The Hero Party Sets Out to Rewind the World! (1)
The Demon King. The Great King of Six Heads. Ruler of the Frozen Wastes. Heart of the Wanderers. And a host of other blood-chilling titles.
They all pointed to a single being. Whether he could still be called human was debatable. He had been born one, like me, but somewhere along the way he had shed both his human shell and his human heart, becoming a creature of pure terror.
I never learned what sort of man he had been in the beginning, or what torments had forged him. Every human who once spoke with him was either dead or driven mad, or so the rumors claimed.
A former human. A being favored above all by the gods from beyond, those entities that loathed how mortal races defiled the earth. A master who commanded the nightmare creatures they had gifted him as easily as a man commands dogs or horses.
That much we had only managed to extract through the brutal interrogations of the Empire’s inquisitors, performed on those few human soldiers in the Demon King’s army whose corruption had not yet devoured their minds entirely.
In truth, knowing who the Demon King had once been or why he did what he did was secondary. It changed nothing.
What mattered was that he had united the nomadic human tribes and raiders who roamed the cold wastelands beyond the Empire’s borders into a single colossal force, and that the tip of that spear had suddenly turned toward every kingdom, every empire, every place where mortal races still drew breath.
Our Empire, the independent eastern kingdoms ruled by human kings, and the direct territories of the Church of Light—the denomination with the strongest influence inside the Empire—stood on the front lines against the Demon King’s legions. But we were not the only ones under attack. Every civilization built by thinking beings seemed to be his target.
The mountain-dwelling races who carved fortresses into every peak, the forest folk who guarded the souls of their enchanted woods, the massive nomadic tribes of the western plains who raised livestock the size of houses, the eerie marsh-dwellers who claimed to study the mysteries of death by walking its border, even the towering cannibal barbarians of the southern jungles—every one of them was assaulted at once.
It was as if the Demon King’s purpose were the annihilation of every species that possessed a silhouette and intellect even remotely like humanity’s.
The only places safe from his invasion were the mysterious floating mage-cities beyond the southern deserts, places I had only heard of in stories. There was no deeper reason. The distance between the Demon King’s stronghold and the desert continent was simply too vast.
And so we formed an alliance. The Demon King’s armies numbered in the hundreds of thousands at the very least. Without every race uniting, we could not hope to stand against him. We desperately needed a combined force to blunt his offensive…
But we needed one thing more.
Even if the alliance army succeeded in driving back the Demon King’s legions, he could simply vanish, regroup, tempt more demons or corrupt more humans, and raise another army. The cycle would begin again.
What we needed was a hero. Someone who could confront the Demon King himself.
In the infirmary packed with wounded soldiers groaning from injuries inflicted by the Demon King’s forces, I spent my days frantically tearing pages from spellbooks and casting the only beginner healing spells I could manage.
A few days at best. A few weeks at worst. That was how long it took for the wounded to be transported from the northern front all the way to the imperial capital. The enormous gap far exceeded the limits of the time I could rewind. In situations like these, my power was utterly useless.
All I could do for the moaning soldiers was apply basic healing spells that offered slight pain relief and accelerated natural recovery.
The healing “magic” that had once let me save emergency patients inside the city was now sealed away. I had been reduced to casting crude first-aid spells meant only to ease the suffering of men whose limbs had been hacked off. The looks the other healing mages and doctors gave me were far from kind.
Gradually, I became isolated even within the hospital.
I felt powerless.
Yet I could not let that helplessness show. I didn’t want the other mages to look down on me, and I couldn’t bear to make my parents worry. All I could do was return home late at night, collapse onto my bed, and weep in silence. I cursed the kind professors who had recommended me for the hospital position, thinking I should have simply opened a magic tool shop for ordinary citizens.
By the time the corpses of dead soldiers were piled like mountains and the stench of rotting wounds filled every ward until breathing became difficult, rumors began to spread that the heroes had gathered.
Among countless candidates, the guard captain of the mountain fortress—or, to use Earth terms, the dwarf guard captain—the elf sorcerer from the heart of the forest, the saint dispatched by the Church of Light, and the greatest warrior who had traveled from the nomadic tribes had all proven their worth before the Emperor.
I simply thought, Good for them.
Hero or whoever, I prayed they would quickly cut off the Demon King’s head and pull me out of this mountain of corpses. I begged to be saved from the helplessness of being unable to save the broken people carried in every day.
Then a summons arrived for the hospital director.
When the director came sprinting into the emergency ward, I assumed the old man had simply drunk too much the night before and mistaken his own room. He hadn’t even properly adjusted his clothes.
But he scanned the emergency ward a few times, locked eyes with me, and walked straight over. He stopped directly in front of me, looked me dead in the eye, and spoke.
“Kaira. I have something to tell you.”
I answered in confusion, thinking, What is it? Am I being fired after all?
“Yes?”
“His Majesty has summoned you.”
The statement was so absurd that my eyes widened and I couldn’t speak. The director, ever so kindly, added a few more words.
“The faculty of the Magic Academy recommended you as the mage to accompany the hero’s party, and His Majesty approved. Prepare yourself immediately and head to the imperial palace for an audience. This is an audience with the Emperor himself. It is nothing like treating emergency patients. Dress appropriately and mind your etiquette. Do not embarrass me.”
I later regretted simply standing there in shock without saying a word.
I had been taught that in moments like these, saying “Me? Why?” was the proper way to avoid troublesome duties.
I took the carriage the director lent me and returned straight home, still dazed. I could hardly believe it, but a man of the director’s stature would not lie just to torment me.
