#8. Did You Lose Your Way?
Olivia’s blurred focus snapped back into place at Cryer’s voice. She shook her head to rid herself of idle thoughts, picked up the stack of papers, and stood up.
“I just like handling information. It’s essential for survival.”
Cryer tapped the armrest slowly—once, then again—and gave a small nod.
“Knowledge is power, is it?”
“What?”
The moment he finished speaking, Olivia’s eyes widened like a startled rabbit.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That knowledge is power.”
“I think I remember reading that once in the Bolsheik library. Speaking of which, the Empire now is the Bolsheik royal fam—”
Cryer answered casually, then abruptly fell silent. Olivia blinked. A brief silence lingered between them. Olivia, staring at Cryer’s firmly closed lips, leaned in slightly and asked:
“Did… something come back to you?”
She asked with a hint of hope, though she expected the answer. As expected, he shook his head.
“No. Only fragments. Calling them fragments might be generous. More like scraps.”
It was a thoroughly depressing response, yet Cryer’s face remained stoic and indifferent, leaving Olivia momentarily lost for words. Her eyes wandered, but soon, as if she remembered something, she spoke again.
“Do you want to go to the library?”
“The Bolsheik library?”
“Yeah. Since you remembered a little, maybe we can trace it back from there.”
“There’s a chance.”
“Right? And—this is just a possibility.”
She paused for a moment before continuing.
“We might even find a case similar to your situation.”
As she spoke, her confidence seemed to grow. Olivia nodded to herself. Cryer also nodded without much doubt—understandably so…
“From being possessed by a novel’s world to fighting against it, there are people from worlds where they split the sea with swords, and even those who’ve reincarnated.”
Olivia folded her fingers one by one, recounting the strange history of Bolsheik.
“There are also stories of people defying the will of gods, and even entire noble families committing grand crimes.”
She gave a dry laugh as she folded another finger. And even that wasn’t the end.
“And then there’s regression… though I don’t know why they can’t do it in a normal way. I myself died four times and came back, but in the older records…”
“But?”
“There was someone who regressed infinitely. Like, if they died at a certain point, they’d return to that point, over and over again. And once certain conditions were met, they could break free from the cycle?”
“Needlessly complicated.”
“When you sum it up in one line like that, it doesn’t sound complicated at all… Anyway, there were those regressions, and stories of guests from other worlds too, right?”
“The one who split the sea with a sword?”
At Cryer’s comment, Olivia narrowed her eyes.
“You—can you split the sea too—”
“No.”
The answer was swift and firm, but Olivia didn’t seem entirely convinced.
“So, this guest?”
“Oh, that guest. There’s a record of someone visiting not from that world, but an entirely different one. They even came through a dream.”
When Olivia fell silent, Cryer leaned back in his chair.
“Hearing all that…”
“Hm?”
“Compared to Bolsheik’s history, a slave contract with an ancient god seems rather minor.”
“That’s not true.”
Olivia shook her head firmly.
“It’s really not.”
Emphasizing with a repeat and even waving her hand quickly, she denied it. Cryer, watching her shaking both her head and hand, let a faint smile touch his lips—though it disappeared just as quickly.
“But, Princess.”
“Yeah?”
“You know all this Bolsheik history, yet you’ve lost four wars and regressed each time…”
“Knowing and being able to do something are two different things.”
Olivia answered before he could even finish.
“Even if I know how to win a war…”
She looked him straight in the eyes and whispered:
“It was all useless once you swung your sword.”
A crimson sunset was falling into her blue eyes.
🌕 When the full moon, once high and bright, hid its radiant face behind the clouds, a shadowy figure moved quickly between the lights and shadows of the Imperial Princess’s palace.
The hallway was dimly lit, but with the moon gone, only someone with excellent night vision could spot the intruder. The man moved deep into the princess’s quarters as if it were his own home, only to suddenly halt.
