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chapter 27
What a dilemma.
Isabel had done more than enough. More than overflowing, even.
When she first suggested we generate a pulse of divine power underground—like a radar—to locate the dragon’s scale cave, I wasn’t entirely convinced. I believed it would eventually work, but with each failed attempt my confidence weakened.
In the end, though, it worked. We found the dragon’s scale cave this way, marked its location properly, and everything was perfect—except for one thing. Isabel was so exhausted she could hardly walk straight.
“Lord Smiel… yawn…”
I conjured clear arrows and glowing text in front of her eyes, nudging her along.
Honestly, I wanted to just let her sleep out here. She looked that tired, and I understood.
But we couldn’t. We had to be back at city hall by morning. If Gerolt discovered that Isabel had snuck outside in the middle of the night, we’d be in real trouble.
[Return to city hall and sleep. (0/1)]
“I don’t wanna gooo…”
She really was tired. Understandable, considering the grueling day she’d had.
But still—we had to go.
“Ughh…”
Isabel staggered forward. After wandering the mountains for so long, even descending hadn’t made the walk back to city hall any shorter.
And night in the Rat Hole was hardly pleasant. Rats darted across the streets, and the smog thickened until even moonlight and lamps couldn’t break through. Still, with the blessing of purification protecting her, Isabel didn’t suffer the stench or the burning in the lungs that others would.
“Lord Smiel, I did good today, right?” she murmured suddenly.
Normally I’d tell her to pray if she wanted to speak, but since no one was around, I let it slide.
[You did well.]
“What part?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want her to get cocky, but I also didn’t want to withhold praise. After all, today I had truly begun to see Isabel differently.
[You healed the patients, found the cursed sword… you did well with everything.]
She swayed as she walked, giggling like a drunkard. Not from wine, but from sheer exhaustion.
“Hehe. Anything else?”
[You didn’t mess up in front of Marcel. That’s impressive, too.]
City hall came into view ahead. Isabel grinned bashfully.
“Lord Smiel, the Hero used to be kind of silly.”
[What do you mean?]
“Back then, whenever I got this sleepy, he would cover me with a blanket. He even listened to all my rambling.”
[He did.]
“But now… he tells me not to rely on him anymore. The person I always depended on… tells me not to. Isn’t that funny?”
[Yeah. Funny indeed.]
“Lord Smiel.”
[Yes?]
“Am I really not supposed to rely on anyone?”
Isabel stopped before city hall, but didn’t go inside right away.
“In the first timeline, the Hero drew the Holy Sword in the year 893. But right now, it’s still 892.”
She looked anxious, gripping the door handle, shaking her head as if to keep herself awake.
“Did we come too soon? What if the Hero fails the trial of the Holy Sword? Or worse…”
The possibilities trailing after “or worse” were endless.
Yes. The Hero might fail to draw the sword. Might fail the trial altogether.
Or perhaps drawing it too early could cause problems—like Gerolt realizing the cursed sword had fallen into the Church’s hands, and targeting Marcel once he drew the Holy Sword. Or maybe Marcel could fall to Tames and end up in mortal danger.
These were the doubts and fears every regressor carried. Isabel seemed to only think of them when walking half-asleep at night, exhausted and drained.
I was glad she could.
Because I couldn’t.
My doubts and fears never left me. Not even when I wasn’t tired or stressed. They followed me into that cramped hospital bed. I hated hospitals. I hated the gnawing fear. I wanted it all gone.
“Lord Smiel…”
Her voice trembled. She was waiting for my answer.
What words would have comforted me back then—when I was scared, uncertain, and alone in the dead of night?
I thought carefully, then gave her the answer.
[Marcel will succeed.]
Sleep weighed heavy on her. Still clinging to the door handle, she mumbled,
“I… hope so.”
[Not just hope. He will. I know it.]
After a pause, I added,
[Angels always know.]
I floated those words before her eyes.
Isabel stared at the glowing text in silence, then let out a soft giggle.
“Hehe.”
She pushed the door open, climbed the stairs with effort, opened two wrong doors, then finally found her room.
With a careless kick, she flung her dirt-caked shoes against the wall, collapsed face-first onto the cot, and immediately fell asleep.
Ah—I should’ve told her to knock the dirt off first. We can’t leave any suspicious traces.
But… she wouldn’t hear me now anyway.
Fine. Sleep.
You’ll need it for tomorrow.
Her wounds were deep.
Daik’s fists were harder than Liz’s club. His body was naturally stronger than most. People always said that if he’d been born in Sestina, Grantina, or Cavatina instead of this rat-infested slum, he could’ve been a knight-captain.
Caught off guard by someone like him, and left untreated afterward—it was natural to die.
But Liz didn’t.
“Ughh…”
It hurt. Her bones felt shattered into pieces.
That alone was agony, and her head injury made her thoughts a mess. But still—she lived.
‘Why…?’
Why hadn’t she died? She thought for sure she would. In fact, she almost felt stronger than before. How could she still endure?
‘Do I really have to…?’
“I’m fine! Does it bother you?”
“Not bother… but dazzling…”
Liz recalled that moment in the bathhouse earlier with Isabel.
Every time Isabel washed herself, she emitted blinding light, startling Liz. Liz had invited her to bathe first, only to regret it when she realized she couldn’t just refuse afterward. So she’d endured, bathing alongside her.
But that light wasn’t ordinary—it was divine light, born from the holy power Isabel had used to purify hundreds, even thousands of slimes.
Liz had been bathed in it.
‘So… is that why I’m alive?’
She clenched her teeth. In truth, she was on the brink of death, and one wrong step could topple her like a collapsing tower. That was why she hadn’t moved.
But if she really was alive, if Isabel’s holy light had made her body stronger than before…
She had to act before the effect faded.
