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Chapter 23
Right now, Marcel is just an ordinary resident of the Rat Hole.
After finishing his work at the mines, he wades into the shallow tributaries of the Thames, searching for things to sell—just another mudlark.
When Gott was still healthy, he even taught Marcel knightly swordsmanship, but that was years ago.
Still, now that Isabel and I have come to him, he’ll soon start to take on the appearance of a true hero.
Besides, in this run Gott will be by Marcel’s side…
Gott—the character that every reader of An Old Tale loved in the early chapters.
When the episode of his death came out, the comments section exploded.
Mostly with angry backlash.
In the first run, Marcel pulled the Holy Sword. But at the same time, in another place, Dyke drew the Demon Sword.
Possessed by the Demon Sword, Dyke slaughtered Gerolt—who was furious about losing the Demon Sword—with a single blow, then unleashed monsters across the entire Rat Hole.
At that time, Marcel was inside his mental world, undergoing the Holy Sword’s trial, and couldn’t fight. Left defenseless, it was Gott—frail with old age—who protected him.
He picked up his sword despite his sickly body and, calling upon the skills of his days as a knight, fought desperately to keep Marcel safe.
When Marcel finally passed the trial and awoke, what he saw was Gott collapsed in blood, an ogre raising its club to finish him off.
Marcel swung the Holy Sword and defeated the ogre, but the situation was already dire. Gott had sustained critical wounds in the fight.
On top of that, the city was overrun with monsters, making it impossible to get treatment.
Carrying Gott on his back, Marcel ran through the city in desperation. With his dying breath, Gott left a final wish—that Marcel, bearer of the Holy Sword, protect the world.
“If you’re so bitter about failing to protect me, then at least protect this world instead. Failure is the road to success—you’ll do just fine.”
Sigh. Even thinking about it again, it was a heartbreaking exit.
Gott had been Marcel’s mentor—a man with a rough edge, but upright character, strong spirit, and superb swordsmanship.
If Gott were to survive until the final battle with the Demon Lord, that would mean one more powerful ally against the Demon Army.
And he could guide Marcel in Isabel’s place. After all, Isabel doesn’t know swordsmanship. Neither do I.
Ah, perfect.
Using knowledge from the first run to our advantage in the second—that’s the real thrill of a regression story!
Everything is going according to plan. Feels great.
Now then… time to move on to the next step.
The shelter is running well. I’ve set up a meeting with Marcel. What’s left?
Taking care of Isabel’s mental state, of course.
I looked out the window. As expected, she was fidgeting nervously.
Maybe I should talk to her.
[Quest has appeared.]
[Pray to Smiel in a secluded place. (0/1)]
[Reward upon completion: Peace of Mind]
Right now Isabel had just finished tidying up the shelter with the Gerolters.
Jeremy, Jan, and a few others had helped clean up. Liz had left after being summoned by Gerolt.
Left alone, Isabel was now leaning against the wall of the Gerolters’ middle branch office next to the shelter.
She was waiting for her appointment with Marcel.
“Ah!”
When the quest appeared, Isabel’s face lit up.
She glanced around nervously, then circled around the office building, peeking into alleys. Some were fairly quiet and empty, but every time she saw one, she frowned and moved on.
I’ve always thought this, but honestly, she could pray anywhere. For Isabel though, prayer seems to be a sacred act that must be done in a pure and solemn place.
After a while, she found a reasonably clean alley and stepped inside.
As she prayed, I appeared before her eyes.
Hmm. Feels like it’s been a while since I’ve done this.
“Lord Smiel?”
“Yes, Isabel.”
Her eyes looked up at me, then she suddenly—
Smiled brightly.
“Just like you said, the hero really came! Did you see him?”
“Yes.”
“He looked really impressive before, but seeing him now, he seemed a bit clumsy. I guess I’ll have to guide him well!”
She spoke proudly. Well, sure—she only ever knew Marcel as a hero, so his current self must feel strange to her.
Still, isn’t she acting a little too smug? She looks just as inexperienced herself.
Marcel’s probably thinking, ‘This is the person who opened a shelter?’
“Also, that method you taught me was super useful!”
“Oh, you mean the starfall petals?”
Right. That was clever.
Around the mid-story of An Old Tale, the elves used starfall petals in their forest.
When you soaked them with medicinal water and tucked them under your tongue, the healing effect multiplied.
I’d always wanted to try that trick ever since Patrick gave me ten high-quality holy potions. And now, we’ve put it to great use.
And with nine petals left, they’ll come in handy later too.
“Isabel. You’ll be meeting Marcel soon, right?”
“Yes! I’m so excited… and nervous.”
“I gave you this quest because there’s something important. Don’t call Marcel ‘Hero.’ Instead, tell him you’re a priest chosen by a unique angel, and that I’ve selected him as the Holy Sword’s wielder.”
The plan was simple.
Telling Marcel this is the second run is meaningless and would only make him think we’re crazy. So instead, we’ll hide that fact but still give him the reason why he must pull the Holy Sword.
The problem is, we don’t know where the Holy Sword or the Demon Sword are. The Holy Sword can only be found by the one destined to be the hero.
But the Demon Sword can be found by anyone—which makes it dangerous.
So first we’ll teach Marcel how to find the Holy Sword. While he’s searching for it, Isabel and I will track down the Demon Sword.
If we can find and destroy it first, then the tragic fight between Marcel and Dyke won’t happen in this run.
“Got it! So I shouldn’t tell him I came from the future?”
“Exactly.”
“What about Erica and Keizo? Can I talk about them?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Aww…”
She looked so disappointed.
But there’s no helping it, Isabel.
You don’t realize how many regression protagonists in webnovels have been ruined because they revealed themselves too soon.
