Breaking into a coughing fit, Rudeus spat out the mead he had just sipped. Spilling the rest as he fell forward to the wet table, gripping the sturdy board. As if the table was the only consistent feeling he could sense, he gripped it tighter than before and refused to let go.

"Yo, dude. What's going on? You feeling alright?"

"I… I'm… I'm fine."

Barely managing to speak, he finally let go of the table. Taking large, heavy breaths, he patted his left arm with his right, confirming it was still attached. He sighed in relief.

"Wait… how did you…"

Al began patting his chest, following suit. However, he wasn't checking his physical state.

"Huh, first time?" He jokingly asked.

"?"

Rudeus looked back at Al with a questioning look. He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing.

"Just what the hell are you talking about?"

"What? That mouth of yours just for show?" Al continued. "I can't say I'm surprised you have it, too, but it's not really a blessing, right?"

"I… I have what? What do you mean? I just… I di-" he tried to reply

Before he could finish, his words were cut short by an unexplainable void expanding before him. He fell to the pub floor, clutching his chest. The spilled beer poured over his head as he gasped for air. The other patrons looked at the commotion, only relaxing when Al assured them he wasn't having a heart attack.

"Woah, woah. No need to delve further. Just chill, bro, chill."

Taking large gulps of air, he began to stand up, forcing his weight back on his feet. He reached eye level with the Al, but his heart was still racing, his breathing had yet to calm down, and his head was spinning with the sudden shock of his surroundings.

"What the hell... was that?" he stammered.

"A dream? A vision? Well, whatever helps you sleep at night. Doesn't really matter to me in the end," Al replied.

"All... real. You mean... everyone will...?"

"Yep, at least you seem to pick up fast. That's good. You'll figure out what to do sooner or later," Al muttered.

"And if you fail, all that blood's on you, bro. Just keep that in mind," he added casually as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A shiver ran down Rudeus's spine as Al's haunting voice flicked behind him. His ears tingled, absorbing every whispered word. As the speech was ingrained into his mind, Rudeus subconsciously imagined dozens of faces flashing before him.

"Welp, I'm done here. Cya!"

As quickly as he came, Al left, leaving Rudeus stunned and mentally labeling each villager with their names.

"You seem more startled than usual. Has Felix's treatment fatigued you?"

Under the night sky, basking in the starlight, Crusch Karsten approached Rudeus, standing alone on a balcony. She carried two glasses and a bottle of liquor, the kind served in ornate shot glasses for Cognac. The Duchess swiftly walked past him, setting the drinks on the outdoor table, inviting him to join her.

'Wow, I've never seen her wear that before. That uniform really doesn't do her figure justice. Is she... amplifying her bosom with that dress strap? Damn, she can be feminine if she wants to. And not a bad size, too...'

"Ah, it's nothing to worry about, Crusch-sama," he replied, forcing a calm smile.

With a light bow, he accepted her invitation. Inwardly, he cursed his old mage robes. 'I really should have worn something else,' he muttered. But wearing the clothes Rem had made for him didn't feel right. He had been avoiding her this entire time.

The mystery still dazed Rudeus. Why had the girl attacked him? What made her think he was a member of the Witch Cult? Why react so violently to a false revelation? The last question especially tugged at his mind. Before taking drastic measures, wouldn't you ensure your opponent was who you thought he was? If you grew suspicious of a coworker, why question them after destroying half their body?

'Something's not right with that girl...' He sipped the amber liquid in his glass to clear his mind.

"It would make for terrible sides for the drink. The worst thing a guest could do is sour the mood," he sighed.

"Such words would only intrigue a matriarch, especially if she eyes the throne," Crusch remarked.

"Am I under interrogation, searching for skeletons against a rival faction?" Rudeus replied, scratching his head in embarrassment.

Crusch thudded her hand on the table. "I would not be so crude as to take advantage of our agreement. Such methods would be... uncouth. As long as Ferris treats you, you will be treated as a guest of Karsten and nothing more." She sipped her drink before continuing.

"Besides, I do not need to stoop so low to obtain such things. Consider this my vow to speak freely," she assured him.

"Then... would you mind if I used this opportunity to learn about the kingdom? First-hand experience from a local would be far more valuable than the textbooks I've been drowning in," Rudeus replied.

