MMLP 08

Chapter 08

The tyrant, drunk on power, stabbed the hero in the back, and the wicked woman, crazed for a man, offered me up as a sacrifice.

Inside the sealing magic circle, the Archmage and I slowly withered away.

I wept bitterly.

“H-hic… I thought you were my sister. How could you do this to me?”

“Hey. Brat of the Grimlores.”

“Why did my memories from before possession have to return now, of all times…? It’s too late to set things right!”

“Someone’s calling you, you foolish villainess.”

“Ugh… sob…”

“Want me to tell you how to escape this hell?”

“What is it?”

“You were listening, weren’t you?”

“What’s the method? Is there a way to survive?”

The Archmage, Zerodines, bound in chains, gestured with his chin downward. When I followed his gaze, a broad, bare chest filled my vision.

“Touch here—”

Smack!

Fortunately, I still had enough strength left to slap him. His head snapped to the side under my unhesitating hand.

“What are you doing?!”

“That’s my line. Going on about being a hero and all that, but in the end, you’re just another man after all.”

“This crazy woman—what nonsense are you spouting? Are your thoughts always this filthy? Open your eyes and look properly!”

Looking again, I noticed something drawn on his skin.

“This isn’t… a tattoo, but a magic circle?”

Perhaps he still had a hidden trump card. I placed my hand on his chest.

Right after that, the magic he had set in place activated. When I came to, I had regressed.

The mark on the back of my left hand was the very same magic circle from that moment.

“Was it… regression magic?”

—Correct.

In the solitude of my room, an answer echoed back.

The mark on my hand glowed faintly, and before long, Zerodines appeared in front of me.

He looked just the same as before—

Brilliant red hair, sharp features.

Intelligent and keen eyes that seemed to hold unknown power.

A small face, tall stature, and well-balanced frame. The perfect image of a handsome man out of a novel.

—Before I explain, I want to hear your thoughts, Revieta Grimore.

“Stronger than I expected. Have you been working out?”

—…I’m not asking for comments about my body. I mean your thoughts on regressing.

“Whatever. Come here for a second.”

I stretched out my hand, but although he didn’t move away, I couldn’t touch him.

“Your body’s half-transparent, and my hand just goes through you. What’s going on?”

We had regressed together. But only I had become younger.

An immortal transcendent like him wouldn’t age, sure—but being a ghost was strange.

Neither dead nor alive… What was this? Was it connected to the disappearance of the Archmage from the world?

—The regression succeeded. The problem is, so did the sealing.

“So you’re saying that though you came back to the past with me, your sealed body couldn’t follow time’s reversal. Your soul alone can’t exist, so everyone’s memories of you vanished. Something like that?”

—In simple terms, yes. Others can’t see me.

“Then why can I?”

—Because you’re the only one with memories of the past.

Hmm.

I shouldn’t laugh, but the situation was turning out far too convenient for me. I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Right. That’s how it is, then. You asked me earlier how I felt, right? I’m greedy.”

I licked my lips. Hardly seductive—more like a child begging for sweets—but knowing I had regressed, it carried a different weight.

“I want you. I want this man.”

—…

He shuddered as though goosebumps ran from head to toe, his long brows furrowing.

—You seem mistaken. I don’t like you. If you hadn’t foolishly allowed yourself to be sacrificed, this wouldn’t have happened.

“I know. You didn’t regress for me—you did it to stop the First Prince.”

The First Prince would one day become the tyrant who killed the hero. It was wise to cut the bud early.

But I didn’t feel much urgency. No matter how much the First Prince raged, I knew he’d eventually be struck down by the story’s true male lead, the youngest prince.

“I’ll help you find your body.”

I’d help the troubled Archmage. But only after I settled my own matters.

“So you support me in return.”

—‘Support’ is what a wife gives her husband.

“Let’s not quibble over wording. For now, I’m the one outside, and you’re the one inside, right?”

—Wordplay, as usual.

“I’m at the age where playing is natural.”

Spreading my arms wide, I pleaded earnestly.

“Look at me—small and helpless. I can’t even drink coffee on my own, let alone meddle in the succession struggle. How could I possibly recover the Archmage’s body by myself? Helping me succeed is the same as helping yourself. Don’t you see that?”

—I do.

“Really?”

A crooked smile spread across his lips.

—You think to leash me with hope, but such petty tricks won’t work.

“…”

—Even without you establishing yourself, there are countless ways for me to intervene in the Imperial family. If I wished, I could act this instant.

Of course. In a world where high-grade spells sold for twenty million gold, having the Archmage at my side meant I could become Queen the moment I stepped into the Tower. The Imperial family would scramble to recruit me.

But that would ruin my plans for revenge.

“Negotiations failed, then. Sorry, but I have things I need to do. To you, who defeated the Demon King and protected the Empire, they might seem like petty squabbles. But to me, they’re vital.”

Turning my back to him, I lay down facing the wall—but my attention was still sharp on Zerodines.

—Revieta Grimore.

“Will you help me?”

I shot upright as soon as he spoke.

But instead of answering, he jerked his chin toward the door.

—Someone’s coming. Footsteps are near.

“What? Who?”

He phased through the wall, peered outside, then reported back.

—The maid with the ponytail.

Belladonna!

—She’s carrying a bucket, but it’s too far to see what’s inside.

“Well… hopefully just mud or dirty water.”

Belladonna had spread rumors of me being sick. She’d been waiting for a chance, and with today’s commotion over me collapsing, she wouldn’t let it pass.

“Let her do as she pleases. If I confront her, she’ll just claim she came to the wrong room.”

Now was the time to set a trap. Without hesitation, I cut off a handful of my own hair.

“[Illusion Weave.]”

At my chant, the hair transformed into an illusion of myself.

“How’s my magic?”

—Clumsy and crude. The moment she shakes you awake, it’ll shatter.

“Don’t worry about that.”

Belladonna wouldn’t wake me. What she planned was far more vicious than pouring cold water on me.

Work finished, I slipped into a hidden passage. I barely made it in before the door opened.

I’d need somewhere to stay the night.

Hmm. There was only one place.

Gilbert’s room was dreary. Black walls, sparse furniture—so bleak it was almost desolate.

“Mister.”

I shook Gilbert, who was sleeping like the dead.

“Wake up for a second, Mister.”

“….”

With a groan, his eyes slowly opened.

“…You.”

“I had a nightmare. I can’t sleep.”

“…There are no such things as ghosts. Just stories made up to scare cowards like you.”

Wrong—there were ghosts. One was right beside me.

“I can’t sleep alone. Just for tonight, can I stay here? Please.”

“You really are a handful.”

Grabbing my collar, he lifted me up with one hand. Dangling like a keychain, I was met with his suspicious gaze up close.

“What did I say? That you wouldn’t be able to sleep. Now, are you going to keep drinking coffee or not?”

“I won’t.”

I hooked my pinky finger with his in promise.

“If you break it, you’ll be punished.”

His words didn’t match his actions. From his tone, he sounded ready to spank me, but he simply shifted over on the bed.

“Uh, should I sleep up here too?”

“Of course. If I made a girl sleep on the floor, my son would start looking at me with admiration.”

Clearly sarcasm.

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

No reply came.

Exhausted from the day’s chaos, my body sank into the mattress. Before long, I followed Gilbert into sleep.