Re:Zero: The Path of Pride

The crowd flowed around us like a river of noise and movement, but this time, I caught Reinhard by the shoulder, firm, deliberate, and steered him empty stall just off the main street. 

Reinhard followed without resistance, his brow furrowed, cloak swaying behind him.

"Ethan, what's wrong?" he asked, voice low and alert.

I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled, the breath shaky despite my best efforts. "Alright. Let me try this again."

I took a deep breath... the words wouldn't come out.

This was going to hurt. That much I knew. Every attempt at honesty was a game of minesweeper, and every misstep meant more torture.

I stood frozen. Mouth open, nothing coming out. Reinhard's eyes never left mine, patient but unrelenting. It felt like trying to force your hand onto a lit burner, knowing exactly how it'll end.

A minute passed.

I'd had enough of my own cowardice.

Click.

The world froze at my command.

Why do you falter?

Why do you hesitate?

Is pain enough to make you stop? No.

This matter must be dealt with. Enough trembling.

'This display is beneath us.'

The confidence in the frozen moment felt divine. Clean. Cold.

But it didn't solve anything.

'Let's think this through. We're up against something that can silence us, drag us through time, and has some twisted agenda tied to someone we haven't even met.'

Maybe I didn't need to attack this head-on. Maybe I could just nudge the door open and see if Reinhard knew anything. If anyone could help me deal with a cosmic nightmare, it was him.

'A better plan than headbutting a curse until it kills us again.'

Time resumed.

Warm air brushed past me. The smell of fresh bread from across the street drifted in, comforting.

'Focus.'

Reinhard was still watching. "Ethan, can you tell me what's wrong? I sensed… pain in you. Then suddenly it vanished. Was that your Authority?"

'He could sense that? What else can he feel?'

I frowned, thinking through how I'd even begin to explain what I was dealing with.

But not here. Not in public.

My eyes flicked to the alley near our empty stall. Privacy. A controlled space.

Reinhard caught the glance and nodded. We moved together into the alley's shadow.

It wasn't empty.

Three men, all in shoddy clothing, were cornering someone. 

The shortest, barely bigger than a child with an atrocious bowl-cut, ran his tongue up the blade like a cartoon villain and whined, voice high and nasal, "Better give it up already, fool."

His larger companion, all bulk and no brain by the look of him, barked out a laugh. "Don't you know there's a toll for using our roads?"

Their victim, a young man with gray hair, a green cloak, and a rather unique-looking green hat, was backed against the wall. He looked more flustered than afraid."I'm really sorry! I don't have any money. I spent it all on… booze."

The thugs were unmoved. If anything, their grins widened.

And that's when my patience, already fraying, finally snapped.

"Oi!" I shouted, stepping into the open, my boots hitting the cobblestone with deliberate weight. "You fucking losers! I heard what you said, and I'd like to formally refute your claim!"

The trio turned, expressions twisting from annoyance to alarm, not at me, but at the figure behind me.

Reinhard.

The silence was loud.

I took a step forward, my voice steady, heavy with something new, something loud in the soul.

"You don't own these streets," I said. "This is the kingdom's land. And you sure as hell don't get to mug people because you're too fucking lazy to earn your own coin."

Another step. Their eyes tracked me like prey watching a predator they didn't recognize yet.

"Drop your weapons. Let him go. And prepare to be taken into custody."

I'd never spoken like that before. Not with that kind of force. But it felt right.

My Authority pulsed with satisfaction, heat blooming behind my ribs like coals in a forge.

I didn't even glance back to see if Reinhard approved. I didn't need to.

The man in green took his chance. He darted past the trio with surprising speed, and immediately tripped on the one goddamn pebble in the entire alley. He pitched forward, arms flailing, and hit the ground like a sack of grain.

I winced.

Reinhard didn't miss a beat. He moved like flowing water, a single, clean stride, and closed the gap between himself and the thugs. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't raise his hand.

He didn't need to.

The trio withered beneath his gaze. Whatever fight they had leaked out of them like air from a cut throat.

I knelt beside the guy face-first on the cobblestones. "Hey, man. You good?"

He groaned. I grabbed his arm and helped him up.

He dusted himself off, wincing as he took back his balance. Then he looked at me like I'd just dropped from the heavens wrapped in golden light.

"Thanks for the help! I thought I was done for. I really did spend all my silver… trade's been rough. Or maybe that's just my luck?"

As he rambled, I knelt to grab his hat.

"Yeah," I muttered, handing it over, "I'd say your luck's shit. Bad trade, a mugging, and you tripped on the only rock in the entire alley."

I glanced back at Reinhard, just in time to see him calmly pocketing the thugs' weapons like they were spare coins.

'...Where the hell does he even put those?'

