21.
Screams. Death. Flames. Smoke. Bloodshot eyes. Mud. Blazing fires. Shouts. The thundering sound of hooves, the clang of steel, the sight of men rolling across the ground as others chased them.
For Lancel, the battlefield was perhaps more familiar than his own home. At the very least, he had spent over fifty years here before dying on this very ground.
Those were the days when he relentlessly pursued strength, when the fire of ambition still burned brightly within him. Those were the days when he wandered endlessly, searching for someone he would never see again.
Now, Lancel found himself facing a man with eyes that mirrored his own from that bygone era. With the burning battlefield at his back, the man strode steadily through the wheat field, sword in hand.
“Sir Lancel, I request a match.”
“Ever an ambitious man.”
As Adelhart approached with overwhelming momentum, Lancel drew his sword. The aura emanating from his body was noticeably different from before.
“Lower your stance. Fall back.”
“Sir Lancel…!” Marigold’s shout faded as Lancel moved swiftly forward.
Adelhart mirrored his movements.
The energy boiling within him surged outward, coiling around the blade. The heat-hazed steel glowed with a faint blue light.
“You’ve grown, Adelhart.”
“It is thanks to your teachings, Sir Lancel. I am deeply grateful.”
“As expected, teaching a genius is truly rewarding.”
“I was taught that it is a disciple’s duty to surpass their master.”
“Not quite surpassing me yet.”
Their swords flashed toward each other simultaneously.
Clang!
Lancel’s blade slid effortlessly along Adelhart’s, tracing a graceful arc as it sliced through the air and across Adelhart’s body.
“……!”
Adelhart collapsed to his knees in the wheat field. Wheat leaves, severed by the blade, rained down like flower petals over his head.
“……How…?”
Just once.
There was no second clash.
A single exchange of their blade alone had decided the outcome.
“I thought I was getting closer…”
His expression was one of emptiness, awe, and anguish.
For years, Adelhart had poured blood, sweat, and tears into his training, enduring countless setbacks and shedding tears of frustration as he grew step by step.
Yet the duel ended with a single exchange. The more he dwelled on it, the more futile it seemed.
Lancel had experienced similar moments countless times—decades of effort dissolving into a single arrow or one strike of the sword.
“……”
In the end, Adelhart stared at the hilt of his fallen sword with a look of relief.
“I can only apologize for showing you such a pathetic display of swordsmanship.”
“Consider it bad luck,” Lancel replied, helping Marigold up from where she had retreated. “With enough time and proper guidance, you might have surpassed me.”
This continent had seen many geniuses, and Adelhart was among the most remarkable. Yet, he still lacked the time and opportunity to surpass Lancel.
“Your talent far surpasses mine, a mere mortal with an ordinary mind and body. I mean that sincerely.”
“You flatter me, Sir.”
With those final words, Adelhart collapsed. Lancel turned his back on the fallen man and strode back through the wheat field.
“Huff, huff!”
“Are you tired already?”
“N-no, huff, huff, huff!”
Lancel grabbed Marigold’s arm and pulled her along as they ran for a long stretch.
It was then that they saw it.
“Sir Lancel! Ahead of you!”
Hundreds of cavalrymen had abandoned the battlefield and now blocked Lancel’s path.
“Manager Mary! You’re here! I’ve been searching for you for so long!”
It was the Fifth Prince, clad in armor, and his knights.
Count Runter, who had just lost his son, was also visible among them.
“There’s nowhere left for you to run on this vast plain. You have only two choices: die here or come with me! Choose, manager Mary… no.”
The Fifth Prince tore off his helmet, his face flickering with a cascade of emotions: rage, love, hatred, affliction, and possessiveness.
“Marigold.”
Lancel flinched as Marigold’s shoulders trembled, and he pulled her back again.
“Obsessive men aren’t very desirable, Your Highness.”
22.
“To waste your precious life over a mere woman. You truly are a foolish man, Lancel Dante.”