Liz groaned, forcing her arms to move, pressing against the ground to lift herself.
“Kh—!”
Breath caught in her throat. Her vision spun. Consciousness wavered. Brain damage wasn’t something sheer will could overcome, but Liz endured anyway. She held herself upright, refusing to collapse until her awareness returned.
Finally, trembling, she stood. Her swollen eyes scanned her surroundings.
A small alley beside a Tames tributary. That’s where Daik had ambushed her, on her way to meet her comrades.
Liz grit her teeth. She knew Daik hadn’t attacked her out of personal malice—it was Gerolt’s order. She’d overheard part of their conversation while lying on the ground.
She couldn’t remember half of it, but certain words stuck.
So, they’re planning to cast Isabel out of the Rat Hole tonight… preparing to use her while I’m gone… In that case…
Her thoughts crystallized. She had one task: find Isabel before she left the city and warn her about Gerolt’s scheme.
She didn’t know exactly what he was planning. Maybe her warning would only endanger Isabel further.
But if Gerolt had ordered her expelled and Liz killed, it could only mean something dire. Isabel had to return to the Rat Hole—no matter what.
Liz staggered a step forward. Pain shot up her spine. She groaned.
But she had to endure. If not, the entire city might fall into Gerolt’s abyss tonight. Worse, if she delayed, Gerolt’s men would discover she was still alive.
She stumbled out of the alley.
Morning light filtered weakly through the smog, making the Rat Hole look dreamlike. If she weren’t used to it, she might have thought the haze was just blood loss making her hallucinate.
She limped along the river. Isabel couldn’t have left yet—she’d be at city hall, preparing to depart.
But then—
“Grandpa, please, stay put! You’re not blessed, remember?”
“Bah! I said I’m fine! Back in my day, I swam across the Tames itself!”
“Again with the old stories! I said I’ll search alone!”
Their shouting broke the dawn silence. Liz turned her head.
A burly old man was striding toward the main river, dragging along a protesting young man.
Liz recognized them—Marcel, and Gott, who had been miraculously restored to health by Isabel’s treatment.
“Uh…”
Marcel’s eyes widened as he spotted her. After a pause, he gasped.
“Miss Liz?”
He dropped Gott’s arm and ran toward her. Liz, suddenly relieved to see help, collapsed.
Gott hurried after him. Marcel grabbed Liz by the shoulders, shaking her gently.
“Miss Liz? Are you okay?”
“Ma… Marcel. Where’s your brother…?”
“Huh? My brother?”
She wanted Daik’s location. After all, Daik was the one who’d nearly killed her—under Gerolt’s orders. If he saw her alive, he might try to finish the job.
But Marcel’s answer only heightened her alarm.
“He left before dawn with the Gerolters. Said Gerolt called him personally.”
“What…?”
Liz’s eyes blazed. She grabbed Marcel by the collar despite the pain.
“He said it was urgent. But… he didn’t take you along? And seriously, how did you get hurt this badly?”
“Miss, are you alright? Let’s get you to the priestess!” Gott said.
“Quiet, old man! You’ll wake the whole neighborhood!” Marcel snapped.
Liz ignored them, replaying Marcel’s words. Gerolt had summoned Daik and the others at dawn?
Has he already reached the goal he said required killing me and expelling Isabel?
“Wh-where did they go…?”
She collapsed again, dizziness threatening to steal her consciousness.
And then—Gott lifted her into his arms.
“Let’s head to city hall. The priestess will be there. First, we treat you. Marcel, finish what you were doing here.”
“No, I’ll come too—”
But Gott silenced him with a sharp glare.
“Go, Marcel.”
Marcel faltered.
Earlier that morning, Marcel had been sneaking out to search for the Holy Sword when Gott caught him. The old man had pressed him relentlessly until Marcel admitted it: “The priestess asked me to. I have to find the Holy Sword.”
Gott had gone still at that.
“The priestess… said you had to be the one?”
“Yeah. She said I was the one who had to do it.”
At that, Gott remembered something from long ago.
Back in the first timeline, he had recognized the Holy Sword Marcel drew and left his dying wish: to save the world. He’d known of the sword even then.
“…Marcel. Remember when I told you I once served in a knight order?”
“I’ve heard it a hundred times.”
“One of our missions was to find the Holy Sword.”
Marcel’s eyes widened.
“What? You never told me that!”
“Of course not. Didn’t want people thinking I was senile. But now… if the priestess herself told you, and said it’s at the bottom of the Tames… then it must be true. Our order could never confirm it because we weren’t on good terms with the Church. But if such a priestess says so—it’s real. I’ll help you find it.”
“Wait, what? No, I’ll search alone! You can’t even swim!”
“Can’t swim? Boy, I’ve spent more days underwater than you’ve been alive!”
And so they’d argued all the way to the river—until they found Liz.
Now Gott carried her firmly.
“If the priestess truly said you’re the one to draw it,” he told Marcel calmly, “then you must swear not to eat or sleep until you find the Holy Sword. Without that resolve, you couldn’t even pull out a woodcutter’s axe.”
“Grandpa…”
“Go. Find the sword. I’ll take care of her.”
With that, Gott dashed toward city hall, Liz in his arms.
“….”
Marcel hadn’t known—Gott was once a knight searching for the Holy Sword.
Isabel had said it was fate. That Marcel was destined to draw it.
And now, beside him in this filthy slum, stood Isabel, who had shown him its location, and Gott, who had once sought it. If that wasn’t fate, what was?
If so, then there was only one thing to do.
As Gott said—swear not to eat or sleep until he found the Holy Sword.
And give it everything he had.
Liz’s condition weighed on him. Daik, who’d left at dawn, worried him. He wasn’t even sure of himself.
Even so, Marcel leapt into the river.
At last, he understood.
This was his fate.
