TRL 62

Chapter 62

“Hold on, Gid. If what you’re saying is true… if all of Pascal’s children were once heroes who fought demonic beasts in the past—then that means we’re the same, too…”

Rita ran a trembling hand down her face, her voice shaking as she asked,
“Are you saying that magical contamination started… from our current era?”

“That’s right.”

Gid smiled faintly, his expression chilling.

“Soon, magical contamination will begin, and with it, the appearance of demonic beasts. We’ll become the first generation to face an unprecedented catastrophe. Blood will be spilled endlessly, empires and kingdoms will collapse, and countless heroes will rise amidst the chaos. A sun, like ash rising from the smoke of burning corpses, will hang in the sky. That’s how our homeland will turn into that hopeless world.”

Rita held her breath. Gid chuckled when he saw her pale face.

“Of course, that’s only what would have happened—before.”

“…Right. But it’s going to be different now. Because we’ve returned.”

As she spoke in a firm tone, Gid, who was about to say something, stopped. He simply stared at her in silence. Rita didn’t notice his gaze, too swept up in her thoughts as she continued.

“We’ve come back knowing the fate of the destroyed world. We know how to fight the demonic beasts. So that future won’t happen. No—we won’t let it happen. We’ll stop the catastrophe.”

Words spilled from her lips like a revelation, then suddenly, her expression shifted.

“Gid, is this… could this have been another reason why Pascal made us? I mean, beyond the unrealistic goal that was just a hope—why go through the trouble of creating weapons out of past heroes instead of just using machines or golems?”

Gid stayed silent. Rita looked up at him with clear, unwavering eyes and kept going.

“To return those summoned from the past… to make them change history—to stop the downfall before it begins. Isn’t that what Pascal really wanted?”

“…”

“‘Your deaths shall be the seed of hope.’ That phrase… it meant if we died and returned, we’d become the hope to prevent the destruction. Didn’t it?”

“Ah, seriously…”

His expression slowly softened as he looked at her—like he had taken a bite of something sweet he hadn’t tasted in a long time.

“It’s been a while since I felt like this… I really missed it.”

“Felt like what?”

“The feeling of talking to you.”

As Rita blinked, a soft knock came from beyond the door.

Gid stood and soon returned pushing a trolley. He neatly set out a bowl of soup, soft bread, and a salad on the table before her.

“First, eat, Rita.”

“After hearing something that shocking, I’ve lost what little appetite I had.”

“Still, you need to eat. Want me to help you?”

“How would you help?”

“Here.”

He scooped some soup and offered it to her.

“I’ll feed you every bite. Come on, say ‘Ah—’”

Rita looked at his handsome, shamelessly grinning face in disbelief and snatched the spoon from him.

“I’ll eat. I can do it myself.”

“Too bad. I really wanted to feed you.”

“Do that for your wife later or something.”

“…”

Focused on forcing herself to eat the soup, she missed the subtle change in Gid’s expression at her words.

Covering his mouth with one hand, he took a breath and said lightly,

“How do you know who I’ll marry?”

“Aren’t you the crown prince? You’ve probably been promised to some noble lady since forever.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Really? Then you’ll have to start looking now—for a crown princess.”

“How exactly do I do that?”

As she kept eating, her appetite began to return. She must’ve been hungrier than she thought. Responding half-heartedly as she chewed, Rita said,

“Why ask me? Isn’t it obvious? You just pick someone from a prominent noble family—someone who fits the role. Or wait, is it not you but the emperor who gets the final say? Sounds tough.”

“Rita, don’t you think if she’s from a prominent noble family, I wouldn’t even have to look?”

“Huh?”

“A lady like the daughter of House Laskail would be not just perfect—but almost too good for a crown princess, wouldn’t she?”

“Cough, cough—!”

She choked instantly. Gid calmly patted her back as she coughed.

“Why do you choke so often? Is your throat lacking muscle too?”

“Ha… it’s your fault…”

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“You’re spouting nonsense!”

“How is that nonsense? Who could be a better crown princess than the daughter of House Laskail?”

“There are plenty—Lady Dewirebog, the Marquess Blean’s daughter…”

“Rita, you do know who the Marquess Blean’s daughter is, right?”

“Olli?”

“Correct. Olli Pascal. Her full name is Olivia Den Luna Blean.”

“…It really is Olli.”

As nostalgia welled up in her chest, Gid’s voice cut through her thoughts with slight indignation.

“Rita, do you seriously think I could marry her? After everything we’ve been through? We’re practically family. If she heard that, she’d probably vomit on the spot—if we’re lucky.”

“Exactly. Same goes for you and me. If anything, we’re worse. Don’t you think?”

“Aha.”

Gid leaned deep into the sofa, arms crossed. A wry, tilted smile spread across his face.

“Aha… So that’s what you think.”

Rita immediately recognized the look. That was Gid Pascal’s “I-hate-this-but-I’ll-pretend-I-don’t” expression.

“What’s with that face?”

“What’s wrong with my face? Oh, are both eyes bothering you? Want me to go pull one out?”

“What nonsense are you spouting now? Are you crazy?”

“I almost wish I were. Might be easier that way. But no, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean ‘unfortunately’? You’re definitely not sane. Have you been sleeping properly?”

At that, Gid’s expression stiffened—just for a moment—before smoothing over again. Rita didn’t miss it. She clicked her tongue openly at his carefully arranged smile.

“Still dealing with insomnia, Gid?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. We’ve known each other too long—I’m not buying it.”

She put down her spoon, stood up, and grabbed his arm.

“You need to sleep. Get up.”

“…What about your food?”

“Of course I finished it.”

As Gid stood with her, he looked at the table.

Sure enough, all the plates were clean. It was an impressive speed—not ladylike at all, but very much Rita Pascal. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What are you smiling about, Gid Pascal?”

“Because I like you.”

“You really haven’t been sleeping. I should’ve noticed. How long has it been? Two days? Three?”

“I’ve dozed off here and there…”

“Damn it. You don’t plan to answer seriously, do you?”

Still smiling, Gid let Rita lead him to the bed. She sat beside him and gently looked down, then reached out.

“Come to think of it, I don’t have to remove your eye patch anymore.”

“Do you still prefer me with one eye? Should I lose one for real?”

“Stop saying crazy stuff.”

Her hands gently covered both his eyes.

Just like she had in the past—when she removed his patch and covered the scarred, damaged eye. When she comforted him, drenched in cold sweat, unable to sleep. When she calmed him during seizures after Od’s punishment.

Like he once wound up a music box for her when she heard phantom voices.

And then, she murmured to herself.

“It really has been a while.”

“…”

It truly had been. Gid was so choked with emotion rising from deep in his gut that he couldn’t say a word.

It had been so, so long.

“Sleep well, Gid.”

The warmth over his closed eyes. The touch of her hands felt softer than before, without the slightest discomfort.

And yet, it was exactly the same as what he had missed so desperately.

He felt the urge to hold onto it—to lock it away forever. To seize her wrist, pull her into his arms, and never let go. To run his hands over her unfamiliar form until it became familiar again, confirming again and again that it was her.

If he did, he’d probably get stabbed in the shoulder. But at least it wouldn’t be the head—so that might even be a show of affection from Rita.

If he lost an arm in the process, maybe Rita, who’s normally indifferent to comrades, would finally fuss over him a bit more.

Thinking like this was proof enough that he really was tired.

Gid let out a sigh like a groan and spoke in a deliberately weak voice.

“…Rita.”