I blinked, shook my head, and turned back to the guy.

"Name?"

"Otto Suwen," he said proudly. "Merchant by profession, permanently broke by fate."

I let out a low chuckle. "Mm. Try to steer clear of alleys next time, Otto."

He scratched his neck sheepishly. "Thought I knew a shortcut. Guess the guy at the bar lied. Bastard…"

His eyes flicked between me and Reinhard, and then widened.

"Wait. Was that… the Sword Saint?"

I chuckled. The sheer simplicity of this encounter was almost therapeutic. "Yup," I said, letting the 'p' pop.

Otto's mouth hung open for half a second before he stammered out, "Oh— thank you. Both of you."

"No problem," I said, turning toward Reinhard. "We've gotta haul these guys to the guard station. Catch you around, Otto."

I took a few steps before I heard him call out again.

"Hey! If you ever need a merchant, or someone to haul goods, anything—find me! I owe you!"

I looked over my shoulder and gave him a small, crooked smile.

"I'll keep you in mind. Stay safe, Otto."

He gave a final wave, still cradling his bruised pride more than his body. We turned, the echo of our boots tapping against the cobbles, and left the alley behind.

The three thugs shuffled ahead of us, heads low, arms stiff, not even pretending to resist. It felt like a rerun of yesterday; another batch of human garbage marched off under our shadow.

And yet, instead of relief, I felt the tension coil tighter in my gut.

'This was a distraction.'And I couldn't afford distractions.

I hadn't forgotten the bigger issue: the return. My new objective and the charge who had died so quickly last time.

Who was I supposed to save?

Why hadn't they died this time?

Had I delayed it? Or changed something entirely?

Or was fate just... choosing different moments to play executioner?

I fell quiet as I wrestled through the maze in my head.

Somewhere in the haze, the city blurred around us, and we arrived. A smaller guard station, not the wide, echoing cathedral of order we'd visited before, but still cut from the same disciplined stone.

The building loomed with clean geometry. Steel bars framed each narrow window, and the faint scent of oil and parchment drifted from inside, the stink of bureaucracy and weapon maintenance.

We stepped through the door and were greeted by a familiar rhythm:

The guards spotted Reinhard, straightened like iron rods, and gave small nods that sat somewhere between respect and resignation.

No paperwork needed. No questions asked.

They took the prisoners from us with silent professionalism while Reinhard calmly detailed the attempted mugging. He didn't exaggerate. Didn't flinch. Just stated facts — and recommended they be put to hard labor until their egos shriveled up and died.

I lingered near the front desk, waiting for a crack in the moment.I still needed to talk to him, really talk.

Thankfully, it came soon.

Reinhard returned, steps even, expression composed… but there was something off. A faint tension at the corner of his jaw. A small crease near his eyes.

He wore a smile.

But it looked strained.

"We never did get to speak. I'm sorry, Ethan."

His voice was low, the kind of apology that was genuine and unguarded. The look in his eyes only made it worse. It pressed against my chest like guilt I hadn't earned.

He went on, "The station commander's out on patrol right now. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we used his office for a bit. Is that alright?"

I nodded, but I couldn't leave it there.

"Hey. Don't apologize for something that wasn't your fault."My voice was firmer than I expected. "We helped a guy out. We stopped something bad from happening. That's what matters. I don't take priority over someone who's in trouble right in front of us."

For a moment, he just looked at me, surprised. But then that look softened, the tension in his shoulders eased, and the relief that settled on his face made my own breath slow.

Without another word, he turned and led the way through a side door. Hidden staircase. Stone steps with faint wear down the center from years of boots. No guards followed.

At the top, he opened the office door, and we stepped inside.

The room was larger than I expected, clean, but worn around the edges. A big desk sat dead center beneath a slanted shaft of sunlight, casting long shadows across a stack of scattered paperwork.

And then the smell hit me.

Cigarettes.

Stale, bitter, and clinging to the walls like old regrets.

My nose wrinkled on instinct. I made a face and crossed the room toward the tall glass window behind the desk, already halfway to throwing it open before I noticed the chaos waiting to happen, stacks of paper, organized just enough to become projectiles if wind got involved.

I exhaled a sigh through my teeth and stepped back from the latch, muttering a quiet curse as I turned.

Reinhard hadn't moved.

He stood across the room like a statue, posture still, expression unreadable, but his eyes were locked on me with a look that felt heavier than it should've.

I quirked an eyebrow at his strange stillness but didn't press it. Instead, I stepped past him, curiosity steering me toward the bookshelves behind his back.

The commander, apparently, had been doing very well for himself.

Two shelves packed full, not just with scrolls and stiff-looking documents, but actual books. Leather-bound, cloth-wrapped, some well-kept, others worn to hell. Not all of them looked... official.

