The air caught in his chest. A ragged gasp escaped his lips as a hand instinctively grabbed his shirt, searching for a wound that was no longer there. The daylight, sudden and brutal, hurt his eyes, blurring the world. And then there was the smell. A new stench, as strong and repulsive as inhaling toxic fumes, was lodged in his throat.
"Ah… hah…"
He slowly raised his gaze. The square. The same bustling square where he had first appeared in this nightmare world. But the pain of his death was still there, seared into his memory in an impossibly short span of time. He remembered in vivid detail the agony, the coldness of the steel in his abdomen, and the viscous sensation of his own entrails slipping out as life drained away.
"What the hell…?"
He didn't understand. Hadn't he just died? He had been in that garden of shadows; he remembered it with terrifying clarity. He remembered that woman, a being of chilling beauty, whispering words of love to him. Who was she? Why was she speaking to him like that? Did they know each other? The whirlwind of confusion was so dense it threatened to make him pass out.
His mind couldn't stop churning over the woman's words.
"A gift, so you know it's me, so you don't get lost again."
Seemingly simple words. This unbearable smell… She had marked him with her essence, her miasma, he deduced following a twisted logic. But also, he had returned from the dead. And not only that, he seemed to have gone back in time. Apparently, to the start of his first day in this realm.
Sigh. "I need a place to sit. This damned smell is driving me crazy."
The main street was as crowded and bustling as it had been during his first cycle. The sun was still high. The temperature wasn't what he would call hot, but seeing a wolf-man pass by with thick fur, he couldn't help but think: "He must be roasting in there."
"This is no time to act like a slack-jawed tourist," he chastised himself, running a hand over his temple. The stares of the people felt strangely familiar. Hours earlier, in another life, they had looked at him with the same curiosity mixed with distrust.
The transition from night to day was not new to him, but this time there was a crucial, tangible difference.
"My wound… it's gone."
He lifted his shirt with hands that barely trembled, inspecting his abdomen. Then he checked his arms, his legs. He was intact. There were no scars, not even the phantom pain of broken bones. However, something caught his attention: right where Elsa's blade had plunged into him, a small scab of dried blood clung to his skin. Too small to notice at a glance, but undeniable to someone who knew where to look.
It was the proof. It hadn't been a dream, nor an illusion. What happened was real. He had the tacit evidence etched into his own flesh. But with the confirmation came more questions.
How exactly did his Return by Death work?
Superficially, it seemed that his consciousness had been sent to the past. But that hypothesis was flawed. It was impossible for only his mind to travel in time when his body showed a vestige of a wound that, in this timeline, hadn't happened yet.
"That leaves me with only one hypothesis," he muttered to himself, organizing his thoughts. "My consciousness and my body experience a temporal regression to a 'save point.' And during that regression, my body is restored to a state of health similar, but not identical, to what it was at that point."
It doesn't sound crazy. It's a reasonable hypothesis, though there are points to confirm. Like whether dying again will bring me back to this exact point, or if the save point updates over time. Well, only time… and probably more deaths, will tell.
His mind, pragmatic even amidst the trauma, began to weigh the implications. If his theory was correct, and his body and consciousness regressed in time with restored health, it meant several things:
He wouldn't age due to the loops, as his health would reset.
In theory, any physical or magical training, muscle memory, martial skill, instincts, coordination, or even the memory to channel mana and spells, would not be lost with the regression. It would be like carrying skill save files to a new game.
But the price was still there, etched into his flesh and soul. Dying sucked. Dying was unbearable pain, an intimate horror he didn't want to repeat.
"I would only consider it if I find a painless way… some poison that kills me in my sleep," he thought, and then violently shook his head. "Shit! Why am I thinking about how to optimize this curse? I'm crazier than she is!"
"There are more important things to do right now. Felt and old Rom are in danger."
He had known them for only a few hours, in an already erased timeline, but a genuine sympathy, forged in shared desperation, had taken root in him.
"Besides, Felt-chan is too cute to die today because of that psycho. I won't allow it. Not while I can do something about it."
He didn't want to admit it out loud, even to himself, but something had been ignited in him by seeing the tenacity of that rat-girl.
Alright, let's think. That assassin, Elsa, was hired by someone to get that insignia, and she went to Felt to steal it for her. I still don't know why it's so important, but it's important enough to justify a massacre.
Now, the plan of action…
Fighting Elsa was a resounding, underlined "NO." He would just end up butchered again. He needed backup. Someone strong. But if he asked a knight for help and they accepted, there was a bigger problem: Felt was a thief, Rom her accomplice, and they ran a stolen goods business. They would go straight to jail, if Elsa didn't kill them all first anyway.
