#70. Who Are You?
She widened her eyes, craning her neck to scan her surroundings until the stiffness and throbbing ache from the back of her head down to her shoulders began to set in.
At last, Olivia set foot on solid ground and promptly slumped down.
Her robe was stained and blotched with grass dye, but she brushed it off carelessly with a sigh.
“Did I pick the wrong spot? No, this should be the right place. And that supposed paranormal phenomenon—was it even real? We didn’t see any ghosts or anything close to them. What about you, did you see anything?”
“Nothing. And according to the map, this is definitely the place.”
“Right? Hmm.”
Olivia tapped her chin thoughtfully, then quickly made a decision.
“Go.”
Though her words were vague, Cryer understood perfectly. He didn’t answer.
As a faint crease formed between his brows, Olivia added:
“If we leave now and come back later, it’s not like we’ll suddenly discover something we missed today. And besides, we need to at least find something so we can decide what to do with the child on the way back. We can’t just leave your son alone.”
Olivia gave a wry smile, shaking the unsettling diary she’d taken from Sugar’s house, but Cryer seemed wholly uninterested, asking instead something entirely different.
“Is it that hard, being carried around everywhere?”
“Yeah. I’ve been sitting still buried in paperwork for so long that my body’s completely stiff. My head hurts so badly right now I feel like plucking my eyes out and rinsing them.”
She tapped her rock-hard shoulders as if to loosen them, then jerked her chin at him, who still showed no intention of moving.
“I’ll stay right here.”
Olivia nodded firmly, as if to say you can trust me, and continued:
“Like you said, with these legs I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be as obedient as I was before we came to the park, so hurry up and go.”
She waved lightly, then gave Cryer a firm push on the shoulder when he still wouldn’t budge.
What was this? He wasn’t a wall, but why was his body so damn solid?
And come to think of it, his chest was also too firm… No, no, not the point.
Shaking off the stray thought, Olivia kept pushing him away.
“Go already, will you? You saw for yourself—nothing here poses a threat to me if I stay put.”
Finally, after being nudged off, Cryer left. Olivia kept waving until his figure disappeared from sight, then muttered under her breath:
“What, am I some sunfish that dies the second you take your eyes off me? Or a toddler left unsupervised by the water?”
She grumbled but then suddenly snickered.
Heavens and earth alike would be shocked—what a ridiculous turn of events.
The man who had ended her life in every past existence was now the one frowning, worried about what trouble he might cause or encounter.
Unthinkable in her previous lives.
Speaking of which, what had she been doing around this time in her last life?
As her thoughts naturally drifted through the flow of her past four lives, Olivia didn’t notice.
Or rather—she couldn’t possibly notice.
That just a few steps away from her, a faint scent was rising, one so subtle even Cryer hadn’t detected it.
Olivia suddenly looked down at her palms.
Her hands, caked with blotches of blood and dirt, trembled faintly.
Why am I here? More importantly, where is this?
No sooner had the questions formed than a scream, like a royal knight coughing blood, rang in her ears.
“Your Highness, you must flee!”
The moment that voice pierced her ears, Olivia’s mind lit up as if struck by lightning. She recognized it all at once—her current situation.
The Continental War. Defeat after defeat.
Monsters advancing right up to the Imperial capital!
Just as Olivia opened her mouth—
—Boom! Krrrrash!
A deafening roar tore through the air, a thick cloud of dust rising in the distance.
—Thud, rumble!
—Krrr-thoom, bang!
Like a typhoon or tsunami, an unstoppable force surged closer, no human hand capable of halting it. Olivia found herself clawing at her throat as if choking.
She knew instinctively.
He’s coming.
He? Who?
The whispered question echoed, and Olivia’s lips trembled as she mouthed her answer.
Who else but him? The monster of the battlefield. The root of the Continental War. The man who killed her before—and would kill her again.
The monster of Norden.
Her hands quaked violently as she clenched them tight, bloodshot eyes staring out the window.
Was that fire in the distance? Ash whirled into the sky like a storm. As she stared fixedly, her body bent backward with a wrench.
“Ugh—khhh, khhhk.”
She gagged, unable to breathe, until her head suddenly snapped up.
Tears welled and streamed down her cheeks, falling to the ground.
And there he was.
That man, casting a long shadow, standing over her.
He seemed to say something, but her vision blurred, her ears buzzed. She couldn’t make out a single word.
