Lancel imagined Marigold's first day in this regression cycle.
The flood of memories from countless lives.
He tried to picture the shock and despair she must have felt, believing herself to be the source of all misfortune.
Those three years that were a blank to him—perhaps she had spent each day in agony.
Alone, somewhere he couldn't reach.
Shut away by herself.
-The last time.
-This is the final time.
-Just need to make this the last one.
-So that I won't have any regrets...
Lancel could vividly imagine Marigold finally sitting at her desk, picking up a pen.
Her face, looking down at that small notebook, would have finally shown a smile.
And then slowly, deliberately, she would have written down her thoughts.
The things she wanted to do in this life.
The memories she wanted to share one last time.
Lancel could almost see Marigold making that long journey to House Dante after finally organizing all her feelings.
"...You shouldn't be with me, Sir Lancel..."
Perhaps the emotion behind her avoidance was fear.
Fear that her carefully organized feelings would be shaken, fear of bringing the same misfortune to Lancel again.
Fear. Fear. Fear.
"You'll become unhappy."
Lancel gritted his teeth.
"Just be selfish enough to be happy, Marigold."
His grip tightened around her wrist. Her expression crumpled.
"Just stay with me, go to festivals, drink expensive alcohol, eat rich food, buy clothes, collect jewels, raise animals in a big mansion—just be happy in that simple, easy way."
What was he even saying?
Lancel didn't understand his own words.
"I'm telling you I'll be there with you. Whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, whatever you want to eat—I'll be right beside you for all of it."
He was just saying whatever came to mind.
"I'm telling you I'll do everything I can for you, so why are you sulking and running away by yourself?"
Marigold, who had been biting her lip, finally spoke.
"It's fine, I've already done everything I wanted to do, so I don't have any regrets..."
"Even though I've seen you haven't even done half of it?"
Lancel rummaged through his pocket. He pulled out a tattered notebook.
Marigold's eyes widened in shock.
"Th-that, how, where did you get that!"
"I have my ways. Too bad, Marigold. You're in the palm of my hand."
"Give it back, it's mine...!"
"Not a chance."
He pulled his hand back, keeping the notebook out of reach.
As Marigold struggled to retrieve it, he began flipping through the pages, reading aloud for her to hear.
"Number 31, raise a pet. Number 32, run a business together to save travel money. Number 33, spend a night together on a cruise ship."
"Aaah! Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaah!"
"Number 34, spend a creepy, eerie night in a cave. Number 35, secretly in an alley where people pass by...? I'll skip that one."
"Aaaaargh!"
"Number 36, spend a night mixed in with merchants. Number 37, on a running horse... is that even physically possible?"
"Eek!"
Marigold was screaming.
Her embarrassing desires were pouring out through Lancel's mouth.
"Number 60, dress me up as a woman and attend a village festival together? Absolutely not. Not happening."
"Hiiik!"
"Number 61."
"Guk."
After reading all the way to number 70, Lancel turned to look at Marigold.
"You're not even halfway there."
Lancel put the notebook back in his pocket and looked at Marigold.
Her tear-stained face had turned bright red.
"And you still say you have no regrets? Really?"
"I don't..."
"Look me in the eyes when you say it."
He grabbed her shoulders and brought his face close to hers.
Marigold and Lancel faced each other more closely than ever before.
"Do you really have no regrets now? Is it okay if you never see me again? Forever. Never seeing me again in all your lives?"
"I..."
"Or have you come to dislike me?"
"...!"
Her eyes widened.
"If you tell me right here and now that you dislike me... I'll leave without any regrets. If not, then stop putting on airs in front of me. Go ahead, say it."
Speaking with sincerity, Marigold's face crumpled into tears once more.
"...dis..."
"Say it."
"...di, di, diiii..."
"I can't hear you."
All she had to do was say it.
Marigold must know.
Lancel was completely serious right now.
"Di... diii... dis..."
She kept moving her lips. The process repeated endlessly, as if she were fighting something inside herself.
Lancel waited patiently.
"...like..."
Marigold lowered her head.
"I dislike it."
Her arms, which had only been retreating until now, weakly embraced Lancel.
"I dislike it too. Not seeing you."
Her powerless voice flowed from within his embrace.
"But. I dislike you becoming unhappy even more."
Lancel wrapped his arms tightly around her back.
He could feel the bubbling inside him gradually subsiding. Lancel was regaining his composure.
"I told you, Marigold."
He cradled the back of her head with his hand.
Her entire body was warm with heat. The back of her head was especially hot.
As he stroked the crown of her head, he felt a slight bump. Had he flicked her forehead too hard? It seemed like a lump had formed.
—Once I've taken it, I won't give it back again.
"I won't give it back."
Yes.
