TRL 02

Chapter 2

The woman, who had been so absorbed in her clothes that she forgot about him, gasped in surprise. Their eyes met again.

A face as delicate as a doll’s. The features of the young Lillietta remained unchanged.

Leonhardt instinctively knew.

That woman was Lillietta Del Nisa Rascaille—his one and only sister who had disappeared ten years ago.

His mind went blank. He reached out to her hastily.

“Lili…!”

But before he could embrace her, she avoided his hand. Then, looking wary, she asked,

“Who are you?”

Leonhardt stared blankly at the sharp expression on her face.

It was completely different from the radiant Lillietta he remembered. She looked cold, dry, and exhausted.

Yet it was unmistakably Lillietta. There was no way it could be someone else. That face, that voice, that clothing…

But why didn’t she recognize her own family?

Even more than the fact that she’d reappeared looking exactly like she did ten years ago—just older—that part felt even stranger.

Half in a daze, he asked,

“Don’t you remember me, Lili?”

“Lili?”

The woman tilted her head and looked up at him curiously. Then she sighed.

“Hm, you look heartbreakingly sincere, and I feel bad disappointing you, but…”

“…?”

“You’ve got the wrong person. My name’s not Lili. It’s Rita.”

“Rita…?”

Leonhardt repeated the name. It somehow sounded like another nickname for Lillietta.

‘Could it be that after going missing, she lost her childhood memories? Maybe she only vaguely remembers her name, and that’s why she goes by Rita.’

He cautiously called out to her again—but this time, using her full name.

“Lillietta.”

“No, just Rita. I’m not into fancy old-fashioned names like that.”

“…Your last name?”

“Pascal.”

‘Rita Pascal’ replied testily as she grabbed her long hair and wrung the water out.

“Ugh, what the hell—why is my hair so long… and what’s with this color?”

She stared wide-eyed at her hair. Wet blonde strands glowed like pure gold under the sunset.

Panicking, she looked into the lake and saw her reflection—her mouth dropped open.

“This… isn’t me.”

She mumbled blankly and felt her face. Then, startled, she stared at her hand.

A pale, slim hand without a single scar.

“…No way. Whose body is this?”

Leonhardt, still watching in disbelief, finally answered her question.

“Lillietta Del Nisa Rascaille.”

The woman turned to look at him. He added with a conflicted expression,

“The younger sister I lost ten years ago.”

“This is your sister?”

She pointed to herself like she was referring to an object. Leonhardt rubbed his face and slowly replied,

“No… I’m saying you are my sister.”

“…”

She went silent for a moment, then sighed deeply, like something was rising from her gut, and muttered,

“Ha… I’ve seen all sorts of crazy stuff, but this is a first.”

“Lili, I know you’re confused, but let’s calm down—”

“Hey, I told you. I’m not your sister. I’m someone else who, for some reason, ended up in your sister’s body.”

“Someone else?”

“Yes. My real body doesn’t look anything like this. Either our bodies got swapped or… I became some kind of ghost that possessed your sister.”

She pinched her brows, clearly irritated.

“…Thinking back to what happened before I blacked out, I’d say it’s the second one. I must’ve died. Damn it.”

Leonhardt stared at her, feeling a strange mixture of things.

The natural way she swore, her unfamiliar expressions, her attitude…

And yet, even as she claimed not to be Lillietta, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she really was his sister.

‘Is it because she’s in Lili’s body? Or is it…’

The thought didn’t last long. Whether she was truly Lillietta or not, the conclusion was the same—he couldn’t just leave her like this.

“For now…”

Leonhardt took off his jacket and held it out to her.

“Let’s go home, Rita.”

“Home?”

“The sun’s setting. You can’t stay out here dressed like that. Come to my house.”

“…”

She hesitated, looked up at the darkening sky, then down at her soaking-wet nightgown. She finally reached out and took his jacket.

“I guess I don’t have a choice. I’ll stay just for a bit.”

As she slipped the jacket on, Leonhardt approached. When she stepped back warily, he asked calmly,

“Are you planning to walk barefoot?”

“Oh.”

“Here, get on.”

He turned his back to her. She hesitated, then let out a deep sigh and climbed on.

“…Thanks.”

Leonhardt didn’t reply. He simply began walking toward the ducal estate.