“For Your Highness the Fifth Prince, who would wager the fate of tens of thousands on a mere woman, to speak such words… Will you not wage war? Do you feel no pity for the soldiers fighting far away without a commander?”
“Nonsense.”
The Fifth Prince grinned, baring his teeth. “To me, she is a woman worth such a price.”
Smoke from the burning wheat fields billowed skyward.
The Fifth Prince pointed a finger at Lancel.
“Capture Mary alive. Kill Lancel Dante on the spot and bring me his head. If we let him live, he’ll surely become a future threat.”
Marigold’s face turned deathly pale.
“I, I surrender…! I’ll surrender…!”
“Stay quiet.” Lancel struck Marigold’s neck with the flat of his sword sheath as she lunged forward.
“Gah!”
He gently lowered the unconscious woman to the ground.
‘Did I hit you too hard?’
He pressed his fingers to her nose and felt her breathing. Marigold lay sleeping soundly, her face relaxed and peaceful, even snoring softly.
‘She’s fine.’ Lancel chuckled softly.
Behind him, the cavalry was closing in. Count Runter, who had lost his son, strode forward with heavy steps.
“Lancel,” Count Runter said, his voice grim. “Your presence here means my son is no longer of this world.”
“That’s how it turned out,” Lancel replied. “I sincerely apologize for taking your precious son to the afterlife, Your Excellency. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one who should be sorry. To settle my grudge, I even abandoned my knightly code.”
“A mob lynching doesn’t exactly align with knightly ideals, does it?”
Lancel raised his sword.
The opposing force consisted of at least three hundred knights, including Count Runter himself.
Naturally, there was no chance of victory. But this was a battlefield, and he knew exactly how to shatter their morale.
“Die gracefully, Lancel Dante.”
Lancel charged straight towards the sneering Fifth Prince.
“What…!”
“Your Highness!”
The space seemed to compress as Lancel’s face closed in on the Fifth Prince in an instant. The prince frantically drew his sword, but it was already too late.
Lancel’s blade pierced effortlessly into the Fifth Prince’s heart. His face, contorted in agony, was visible as he coughed up blood.
“…Lancel… Dante…!”
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that I didn’t send Marigold to you in the first place. At this rate, I might even have to thank the Sixth Prince. When you think about it, he’s only ever done things that benefited me.”
Lancel flicked the blood from his blade into the wheat field. The Fifth Prince’s body slid limply from his horse.
“H-His Highness…!”
The knights’ belated cries of alarm echoed through the field.
“Lancel Dante!”
“Traitor! Seize him immediately!”
“A traitor who murdered a member of the imperial family! Kill him!”
‘Traitor? So, in this case, am I a traitor to the traitor? Hmm…I don’t know.’
“Die!”
“Traitor Lancel Dante!”
Blades rained down upon him.
.
.
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“Here! Over here!”
“…What… what exactly happened here?”
The Imperial Support Army, having rushed to the wheat field after receiving the urgent news, was stunned. In a remote corner of the field, far from the battlefield, the ground was completely covered in corpses.
It was an area they hadn’t even noticed. Yet somehow, dozens of armored knights lay scattered across the ground.
“Eeeek!”
Soon, a man in gold-decorated armor came into view.
“The Fifth Prince…! His Highness Prince Erwin!”
“Then all these men are…”
Every corpse strewn across the vast field was a knight to the Fifth Prince.
23.
“It’s peaceful,” Lancel murmured.
The evening was so quiet, it was hard to believe they were on a battlefield. Only the sound of insects filled the tranquil air.
Lancel lowered his gaze. Marigold was nestled in his arms.
They were alone together in the pitch-black cave.
“Phew!”
Knowing that he would not be able to win the battle, Lancel had chosen to flee instead.
As casualties mounted into the dozens, he could see the morale of the knights, now leaderless, steadily crumbling.
Seizing a momentary lapse in the chaos, Lancel had bolted.
He had flattened himself in the waist-high wheat field, dragging Marigold along with one hand, in a truly pathetic manner.