He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "What a pain."
Standing up, he resumed his walk toward the slums, his mind frantically searching for a solution amidst the chaos.
Entering the same alley as before, he was slightly surprised. The tracksuit guy's body wasn't there.
Is he still alive somewhere? Well, it's not like it's relevant now.[1]
His thoughts were interrupted by a mocking voice coming from the back of the alley.
"Hey, kiddo. Let's have a little fun."
Three men blocked his exit. They were the very definition of low-level thugs.
"Hey, what's with that dumb look on your face?"
"He probably doesn't understand what's going on here. How about we go ahead and teach him?"
Seeing his lack of reaction, their lips twisted into mocking sneers. To Asher, after facing Elsa, this was almost an absurd comedy.
They were three walking stereotypes. The one on the left was a dwarf with a ridiculous mushroom cut and disproportionately black eyes. The one on the right, a big guy with purple hair in braids. And the one in the center, apparently the leader, wore an outfit that screamed "ex-con," with long grayish-blue hair and sanpaku eyes that showed too much white.
Compared to that assassin, these guys aren't scary at all. I could handle them alone, I think. But… this situation is perfect. If I scream loud enough, maybe I'll attract a knight. That way, I can warn them about what will happen at Rom's house.
A cynical, condescending smile played on his lips as he observed the thugs. The shortest one, "Kan" flared up in anger.
"What's so funny, you idiot?"
The big guy with the braids, "Ton," cracked his knuckles. "Change of plans, Chin. I'm going to beat this idiot up."
"I agree. I don't like his smug face," the leader, "Chin" replied, pulling a pair of knives from his pockets.
Before they could charge him, an agile, familiar figure burst into the alley, running as if the devil were chasing her.
"Move aside, you lot!" Felt shouted, sprinting toward them.
"F-Felt?"
"Huh?" She stopped dead upon hearing her name. "Do I know you?"
Asher was momentarily shocked by her appearance, but a wave of relief washed over him. She was alive. That reaffirmed his temporal regression theory.
"... W-well, certainly not," he replied, scratching the back of his neck with feigned composure.
"Whatever, have a good life!"
Having said that, and with an agility that was still unnerving, Felt jumped toward a wall, using it as a springboard to propel herself in a side leap, and from there to a third jump that deposited her on the roof of a nearby house, disappearing from view and leaving everyone slack-jawed.
It was then that Asher, with calculated calm, inhaled all the air his lungs could hold.
"GUARDS!!!"
"W-what are you doing, idiot?!" Kan exclaimed.
Asher smiled cynically. "HELP, THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!!!" he shouted, faking exaggerated panic in his voice.
"You bastard! Don't mess around! Are you seriously screaming at a time like this?!"
"You're supposed to listen to us if you don't want to get hurt! That's how it's supposed to be! You can't just change the rules!" Chin protested.
"Shut up! Who the hell cares what 'normally' happens?! Out of the ordinary, out of the way, off-course! As if I wanted to deal with you guys! I just want to have fun with the golden-haired beauty!" Asher snapped at them, before shouting again. "AAHHH, NO, PLEASE, DON'T TOUCH ME!"
But he soon realized his theatrics were not having the desired effect.
"Huh?"
"Trying to scare us like that... I was only a little nervous."
"Just a little!"
"A really tiny bit!"
In unison, they denied their patheticness in the most pathetic way possible.
The men took a deep breath to regain their composure and drew their weapons: a knife, a rusty switchblade, and...
"Why are you the only one without a weapon? Couldn't you afford to buy one?" Asher asked, frowning with genuine curiosity.
"Shut up! I'm stronger without one! Underestimate me and I'll beat you to death, you shithead brat!" the dwarf roared.
Asher sighed, exasperated. Now, with the weapons drawn, the situation was slightly more complicated. They didn't scare him, but getting away completely unscathed was another matter.
"—That's enough."
A new voice cut the air, a dignified and firm tone that allowed no argument. Everyone turned toward the alley entrance.
A young man stood there.
The first thing that caught everyone's attention was his hair, a flaming red like the fires of hell. Beneath it, bright, bold blue eyes surveyed the scene. His extraordinary beauty only amplified his imposing presence. He was tall, slender, and wore an impeccable white and black uniform. At his waist he carried a simple-looking sword that, nevertheless, gave off an intimidating aura.
