Echoes of a Ruined Past
Ruedeum swept Lefonya up into his arms and buried his face against the soft curve of her neck. Drawing in a deep breath, he caught the faint, sweet scent unique to her alone.
He rubbed his cheek gently against her skin as he carried her toward her bedchamber.
Her skin is definitely warmer than usual.
Stepping inside, Ruedeum immediately called to a maid, ordering her to summon a physician because he was running a fever and needed Lefonya examined.
“If you’re the one burning up, why should the doctor examine me?”
Lefonya dismissed the maid with a wave and tugged Ruedeum down onto the mattress. Though he stiffened for a fraction of a second, he yielded without resistance to her touch.
“The fever set in right after dinner, so it’s likely something in the food,” Ruedeum murmured, his brow furrowing with concern. “Ponya, you ate the exact same dishes.”
“Worry about yourself before you worry about me. Besides, ordering the maid to fetch a physician rolled off your tongue a little too naturally, don’t you think? Have you forgotten this is the Craitan estate? You’re the guest here, and I’m the mistress, Ruedeum.”
When Lefonya giggled, a soft smile tugged at the corners of Ruedeum’s lips.
“Aren’t you getting a little too comfortable living at the Craitan residence?” she teased.
“Once we marry, you’ll be residing at the Villemon estate, so it’s only fair that I stay here for now.”
Hearing him speak of marriage with such casual ease sent an unexpected flutter of heat rushing to her cheeks. It had been quite some time since their engagement, and the topic was bound to surface sooner or later. The only reason they had remained merely engaged was because Ruedeum had indulged her wish to experience every stage of life at her own pace.
The elders in House Villemon must be ramping up the pressure for an heir by now.
House Craitan still had her father standing firmly at the helm, but House Villemon was different. Ruedeum was the reigning duke, yet he lingered in bachelorhood with only an engagement ring to his name as the seasons passed. To make matters worse, he insisted on staying by Lefonya’s side, spending far more time at the Craitan residence than his own ancestral home and visiting his duchy only on rare occasions.
“Once Dad and my brothers calm down from their current ruckus... shall we visit the Villemon Duchy together?”
Ruedeum, who had been carefully laying her down onto the bed, froze instantly. Their gazes met. An emotion she had never seen before rippled across his striking features. Those golden eyes—ordinarily as calm, detached, and unyielding as stone even before hordes of demonic beasts—wavered with an intoxicating luminescence.
“Really?” he whispered.
“Yes. Really.”
Overwhelmed by a joy he could barely contain, Ruedeum bit his lip and let out a breathless laugh. An unfamiliar sensation fluttered in the pit of his stomach, entirely different from the nausea of fever. It was a gentle, ticklish warmth, like a tender green shoot breaking through soil and bursting into full bloom.
“The Duke of Craitan will have plenty to say if he catches me,” Ruedeum murmured fondly, pressing a tender kiss near the corner of her eye.
“Ruedeum. I’m sending a doctor to your room, so make sure you get examined. You’re supposed to spend the day with me tomorrow, remember?”
“I will.”
With a gentle smile, Ruedeum turned and left the bedchamber. Lefonya watched his retreating back, her heart swelling with contentment, before letting her eyelids drift shut.
The following morning, however, paradise shattered.
“Where am I?”
A voice laced with lethal venom sliced through the room as Ruedeum, his memories stripped away, glared at the gathered household of the Craitan Duchy Estate with razor-sharp vigilance.
“What in the world did you feed him yesterday?”
“A Siren’s Nucleus! I was told it was an unparalleled tonic for vitality!”
“While a Siren’s Nucleus does bolster one’s constitution, did no one warn you of the severe side effects? If only you had consulted me before serving it... Haah. To think this happened the moment I stepped away.”
“Side effects?”
“Sirens are, by nature, demonic beasts that bewitch the human mind and implant fabricated memories. Ingesting their core can trigger temporary cognitive disarray and acute amnesia.”
Pellens’s jaw dropped at the physician’s exasperated explanation.
“I—I had no idea it carried such risks! I was explicitly assured that a Siren’s Nucleus strengthens one’s health to a degree that even hundreds of millions in gold couldn't purchase!”