"History? Ah, Lord Roswaal mentioned you were from beyond the Great Waterfall. If you're worried that your lack of history makes you unfit, that's a needless concern. Almost half of the candidates are not Lugunicans," Crusch said. "But if it would ease your mind, then go ahead. The Karsten family has had intimate relations with the Royal family."

'That's a yes... right? That's how consent works, right?'

He took another sip from his glass. The cold drink slithered down his throat, burning as it went. The smell of hickory and ethanol felt like gasoline. He wanted to flinch each time but tried to savor the flavor out of politeness. There was no way the Duchess drank cheap liquor. 'Isn't expensive whiskey supposed to taste better? What's wrong with this bottle?'

"Crusch-sama, what can you tell me about the Witch Cult?"

"The Witch Cult... that is an exceptional question. You wish to know more about your candidate's adversaries?"

"I have a basic understanding of the organization, but most is based on rumors. I'd like to get a more professional opinion. And who better than the Valkyrie herself?"

"I'm afraid I might disappoint you. My only confrontation has been with the Great Rabbit, and I doubt you'd be interested in that. Very few survive encounters with the Witch Cult. They are elusive and unpredictable, involved in everything from small-scale highway robbery to large-scale raids or invasions."

"And I assume we don't know much more about them?"

"We know they follow a Gospel, but no one has successfully retrieved one. Any captives we manage are mentally incapable of interrogation."

'Well, that's disappointing. If they just follow the Gospel and die before they can be interrogated, then there's practically no way to figure out why Rem tried to kill me...'

The faintest frown flashed across his face, one the Duchess did not miss.

"Then, I assume there isn't much of a way to determine if someone is a cultist."

"Indeed. Other than their psychotic episodes or the presence of a Gospel, it's nearly impossible to discern one from another. Although..." With a finger to her chin, the Duchess ran through her memory, recalling the few reports she had managed about the Witch Cult.

"There are mixed reports that miasma often lingers in the aftermath of a typical Witch Cult raid."

"Miasma? I'm unfamiliar with the term," Rudeus replied, tilting his head quizzically. "

Yes, it is a vague term, more a feeling than anything. Those who survived a Witch Cult invasion report a sense of dread. Whether this is merely psychological or if this so-called 'miasma' truly exists is unknown."

The Duchess's stern words jogged his memory. The memory of a painful future that felt inevitable. The one where the blue-haired girl raged from above him, sentencing him to death. 'Scent… she said something about scent… That seems significantly more specific than just a feeling.'

As he contemplated the new information and thanked the Duchess for the opportunity, the sudden sound of chains behind him jolted him back in his seat. The noise drained the blood from his face, leaving him paler than a sheet of canvas. Frozen, as if every fiber of his muscles were locked up, he slowly turned around to see the cause of the echoing chains. "

What are nyou doing here, Rudeus-kyun!?"

He was swiftly disappointed at the sight of his healer, Felix Argyle.

"And Crusch-sama, why are you dressed so vulnerably!?" Felix exclaimed, pointing accusingly at the Duchess. He huffed and puffed, marching towards the two as if uncovering the kingdom's greatest scandal.

"Is it strange? It's no different from what I wear to dine with you."

"That's exactly the problem! Men are nyothing but wolves!"

'Hey now, that might hurt someone's feelings. Specifically, one clueless fool suffering from severe mental illness.'

"That's enough joking, Ferris. I don't believe myself to be anyone's type, as one would say."

'No, you are definitely wrong. Plenty of people out there would pay to be stepped on by you, myself included.'

"Don't say that, Crusch-sama. Ferris will always be Ferris, and stay by your side!"

Rolling his eyes, Rudeus took another sip of his liquor. This time, the aromas and ages scents seemed to amplify, lingering in his mouth even after he downed his shot. As if to distract himself from his worries, he entertained himself with the antics of the demi-human knight.

'Scent, scent… If that's why she accused me of being a cultist, then that probably means she'll accuse me again. Or is that only part of the story, and my sudden request with Crusch caused her to act accordingly? If that's the case.'

Then, Rudeus couldn't bring up the idea of leaving early.

"You seem troubled. Is the drink not to your liking?"

