TPWTL 07

#7. I Will Survive

Cryer’s voice came out slurred due to Olivia pressing against the corner of his mouth. Her lips were tightly sealed as she used her fingertips to push down the twisted edge of his mouth.

“Don’t make that face.”

“What?”

“You’re the most important one! You started this war, and you’re the one who’ll end it! Whether you’re a slave or not! Whether you’re an ancient god or whatever! It’s you! You!”

Her trembling fingers, which had been pressing against his lips, slipped and grazed his lower lip before dropping away. Cryer finally spoke as Olivia held her breath in silence.

“It’s all my fault…”

“No, it’s not!”

As Olivia shook her head, her bright red hair rippled like a flame. She closed her eyes tightly, then opened them to stare straight into his.

“There must be a reason you made that slave contract. If it was just to borrow the power of an ancient god, that damn mage could have done it himself. But he didn’t. He specifically chose you—you, to carry out the contract. You said you came back from the dead, right?”

“Even before I was resurrected… I was just a knight.”

“What else do you remember?”

Cryer didn’t answer her question. No—he couldn’t.

“You don’t remember anything, do you?”

“Th-that’s right. I… don’t remember…”

“You’ll break the slave contract. No—you will break it. Whether you recover your past or find something else entirely. Whatever it takes!”

Cryer touched the brand burned into his collarbone. The only memories he could recall were from when it had been seared into his skin. The mage prepared the brand, but the one who had pressed it onto him… was the mage’s own daughter.

‘…Together. Chosen… to stand…’

Once again, Olivia’s hand overlapped his as he rubbed his collarbone. She didn’t know why he always touched that spot, but whenever he did, the emptiness in his eyes chilled her to the bone. Without realizing it, she reached out. Gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles turned white, Olivia stared at him and declared:

“I’m going to survive. That’s why you won’t start this war, and you won’t drench your hands in the blood of the world.”

Cryer met Olivia’s burning blue eyes, blazing like blue flames. And deep in his eyes, darker than the darkest night, fragments—so small he didn’t even realize they were there—began to lodge themselves. Fragments of something he couldn’t yet speak aloud.

Fragments… of hope.

The night had fallen under a veil of darkness, thick clouds swallowing even the moonlight. Beneath a massive tree where an owl prowled through the pre-dawn hours, someone was feverishly digging into the earth.

Thud. Thud.

It wasn’t a shovel or any tool—just bare hands shoving through dirt. He dug like a madman, obsessed. If not for the fact that he was in a remote, deserted area on the outskirts of the Imperial capital, someone would have surely screamed and fled in terror.

“Huff… huff…”

His wild breathing and unblinking eyes gave him a deranged look. Anyone who saw him would’ve summoned the city guards—if they could stop screaming long enough to do so.

Who knew how long he dug like that? Eventually, he had carved out a hole just large enough to bury a person. That was when he froze. He stared blankly at the dirt, then slowly looked up at the pitch-black sky. His hands were covered in black soil, his nails torn off, blood oozing, his clothes ragged.

Time passed as he stared up at the sky.

Buzz…
Flap.

An insect cried in the distance, only to be silenced when an owl soared into the sky. The man’s fingers twitched. His creaking neck turned unnaturally, as if he weren’t human, to follow the invisible death of the insect.

Then his mouth stretched unnaturally wide—so far it reached past his ears. It looked like a smile, but he was crying. Tears fell down his blood-smeared cheeks, though the dark stains were so thick they hardly faded.

A trembling voice escaped from his cracked lips:

“Mercy… God, have mercy…”

He repeated it over and over. A desperate plea for divine grace. But the ‘god’ he sought was not one of the widely worshiped gods of the continent. His god was an ancient deity—one whose name and form had been forgotten long ago. All that remained was the belief that this forgotten god was far stronger than the current pantheon.

And the man needed that power. Desperately.

“Oh, my god…”

As if in answer to his invocation, the owl took flight again, and the moon slipped out from behind the clouds for a brief moment. The light poured down, illuminating the man and the hole in the ground—a hole reeking of blood and earth. And beside it, a corpse lay on its side.

The man’s face lit up with ecstasy.

“Ohhh… God…”

He pressed his forehead to the ground, whispering and shouting the god’s name countless times. Then, just as the moon disappeared behind the clouds again, he suddenly lifted his head, his eyes rolling strangely.