“That claim isn't entirely false,” the doctor sighed. “An ordinary mortal who approaches a Siren will almost certainly fall under its spell, making the core virtually impossible to acquire. And it is true that it enhances vitality, given that Sirens boast some of the longest lifespans among all demonic beasts. Duke Villemon is merely experiencing a temporary adverse reaction.”
Listening to Pellens and the doctor exchange frantic words, Lefonya kept her eyes trained on Ruedeum. He stood poised in the corner, gripping the hilt of his drawn sword, his sharp gaze searching for the slightest opening to break free.
So the dinner ingredient Pellens had proudly brought home yesterday was the culprit.
If Dad hadn’t barred the windows with an aura barrier, he probably would have shattered the glass and escaped already.
Her family had dragged Lefonya far back, insisting that Ruedeum was far too dangerous while radiating such raw killing intent. She couldn’t even take a single step toward him.
“So his memories are scrambled right now? Is he seeing hallucinations or something?”
“No, nothing of that sort. It is closer to temporary amnesia. His mind should restore itself within a few days.”
She never should have let him go to sleep on his own last night when he mentioned feeling warm. She should have stood over him until the doctor examined him.
Lefonya pressed a hand against her throbbing forehead. Backed against the far wall of the chamber, Ruedeum looked entirely convinced that he had been abducted by hostiles. Seeing him coiled like a cornered predator made a sharp pang of sorrow twist her chest.
“Why are dead men standing before my eyes...?” Ruedeum muttered, his voice dropping into a hollow chill. “What sort of illusions are you? I am Ruedeum Villemon, Head of the Villemon Ducal House. Tell me where you have taken me.”
“That doesn’t sound like amnesia at all,” Pellens whispered nervously. “He’s completely lost his mind!”
“Dad,” Lefonya pleaded softly. “Please let me talk to him.”
“No,” Duke Craitan answered firmly, his imposing frame an unyielding shield before her. “Duke Villemon is not in his right mind, and he is armed. It is far too dangerous.”
“Father is right, Ponya,” Habellian agreed, stepping between them as well. “We need to determine the extent of his cognitive state first.”
“Wait, doesn’t something feel off?”
Pellens tilted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“They said he has amnesia, right? But Ruedeum has been glued to our Fluffball since he was nine years old. He’s seen all of us for years. If he knows he’s the Duke of Villemon, it means he hasn’t lost his childhood memories either.”
Everyone turned their attention back toward Ruedeum.
“So why is he looking at us like we’re his mortal enemies?”
Pellens’s logic was sound. This wasn't Ruedeum’s first time stepping foot inside the Craitan estate; it was impossible for him not to recognize these halls.
Yet the way he was glaring right now was as if...
Duke Craitan shifted slightly, tucking Lefonya securely behind his broad back so she remained hidden from view, and signaled the physician with a nod.
The doctor swallowed hard and took a cautious step toward the armed young duke.
“Duke Villemon. There is no need for alarm. No one here wishes to bring you harm.”
“Where is this place?” Ruedeum’s voice was as cold as winter frost. “Where is the Hwama?”
The Hwama? Lefonya’s eyes widened slightly.
“This is the Craitan estate,” the doctor answered placatingly. “The Fire Demon remains in the possession of its master.”
“Its master?”
A chilling, twisted sneer curled on Ruedeum’s lips, an expression utterly foreign to the boy Lefonya knew.
“The master of the Hwama is dead. If you think you can confuse me with feeble illusions, you are sorely mistaken.”
Every word was curt, clipped, and devoid of warmth—the hardened cadence of a veteran commander who had spent an eternity drowning in blood and war.
No way...
A violent shudder ran through Lefonya’s heart.
“Duke Villemon,” the physician pressed gently. “Do you recall your current age?”
“Why ask something so obvious? I am twenty-four.”
Lefonya stopped breathing.
In an instant, memories of what Ruedeum had once confessed flashed through her mind. He had told her that in his first life, he had died at the age of twenty-four before regressing back into his childhood body.
Her eyes trembled with realization.
“Twenty-four? Uh, well...”
