The Hero's Party Sets Out to Rewind the World! (3)

I gripped the ashen hand with its bulging black veins as tightly as I could. It was the hand of a Demon King’s army soldier clutching a dagger.

My body was nothing more than that of a small, underdeveloped girl. No matter how hard I struggled, I could never overpower a human reinforced by demonic energy through brute strength alone. So no amount of thrashing could stop the blade from drawing closer to my flesh.

‘Dividing the body and the heart…’

This was no time for the reckless gamble of isolating an unseen, untouched heart and rewinding only its time.

Still, it didn’t matter. It didn’t have to be the heart. A person had plenty of clearly visible yet fatal spots.

The head, for instance.

This soldier had probably been an ordinary man just like me once. A normal person from the north with parents, perhaps siblings or even children of his own. The thought that I—who had only ever saved lives—now had to kill the person right in front of me was almost unbearable.

Even so, I had no choice. Better to strike down the one trying to kill me and drown in guilt than to die obediently.

Now was the time to focus. I stared solely at that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠disgusting face, twisted into something inhuman with only faint traces left of what had once been a man. To test the method, I had to consciously treat the head and everything below the neck as two separate entities.

Even as death prepared to rip out my heart, I fought to preserve the calm mind so heavily emphasized at the magic academy.

Instead of the logical constructs used in spells, I pictured the image of winding clockwork. Instead of geometric formulas, I imagined sand flowing backward….

I knew it the instant it happened.

It had rewound.

The hand choking my neck lost a fraction of its strength.

‘Did I… get him…?’

The veins in the outstretched arm swelled hugely once, then contracted. The Demon King’s soldier froze mid-motion. The stabbing blade halted as well.

A few seconds later, something fell with a wet thud at my feet.

It was the soldier’s cleanly severed head.

The cut was flawless. Impossibly clean. No edged weapon could ever replicate such a surface.

It was as if time itself had become a weightless blade, slicing the soldier’s torso—now detached from the present—cleanly away from his head.

“Hik…”

I saw the pitch-black blood gushing out a moment too late. Strength fled my arm and I flung the hand away. Only then did the headless body follow its own head and collapse limply to the ground.

“What… what is this…”

The shock of killing a person—or something that had been a person—with my own hands was one thing, but only now did I truly understand how dangerous my power was.

I stood there trembling for a long time. When my comrades finally reached me and asked if I was all right, I couldn’t even answer properly.

That evening, we arrived at a misty foothill beneath a drizzling rain. A rocky mountain that pierced the clouds loomed ahead—the one we would have to cross tomorrow.

To traverse a cliff with no proper path, we needed real rest. After a good night’s sleep we would have to prepare plenty of Menelon’s Honey, the reverse spell of Menelon’s Ice Sheet that created zones of extreme friction.

A good campsite was essential for proper rest. This would be our last stopping point before crossing the mountain.

Using Glazalus’s strength we dug out a spot for the night’s camp. Then, with Perius’s Igniter magic that could kindle flame even in pouring rain, we lit a bonfire. As the firelight danced across his helmet—colored like autumn leaves—Kadros removed it, set it beside the flames, and thrust his head under my chin.

“Yes, Sir Kadros?”

“I am Kadros, son of White Hammer Andrak! That name carries my father’s honor and the honor of our entire clan. Do not omit a single syllable.”

“U-understood… Um, what did you wish to speak with me about?”

“Kadros, son of White Hammer Andrak” grumbled.

“You killed him with that time-rewinding thing, didn’t you? The bastard who charged at you.”

“I… believe so…”

“‘Believe so’? It’s either yes or no!”

The dwarf roared as if scolding me, though he wasn’t truly angry. This was simply a dwarf’s way of expressing deep impression.

“I tried to rewind only the time of the body, excluding the head. As the body returned to the past, the head that had slipped out of time was severed… that’s how I understand it.”

The dwarf’s beard quivered.

“Hah. A spine-chilling ability. But you need to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠touch the target, right?”

“Yes? Ah, yes. Probably…”

“If touch is a requirement, I’m not sure how useful it’ll be in real combat… Still, when the kid gets attacked, I suppose I can worry a little less.”

Kadros gave a big nod, then suddenly looked at me as though something had occurred to him.

“By the way, does that time-rewinding of yours work on us like some spell that makes the dwarf gold piled in the family warehouse vanish every time you use it?”

Not understanding what he meant, I stared blankly and asked back.

“Dwarf gold? We don’t have anything like that at our house…”

Kadros immediately replied in a sullen tone.

“Then why are you so stingy with it?”

…Only then did I understand. This was classic dwarf sarcasm.

Even though they had given me the position of mage and healer, they were complaining that I was too sparing with that magnificent healing ability.

They were kind comrades who didn’t mind that I was a burden of a mage who had lived far from adventure, but this one issue they truly disliked.

I had my reasons, of course.

“I’ve told you many times. What I do isn’t healing—it’s rewinding the time of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠living flesh… When I rewind a wound, the memories and experiences gained in the battle where I received that wound vanish along with it.”

In other words, a skill that rolled back both stamina and level while taking experience as the price of recovery. That was the simplest summary of my ability. It was not some miraculous healing power.

This was reality, not a game with status windows and experience points, yet I knew all too well how vital experience was.

Had I not accumulated all those countless stories—willingly or not—I would never have been chosen as the healer for a hero’s party capable of rewinding even fatal injuries.

With an ability that could only rewind about five seconds and couldn’t even repair a broken pencil, I would still be living as an ordinary bakery girl who perhaps didn’t even realize she possessed such power.

I had explained all this to them, but it seemed the warriors who had to stand at the front, receiving monster attacks and demon-corrupted strikes while enduring wounds firsthand, found such reasoning unconvincing.

The massive ogre who had been digging at the dirt and lying sprawled added his voice to Kadros’s complaint.

“Glazalus is also dissatisfied. The mage is cute and soft, but she does not heal injuries well. Still, Glazalus likes the cute mage. She lights fires well. She creates water. She bakes delicious bread from flour. The bread the mage bakes is never hard and tastes wonderful. And…”

He might have been defending me after all.

“When she is near, a delicious smell wafts about. It is very, very pleasant.”

“Th-that’s because I’m the daughter of a bakery…”

“Beer-barrel head, whose side are you on—mine or hers?”

Beer-barrel head. Kadros’s nickname—or rather, insult—for Glazalus.

“Kaira’s words carry sufficient persuasion. It is true that Kaira is not particularly useful in combat. She even occasionally casts that sliding spell—what was it, the ice sheet?—beneath Kadros or myself…”

I couldn’t tell whether Azalea was trying to mediate or stir the pot as she cut in.

“She makes our hands sticky when we climb, picks locks, repairs armor, and diligently bakes that bread for us. So stop tormenting her. Above all, isn’t she adorable? Our Kaira.”

With that, Azalea approached and gently pinched my cheek. …It was completely treating me like a child, yet I remained still. The saint’s warmth felt pleasant.

“Hah, go look at the scratches on that beer-barrel friend’s arm and chest before you speak. My whole body aches every night… The saint is wrapped in that holy light or whatever, completely unharmed, so of course she can say such carefree things. We cannot.”

Azalea let out a long sigh.

“The body aches come with age, our sturdy dwarf lord.”

The flame-like saint Azalea was more fervent than anyone when it came to burning demons and corrupted humans to death, yet ironically she could not heal even a single scratch—making her a failure as a cleric. Perhaps that was precisely why I stood here now.

Her personality burned just as fiercely, which only added to the problem.

“Ehe, Saint. You want to settle this?”

“If you desire a duel, I shall not refuse.”

Glazalus watched the pair with amusement while picking his nose. The elf Mervin simply shook his head and leaned against a tree.

‘Haa, these people are truly useless at times like this.’

I hurriedly jumped between them.