And then, in the blink of an eye—just like always, yes, always—she was baring her throat beneath his blade, awaiting death.
Somehow her mind was hazy, as if fogged over, unable to fully grasp the reality of her impending end.
Slowly, Olivia lifted her head to look at the monster pointing his sword at her.
Meeting his eyes, she licked her cracked lips and asked:
“…Who are you?”
The man, sword raised high as if to strike her down, stretched his mouth into a grotesque smile.
“You… who are you?”
Though she now looked straight at his face, it was twisted, indistinct, as if smeared out—except for that hideous grin.
Dazed, Olivia stared at the ruined face, then squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again.
Gripping the shredded hem of her skirt, she forced her trembling legs to move.
Rising unsteadily, she pointed directly at the laughing man, sword dangling loosely at his side, and declared with trembling strength:
“You’re not Cryer.”
The next instant, Olivia’s eyes flew open wide as though doused in cold water.
“Hahh!”
“…Livia. Olivia!”
Cryer’s blurred face loomed close, holding her tightly, urgently calling her name again and again.
In her unfocused vision, she saw his face twisted with uncharacteristic anxiety.
With trembling hands, he gently stroked her bloodless cheek.
“Are you conscious now?”
Her complexion was still deathly pale, but unlike moments earlier—when her breath had faltered and her warmth had faded—some life now flickered faintly back into her.
Her clouded blue eyes met his deep crimson gaze. Her lips parted, but only shallow, ragged breaths came out.
“Oli…via?”
Realizing her heart was racing erratically, Cryer tightened his arms around her.
“Uhh, hhh…”
But Olivia’s condition worsened.
Her heart pounded wildly like a crazed colt, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
“Oliv—”
Through the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, Cryer’s voice reached her. Olivia struggled to hold onto consciousness.
She knew—something was terribly wrong with her.
And she knew why her body was trembling so uncontrollably.
She bit the inside of her mouth until the flesh tore.
She knew the Cryer before her was different from the one in her past lives.
She knew he would never harm her now.
She feared him, yes—but not in the same way, not as the man who would kill her again.
He had sworn an oath to her.
And yet—the instinctive terror carved into her by death in her past… no, by a future that would never come…
“Aaahhh! Aaagh! Aaaahhh!”
Swallowed her whole.
Olivia thrashed violently, desperate to break free of him.
She clawed and bit at the arms holding her, shredding his sleeve and gouging wounds into his flesh.
But Cryer didn’t let go.
He simply held her carefully, adjusting his strength so she wouldn’t hurt herself, waiting for her to exhaust herself.
Time passed. The empty park, where not even the chirp of insects could be heard, rang only with Olivia’s screams.
At last—
“Haah… hahh, haahhh…”
Her ragged breathing slowed. Limp, she hung from Cryer’s arms, while he silently stroked her back.
Then, from her dry throat, broken words spilled:
“M-Magic… was it… magic?”
The “paranormal phenomenon” in the park she had scoffed at—turned out to be nothing less than an illusion.
A vision that showed each person their deepest fears, their worst nightmares.
If not magic, what else could cause something so terrifyingly vivid?
What kind of dreadful sorcery was this, straight out of a dark tale?
Cryer brushed the hair clinging to her sweat-soaked face behind her ear and shook his head.
“…No? Not magic?”
“That’s right.”
Still holding her, he gestured to the ground. Olivia followed his eyes and spotted a broken device, so mangled it was unrecognizable.
“It wasn’t magic, but a trap. It emitted a faint scent, nearly impossible to detect. Strong enough to induce hallucinations—that must have been a potent one. It’s hard to tell when it was set, but certainly not recently.”
He adjusted her as she sagged against him, continuing:
“It was likely meant to trigger once someone entered the area. But after being left unattended so long, the mechanism cracked, leaking the scent and causing the so-called paranormal events.”
“…Ah. That’s why no one could clearly describe what was happening. Everyone who experienced it must’ve babbled something different.”
Olivia let out a hollow laugh, then tapped his arm with frustration.
“Let me go.”
Cryer stared at her for a moment, then slowly loosened his hold. Olivia collapsed onto the ground, gulping deep breaths again and again.
Rubbing her sore eyes, she tilted her head toward the shattered device.
“Come to think of it, breaking the machine should’ve released even more of the scent.”
“I scattered it before it could reach you.”
“…Scattered it? How do you scatter a scent? It’s not like the wind just happened to blow perfectly at that moment.”