Like a spider, he crawled toward the corpse and reached out. His hook-like fingers grabbed its clothes and dragged it into the pit.

Staring down at the body, he murmured:

“Just a few more…”

Just a few more sacrifices for the ritual to serve his god. That’s all he needed.

A fierce—no, a violent—wind howled. But it was still just wind. And the man knew better than anyone: he was reaching the limit. So far, he had sacrificed over a dozen people. But rumors had started spreading in the areas where he hunted, and now, unless he bought someone, new victims were getting harder to find.

“This won’t be enough.”

As he fiddled with a piece of jewelry stripped from the corpse, dried blood cracked and flaked off his fingers.

“But the god… the god will always show the way.”

Scraping the hardened blood from his face, the man began to hum softly.

“Hmm, hmmm, hmmm hmm…”

The grotesque humming echoed through the bloody night like a springtime picnic tune.

Some time had passed since the sudden Continental Council had ended. Yet the rumor that the Empire’s only princess had fallen for an unnamed knight from the Norden Kingdom during the meeting and insisted he stay by her side… wasn’t dying down. If anything—

“We can probably find someone who looks like him.”

“Then find him! Find someone who even vaguely resembles that knight and put him somewhere the princess will see him!”

Some scrambled to find men who looked like Cryer, just to catch Olivia’s attention.

“What’s his name? Wait—never mind the name! Go and find everything about that knight! Especially what he likes!”

Others tried to figure out what Cryer liked in hopes of catching his attention, since he had caught Olivia’s.

It wasn’t surprising. Even in the Imperial Palace, so-called ‘knights’ from foreign nations were scheming to earn the princess’s favor.

“Could you maybe tell me the route Her Highness takes on her walks?”

A strikingly handsome man beamed, revealing perfect teeth. His confident smile was accompanied by an unnecessary stream of excuses.

“I mean, the route Her Highness walks must be the most beautiful and enchanting path of all. If I’m going to take a walk, I’d love to try it.”

The blond knight smiled at the maid, clearly pleased with himself. She blinked up at him, unimpressed, so he leaned in even closer.

“No ulterior motive, I swear. I just genuinely want to take a peaceful stroll.”

As his sweet voice whispered near her ear, the maid’s cheeks flushed—and the knight awaited a favorable reply.

But instead, he got something he could never have anticipated.

“Let’s go together.”

He heard the words, but couldn’t quite process them. He just blinked.

“Let’s go! For a walk!”

The maid from the princess’s palace—bright-eyed and cheerful—wasn’t just saying it. She grabbed his sleeve and yanked him forward.

“W-what are you doing—”

The flustered knight took a step back, but the maid just stepped closer, smiling even brighter.

“You said you wanted a walk, didn’t you? No need for secrets—I’ll personally guide you along Her Highness’s favorite route.”

Wordless, the knight was dragged off. And scenes like this were happening all across the palace.

From Olivia’s walking paths, to her favorite foods, preferred music, and even her favorite art—these foreign knights were desperate to latch onto anything, anything at all. Anything to earn even a sliver of her attention. Just to sit beside her.

They weren’t carrying swords, but this was war all the same—a brutal, ugly war.

At that exact moment, while the blond knight was being dragged awkwardly around the garden:

“Hmmm, I see.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good. Keep doing it just like that.”

As Olivia nodded, the maid bowed deeply and left. Olivia began neatly organizing the stack of reports in front of her—everything from domestic affairs to international intelligence. The sheer volume was overwhelming, yet she looked more pleased than annoyed as she flipped through the files.

She had died four times in the Continental War. And what she had learned from those deaths and regressions… was the value of information.

Knowledge is power.

She never truly understood that ancient Bolsheik saying until after her first death.

“This is the first time I’ve seen someone actually enjoy working.”

At the deep, echoing voice from a few paces away, Olivia’s hand paused. She glanced at Cryer, who was sitting leisurely, polishing the hilt of his sword. Emotions swirled in her eyes—ones even she couldn’t name.

Before regressing, Olivia had been like most people. She didn’t enjoy work. Even now, aside from intelligence gathering and analysis, everything else felt more like an obligation than a passion.

But she had died not once, but four times at the hands of the man sitting before her.

So when it came to survival…

She had learned to enjoy it.

“…Your Highness? Your Highness?”