30.
Lancel tried to imagine the first day of this regression as Marigold the regressor would have experienced it.
The sudden flood of memories from countless lifetimes.
He pictured the shock and despair she must have felt, believing herself to be the cause of all her misfortunes.
The three years that had been a blank space for him—she might have spent them in daily torment, in a place where he hadn’t been.
Locked away alone.
‘The last time.
This is the last time.
If I make this the last time…
Then I won’t have any regrets left…’
Lancel vividly pictured Marigold finally sitting at her desk, lifting her pen.
He imagined the smile that must have finally graced her face as she looked at the small notebook.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she must have written down each word, pouring her will into every stroke.
The things she wanted to do in this life.
The memories she wished to share one last time.
Lancel could almost vividly picture Marigold, having finally settled her heart, embarking on that long journey toward the Dante family.
“…You shouldn’t be with me, Sir Lancel…”
The emotion driving Marigold to avoid him might be fear.
Fear that her carefully composed heart would waver. Fear that she would inflict the same misfortune upon Lancel.
Fear. Fear. Fear.
“You’ll become unhappy.”
Lancel clenched his teeth.
“Just be selfishly happy, Marigold.”
His grip tightened on Marigold’s wrist, and his expression darkened.
“Just stay with me, go to festivals, eat expensive food, buy clothes, collect jewels, raise animals in a big mansion—just be happy, easily and simply.”
‘What am I even saying?’
Lancel didn’t understand his own words.
“I’m offering to be with you. I’ll listen to everything you want to do, where you want to go, what you want to eat—everything.”
He was just rambling whatever came to mind.
“I’m telling you that I’ll give you everything I can, so why are you sulking and running away?”
Marigold, who had been biting her lip, finally spoke.
“It’s okay, I’ve already done everything I wanted to do. I have no regrets…”
“You’ve barely done half of what’s on this list!”
Lancel rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a tattered notebook.
Marigold’s eyes widened in shock.
“W-where did you get that?!”
“There’s a way to get everything. Too bad for you, Marigold. You’re in the palm of my hand.”
“Give it back! It’s mine…!”
“Says who?”
Lancel held the notebook behind him.
As Marigold struggled to grab it back, he deliberately flipped through the pages and began reading aloud:
“Number 31: Raise a pet. Number 32: Travel and earn money together. Number 33: Spend a night together on a cruise ship.”
“Ugh! Ughhh! Ughhhhhh!”
“Number 34: Spend a spooky night in a cave. Number 35: Secretly… in a crowded alleyway? Pass.”
“Gahhh!”
“Number 36: Spend a night disguised as a merchant. Number 37: On a galloping horse… this is physically impossible.”
“Hic!”
Marigold screamed in agony. Her shameful desires were pouring out of Lancel’s mouth like a torrent.
“Number 60: Dress together in women’s clothes and go to the village festival? Absolutely not. Not a chance.”
“Hiiiick!”
“Number 61…”
“Ack.”
Lancel read through all the way to number seventy before turning to Marigold.
“We’re not even halfway through.”
Lancel tucked the notebook back into his pocket and stared at Marigold. Her tear-streaked face was flushed crimson.
“Still no regrets? Even now?”
“No… no…”
“Look me in the eye when you say that.”
Lancel grabbed Marigold by the shoulders and pressed his face close. They stared at each other from a distance much closer than ever before.
“Are you really over me? Do you not want to see me again? For the rest of your life? In any lifetime, you never want to see me again?”
“I…”
“Or… have you just grown to hate me?”
“……!”
Marigold’s eyes widened.
“If you tell me right here and now that you’ve grown to dislike me… I’ll leave without a trace of regret. But if not, don’t ever put on a false front before me again. Now, tell me.”
When Lancel spoke with genuine sincerity, Marigold’s face crumpled into tears once more.
“I… I dis…”
“Say it.”
“I… I-I-I-…”
“I can’t hear you.”
She just had to say it.
Marigold must know.
Lancel was being utterly sincere.
“I… I-I… I dis… dislike…”
Her lips trembled endlessly, as if locked in a silent battle with something within her heart.
Lancel waited patiently.
“…you…”
Marigold lowered her head.
“I dislike you.”
The arm that had only ever retreated now weakly embraced Lancel.
“I dislike it too. Not being able to see you.”
Marigold’s listless voice drifted from his arms.
“Still… I hate the thought of Sir Lancel being unhappy even more.”
Lancel tightened his grip, wrapping his arms firmly around her back.
He felt the turmoil bubbling inside him gradually subside as he regained his composure.
“I told you, Marigold,” Lancel said, cupping the back of her head with his hand.
Marigold’s entire body was warm, her nape especially hot.
When Lancel stroked the crown of her head, he felt a slight bump. Had he struck her too hard?
It seemed like a lump was forming.
“…now that I’ve taken it once, I’ll never give it back.”
“I won’t give it back,” Lancel declared.
Yes.
Once she had given him her life, he had no intention of ever relinquishing it.
A cold wind swirled around them.
Silence gradually settled over the top of the bell tower, broken only by Marigold’s trembling shoulders and hiccups.