Dutchess inquired about the man. Since Felix joined, he had kept to himself, eyeing his empty glass intently, never speaking or listening to their conversation. It was clear something was on the boy's mind.

Another peculiarity she added to her list.

"No… no, it's nothing," he immediately replied.

Crusch sighed at his reply. The wind fluttered through her green hair as she turned to look at the stars. With one on her drink and the other catching her hair, his calm demeanor showed nothing of her thoughts.

"The wind's howling," she quietly muttered as she finished the rest of her drink.

"Ok, let's do this."

Under the guise of night, quiet footsteps muffled through the Karsten manor. A certain robed man shuffled from the top guest floor to the main back entrance while the rest of the residents slept peacefully.

With all his remaining money and enough dried rations to feed him for the next few days, Rudeus quietly sneaked out of the mansion a little after 2 a.m.

After finishing his drink with the lady of the mansion, he decided to sneak out and leave the capital. After waiting for everyone to fall asleep, using the moon as a general indicator of the time, he packed his travel bags and left for one of the traveling stables. Of course, none were open then, but he quickly broke in with his magic. A quick application of some earth magic to bore a hole through one of the bricked walls was all he needed to access the ground dragons.

'I'll leave a gem or two for the owner. As bad as stealing is, I'm sure these gems are worth much more than a single dragon, so I can't say my consciousness feels heavier.'

It went without mention that he left his colleague at the mansion, unaware of his early departure. He couldn't justify the maid's actions, no matter how much he considered her position. It was ludicrous to attack and maim him permanently before ensuring his status as a cultist. Considering she had to interrogate him to confirm his alliance, he could only assume whatever sliver of evidence she had was not substantial.

After all, had it been convincing, he doubted he'd wake up at her carriage. The capital jail cells seemed a far-fitting place for such an event.

'Ah, I barely know how to ride these things. It can't be too different from riding those lizards on the demon continent, right? What was its name… Gerhara? Gerara? It's been so long since then.'

He set two flawless emeralds on one of the stable tables and led the brown bipedal ground dragon outside the barn. As soon as he left the vicinity, he bolted towards the mansion.

'This is my job. I have to be there. That's my purpose right now.'

"Agh… I really should have learned how to ride these things."

A day and a quarter has passed since Rudeus left the Karsten manor. Now, riding under the rising sun at approximately 9 am, or so he thought, he finally managed to enter the Roswaal domain—only a half day or so of trekking left.

However, despite his early departure, he was late on schedule by a long shot. Instead of reaching the Flugel tree by the first twelve hours, he had to make camp halfway. His poor riding skills had tired out the ground dragon, preventing him from reaching his destination in time.

However, he hadn't realized that his mistake had inadvertently prevented an early reunion with the White Whale. When he reached the tree, the White Whale was seemingly inactive, and it was noon.

He'd fallen dragons, wyverns, giant cobras, and more, but a beast that size seemed too much even for the young adventurer, or so he thought.

'Whatever the fuck that was, I am not interested in fighting.'

The quiet forest scenery swayed under the chilling morning breeze. As Rudeus rode down the ambient road, he couldn't help but let his thoughts wander.

'I've been putting off thinking about this, but it's time I accepted what I am. There's no way these are just memories or some precognitive ability I've been given. Either the world is rejecting my soul, or some other shenanigans are going on, but I have to come to terms with this strange phenomenon I have.'

'No matter how you put it, I'm stuck in some time loop, like some Steins;Gate, or something. Whenever I die, the world resets and I'm sent to a specific point from the past. The point in time, or a checkpoint, is specifically the day Al and I have been drinking.'

'So far, I've died twice… First to the cold, and then to Rem… It seems I'm the only one to remember these time loops. My body resets to its previous form, and I can't carry back anything but my memories.'

'So the question is, why was I given this ability? Who gave me this ability? Why is the checkpoint with Al? Does this ability have a name? Am I the only one who has this ability? Is there a limit to this ability? Do I have a finite number of lives? Why does it stop me from explaining my ability? Is the penalty even related to this ability?'

He slammed the reigns to go faster. The more he thought, the more questions arose. He couldn't find a single answer to all the burning questions plaguing his mind. It was just another mystery over another mystery. Without a clear answer, he let out his anger at the sprinting Dragon, ordering him to ride at full speed.