The doctor blinked, utterly confounded. Turning back toward the family, he silently mouthed words of despair:
It seems he is suffering from severe delusions.
No. That wasn’t it at all. This was a side of Ruedeum that no one in the world knew except Lefonya.
This is Ruedeum from before his regression.
The Siren’s core hadn't erased his mind; it had dragged his consciousness back to the very precipice of his death. It was the twenty-four-year-old Ruedeum Villemon—the aimless, hollow sword that had spent over a decade wading through slaughter, long before turning back into a nine-year-old boy, and completely ignorant of the life he was supposed to share with Lefonya.
“As I suspected, something is foul here,” Ruedeum murmured in a voice laced with biting steel. His fingers tightened around his hilt. “What do you intend to gain by imprisoning me in this place? Stand aside. I am leaving.”
Refusing to brook any opposition, he summoned his contracted elemental. A magnificent, silver-furred wolf spirit materialized in a gust of gale-force winds, baring its razor fangs to tear through the enemy—only to freeze in utter bewilderment the moment it recognized the faces across the room.
Even his spirit is confused...
It was only natural. The spirit knew full well how dearly Ruedeum treasured the inhabitants of House Craitan, yet here was its master, projecting pure, murderous intent at them.
“Duke Villemon,” Duke Craitan rumbled, stepping forward with an imposing air that brooked no insolence. “Do not commit an act you will live to regret.”
“Regret?”
“Wandering into the open while your mind is fractured will only place you in peril. Your current affliction is Pellens’s fault, so House Craitan will take responsibility for your protection.”
Faced with the spirit summoner, Duke Craitan took another resolute step. His words carried heavy authority, but Ruedeum didn’t so much as blink.
“Duke Craitan. I care not what dark sorcery you have employed, but the eldest and second sons of Craitan are long dead. They cannot return to life. Everything standing before me is nothing more than a pathetic counterfeit.”
Ah.
Lefonya remembered now. In the ruined future Ruedeum had endured, Habellian, Pellens, and the Duke of Craitan had all perished.
His memories were trapped squarely at the time when the brothers were already in their graves.
“At this point, isn’t that less of an amnesia problem and more of him making up an entirely new reality?”
“Why is that bastard writing us off as dead when we’re standing right here? Don't tell me that’s been his secret wish all along?”
Knowing nothing of his past life, Habellian and Pellens traded indignant murmurs.
It was then that an suffocating wave of aura, steeped in profound murderous intent, crashed over the room.
“What did you just dare utter about my children, Duke Villemon?”
Lefonya gasped softly. The Duke of Craitan was a man who would endure any insult hurled at his own name, but the moment someone crossed the line regarding his children, all reason evaporated. His face was frozen in a mask of terrible, frigid fury.
Yet even against the legendary Guardian’s lethal bloodlust, Ruedeum remained entirely unfazed—bearing the nonchalance of a warrior who had stood before that very pressure countless times before.
“It seems even the great Duke Craitan has succumbed to madness.”
...That’s not it, Ruedeum. If anyone’s gone mad here, it’s you!
“Then there is no reason for me to linger here any longer.”
Though every window remained firmly sealed, a violent tempest suddenly roared to life within the bedchamber. A deafening, metallic screech tore through the air as Habellian lunged forward to shield Lefonya, and Pellens instinctively wrapped his arms tight around her small frame.
What in the world—?!
In the mere span of a blink, the room was ripped to shreds. Heavy furniture was hurled across the stone floor like kindling; rich velvet curtains and masterfully woven carpets were sliced into flying ribbons. Had Duke Craitan not instantly deployed a thick wall of protective aura over his family, someone would have been severely wounded by the concussive backlash.
“Have you truly lost your sanity, Duke Villemon?”
Duke Craitan’s voice rumbled like grinding stones as his blade locked against Ruedeum’s in a shower of brilliant sparks. Even with their swords pressed hilt-to-hilt, Ruedeum did not yield a single inch of ground. Looking into the eyes of the Empire’s Guardian, he spoke with terrifying calm:
“Step aside. Unless you wish to die.”
Standing before them was the sole survivor who had held the line against the unsealed Fire Demon—the only man capable of clashing against the catastrophic harbinger of ruin itself.