Now, all that remained was to cross the valley, and the road to the capital would be open.
All he needed to do was find a village to secure supplies and either obtain a carriage or wait for the train to the capital.
‘So far, so good.’
But Lancel had hastily sought refuge in a cave. He had no choice.
“Count Runter, abandoning all chivalry like this is going too far.”
Lancel clutched at the deepest wound among the many injuries covering his body.
There was a small object lodged in his chest—an arrow the size of his palm, a bolt fired from a crossbow.
What could he do?
When dozens of knights simultaneously unleashed a barrage of crossbow bolts in the chaos of battle, evading every single one was simply impossible.
In the end, a crossbow bolt fired by Count Runter pierced Lancel’s body, leading to his current predicament. Count Runter had finally avenged his son.
If this were Lancel from his third lifetime, he would never have been hit in the first place. Or even if he had been, he might have survived unscathed.
But for the now-lazy Lancel, both scenarios were impossible.
‘Honestly, how can anyone live diligently for hundreds of years without wavering?’
Lancel felt wronged.
He had still trained whenever he found the time, hadn’t he? He might be lazy, but he wasn’t a complete layabout.
He wanted to argue this point.
“Ugh…”
As Lancel swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, Marigold stirred in his arms.
“…Sir Lancel…?”
He felt her stirring awake.
“Where am I… what happened?”
“Everything’s worked out. We just need to cross one more mountain. The train will be here next month, so you can rest up and then take it.”
Lancel mumbled the explanation as if making excuses.
It was a flimsy excuse that wouldn’t hold up for long.
Marigold seemed to sense something was wrong and began groping his body with her hands.
When she saw the blood soaking her palm, her eyes immediately began to tremble.
“This… this… what happened…?”
“…I must have tripped and rolled down a hill on the way here?”
Lancel offered a ridiculous joke that no one would believe.
Finally, Marigold’s hand found the arrow lodged in his chest. Thick tears began to fall from her eyes in heavy drops.
“Sir Lancel…!”
“Mary, people are meant to die.”
Even his carefully chosen words fell flat.
“Everything… everything…”
Tears streamed from Marigold’s eyes as though a faucet had been turned on.
“It’s all… all because of me, Sir Lancel.”
“No. It’s because I was lazy. So…”
“It’s because of me! Because of me, everyone close to me disappears. Always, always…”
Marigold’s voice trembled uncontrollably.
“Everyone I love—my mom, dad, puppy, horse, the butler, my house, the wildflowers in the front yard, my friends, even you, Sir Lancel… it’s all because of me…”
“Self-deprecation doesn’t suit you, manager Mary.”
“But it’s true. All of it is true.”
Lancel’s gaze deepened.
‘So that’s why you kept me at arm’s length at first?’
Marigold had truly been dealt a cruel fate.
Losing her family, name, and status at the age of ten was only the beginning. Some kind of curse seemed to cling to her life.
Lancel wondered if he might be part of that curse himself.
Regret washed over him.
“What if I had done better? If I had thought things through more carefully? If I had tried just a little harder?”
“Next time, I’ll… do… better…”
“Better at what?”
“Just… everything…”
Only then did Lancel truly understand how the regressor Marigold felt.
Marigold was different from humans like him, whose sense of time had dulled and who treated death as trivial.
Even when she seemed lazy or like a freeloader, her feelings for Lancel had always been genuine.
Perhaps that was the fundamental difference between them: Lancel, who had always treated her as a tool or insurance, and Marigold, who had always treated him as destiny.
A pang of guilt pricked his conscience.
“Hngh…”
As Marigold’s sobs threatened to intensify, Lancel gently pinched her nose.
“Give me a chance, Mary.”
“…?”
Lancel met her gaze with an unprecedentedly serious expression.
“All the sorrow and tragedy you’ve endured… all those relationships and the happiness you’ve lost… I will prove that none of it was your fault.”