The fast wind didn't help at all.

'Well, Al seemed to know something about it, and he's from Japan too. Do all people from Japan get special abilities when they get reincarnated? Are the anime and light novels true? Am I secretly an isekai Uncle?'

The dragon carriage rumbled through the quiet forest. Surrounded by nothing but trees as dirt, he didn't care to think that the empty road would threaten him even a bit. He merely took the road devoid of wildlife as a blessing. So he didn't even realize the thin fishing wire stretching before him as he barreled through the road at full speed.

"Wa-Wah!" he shouted.

The wire sliced cleanly through the dragon's neck. The now-dead animal crumbled to the ground. The still-running carriage trampled over its corpse, a resounding thud sounding from beneath. Accompanied by the beheading was a small explosive charge igniting beneath the surface. The force caused by the combustion launched the half-destroyed carriage into the air, the driver soaring to the ground.

Blast

A quick application of his wind magic barely broke his fall. He landed on his two feet but still tumbled twice before stopping. As a sharp, steel-hot pain ran up his ankle, Rudeus gritted his teeth and winced. But ignoring the immediate pain, he activated his Demon Eye to meet his attackers.

Surrounding him were a dozen men covered head to toe in dark purple robes with red cross accents.

"Witch Cultists?" Rudeus whispered under his breath.

He didn't have time to consider why they were attacking him on a random street. The first two cultists dashed forth in the blink of an eye. Their arms flowed behind like the paper tails of a kite, and the glimmering blades of their daggers shimmered behind them.

Quagmire

His signature spell spread from the base of his staff. But unlike its usual size, it only covered the immediate ground to stagger to the first two cultists. With the lingering curses, he couldn't afford to abuse his mana pool.

'So this is what it feels like to be an "average" mage. Thank god I have Aqua Heartia. I can't imagine the mana drain without the staff.'

The mud sank to their knees, instantly stopping any momentum from the two cultists. They fell face flat to the mud, further sinking, if not suffocating. Considering them harmless, he left the two to struggle and shifted his focus to the rest of the group. Two more cultists were charging him while the rest had their arms pointing at the boy.

'The two throw their knives, and a massive fireball forms.'

Earth Wall

The approaching cultist's eyes glinted as the daggers they threw impaled the stone-raised earth. Drawing more daggers from their cloak, the two flanked to each side on his left and right.

Stone Pillar – Water Ball – Wind Blast

In response, he hurled his body into the air with the rising force of his Stone Pillar. The thrown daggers from each side merely impaled where the boy was. Following afterward was the small bullet of water barreling towards the coalescing fireball. With a high-pitched hiss, the bullet evaporated at contact, leaving a small hole in the forming ball of flame. There was enough space for a blast of strong wind to enter, fanning the fire faster than the mage anticipated.

The fireball grew in size in the split second of impact, imploding on the cultists. The blast launched them three feet in the air, seemingly knocking them out hot.

Stone Cannon

From his slowly falling vantage point, Rudeus launched his stone bullets, six in total, toward the two cultists circling under his pillar. As if mirroring each other, they both sliced through the first bullet, only for them to explode at the moment of impact. As if predicting they'd deflect his attacks rather than dodge, the bullets were filled with molten rock meant to explode on impact.

'They take the bait with the slower cannons every time! I can't believe those work so well.'

As Rudeus finished dispelling his Stone Pillar, he landed softly on the ground as the two cultists fell. One was launched towards the trees, never to be seen. While the other fell, gripping the stump of its arm. A second later, a sense of vertigo and nausea kicked him to his knees as a lump of red meat fell directly at his feet.

As soon as the boy saw what it was, he gripped his mouth as his stomach dared to empty its contents. Combined with the sudden hit of dizziness as if he'd lost a lot of blood, his hand fell, and his mouth puked over the lump.

'That… that was an arm. God dammit.'

It wasn't easy to stomach the first time he saw a beheaded human. And even after all these years, he could never get used to the scent of human blood.

His staggering legs slowly moved to stand up. His frown fully showed his appalling attitude to the soon-to-be-dead cultists. Though he couldn't spare the thought of saving them, too, could he? They were terrorists. Rudeus had no reason to save them.

