The wizard is reincarnated last Time

Chapter 23

There wasn’t much time left.

Feeling the painful thud of my heart, I counted the remaining days once more.

No matter what happened, it would all be over when that day arrived.

I replayed that moment hundreds, thousands of times in my mind, but I never thought about what would come after.

If I failed, Verkiss would never let me go.

This was undoubtedly my last chance to wield mana.

My last chance to regain my memories.

Whether I succeeded or failed, I felt a strange sense of relief knowing that it would finally be over, one way or another.

And at the same time, I was in agony.

Not just physical pain.

Every time I acknowledged what I had lost, a sharp pang of guilt resonated deep within me.

The emptiness felt like a gaping wound in my soul.

“Luther, how are your wounds?”

Lysia approached, trailing the scent of Elberry blossoms.

Her fresh, vibrant fragrance always cleared my mind.

“They’re healing.”

Or rather, they weren’t getting any worse.

Physical pain was truly inconsequential to me.  Lysia wouldn’t understand.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Have all the guests arrived?”

“Yes. It was difficult, but… I managed to gather everyone.”

Lysia walked over to the window.

Her slender fingers gripped the windowsill tightly, her anxiety palpable.

“Lesion, Sernia, Ritas, and even the Arvat Federation. Even though they couldn’t attend the meeting, some collaborators from the former Troian Empire are here as well.

All because of you… Because you said you could seal the Demon Emperor.”

She was the one who believed me, who gathered everyone after I spoke those words.

Lysia Ervan.

I knew she was a respected holy mage, but I hadn’t realized the extent of her influence.

“Do you regret it?”

Lysia didn’t answer for a long moment, then slowly shook her head.

“I have no choice but to believe you now. The allied forces can’t handle any more fighting. The people are exhausted and losing hope, and the Demon Emperor is growing more cunning.  We have to seize this last opportunity.”

Lysia’s gaze, meeting mine, was filled with steely resolve.

I wondered what I looked like to her.

The last hero who would save a war-torn world? Or a monster, ravaged by exhaustion and festering wounds?

Either way, Lysia was right; this was our final chance.

“Luther, if this works, you will…”

“Disappear.”

I no longer felt any lingering attachment, any obsession, not even a flicker of emotion, yet why did this woman look at me like that?

I stared at Lysia’s face.

A foolish woman who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.  Trying to embrace everything, to offer meaningless affection.

I couldn’t understand it.

“Then tell me your family crest.”

“What?”

“Tell me your family crest.”

I hadn’t misheard.  Lysia repeated her request, her voice clear and firm.

My jaw dropped, then I quickly asked,

“Do you even know what that is?”

“Yes. I heard that imperial mages carry the crest of their family within their bloodline. That it’s passed down through generations.  Isn’t that right?”

I was speechless.

She wasn’t entirely wrong, but it didn’t seem like she fully understood either.

It was baffling that she, who wasn’t an imperial, a Denan, or even a mage, would know about such things.

But with most of the arrogant Troian mages dead…  explaining it all seemed pointless.

“…Let’s say that’s correct.  Why do you want to know?”

This time, Lysia hesitated.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and spoke resolutely.

“To remember you.”

“That’s pointless.”

“Don’t say that. If this works and peace returns to the world, I want people to remember you. To remember what you did…”

“Stop.”

I gripped Lysia’s shoulders.

She frowned slightly but didn’t pull away.

“Luther…”

“Have you forgotten what I’ve done? I’m no hero.  I led demons into war, sacrificing countless lives to the Demon Emperor.  And I’ve done far worse…

To be remembered as a hero would be the ultimate hypocrisy.”

“You were under the Demon Emperor’s control; you had lost your memories.  There were many like you. But not all of them chose to sacrifice themselves to seal the Demon Emperor.”

“The blade that was pointed at innocent people has merely changed direction. …If that’s your intention, I won’t tell you my family crest.”

I released my grip on Lysia’s shoulders.

But she, in turn, took my hand.

“Alright.”

She looked up at me, her expression earnest.

“As you wish, I won’t tell anyone about you. But please, tell me your family crest.”

“Why? Why would you want to know the crest of a long-dead imperial mage family?”

“I will remember you.”

Lysia’s gaze was unwavering.

I saw my own reflection in her clear eyes, as if trapped within them.

“Every time I see that crest, I will remember that you were here.  That’s all.  For such a trivial reason, surely you can tell me your family crest?”

“…Truly trivial.”

Despite my words, Lysia smiled.

I lightly grazed my palm with my fingernail, drawing a thin line of blood.

A drop of murky blood welled up.

I channeled a small amount of mana into it, and the blood, transforming into a thin line, began to draw a crest on my palm.

A complex design of a bird in flight, a star, and thorny branches.

“This is…”

“The crest of the Rendaik family. Meaningless now, of course.”

Even in this body, reborn countless times, the blood infused with mana remained unchanged.