He raised his hand to wipe away her tears, gently brushing back her hair, which shimmered like molten gold.
“I will prove that you’re not bad… I will prove it without fail. Just wait for me until then.”
His vision blurred. He must have lost too much blood.
‘Yes, it’s a miracle I’ve held on this long.’
“I will… Marigold… your happiness…”
His eyes slowly closed. The strength drained from his body.
‘I will…’
He heard Marigold’s suppressed sobs erupting beside him.
That was Lancel’s last memory.
Ten years passed.
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.
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[Playtime: 10 years, 0 days]
—Marigold turned 25.
—No marriage partner.
—Several achievements.
▶Archives Manager at the Bureau of Administration: +200 points
▷Top Graduate of the Academy: +50 points
▶Owner of the Machine Workshop: +50 points
▷Firearms Technician: +50 points
—Total Score: 350 points (650/1500 points remaining until the “Succession of Memories” may be unlocked)
[Normal Ending 66: Musketeer Marigold]
—This ending was added to the “Album of Memories.”
—Album opening.
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.
.
Bang!
“Fire.”
Bang!
“Fire again.”
Bang!
“One more time.”
As the iron ball shot through the long pipe and pierced the armor, a surge of elation filled Marigold’s heart.
“Success, Master! The malfunctions are completely gone!”
“Yes. It’s finally complete.”
This was the culmination of years of work in her workshop.
A hand-fired cannon.
A hand cannon.
A gun.
Marigold had no doubt that this invention would change the world.
“Even a child with enough strength to pull the trigger could kill a knight with this.”
Magic that requires no training, mechanical devices that shoot flames, and armor-piercing power.
The nemesis of chivalry.
“Watch. The age of knights will soon come to an end.”
As Marigold gripped the gun, ancient memories resurfaced within her:
The wheat field burning black, the thunder of galloping hooves, the clash of swords, and the countless knights swarming her fiancé.
The age of knights that led to his death.
[Normal Ending 66: Musketeer Marigold – FIN.]
—Would you like to restart the game?
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.
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“Technology.”
‘She had abandoned her high-ranking government position to open a workshop.’
Lancel clutched his head, overwhelmed by her unpredictable nature.
Of course, he had died midway through that timeline, so if the regression ended at this point, it would be problematic.
Even in this timeline, which he had believed was following the standard “high-ranking official route,” had veered off course in such an unexpected way, leaving Lancel utterly bewildered.
‘What should I do now?’ Lancel pondered.
He needed to find a new path, a new goal to replace the Empress ending.
He also needed to refrain from dying needlessly.
‘Maybe I should aim for a more conventional ending?’
A standard ending.
Something like the “High-Ranking Official Marigold” ending he’d missed this time—the kind that the game pushed as a regular, proper conclusion.
Marriage was the most classic option, but there were plenty of other endings that qualified as standard.
‘What would be the best move?’
Ultimately, everything hinged upon what state Marigold would appear in.
No matter how meticulously Lancel planned, if she suddenly reverted to her natural, unrefined state, all his efforts would be for naught.
‘Hmm.’
In any case, Lancel would just have to see what happened.
* * *
“I despise anyone who wields a sword.”
And so, the next iteration began.
“…I just hate knights.”
Lancel met Marigold, who had fallen into a deep-seated aversion towards knights.
“Honestly, I don’t like you either.”
Her hatred of knights was so intense that even Lancel, who always acted warmly toward her, couldn’t escape Marigold’s sharp gaze.
After all, Lancel was a knight.
He was the son of a traditional knightly family.
‘More than having a wall up… now it’s hatred now…?’
Shock.
Disbelief.
Disappointment.
“Magic is the best after all! It is supreme! I love magic!”
And so, Lancel met “Wizard Apprentice Marigold.”
“Magic! I love it! Love it! Love it!”
“……”
Perhaps she was a little too obsessed with magic.
[End of Civil Servant Marigold]
[Next – Wizard Marigold]
Most unpredicatable woman in all of fiction