'But still…'

He took a few steps forward toward the seemingly dead cultists. He couldn't spare a moment's thought about why he'd come closer as an explosion carried him away before he could respond. In what felt like a second, he was hurled to the end of the road, his back scorching hot from the flame he took from behind.

He quickly got on his feet to turn around, but his vision blurred, and his legs faltered.

'I... I can't see…'

His eyes turned black as he fell to the floor. The sudden shock launched him into the air, and a subsequent crash landed on his head. If he could see, he'd realize his vision turned red from the stream of vermillion blood flowing from his forehead.

His hearing was the last to vanish as he heard the rustling of cloth and another handful of footsteps on the grassy forestland.

'Ah, so there were more…' he thought before finally losing consciousness.

His face was planted firmly into the ground when he woke up. His stiff neck cracked as he managed to look up from his predicament. The dark atmosphere caught his senses first. He could barely make the ceiling with his open right eye; his left was sealed shut with what seemed like thick epoxy. Whatever blood he spilled from the explosion must have dried up and caked above his eyelids.

"Ehh," he grunted.

His growling voice surprised even him. It was much more profound and rasper than his usual tone. As if to answer, his throat felt parched like sandpaper. He had been out for quite some time. But even his thirst subsided when he slowly remembered why he was thirsty. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, Rudeus replayed his fragmented memories. And from the end of the damp cave, water drops echoed. Within them, the thuds of footsteps grew louder and louder.

"Yes… I see…" a voice echoed. "This is certainly interesting."

The voice echoed quaintly, along with a manic cackle from the same voice. To Rudeus, it sounded too sane for the voice's owner, who swore he had heard once before.

'That voice… he's..' he thought.

But when he raised his head to search for the man who spoke, only the dark walls of the caves replied.

The sounds of footsteps continued louder and louder, the cackle growing and growing. And when Rudeus turned his head back to stare at the long corridor, his eyes met another pair faintly dangling right before him.

The man, eyes wide with his manic gaze, smiled at Rudeus. His pearl-white teeth were barely visible by the black shadow his hair cast on his face, which was splitting in two.

"You wouldn't happen to be pride, would you?" The man asked.

Stone Canon

Reflexively reacting, Rudeus fired a stone canon from his right arm. Stretching forward as he could, he aimed it as if throwing a fastball. He didn't have the time to direct a lethal hit nor propel it for a devastating blow. He wanted to get this hideous creature out of his face now. But the shot missed. The man folded his body back to dodge the incoming bullet. From the back, it seemed like his whole body was floating. The shot continued and hit the ceiling. It cracked with a resounding thud, accompanied by the sounds of chains clamping Rudeus' arms to the walls.

"Ooh, was that your answer?" the man asked. "Was that your authority? You throw rocks at people?"

Rudeus ignored the quiet interrogations and focused on his bound arms. With each limb bound to the walls with chains, he could barely move them to aim forward. He had to twist his wrists to aim his palms forward. The man merely bit into his index finger. His blood dripped. It trickled down his teeth, to his chin, down his throat, and staining his purple robes. He looked as he enjoyed the scene of his apparent "coworker" squirming at the mere binds of chains.

'I can't… I can't aim… If that's the case…'

With his palms just barely pointing forward, Rudeus coiled whatever mana he had left of his body. The magical energy swarmed up, heating the very air above.

Exodus Flame

Or he tried to. When the faintest embers of a flame formed in his palm, an invisible force clamped his hand, forcing a fist around the very flame it formed. As if covered with a thick oven mitten, the flame contained the raging flame as it crushed Rudeus' hands. It looked like the air contained the flame, leaving it to burn the hand that created it instead.

"Aghhhack!" Rudeus screamed from the pain.

He cut his mana flow to the tips of his fingers, and the fire forming mid-air vanished along with the pain.

"Ho~?" he hummed. "Your authority hurts yourself? Are you stupid? To misuse her love to such degree of self-harm!"

"How slothful of you."

The man's eyes opened wide. He inched close enough that Rudeus could feel his breath on his neck. His blood, still flowing from biting his fingers, trickled down the side of his cheeks as he tilted his whole upper body to the side to see the man at "eye level."