I placed my palm, bearing the crest, over Lysia’s hand. A warm sensation enveloped us.

When I lifted my hand, the Rendaik family crest was imprinted on Lysia’s palm.

“Remember me if you wish.”

A simple inscription made of blood.

If Lysia thought of me, the crimson crest would reappear on her palm.

Lysia looked at the crest on her palm, then smiled.

“Thank you, Luther. But everything has meaning.”

As always, her thoughts were beyond my comprehension.

I turned my head towards the hallway, which had grown considerably noisier. The sounds of commotion had been increasing, and it seemed a large crowd had gathered.

“Perhaps it would be more meaningful to go now.”

Lysia chuckled.

“…If you cowards hadn’t retreated without orders, the northern part of Lake Carpano wouldn’t have been reduced to ashes.”

“So you’re saying it would have been better to sacrifice our troops for a foolish plan?

We were bound to lose that territory again if the eastern front didn’t advance. Should thousands have died for a handful of land?”

“If you’re afraid of that, why even bother fighting a war…?”

“Stop, stop! Both of you, please!”

Lysia finally raised her voice. The room fell silent.

The red-haired Arvat, his temper clearly flaring, repeatedly gripped and released the hilt of his greatsword, the tension in the room thickening.

The black bear Loran he was arguing with, although silenced by Lysia’s intervention, was clearly seething.

“Everyone, please take your seats.  Commander Cortis, Sir Gregor. Yes, if you wouldn’t mind sitting a little further apart.”

The young Denan knight, sitting at the center of the table, said wearily, rubbing his face.

As the Arvat and Loran took their designated seats, their attendants quietly followed.

The meeting hadn’t even started yet.

Lysia, who had been about to enter the meeting room with me, sighed deeply at the sound of the argument coming from inside.

She asked me to wait for a moment and went in first.  Only then did the atmosphere in the meeting room begin to settle.

Although it seemed to be in a state of near-irreparable chaos.

I leaned against the wall in the hallway outside the meeting room, observing the scene within.

I didn’t recognize many faces, but I could identify some of the figures whose exploits and reputations I had heard of.

At the center, seated in the position of honor, was the young Denan knight, Allen Lesis, whom Lysia had brought with her before.

A young prince of the Lesion Kingdom, renowned for his valor and the respect he commanded, despite his youthful appearance.

Behind him stood the second prince of the Lesion royal family and their elite knights.

Lysia was beside them.

Although a Luoir, she was a respected holy mage, co-hosting this meeting with the Lesion Kingdom.

The Luoir man observing her was an envoy from the Sernia Kingdom.

The Sernia Kingdom was one of the allied nations that had been at war with the empire for a long time, but they had suffered devastating losses in recent battles.

I had heard they were barely able to maintain their fighting strength.

That was probably why they had sent an envoy, who appeared to be a scholar rather than a knight, to this meeting.

And next to him sat Loran warriors from the Ritas Alliance.

The Ritas Alliance, a coalition of various Loran tribes, wasn’t particularly unified due to the strong individuality of the different tribes.

The representative seated at the forefront was the black bear Loran warrior who had clashed with the Arvat earlier.

Sir Gregor, was it? I had heard rumors of his prowess as a warrior.

The representatives from the Arvat Federation sat separately on the opposite side.

Although called a federation, it was a collection of smaller Arvat communities, the smallest in number among those present.

However, Arvats possessed formidable individual abilities and were renowned for their fearsome presence on the battlefield.

Seated at their head was Cowen Cortis, the Arvat of Fire, known as the “Red Tiger,” who had led mercenary bands across countless battlefields.

I remembered hearing tales of his flames, sharp as claws, tearing through enemy ranks.

Almost everyone who wanted to overthrow the Demon Emperor was gathered here.

But I didn’t see any mages…

“You…!”

I looked up to see a young boy, barely a teenager, pointing a wand at me.

Perhaps fifteen years old at most.

He wore the long robes favored by kingdom mages and held a slender wand.

So, a mage had finally arrived.

“An imperial mage! What are you doing here?!”

The young mage seemed about to cast a spell, so I raised my hand to block it.

The spell materialized as chains, which began to wrap around my wrists.

Oh. Interesting.

Southern kingdom magic was so different from imperial magic; it always fascinated me.

“I got you!”

The mage boy cheered as the chains, extending from the tip of his wand, bound my wrists.

I didn’t understand what this charade was about, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, so I let him be.

“Now, tell me what you were doing here!  Evil mage!”

“Waiting.”

“What do you mean?! Were you planning to attack the meeting?!”

“Stop it, Ron.”

A deep voice came from behind the boy, from around the corner of the hallway, and an old man appeared.

An elderly man with snow-white hair, sitting in a self-propelled chair and holding a long staff.

I recognized him instantly.

The Archmage of the allied forces, Lagott Altur.