Lowering his upper body, he focused intensely—then slowly straightened up.
“Just as I thought, this area isn’t part of the patrol route.”
All his effort tracking the guards’ routes night after night had paid off. Shrugging his shoulders smugly, he started walking again when—
-CRASH!
A loud crash echoed through the corridor.
“…I said stop!”
The shout that followed was slurred with alcohol.
“…P-please… don’t…”
Another voice pleaded weakly. The man frowned and stepped further away from the commotion. Though it was lucky for him that the disturbance happened elsewhere, it meant tighter security would follow—not ideal in the long run.
“Kyaaa!”
“…No! Don’t do this…!”
After a final, blood-curdling scream—silence.
“They subdued it quickly.”
His eyes glinted like snake scales as he resumed moving swiftly. Much later, with sweat drenching his back from nerves, he muttered with parched lips:
“Damn it… this is the Imperial Palace alright.”
He’d entered the Queen’s chambers in his own kingdom countless times without this kind of tension. Even after days of meticulous planning, he was drenched in cold sweat.
“Lucky break though.”
Thanks to whoever caused that chaos, his own movements went unnoticed. A twisted grin formed on his lips.
“Idiots. Ignoring such a shortcut and stumbling around like fools.”
Every man who came to court the Imperial Princess said the same things:
“We can’t even see her face…”
“We were refused an audience…”
“Even the walkways were closed off…”
If you want a star, you have to look up at the sky. But these fools couldn’t even see a strand of her hair, much less get in her good graces. Whoever caused the ruckus must’ve been drunk and begging to see her.
“No, they must’ve done that because they can’t move like me. Just knights in name.”
The man moved like a weasel in the dark and shook his head. Few knights could move like this—silent and unseen. He hadn’t learned this for knighthood anyway—it was more for his own pleasure.
“Should be getting close now.”
He reached the innermost part of the princess’s palace, eyes gleaming slyly. He didn’t know exactly where her bedroom was, but it had to be nearby.
“They say she changes rooms daily due to assassination threats.”
Whether he succeeded or not would depend entirely on luck. But he was confident—he’d always found the Queen’s bedroom without fail during their affairs.
“This must be it.”
Without hesitation, he reached for the door handle.
“Did you lose your way?”
A soft voice whispered in his ear. The man jolted like a speared fish and instinctively reached for his waist—but weapons weren’t allowed for foreign knights in the Imperial Palace.
He froze.
If it were an Imperial knight, they would’ve arrested him already. The fact that he was still standing meant…
He scowled and turned toward the voice.
“You…”
The speaker was none other than that knight—the young brat from Norden whom the princess had taken in at first sight.
“Why are you here…?”
He trailed off, lips tightening. This was the princess’s private area, and that guy…
“If you’re lost, shall I summon a servant?”
Leaning against a pillar, his face was hidden in shadow and his voice calm—but the man could feel the threat. If anyone arrived now, that brat would be fine. He would not.
-Crack.
He ground his teeth in fury, hating how a perfect opportunity was lost. But what could he do?
He turned away, muttering under his breath:
“I’ll come back and… huh!”
He couldn’t even finish his sentence. Cryer was already in front of him.
He hadn’t even noticed him move. In the darkness, he looked like a beast, waiting for prey to walk into its jaws. The man opened his mouth—but only a dry breath escaped.
Cold sweat ran down his back.
There were hallway lights—but why did it feel like there was no light at all, only a pair of glowing, blood-red eyes?
Seconds felt like eternities. Finally, the trembling man opened his mouth:
“What are y—urk!”
He didn’t even finish before his feet left the ground.
“You were going to do what, exactly?”
Cryer lifted him by the neck with one hand—and smiled.
“Grr—kuhk!”
The man’s face turned red, then purple, then black. He thrashed, but Cryer’s grip didn’t budge. His low voice, like the darkness itself, slithered into the man’s ears:
“To think you’d actually return.”
