The wizard is reincarnated last Time

Chapter 24

There wasn’t much time left.

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

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

I had replayed that moment hundreds, thousands of times, yet I hadn’t given a single thought to what might 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, the knowledge that it would finally be over filled me with a peculiar sense of relief.

And at the same time, a profound sense of sorrow.

It wasn’t merely physical pain.

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

The emptiness felt like a gaping wound in my soul.

“Luther, how are your wounds?”

Lysia approached, a gentle fragrance of Elberry blossoms trailing in her wake.

Her fresh, clean scent always seemed to clear my mind.

“They’re healing.”

Or rather, they weren’t getting any worse.

Physical pain was truly trivial 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 clenched around the windowsill, her anxiety palpable.

“Lesion, Sernia, Ritas, and even the Arvat Federation. Although they couldn’t participate in the meeting, collaborators from the former Troian Empire are here as well.

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

She was the one who, after hearing my words, believed me and rallied the others.

Lysia Ervan.

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

“Do you have any regrets?”

Lysia was silent for a long moment, then she shook her head.

“I have no choice but to trust you now.  The allied forces can’t endure any more fighting.  The people are weary and losing hope, and the Demon Emperor grows more cunning by the day.  We have to seize this last opportunity.”

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

I wondered how I appeared to her.

Their last hope, the hero who would save this war-torn world?  Or a monster, consumed by exhaustion and festering wounds?

Either way, Lysia was right. This was our last chance.

“Luther, if this succeeds, you will…”

“Disappear.”

I no longer felt any lingering attachment, any desire, not even a flicker of emotion.  Yet, why did this woman look at me with such sorrow in her eyes?

I stared at Lysia’s face.

A foolish woman, bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders. Trying to embrace everything, to offer her futile affection.

It was beyond my comprehension.

“Then, please tell me your family crest.”

“What?”

“Tell me your family’s crest.”

I hadn’t misheard her. Lysia repeated her request clearly and firmly.

Stunned, my jaw dropped, and I asked,

“Do you even know what that is?”

“Yes. I’ve heard that imperial mages carry their family crest in their bloodline.  That descendants of the same family share the same crest.  Isn’t that so?”

I was at a loss for words.

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

It was baffling that she, who was neither an imperial, a Denan, nor a mage, knew about such things.

But with nearly all the arrogant Troian mages gone… explaining it all seemed futile.

“…Let’s just say you’re right. Why do you want to know?”

This time, Lysia hesitated.

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and spoke resolutely.

“So I can remember you.”

“That’s pointless.”

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

“Stop.”

I placed my hands on Lysia’s shoulders.

She frowned slightly but didn’t shrug me off.

“Luther…”

“Have you forgotten what I did? I’m not a hero.  I waged war, leading demons, and offering countless lives to the Demon Emperor.  I’ve done far worse… To be remembered as a hero would be the height of hypocrisy.”

“You were being controlled by the Demon Emperor; you had lost your memories. There were many like you. But not everyone chose to sacrifice themselves to seal him.”

“The blade that was turned against innocent people has merely shifted its aim.  …If that’s what you want, I can’t tell you my family crest.”

I released my grip on Lysia’s shoulders.

But she, instead, took my hand in hers.

“Alright.”

She looked up at me, her gaze intense.

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

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

“I will remember.”

Lysia’s gaze was unwavering.

I saw myself reflected in her clear eyes, as if trapped within them.

“I will remember that you were here, every time I see that crest. That is all.  For such a small, insignificant reason, surely you can share your family’s crest?”

“…Truly insignificant.”

Despite my words, Lysia smiled.

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

A bead of murky blood welled up.

Channeling a small amount of mana into the blood, I traced a crest onto my palm.

A complex design of a bird with outstretched wings, a star, and thorny branches.

“This is…”

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

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

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

When I lifted my hand, the Rendaik crest was imprinted on her palm.

“If you want to remember, so be it.”

A simple inscription drawn in blood.

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

Lysia traced the crest on her palm again, a faint smile playing on her lips.

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

As always, her reasoning was beyond me.

I turned my head towards the hallway, where the commotion had grown considerably louder. It seemed a large crowd had gathered.

“Perhaps it’s more meaningful to go now.”

Lysia chuckled.

“…If you cowards hadn’t retreated without orders, the north side of Lake Carpano wouldn’t have been burned to the ground.”

“Are you saying it would have been better to send our troops to their deaths for a foolish plan?

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

“If you’re so afraid of casualties, why even bother waging war…?”

“Stop!  Both of you, please, stop this!”

Lysia’s voice rose sharply, silencing the room.

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

The black bear Loran, his opponent in the argument, although silenced by Lysia’s intervention, was visibly seething.

“Everyone, please be seated. Commander Cortis, Sir Gregor.  Yes, if you could sit a little further apart, that would be appreciated.”

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

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

The meeting hadn’t even begun yet.

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

She asked me to wait and went in first. Only then did the chaos in the meeting room subside slightly.

Though it seemed to be in a state of near-irreparable disarray.

I stood in the hallway outside the meeting room, observing the scene within.

While I didn’t recognize many faces, I could identify some of those whose exploits I had heard of.

At the center, seated in the position of honor, was the young Denan knight, Allen Lesis, who had accompanied Lysia before.

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

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

Lysia stood beside Allen.

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

The Luoir man who kept glancing at her was an envoy from the Sernia Kingdom.

The Sernia Kingdom was one of the allied nations that had long been at war with the Empire, but they had recently suffered devastating losses.

I heard they were barely holding their own.

Perhaps that was why they had sent an envoy who looked more like a scholar than a warrior.

Next to the envoy sat a contingent of Loran warriors from the Ritas Alliance.

The Ritas Alliance, a coalition of various Loran tribes, wasn’t known for its unity, due to the fiercely independent nature of its member tribes.

Their leader, who sat at the forefront, was the black bear Loran warrior who had clashed with the Arvat – Sir Gregor, if I recalled correctly. I had heard tales of his ferocity in battle.

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

Though called a federation, it was more of a loose alliance of smaller Arvat communities, the smallest contingent present.

However, Arvats possessed powerful individual abilities and were known for their devastating impact on the battlefield.

At their head sat Cowen Cortis, the Arvat of Fire known as the “Red Tiger,” famed for leading mercenary bands across countless battlefields.

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

Nearly everyone who desired the Demon Emperor’s downfall was gathered here.

But where were the mages…?

“You…!”

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

He wore the long robes favored by kingdom mages and clutched a flimsy wand.

So, a mage had finally arrived.

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

The mage boy seemed about to cast some insignificant spell, so I raised my hand dismissively.

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’ve got you!”

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

I didn’t understand this childish game, but he seemed pleased with himself, so I let it be.

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

“Waiting.”

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

“That’s enough, Ron.”

A deep voice echoed from the end of the hallway, and an old man emerged.

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

I recognized him immediately.

The Archmage of the allied forces, Lagott Altur.