From the manic gaze of the man accentuated with his blood, Rudeus could feel his breath harden. Slowly, he could only focus on the "thing" before him and nothing more. His lips quivered as even the pain of burning both hands began to fade.

'This man. This is the guy. The very same person that shouted that insane ritual the first time I died…'

"Staying quiet, are we? Oh, how very disappointing," the man mumbled. "Ah, right! That's why! I haven't introduced myself yet. I sometimes forget the social trivialities when I'm excited."

With both hands behind his back, he swiftly turned around to join a dozen or so men in similar cultist clothes, all kneeling before the green-haired cultists. With a quick spin to face Rudeus, he eyed his still prisoner before falling to a deep ninety-degree bow. Rudeus swore that for a split second, his manic eyes had turned red.

"I am a Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult, Representing Sloth, Betelgeuse Romanee-conti, oh yes!"

As his crazed introductions continued, Rudeus never felt his hands freed from the invisible grasp. Even as his manic performance continued, he never once slipped up.

"Still struggling? Is your Authority truly so mundane that you cannot escape my grasp? My Authority, the one blessed by the beloved witch, bestowed upon me for my diligence. The proof of her love is truly intoxicating!" he crazedly shouted.

"Ah, how utterly comical," he continued, gripping his head with both hands. "What an entertaining sight, very, very, VERY, VERY! TRULY TRULY ENTERTAINING INDEED! Has your power diminished as punishment? Has your love for her diminished to be so slothful? oh how my brain trembles…"

"You…" he managed to spit out.

Through the pain of his crushed hands, Rudeus could finally recognize why the man's voice was so familiar.

"You're… the one."

"Oh, finally, a reaction? Are you here to bless us with your wishes? Is that your purpose? Oh, how diligent of you to come so far for the seat of pride," Betegeuse replied.

The name he spoke of earlier didn't surface in his mind. His eyes could not see the dark, damp cave that confined him right now. His sight was locked to the future that has yet to be—the sight of that crazed man on that snowy night, the blood that littered the village's ground, and the cluttered forest raised with vermillion meat. This man was responsible for all that happened.

"YOU! Agkh!"

He charged at the man- or tried to, but the restraints on his limbs, as well as the crushing force flattening his hands, bolted him in place. A mere squeal escaped his tongue as he fell to the ground again.

"Why?" he growled. "Why are you doing this? You're going to kill everyone again…"

Warm streams flowed down his cheeks. Flashes of his first death ran through his mind. Fire and brimstone filled the buildings, and blood and corpses littered the grounds. Despite its scale, the attack on Arlem felt visceral even to his hometown, Buena.

"Again? Hoo, do you have any idea how little that narrows it down? I must be diligent in repaying her love!" The man cackled.

He ignored every opportunity to flee to help the villagers, and when he came face to face with the man to be responsible, all he could do was weep and beg. His hand was bound, sealing his magic, crushed by the invisible force that man wielded. Rudeus felt powerless and tiny, as if he had reverted to earth for the first time. The man's laughter echoed through the cavern, his cuffs shuffled against the binds. He swore that if he could hear the shutters of cameras and the shouting of "pencil-dick" in the background.

"Are you… clattering your teeth?" The man stopped abruptly to ask. "You're afraid… Oh, you're afraid, afraid AFRAID AFRAID AFRAID! I AM ABOUT TO COMPLETE THE ORDEAL, AND YOU ARE AFRAID!" He stepped closer as he shouted.

"Oh, this will not do, this will not do, this will NOT do! The seat of Pride is finally filled, and he is AFRAID of her love!"

He removed a black book from his left sleeve and began tearing through the pages. After a second, he stopped at a blank page devoid of drawings or writings. His eyes bulged as his fingers scratched the blank page as if to uncover a hidden message within.

"Such heavy love lingers in your very being, and you've arrived just in time for the ceremony, and yet, the Gospel has no mention of you…" he frantically claimed. " So tell me, why are you even here, Pride?" He calmly asked.

Had he given up at this point? He averted his gaze from the man. The psychotic cries grew louder, now mixed in with clicks of camera shutters. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight. He came back only to be captured so easily.

'Really. Is this all I can do?'