Still, just in case the summons was a mistake, I gave my worried parents a vague excuse about why I had come home so suddenly. Telling them honestly that I had to go to the imperial palace would only frighten them.
I searched for the best, most mage-like outfit I owned, found nothing suitable, and ended up wearing the academy uniform robe I had worn during my Magic University days. Right before meeting the Emperor, a very high-ranking official—the imperial chamberlain, I think—scolded me until I cried and forced me to learn imperial etiquette on the spot.
And then, at last, the Emperor appeared. I awkwardly performed the half-remembered formalities and knelt before him.
Emperor Lucretar III. He had inherited the title of Grand Duke of the northernmost lands where the fiercest battles against the Demon King raged. After the previous Emperor’s death, he had won the majority support of the electors and ascended the throne. With his own territory and power base now the front line, his desperation was understandable.
The Emperor smiled gently at me—a mere commoner clumsily mimicking court etiquette—then dismissed everyone else. At first I feared I had done something wrong and was about to be punished, but I later realized it was consideration so I wouldn’t have to maintain uncomfortable formalities under watchful eyes.
Contrary to the director’s threats, the Emperor seemed personally unconcerned with strict etiquette. He appeared young and energetic. When only the Emperor, I, and a few guards remained, he looked at my academy uniform and exclaimed with childlike delight how cute it was. His personality seemed quite frank.
The Emperor asked me a few sociable questions as he led me down a corridor behind the audience chamber. I answered about what my parents did and what life at the Magic Academy had been like, but I was so nervous that I remember none of what I actually said.
We entered a private room off the corridor. The two guards stayed outside the door.
And there, at last, I saw them. The hero’s party I had only known from rumors—the people who would become my comrades.
“Oh my. So this is Mage Kaira? It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re even cuter than I expected…”
The woman who greeted me with a bright smile and an offered handshake was Azalea, the saint from the Church of Light. She was a person like living flame. Clad in sacred light that evil could never penetrate, she wielded a burning blade of holy radiance; any wicked being in its path was reduced to ash without exception. She was the human most beloved by the gods of good, light, midday, justice, and righteous fury.
The short, stocky man leaning on a metal shield nearly his own size and staring up at me with open suspicion was the dwarf warrior Kadros, son of Andrak the White Hammer. He wore full plate armor engraved with dwarven craftsmanship even before the Emperor. His mouth was as crude as his appearance.
“Hmm… Even for a human, she looks way too young. Can we really take a little kid like this with us?”
He tossed the remark loudly enough for everyone to hear, right to my face and with the Emperor present, as if it were a greeting. This from someone whose head barely reached my chest.
As I listened to Kadros grumble, a huge, thick hand twice the size of my head gently stroked my hair.
“Nice to meet you, mage! Small and cute. Soft. Glazalus likes humans like this.”
The one petting me and expressing friendship was Glazalus, the great warrior of the western nomadic tribes—an ogre twice the height of a normal man and perhaps fifteen times the bulk. His heart was kind, though his speech was a little clumsy.
He was said to carry a bronze cannon the size of two men, crafted by famous goblin artisans. When his ammunition ran out, he would swing the cannon like a club to crush enemies, then pound their armor into scrap with his fists to make new bullets.
Finally there was Mervin, the elf of the forest, who remained silent and merely offered a slight nod in greeting. Contrary to stereotype, he carried no bow. His only weapons were two elven blades—one long, one short enough to fit from elbow to fingertip.
According to the Emperor’s introduction, Mervin had trained in swordsmanship for hundreds of years. He could command the life of the forest itself, turning animals, plants, earth, and wind into an army that would oppose anyone who stood against the elf. When I cautiously asked his age after hearing he had trained for centuries, he simply looked uncomfortable and refused to answer.
And then there was me. While the heroes proudly displayed their extraordinary careers, I stood there shrinking, lips trembling. The Emperor spoke on my behalf.
“You have all heard the basic introductions, but allow me to make it formal. This is Mage Kaira. She graduated from the Imperial Magic Academy this year with… well, not the absolute highest marks, but with quite respectable grades. A promising new mage.”
Being too casual is a problem in its own way, I thought irreverently. The Emperor’s explanation only seemed to deepen the others’ distrust; none of their expressions looked particularly pleased. Except for the ogre, who was picking his nose with a completely blank face.
“Nevertheless, the dean of the Magic Academy recommended Kaira over many more accomplished mages to assist you. There was a reason for that.”
The Emperor smiled.
“The path to defeating the Demon King will undoubtedly be grueling. On such a harsh journey, the conveniences only a mage can provide and a few secret spells capable of overcoming desperate situations will be vital. That was my thinking when I approved the recommendation. However, there is one more reason.”
The Emperor’s elegant explanation continued, then his voice dropped slightly.
“Mage Kaira can rewind the time of objects. Do you understand what that means?”
He glanced at my thoroughly intimidated expression and continued.
“It means she possesses the power to instantly heal any injury you sustain. She is, without exaggeration, the greatest healer alive today. I am certain she will be of immense help. Please take her with you. I ask this not as Emperor, but as one human to another—as one of the same race facing annihilation.”
Watching the young Emperor actually kneel before the heroes, all I could do was mutter inside my head.
Damn that old professor. So much for keeping it a secret.
“Well, that is true, but…” The Emperor rose again, closed his eyes for a moment, and sniffed. “She also gives off a pleasant fragrance befitting a young woman. Like honey pastries fresh from the imperial confectioner’s oven. That scent alone should surely bring vitality to the difficult journey ahead and make her an excellent companion.”
I let out a small sigh, then—most disrespectfully—spoke the words I uttered every single day.
“…It is because I am the daughter of a family that bakes bread, Your Majesty.”