The memory of carrying his sleeping little sister home from the lake as a child came back to him.

The weight on his back felt just like it did then. Lillietta had grown, but so had he. It was like stepping back in time.

Looking back at the lake, the girl mumbled absentmindedly,

“The sunset looks like a silk shawl.”

Leonhardt came to a stop. The girl on his back asked in confusion,

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He slowly shook his head and resumed walking—with a newfound certainty.

* * *

Pascal was a great mage and the best combat instructor of his time. He was famous for raising orphans into powerful warriors.

Children raised by Pascal went into battle as early as their early teens, quickly adapting and displaying terrifying power.

When his pupils all achieved remarkable results, people asked how he kept finding such gifted orphans.

Pascal always answered simply—it was the result of “special training.”

At the end of that “special training,” whenever he sent a child to war, he would always say the same motto:

“Do not fear death. Your death will… your… your death will be…”

A boy with chestnut hair stammered through the words with a trembling voice.

Click. Rita inserted a magazine and pulled the slide back to load her gun. She finished the boy’s sentence.

“Your death will be the seed of hope.”

The boy glanced back at her. Rita gave him a reassuring smile.

He swallowed hard and asked in a small voice,

“Aren’t you scared, ma’am?”

“Of what?”

“Everything. Those damn monsters. This hellhole we’re stuck in. The fact that we’re all about to…”

Die.

The boy’s voice cracked. Rita reached out and ruffled his hair roughly.

“Ah! What the—?!”

“You’re not dying, Luca.”

“Huh?”

“With all these senior members to die before you, why would the youngest be the first? Stop worrying about pointless things.”

“But… wha—!”

She pushed down on his head again, cutting him off.

“Don’t freak out. I’ll protect you with my life.”

“Wait, but I’m supposed to be the one protecting—!”

“Do battlefields ever follow roles neatly? When things go bad, you just do what needs doing. You’ve got a long way to go, chick.”

“Ugh, stop treating me like a kid! I’m a Pascal too!”

“Rita.”

Someone called out to her as she teased the boy. A woman with glasses and short black hair.

“Oli?”

“Give me your magic gun.”

“…Why?”

“Oh, so you are feeling guilty? Hand it over.”

Oli snatched Rita’s gun and examined it, sighing loudly for effect.

“You overdid it again. Seriously, do you have a death wish?”

“Ugh! It’s not broken, is it?!”

“Is that all that matters? How many times have I told you that overusing an overheated gun to absorb recoil with your body shortens your life?”

Grinding her teeth, Oli quickly disassembled the gun, left one part out, and reassembled it.

“Here. Take it.”

“What did you take out of my gun?”

“Your insanity inhibitor.”

“What the hell is that? When did you put that in?”

“I put it in to stop you from pushing yourself too hard. But I think it just made things worse. So I took it out. I unlocked the limiters—you can boost output now. Yell at the gun, not your body.”

“Whoa! Really?! Unlimited output? That’s amazing—wait. What if it breaks?”

“If it breaks, I’ll fix it. Break the gun, not your body. Got it?”

“Thanks, Oli!”

Rita threw her arms around her and beamed. Oli adjusted her glasses and sighed.

“You’re probably the only idiot who gets excited when her gun becomes more unstable and dangerous.”

“What’s this? Rita unlocked her magic gun’s limiter? Sounds fun.”

A golden-brown head popped up from behind a half-destroyed wall. It belonged to a tall, lanky man.

“You’re always nagging at me, but honestly, you’re crazier than I am. Right?”

Rita scowled and glared.

“Shut up, Ethan.”

“Let me see that insane weapon of yours.”

As he reached for it, a spark crackled from Rita’s grip, zapping his hand away.

“Ow! That stings!”

“Keep your hands off.”

“Ow ow ow, instead of shooting monsters, the gunner zaps people!”

As he made a show of clutching his hand, Rita simply raised her gun and smirked.

“You shouldn’t have touched it without permission—”

Before she could finish, another man suddenly appeared behind her and snatched the gun away with ease.

“Rita Pascal. What the hell did you do to this gun?”

He was a tall, muscular man with black hair and striking looks.

His right eye was covered with a bandage, and a large scar ran from beneath the patch down his face. His one visible eye—pale amber—carefully examined the weapon he now held.