‘But it really is quite swollen.’
Lancel once again fiddling with Marigold’s bump, was too flustered to even think about failing to control his strength.
31.
“Why can’t I ever do anything right, Sir Lancel?” Marigold muttered in the deep shadows of the bell tower.
After wiping away the tears and snot that had drenched her face, only a girl with a reddened nose remained.
“Just like last time, and this time too. Why am I always so hopelessly useless?”
“…It happens.”
In all honesty, Lancel couldn’t face those words with complete confidence. He was no paragon of virtue himself.
Not now, and certainly not when he first became a regressor. In fact, there were times when he’d been even more of a mess than she was.
There was a time when he too had grown by relying on the help of others.
This time, it was Marigold’s turn to receive that help.
“…It’s… nice,” Marigold muttered in a sulky voice.
“Lancel… it’s really nice. Ugh.”
Her hand brushed against Lancel’s hip as she blurted out these nonsensical words.
“But you’re still going to die, aren’t you?”
“I have to try not to.”
“…You always die.”
“That sounds like a curse.”
“…This time too, because of me, Sir Lancel…”
Her emotional turmoil was still evident.
It was as if she could already see Lancel dying a violent death somewhere, once again.
‘First, I need to survive myself.’
Marigold’s mind could change at any moment. She was unpredictable, like a ball bouncing in random directions.
It wouldn’t have been strange if she had fallen into self-pity again and done something pointless.
‘Is it really this difficult to make one person happy?’
A sigh escaped Lancel’s lips.
He was confident that he could endure any war, pain, death, hunger, or thirst.
From being the pampered son of a knightly family to becoming the most unparalleled knight in the empire’s history—a feat achieved in just three lifetimes—Lancel had always been treated as a hero wherever he went. There were times when he felt as if nothing was impossible if he set his mind to it.
‘If I really wanted to, erecting statues of myself across the entire empire would be child’s play.’
Of course, this was nothing more than arrogance.
Considering how Lancel’s life had crumbled afterward, such a statement was utterly absurd.
He never imagined he wouldn’t be able to make even one person happy.
‘How on earth is that even possible?’
He couldn’t grasp it at all.
The answer still eluded him.
Despite having poured over ten lifetimes into this, he felt like he was still at square one.
Everything remained shrouded in mystery.
‘Should I just tell her I’m a regressor too?’
Lancel’s lips twitched.
The words caught in his throat.
‘Once I say it, I can’t take it back.’
Marigold would remember his words forever.
But was it worth telling her, even knowing he couldn’t predict what would happen?
“What should I do, Sir Lancel?” Marigold’s expression was clouded.
In the end, Marigold couldn’t shake the lingering guilt of not leaving Lancel’s side. It was clear she was worried about what lay ahead.
‘Should I say it?’
Indeed.
It was time for them to talk.
Lancel always knew that it was only a matter of time.
“……Haaah……”
After much deliberation, Lancel finally spoke.
“Mary.”
In the next instant, an ear-splitting scream and uproar erupted.
The sound came from below the bell tower.
“……?”
“Sir Lancel, did you just……?”
.
.
.
As Lancel descended to the ballroom, the commotion grew louder. He gradually noticed nobles in their formal attire fleeing with deathly pale faces.
“They’re insane! All of them are insane!”
“Save me!”
“Aaaaaah!”
It was clear from this alone what a state the eve of the Imperial Ball had fallen into.
Lancel frowned at the acrid, metallic scent that permeated the corridor.
Pulling back the red curtain and stepping onto the second-floor balcony overlooking the ballroom, he immediately grasped the situation.
“Kill them!”
“Traitors! Wipe them all out!”
“Traitors?! How dare they defy His Highness’s orders!”
In the chaotic ballroom, knights clashed, their swords flashing in a deadly dance.
“What a mess,” Lancel muttered. “This damn country…”
A dry laugh escaped Lancel’s lips.
He had seen the Empire descend into madness countless times, but this was a new level of absurdity.
“S-save me!”
“Blood… my blood…!”
The eve of the ball had transformed into a living hell.
Knights loyal to different branches of the Imperial Family clashed relentlessly, their swords flashing in the dim light.
Clang!
Nobles who hadn’t yet escaped the hall scrambled frantically, their movements clumsy and desperate.
“Aaaaargh!”
“Gaaaaaaah!”
The ballroom had become a scene of utter chaos.
The floor was already slick with blood.
“Sir Lancel, the Empire is collapsing again! This is exactly what I warned you about…!”
“Did you say that? But it’s not quite ruined yet.”
Right.
This is still just part of the power struggle.
From now on, an even greater hellscape will unfold before the Empire.
Within that chaos, Lancel already decided whose hand he’d grasp. Even though he didn’t like it, there’s no one else but that woman.
“Mary, you haven’t stabbed any members of the Imperial Family yet, have you?”
“……?”
He drew two ceremonial swords from the fallen knights’ sheaths. The blades were blunt, but it would be enough.
“Let’s go.”
Lancel’s eyes flashed.
‘Once this is over, I’ll tell her.’
Lancel’s secret.
He will not tell her I smell it