Two deep breaths came out of Rudeus' mouth. He forcefully stopped his panicking mind. He stared at the empty ground between the two, just a few inches of clean stone. As if whispering, he barely mouthed the words "closer" in response.

"Have you finally bared your voice? Is this a secret, a message from Her Excellency? Have you come here to deliver her command?" Betelgeuse excitedly replied.

He readily accepted the invitation and inched forward. He got his left ear in front of Rudeus' mouth like a giddy schoolgirl sharing the local gossip. His grin widened in anticipation. The strikingly white teeth showed no blemishes. And at that moment.

"Allieeiieii!"

He screamed in pain as both hands gripped his left ear, or what was left of it. His blood rushed down the side of his face. He took five paces back and stomped the ground like a child tantrum. The rest of his missing earlobe was between Rudeus' mouth, dripping with Betelgeuse's blood. It trickled down from his teeth to his lips, from his lips to his chin, staining the white cloak he had been wearing this entire time.

As if disgusted by its presence, he spat the chunk meet to the side. "Fuck off," he said.

"You… you, you, you, you, you, you, you! This body was made from her love. You soaked in her grace and dared harm the collection of her affection!" Betelgeuse shouted as he hammered Rudeus' face to the wall.

Over twenty blows connected in twenty seconds; each swing cracked his head once, then another when the momentum slammed his head to the wall. By the time he was finished, Rudeus was just barely breathing. His whole body slumped over lifelessly. He dangled just centimeters above the ground as his hands were still tied to the walls. The back of the wall where his head was slammed was caked in blood. The front of his face was no better. Three shards of white teeth fell out of his mouth as his saliva, mixed with thick blood, trickled down. Parts of his shattered cheekbones protruded out through the skin. In short, it was a miracle his skull hadn't fractured.

"To grovel alone in wait for a Gospel, oh how slothful are you."

Still covering his year, he left Rudeus at the end of the cave. Each kneeling cultist dissolved into the floor one by one as Betelgeuse walked past them. Soon, only the faint breaths remained.

How long has it been since he left? His breath grew quieter and quieter. His eyes began to lose focus. He could swear he felt something flow from his ears. Had he been bleeding from his canal, or had his sense dulled too much to make any sense of the matter? What difference did it make? He couldn't even think appropriately with his injuries, not enough to formulate a spell anyway. It was like his consciousness was a piece of jello. His mind sloshed up and down as he tried to move his body. But each thought just slipped out of his mind mid-way.

The light began to fade. His eyes darkened with each breath. Unable to understand or do anything, he just let it happen. Death wasn't unique to him now, was it?

"I don't recognize that ceiling…"

The soft, warm bed beneath was the first thing he noticed when he came. The warm sun peaking through the window blinded his opened eyes. The ceiling was covered with intricate red carvings that did not belong at the Mansion or the Karsten manor.

"I'm… healed?"

He raised both hands to his face. Instead of the broken mush he expected from the burned, crushed hands, they were rejuvenated with perfectly smooth skin. Not even a single scar remained. His raised hands reached further up. He began tapping his face. He winced at first, expecting pain, but only the warm sensation of perfectly healthy skin met his fingers.

"Did I… die?" He asked himself.

But no matter how hard he tried, he could not remember staying at such a place. The room was utterly foreign. The king-sized bed he woke from was spotless and smooth, as if it had just been changed. The room was spacious, bigger than his private quarters at the Roswaal Mansion. His traveling clothes and gear were neatly folded and washed next to the ornate nightstand with gold decor. His staff leaned tall against the wall right next to his clothes. Getting out of bed, he realized he'd been wearing a white shower gown, similar to the one he wore when he woke up at the Roswaal Mansion for the first time.

"But… this never happened…"

Had something changed? He always woke up at the bar next to Alderberan. Why had his starting point changed?

Then, the sound of a door opening played. With two footsteps, someone entered the room to see Rudeus walking in circles, mumbling something to him in confusion.

"Oh, you're finally awake, Rudeus," the man spoke.

His flaming red hair sparkled under the sun. It sheened in perfect harmony, matching the red decor. Wearing his white knight uniform, the man walked confidently towards Rudeus. His mouth smiled widely to see Rudeus awake and healthy.

"Reinhard?"