One, in particular, stood out:

A Romp with Barmaids Across Kararagi.

The title was written in a flourished golden script. The cover? A lovingly illustrated bar scene with a half-dressed waitress winking at the viewer.

I blinked.

'Well, then.'

Strange thing to keep in your office.

But hey, I wasn't here to judge a man's taste in escapism.

I kept flipping through the titles, letting my fingers drift across the spines as my brain caught up with the moment. Then I sighed, a breath heavy with all the questions still left unanswered.

"...You said you felt my pain," I began, voice low. "What all can you sense, Reinhard?"

His reply came evenly, like he'd been expecting the question."A number of things, if I choose to. But in relevance to you? I can generally gauge emotions… rough thoughts… and miasma."

The last one was one I didn't know. 

"Miasma?" I turned toward him fully now, brows drawn.

He gave a small nod. "Corrupted mana. It's usually attributed to the Witch."

My gaze sharpened. Finally. A thread I could pull.

"And this Witch, who is she, exactly? And did I have miasma coming off me when you felt that pain?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes narrowed, a slight crease forming at the corner of his brow as he searched his memory.

"I did feel a spike in miasma when it happened," he said slowly. "But… Ethan, you always give off a little miasma."

"...Wait, what?"

"You constantly emit a faint amount," he added. "Those who possess Witch Factors, the Sin Archbishops, always do."

My stomach twisted. "So you're telling me I'm just… leaking evil fog all the time?"

He gave a light frown. Concern laced with caution.

"Reported survivors of Witch Cult attacks often emerged unstable. Delirious. And in many cases, they were volatile enough to even attempt to kill their family."

I flinched. That…That was a hell of a detail to sit with.

"Doesn't that mean I'm basically a walking biohazard?!"

This time, Rein smiled."I was a little concerned about that at first," he admitted, "but your miasma is… different. It doesn't pervade or attempt to affect the Od of living things. It merely… stimulates the space around you."

That sounded ominous as hell.

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or creeped out.

"Well," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck, "I guess I'm glad no one's gonna go insane just standing near me. Would've been nice to get a heads-up on that, though."

Reinhard's expression faltered. His eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders tensing slightly with guilt.

And just like that, whatever frustration I had evaporated.

I exhaled and pivoted.

"Anyway. The Witch. Who is she? What exactly can she do?"

He paused, just for a second, then drew a slow breath and met my gaze. 

"The Witch of Envy," he began, "was a silver-haired half-elf… who destroyed over half the world, more than four centuries ago."

The words fell like stones.

"She's considered a taboo subject. Too dangerous to discuss openly. Her name alone stirs fear in most."

I swallowed hard. That was a lot.

But my thoughts snagged on one detail.

'Silver-haired.'

That matched what I saw, the thing that dragged me into shadow and tore through my soul like wet paper. That… was her?

Wonderful.

'What an honor…'

Still, I needed confirmation.

"So… this Witch. Is she still alive?"

Reinhard gave a slow nod."Alive, yes. Free? No. She remains sealed within the Pleiades Watchtower. A prison built by the Sage Flugel, the first Sword Saint, Reid Astrea, and the Divine Dragon Volcanica. It took all three to stop her."

'Major lore drops here. So this bitch isn't actually dead… and was once the big bad of the world? Great. But after four centuries locked up, people still flinch at her name? This world seems like a medieval society in some ways. How the hell does that kind of memory survive so long?'

"So… why is she still a sore topic if it's been that long?"

Reinhard answered with no hesitation, but his voice dipped lower, as if even he didn't want to speak too loudly about her.

"The topic of the Witch remains taboo because the stories were never allowed to fade. They've been passed down, generation to generation, carved into history by pain."

He looked at me with something close to sorrow.

"The destruction she caused, the death, the displacement, left a scar on the world. One that never fully healed."

He stepped toward the window and looked out for a moment, as if seeing it all play out.

"Elvish populations dwindled over time. And half-elves…"He paused."They're still heavily discriminated against. Feared. Hated. Just for existing."

"And those who emit miasma…" Reinhard continued, "are usually hunted. Because miasma is linked to the Witch. And the fear of her… has never gone away."

I crossed my arms. "Okay, but linked how?"

"I'm not certain," he admitted. "But every member of the Witch Cult gives off some level of miasma. The Sin Archbishops, most of all, radiate it like a sickness."

Then his expression shifted. Slight furrow in the brow. A flicker of something off in his usually composed gaze.

He looked at me, not suspicious, but deeply concerned.

"Ethan… when you were in pain earlier… you released miasma. A lot of it."

He hesitated.

"Enough to match a Sin Archbishop."

