'm not a doctor.
"...Enough with the nonsense."
-...Sorry if that wasn't funny.
"...You know why this is happening, don't you?"
Her physical condition had worsened.
Of course, she had been aware of it before.
But she couldn't exactly vomit blood in front of Rosaria, and collapsing out of nowhere would be unnatural — so Canaria had endured, waiting for a situation where she could excuse herself naturally.
-...It must be a problem with your vessel.
She had exceeded the limits of utility. No matter how extraordinary Canaria's talent was, holding both the Demon King's and the Saint's divine powers was too much.
-...If you don't return it quickly, things will get dangerous.
"...And what if something goes wrong with Rosaria?"
But mending a vessel was a delicate task. And if it was a vessel that held divine authority, it had to be repaired with even greater care.
That was why Canaria couldn't simply heal Rosaria's vessel completely in one go. She had to repair it layer by layer, slowly, perfectly — rebuilding and reconnecting that vessel piece by piece.
-...That would still be better than you dying from this.
But even that was only possible if Canaria stayed alive.
"...I'm carrying a bomb that could seize my body at any moment. I can't exactly act recklessly."
Just as she said, Serena was a bomb. Without the Saint's divine power, no one could stop her — and she was a being who could seize this consciousness at any time.
-...From your perspective, does it look like I'm lying in wait, watching for a chance to steal your body?
Serena asked in a wounded voice.
"...Obviously."
Canaria answered without hesitation.
Serena already had a criminal record, after all.
Once, underground.
Twice, the moment Rosaria died.
Three times — she'd permitted it, but — in Osman.
Three prior offenses. How could Canaria possibly trust her?
-...Fine, I get that you're misunderstanding me. But look — in this lifetime, I don't have any goal I want to achieve by taking your body. So I just want to tell you: you don't need to worry about bodily seizure. Not this time.
Serena said it was sincere, even offering to make a contract.
"...May I ask why?"
Canaria had calmed somewhat.
So she wiped her bloodstained face, slowly steadied her breathing, and spoke.
-...Because I already know that this time's 'Solomon' has no reason to love me. Until the next 'Solomon' is born, I just want to stay quiet.
Solomon — Canaria knew the name.
Serena had called Rosaria 'Solomon' every time she saw her, after all.
"...Your purpose is love?"
Serena silently affirmed without answering.
"...I don't believe you."
But believing was another matter entirely.
-...Aren't you two the Saint and the Demon King, and yet you love each other?
"...Don't try to force a repulsive parallel. Even if we weren't the Saint and the Demon King — I've loved her since long before that."
-...Same goes for me. So by the calendar, if I've loved for over 2000 years longer, should I call you my junior?
Neither wanted to lose a single word to the other.
A clash between two proud geniuses.
But the difference in years was simply too vast.
Canaria was forced to concede defeat.
And there had been signs — the strange persuasiveness of that halo back then, the way she obsessively searched for Solomon.
There had been foreshadowing, Canaria thought.
"...So in this lifetime, you really intend to stay quiet? You truly won't take my body?"
Serena swore again.
A blue flame bound the very essence of her soul.
Proof that this was no lie.
If she broke it, her spirit itself would burn first. Only when the lock was set to that degree could Canaria finally trust Serena.
She hadn't exactly been a trustworthy neighbor.
"...Then I'll ask about your purpose later. For now, just answer my question."
She wasn't all that curious about it, honestly.
Anyway, Canaria asked about how much longer she could push herself before it became impossible.
-...If this year ends, I'd guess about two years. If you keep stubbornly holding onto both powers like this, you'll die before reaching adulthood. So I recommend fixing her vessel quickly and handing it over.
Of course, Canaria dying didn't really matter to Serena. From Serena's position, Canaria was merely a means to an end. But Serena knew absolutely that it would never come to that, so she spoke dismissively, as if skipping past the obvious.
There was no way Canaria would leave Rosaria behind and die. Canaria wasn't cruel enough to pass on the loss and pain she herself had felt to the person she loved.
"...Then please leave now."
But to Serena, Canaria was that cruel.
The moment all conversation ended, silence descended upon Canaria's room. She purified all the blood that had pooled and spilled, then lay down on the bed.
'...Two years, huh.'
So the impatient ones weren't only Isabella and Zeke.
Thinking that, Canaria released the soundproofing and listened to the voices of Rosaria and Isabella beyond the wall. Without resisting the drowsiness that came over her, she began to nod off.
Tomorrow's sun would rise tomorrow.
It had been a day full of work, and for the first time in a long while, Canaria surrendered her body to the encroaching sleep.
As a bonus, she had an incredibly sweet dream.
A dream exactly like the one from the day they first met — when she had slept on Rosaria's lap.
Regrettably,
just like that day, she couldn't remember what it was about.
And yet, she remembered this much: the feeling of it had been deeply, achingly sweet.