“N-no! Because of me, the two of you… I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I-I’ll work harder…”

“Work harder at what, exactly?”

Kadros sent a skeptical glare from beneath his thick brows.

Seeing that look, a single line of thought flashed through my hesitant mind like lightning. In a steady voice without the slightest tremor, I answered with the confidence of a true mage.

“I have an idea. If you wait just a little, I will show you results.”

I added with a soft smile.

“After all, the role of a mage in a party is to solve problems or riddles that seem impossible to unravel.”

‘Hoo. At least I stopped the pointless fight…’

By day I was steeped in battle, by night I became the topic of my comrades’ gossip, and I even had to intervene in petty quarrels. What a day.

It was the same as always.

The conversation among the heroes died away. Only the quiet crackling of the bonfire gently filled the silent forest.

I continued loosening the laces of the old boots that had traveled with me throughout the journey. I wanted to give my legs—exhausted from a full day of marching and combat—a rest.

These were the feet that had suffered inside leather from dawn until dusk as usual. Now, in the cool evening after the drizzle had stopped, the night breeze pleasantly brushed across my sweat-dampened bare feet.

I stretched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them slightly toward the bonfire. The warm glow tickled my tired soles in the most comforting way.

Because I was savoring the gentle heat drying my damp skin with my eyes half-closed…

…I failed to notice.

That my comrades’ gazes had already converged on me.

Kadros’s voice came first.

“Hey… kid.”

I opened my thoughtlessly closed eyes and answered the dwarf.

“Yes, Kad… um, Sir Kadros, son of White Hammer Andrak?”

“Did you by any chance stuff something like hardtack inside your boots?”

I widened my eyes and tilted my head slightly.

“Hue…?”

“There’s a nostalgic smell… like the finest dwarf brick biscuits fresh from the mountain fortress bakery oven…”

“That is not it, dwarf friend!”

Glazalus cut in.

“This is that. The human empire’s precious flour. Our tribe’s head chef slaps it onto the hearth. Thin wheat cakes emerge. Dip them lightly in honey and eat them with grilled meat. That is the smell. It reminds me of home.”

The laconic Mervin, wanting to join the conversation while using as few words as possible, tapped a tree branch to draw attention.

The elf who received their gazes shook his head lightly, as if to say both the dwarf and the ogre were wrong. Then he offered his own brief opinion.

“This is the aroma of the travel sweets made by our people. Nostalgic.”

Only then did I realize they were all staring at my feet, which were cozily warming by the bonfire.

“Hik…”

I swiftly pulled my feet back from the fire and hid them beneath my knees.

“What on earth are you men saying?!”

Azalea shouted, sounding thoroughly upset.

“Do you have any idea how hurtful it is to talk about how something smells from a girl’s feet when she’s at such a sensitive age? You really have zero delicacy…”

In a tiny, crawling voice I added to Azalea’s words.

“Um… Saint, I… even if I look like this, I am… technically… an adult…”

A look of realization crossed Azalea’s face. True to her nature, an honest apology followed at once.

“Ah… I was rude, Kaira. You’re simply too cute to think of as an adult. It was a mistake, so you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

Even after apologizing with a bright expression, Azalea turned her head slightly and muttered under her breath.

“Strange. Kaira’s foot smell… to me it was exactly like the holy ceremonial bread blessed by the order and kept in the sanctuary…”

Because the night was quiet except for the crackling bonfire, all four of us heard her soliloquy clearly. We stared at Azalea in unison.

“Ah… th-that is…”

Azalea’s face flushed crimson as she stammered. The saint and I simultaneously whipped our heads away, as if by prior agreement. We had to hide our faces, which had turned as red as ripe strawberries, from our comrades.

“S-s-s-sorry, Kaira…”

All I could do was sit there on my knees, anxiously wiggling the problematic toes hidden beneath my bottom, and stammer in a voice as small as a mosquito’s. The same words I always said.

“Th-that is… b-b-b-because I’m the d-d-d-daughter of a bakery……”