“And don’t be upset if Marcel doesn’t remember you. He won’t.”
“That’s okay! I already cried and prepared myself earlier…”
It was then—
I froze. Marcel had already arrived outside the alley, looking around for Isabel.
“I–Isabel. Marcel’s here.”
“Huh?”
Crap, I’m just as flustered now. Isabel’s eyes fluttered like frantic moth wings.
“It’s fine, Isabel! Just stay calm and speak well. Marcel will be grateful to you for healing Gott…”
“Y-yes! Leave it to me!”
Honestly, leaving it all to you makes me more anxious…
Isabel cut her prayer short, lifted her head, and—
Ran out.
Then immediately came running back to grab the Angelos Rod she had left against the wall, before running out again.
“…”
Well, that’s progress, at least.
Marcel thought he might be mistaken.
Maybe this is just a dream?
In this city, silence is always replaced by the murmur of river water. The tributaries of the Thames spread throughout the Rat Hole, carrying their foul, stinking current.
Standing alone in the street, hearing that sound, he felt as though the priest who had come to the city, opened a shelter, and healed so many—including Gott—was nothing but an illusion.
A sudden fear struck him. If he went home now, would he find Gott still sick in bed?
Just then—
Tap, tap, tap—
Lively footsteps.
Exactly three.
“Ah!”
It was the priest who seemed more like a spirited young girl than someone who had treated four hundred people on her own.
She made those three quick steps, then suddenly remembered something, dashed back into the alley, and returned with a long staff in hand.
And then the two of them faced each other.
“…”
An awkward silence lingered.
“Uh, hello, priest…”
“Status window!”
The priest suddenly shouted.
Marcel froze, not knowing how to respond. Carefully, he asked,
“…What does that mean?”
“It’s something Lord Smiel taught me—it’s like a spell that gives you strength when you shout it!”
“Ah… Lord Smiel, is he your teacher? The one who taught you?”
“No! He’s an angel!”
She blurted it out, then smacked her own forehead as if realizing she’d messed up. The sight was oddly endearing.
“Hello. My name is Isabel. I came here from Zeroprime of Sestina on a holy pilgrimage.”
With that, she smiled brightly at Marcel, as though waiting for his introduction.
“Ah, hello. I’m Marcel, from the Rat Hole. I mentioned it during treatment, but…”
“Yes, that’s right!”
Again she whispered softly, “Status window.” She really seemed to believe in the power of that phrase.
Marcel, not wanting to embarrass her, asked cautiously,
“So… why did you call me here?”
“Oh, well!”
Isabel hesitated, then asked carefully,
“How is Mr. Gott doing?”
“He’s fine. But since he doesn’t know how long he has to keep his mouth shut, he’s frustrated from staying silent all the time.”
“Just until tomorrow morning! I’m glad he’s recovering!”
“Yes, haha. It’s all thanks to you, priest. Without you—”
“Call me Isabel!”
She declared firmly, eyes wide.
“Uh… then Isabel nim—”
“No! Drop the honorifics!”
“What? How could I speak so casually to a priest…”
“There’s no ‘how dare I’ here! You’re—uh, Marcel! Speak casually!”
Marcel couldn’t make sense of what this strange priest wanted.
“O-okay… from now on, I’ll talk casually…”
“Good! Now try: ‘Isabel!’”
“Uh… Isabel.”
“Louder!”
“Isabel!”
People passing by stared, and Marcel’s face flushed red.
Of course, Isabel didn’t care at all.
“Now repeat after me: ‘Isabel, thank you!’”
“Isabel, thank you!”
“‘Thanks to you, Gott recovered!’”
“Thanks to you, Gott… uh, recovered!”
“So now, I’ll cancel my old debt!”
“So now, I’ll… wait, you owed me something?”
“Who knows?”
Anyway, Marcel found himself strangely willing to do whatever this quirky priest asked, so he went along with her demands.
Satisfied, Isabel beamed.
Finally, she got to the main point.
“Marcel, did you know? You’ve been chosen by an angel!”
Her brows knitted slightly, as if overwhelmed by emotion, as she exclaimed this.
Naturally, Marcel was stunned.
After a pause, he spoke—frowning slightly, mimicking her expression.
“Marcel, did you know? You’ve been cho—”
“Why are you copying me?”
“Oh, uh… guess you were done?”
Awkwardly, Marcel waited for her explanation.
“Well, the thing is! I’m actually a priest watched over by an angel. He told me to find you—his name is Smiel!”
“Ah… Lord Smiel chose me? Why would he do that?”
“Because you’re the hero, of course!”
Then Isabel began explaining everything she had heard from Smiel, waving her hands for emphasis.
“So… wait.”
Marcel asked, bewildered,
“A year from now, the Demon Lord—who died three hundred years ago—will be revived? And I have to draw the Holy Sword, become the hero, and defeat him?”
“That’s right!”
It was too serious to laugh off. If anyone else had said it, he would have dismissed it as nonsense. But Isabel was no ordinary priest—she was exceptional, remarkable.
Though it sounded absurd, Marcel tried to take her words seriously.
“So… where is this Holy Sword?”
“Follow me!”
Isabel grabbed his hand and marched confidently along the Thames.
Following the Rat Hole’s narrow tributaries eventually led to the main river—the broad, deep flow of the Thames that cut through the city.
Though Marcel often scavenged along the tributaries, he had never once searched the main river.
The water roared loudly. The Thames was always oily and filthy, but here the current was strong.
Looking down, Isabel exclaimed,
“Wow, the water’s filthy!”
“That’s the Thames. It’s also deep. I may scavenge in the tributaries, but here…”
“Jump in!”
The command burst out so naturally that Marcel almost said yes without thinking.