Once he had taken over a life, he had no intention of giving it back.
A cold wind swirled around them.
Silence gradually settled at the top of the bell tower. Only Marigold's trembling shoulders and hiccups could be heard.
*But it really is bumpy.*
Lancel fiddled with Marigold's lump again. He had been too caught up in the moment to consider his strength.
31.
"Why can't I ever do anything right, Sir Lancel?"
Marigold mumbled in the dark shadows of the bell tower.
After wiping away the tears and snot that had covered her face, all that remained was her reddened nose.
"Last time and this time too. Why am I so consistently hopeless?"
"...It happens."
Honestly, Lancel couldn't be self-righteous about it either. He wasn't perfect himself.
Not now, and not when he first became a regressor. In fact, there were many times when he was much more of a mess than she was.
There was a time when he too had grown by constantly receiving help from others.
It was simply Marigold's turn now.
"...It feels nice though."
Marigold mumbled in a sullen voice.
"This feels nice, Sir Lancel. Sigh."
"What are you talking about?"
Her hand brushed against Lancel's backside as she blurted out something strange.
"But you're still going to die."
"I'll try not to."
"...You always died before."
"That sounds like a curse."
"...This time too, because of me, Sir Lancel will..."
Her emotional turmoil was still visible.
It seemed as if the image of Lancel dying a violent death somewhere was still haunting her.
*So I need to stay alive first, is that it?*
He didn't know when Marigold's mind might change again. She was unpredictable.
It wouldn't be surprising if she fell back into self-loathing and did something unnecessary.
*Is it really this difficult to make one person happy?*
He sighed.
War, pain, death, hunger, thirst—Lancel was confident he could endure any of these.
It had taken Lancel only three regressions to transform from a pampered son of a knight's family into the greatest knight in imperial history.
There was a time when he felt nothing was impossible if he set his mind to it, being treated as a hero wherever he went.
-If I wanted to, putting up statues of myself throughout the Empire would be nothing.
Of course, that was arrogance.
Considering how Lancel's life had crumbled afterward, it was nonsense.
But he never thought he'd be unable to make one person happy.
*How on earth do I make this possible?*
He had no idea.
He still couldn't see the answer.
Despite pouring in more than ten regression cycles' worth of time, it still felt like the first step. Everything was in a fog.
*Should I just tell her I'm a regressor too?*
Lancel moved his lips.
The words wouldn't come out.
*Once I say it, I can't take it back?*
Marigold would remember his words forever.
But was it worth telling her?
Despite not knowing what would happen?
"What should I do, Sir Lancel?"
Marigold's expression was hazy.
She was clearly still troubled by the fact that she couldn't leave Lancel after all. She was undoubtedly worried about what would happen next.
*Should I tell her?*
Yes.
I should tell her.
I've been thinking it was only a matter of time anyway.
"...Haah..."
After contemplating, Lancel opened his mouth.
"Mary."
The next moment, an ear-piercing scream and clamor erupted.
The sound came from the bottom of the bell tower.
"...?"
"Sir Lancel, just now..."
.
.
.
As they descended to the ballroom, the commotion grew louder.
Nobles in party attire fleeing with pale faces gradually came into view.
"They're insane! They've all gone mad!"
"Save me!"
"Kyaaaaaaah!"
The state of the Imperial Ball's eve was already obvious from that alone.
Lancel frowned at the metallic smell that reached him from the corridor.
Pulling back a red curtain and entering the second floor of the ballroom, the situation was immediately clear.
"Kill them!"
"Traitors! Eliminate them all!"
"Traitors? How dare you defy the Prince's orders!"
Knights were exchanging blows in the chaotic ballroom.
"What a mess. This damn country."
A bitter laugh escaped Lancel's lips.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen the Empire going mad, but this was a new scenario.
"S-save me!"
"Blood... there's blood coming from my body...!"
The ball's eve had transformed into hell.
Knights serving different imperial family members were swinging swords at each other.
Clang-!
Nobles who hadn't managed to escape yet were tumbling around.
"Aaaaargh!"
"Kyaaaaaaah!"
The ballroom was in pandemonium.
The floor had long since been stained with blood.
"Sir Lancel, the Empire is collapsing again! This is what I was talking about...!"
"Did you say that? And it hasn't collapsed yet."
Right.
This level was still just a power struggle.
From now on, an even worse hell would unfold in the Empire's future.
He had already decided whose hand to take, even if he didn't like it. There was no one else but that woman.
"Mary. You haven't tried stabbing royalty yet, have you?"
"...?"
He pulled two ceremonial swords from fallen knights. The blades were blunt, but they would be enough.
"Let's go."
Lancel's eyes flashed.
He planned to tell her after this was over.
His secret.