"What happened?"

And just like that, we circled back to the core issue.

I ran a gloved hand through my hair, jaw tight, fingers dragging with more force than necessary.

This was it. I could get it all out if I did it right.

But that meant taking the hit again.

'Fuck it.'

"So the Witch of Envy still technically exists. She still has a presence in the world through the Witch's Cult, right? Miasma clings to them, or to people who carry a Witch Factor. Sound about right?"

Reinhard's nod was slow.

Measured.

Caution started to creep into his expression.

I didn't let the pause settle.

"What about people who've been… contacted by the Witch?"My tone sharpened. "Would that spike miasma?"

His eyes widened. That wasn't theoretical anymore. That was personal.

Genuine concern bled through."Ethan. Did you have contact with her?"

"Not willingly," I said under my breath. Then I looked up and locked eyes with him.

"Listen, Rein."My voice dropped lower, firmer. "I've been dragged into something. And I'm guessing she's behind it."

My fingers curled.

"I'm about to confirm that."

I raised my hand, palm open, and pulled gently at my gate.

Just a flicker. Just enough.

"Goa."

A small flame snapped to life in my palm, clean, steady, like a candle refusing to flicker.

Reinhard blinked, visibly caught off guard."Magic!? When did you—? How did you—?"

I didn't let him finish."Yeah. When did I? Let's get back to that in a second."

The flame pulsed once. I could feel my Authority humming beneath the surface.

"For now, I need you to feel the miasma and think. If you ask a question, there's no guarantee I'll answer."

He tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing. That classic Reinhard blend of concerned curiosity met with calm restraint.

I could see him trying to piece it together, but the tempo had changed, and he was smart enough not to interrupt the rhythm.

I drew a breath.

Held it.

Centered myself.

And spoke the words.

"I've gone back in ti—"

The words caught in my throat like shards of glass. I tried to force them out, but it was already too late—

Time stopped.

The color bled from the world. The edges of the room warped and darkened. Light remained, but it pulsed like a dying heartbeat.

My eyes closed in grim acceptance.

'Here we go again.'

When they opened, I saw it.

The difference.

A piece of the puzzle that was the monster came together.

She had two ways of reaching me. The first: the full transport. Her void. Her voice. Her hands. Death. This wasn't that.

This was her version of a back-alley beating. A warning by proxy. Torturing me from across dimensions without even needing to personally be here. I wasn't dragged to her void; instead, she enforced her domain upon the world. Upon me.

Shadows swirled at the edges of the room like spilled ink, pulling open tiny tears in reality, portals to somewhere deeper, darker. Through them, her hands came crawling.

They didn't rush. They didn't tremble. They just moved, unbothered by the air or gravity

I watched in grim fascination as the hands specifically avoided Reinhard. 

She wasn't targeting him. Or maybe she couldn't.

In either case, she clearly knew her mark. She wanted me.

Any fascination I had evaporated as they grew closer.

She meant to teach me a lesson, etched not in words, but in agony. She would drag my soul to the brink of ruin, let me taste air, then drive the knife in again.

But it wouldn't work. 

I wouldn't learn what she wanted to teach. 

I wouldn't bend the knee. 

Sure, I would play along after this session. 

I would help her favored individual. 

But after that?

I'd burn her world down.

The hands reached me.

They gripped my shoulders, crawled up my legs, wrapped around my face.

Where they touched, they froze. Not the skin, but the bone beneath. My blood felt like it had been replaced with liquid nitrogen.

My heart thrashed against my ribs.

My jaw clenched hard enough to crack a molar.

And then came the squeeze.

Every nerve in my body screamed.

My vision broke into static. I couldn't think, only feel.

And the feeling was unmaking.

The blood in my veins crystallized. Then shattered.

I felt every shard explode outward inside me like a mine of glass and razors.

I was being shredded from the inside out.

My mind blanked, white noise, black static, and in sheer, primal desperation, I triggered Indomitable.

Warmth roared back into my body like a sun igniting in my chest.

The hands flew off me, flung backward by a force beyond them.

I clung to that heat, gasping for it like air.

I reached inward, desperately grasping for respite.

Begging for salvation.

Begging for it to hold the cold at bay.

And it did.

I felt it, the core within me, the one born from my Authority, growing.

Spreading.

Stronger. Hotter. Brighter.

And that's when it hit me.

The more I leaned on it, the more I needed it, the more it grew.

The more it could do.

The more it would protect me.

The stronger we could be.

I bathed in the warmth.

The shadows tried again. Slithering closer.

But they couldn't reach me.

Not while my Authority burned.

The frozen moment shattered. Time surged forward.

Her hands were gone, vanished into whatever dark they'd crawled from.

And I?

I felt bliss.