"Regardless of the circumstances, I will not allow any more violence against him. You have gone far enough."
He calmly stepped past the three thugs and positioned himself between them and Asher.
The silence that followed had different reasons. Asher was quiet out of surprise and curiosity to see how this unexpected turn would play out. The thugs, on the other hand, visibly paled.
"I-it can't be…" Chin stammered, pointing at the young man with a trembling finger. "Flaming red hair and eyes as blue as the sky… And that sword sheath with a dragon's claw engraved on it… Reinhard… The Sword Saint, Reinhard?!"
"It seems I won't need to introduce myself," the young man said with a hint of self-deprecation. "Although that title is a bit exaggerated for me."
Under his penetrating gaze, the men backed away, overwhelmed. They exchanged panicked glances, weighing escape.
"I will leave it at this if you flee. You had better get out into the street. But if you wish to use force, I will be your opponent."
He placed his hand on the hilt of the sword and slightly tilted his head toward Asher.
"In that case, it would be three against two. In terms of numbers, you would have the advantage. I don't know to what extent my limited strength can help him, but as a knight, I will face you."
"Y-You're joking! No way!" Kan shouted.
The mere suggestion of fighting sent them into a panic. They scrambled out of the alley, forgetting even to conceal their weapons, without so much as a parting threat. That, in itself, spoke volumes about the man standing before him.
Once they were gone, Reinhard turned to Asher with a kind smile. The air of intimidation completely vanished, as if he had turned it off at will.
"I'm glad we are both safe. Are you unharmed?"
Asher nodded, still processing the situation. Reinhard… that name… The girls wouldn't stop mentioning him in their conversations. The "Sword Saint."
"Yes, thank you for coming. I thought no one would come to help me. I was already thinking of plan B, by the way. My name is Asher Mugen."
"You had a Plan B? Would you care to share it with me?" Reinhard asked with genuine interest.
"Fight all three together. I don't think it would have caused me much trouble, but I prefer to avoid conflict if possible." He paused and added, "Though it's strange, considering how many people are in the area, only you came."
"I truly don't want to say this, but it can't be helped. For most people, it would be very risky to seek trouble with those types. In that sense, your decision to call the guards was the correct one."
The answer left Asher a little disconcerted. Were those three losers considered a danger to the general populace? His perspective was clearly skewed by having fought Felt and witnessed Rom's strength. He was rubbing shoulders with extraordinary people without realizing it.
"I think they called you something like 'Sword Saint.' I hear it a lot lately."
"My family is somewhat special, you see. Every day I feel like the weight of their expectations could crush me." Reinhard shrugged with a cheerful air that belied his words.
"It's very rare to see someone with dark brown hair and gray eyes, and you have unusual clothing, and that goes for your name too… Where are you from? For what purpose have you come to the capital of Lugunica?"
"I was born in one of the kingdom's cities, further south," Asher replied, hoping he hadn't messed up and that there actually was a city to the south.
"South? Then you were born in Picoutatte, correct?"
"Yes, I was born there," Asher affirmed with more confidence than he felt.
"You don't seem to be trying to deceive me, so let's leave it at that. In any case, you must have a reason for having come to the capital, right? Although there is a somewhat complex situation right now. I can help you if you wish."
"Well… since you insist, I do have a small problem." Asher lowered his voice, adopting a more serious tone.
"I saw a suspicious lady prowling the slums days ago. She seems to have some business at old Rom's loot house; it's to the east, on the edge of the slums. I would appreciate it if you would check the place once night falls. It would be greatly appreciated."
Reinhard put his hand to his chin, thoughtful. "I see, I understand. I will take a look once night falls then. Thank you for reporting it to me."
Asher let out an internal sigh of relief. He had planted the seed. "Anyway, I'd better head to the market street first."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes, I'm going. You've helped me a lot. I'll definitely reward you someday… Can I meet you at the guard station or something?"
"I think so, you just have to mention my name. Otherwise, on my days off, I usually wander around the capital."
"I wouldn't much like wandering around the city looking for a man… This isn't an Otome game," Asher joked, raising his hand in a farewell gesture.
"Be careful," Reinhard said, maintaining his composure until the end.
As if those words gave him the final push, Asher exited the alley, having avoided a fight and, hopefully, having changed the fate of that night. Unaware, however, that a pair of blue eyes were watching him with acute curiosity, evaluating every one of his words and his unusual presence.
[1] Spoiler: Subaru is now a mayonnaise merchant. An old merchant looking for a disciple took him away by force on a trip.