Chapter 121

Click.

Edwin stepped carefully into the room.

"..."

Through the open window, a soft breeze drifted in. The white curtains stirred — nothing could have looked more peaceful. The sunlight was bright but just short of intrusive; the occasional noise from outside wasn't loud enough to bother anyone either.

Peaceful. Quiet.

Quiet enough to forget everything and fall asleep.

"Still such a baby."

Edgar must have thought so too — he was napping. He'd fallen asleep reading, apparently, because a book had tumbled out within arm's reach. A philosophy book from Albrecht's list.

Albrecht's gambit had worked up to this point. Those books had actually gone into making the grimoire, though they hadn't been strictly necessary. The moment Edgar found out about them, the original intent had as good as vanished.

They were just a kind of reading list. Books a father had wanted his son to read. Given how stubborn Edgar was, he'd surely go through every book on it thoroughly — Albrecht must have counted on that. The fact that Edgar was still trying to read them even after what Edwin had said made that plain enough.

"Silly Edgar."

Edwin knew he was soft on Edgar.

Of course he was. He'd watched him since he was a newborn. He'd been watching him since before they were born, from inside their mother. Naturally he didn't remember much of that time, but the sense of grumbling — it's already cramped in here, what's this thing next to me? — that much had stuck.

Young. Too young.

Seeing him lying there quietly asleep brought back old memories. By his own inner sense of time, it hadn't even been half a year. Edgar had been asleep a very long time.

The time Edgar had spent laughing and talking at Edwin's side was shorter than the time he'd spent asleep.

"..."

Knowing perfectly well Edgar was just taking an ordinary nap, Edwin still caught himself gripping Edgar's arm. No bandage wrapped around the wrist. After the Great Mana Surge, once magic could be used without restriction, Edwin had reinforced the spells on Edgar countless times. Worried about anyone breaking into the manor while he was gone, he'd painstakingly sealed the old manor too.

How could a man who couldn't save one child be called an archmage? Edwin had hated the title. He could force a dead life to hang on, but actually bringing back the dead was, it seemed, beyond what humans could do.

Edgar wasn't pale. The face that had been flushed with fever had gone back to normal. He must have been dreaming something he didn't like — lower lip stuck out in a pout, mumbling. Amused, Edwin poked his palm. Edgar's hand closed into a fist, then swung out as if annoyed.

"Silly."

He wanted to let Edgar do whatever he wanted.

That was why, when Edgar had dreamed of avenging their uncle, when he'd poured that resentment out on Grisha, when he'd said he'd go back to the domain... when he'd clung blindly to wanting to save Uncle.

Edwin hadn't stopped him.

Drunk on the fact that Edgar was alive.

But he knew now he couldn't keep doing that. He couldn't keep him a child forever. That was how the whole thing last time had happened, wasn't it? He wouldn't hand Leona or anyone else the opening to touch Edgar — but he'd learned that leaving Edgar innocent and in the dark wasn't the answer either.

"Silly..."

"...What are you doing to someone who's sleeping."

"Because Edgar's silly."

"You're not really a kid, are you."

"What are you talking about, Edgar? I'm eight."

Edwin cupped his hands under his chin and tilted his head one way, then the other. The moment their eyes met — Edgar's still heavy with sleep — Edwin flashed a grin.

Edgar swung a pillow at him, annoyed.

Much milder than expected.

"So annoying, honestly."

Edwin caught the pillow Edgar threw, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed. Edgar glared at him, but it held nothing beyond the usual annoyance.

When Edwin poked him in the side, Edgar sighed and made room.

"Act your age."

"I'm a baby, so I can't."

"Nonsense. How old are you, exactly?"

"Eight."

"I mean..."

"Edwin's eight."

If he'd said his real age, Edgar might well have jumped up and bolted.

And in any case, Edwin didn't know what his "real age" was supposed to mean anymore. This was his third life, wasn't it, when you thought about it? He didn't think adding all that time together came out to the right answer either.

"Edgar's eight too, right? So don't overthink it."

"..."

"I'm always Edwin. Edgar Bertholdt's brother. Albrecht Bertholdt's son."

Edwin hesitated a moment, then added,

"Harold Bertholdt's nephew."

"..."

Edgar bit his lip.

"...If you're going to put it like that, you left one out."

"Hm?"

"Cecilia Barbosa's son."

"Ah."

"..."

"You're right."

Edwin grinned. He was glad Edgar hadn't forgotten their mother.

Albrecht's name still surfaced now and then even decades later, but Cecilia had faded. In a world in ruins, who was going to remember an anthropologist's name?

"Right. Cecilia Barbosa's son."

Edwin grinned foolishly. It had been so long since he'd said that name aloud.

"Cecilia Barbosa's sons."

"...What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing! Just! It's Mom's name. Right?"

"Yeah..."

Edgar glared at him, unimpressed.

"..."

"..."

Edwin waited for Edgar to say something. But Edgar only snorted once and went quiet.

Not even angry about the lie.

There was irritation in the blue eyes, but it was still nothing more than mild peevishness at one of Edwin's pranks. If anything, it felt calm.

Edwin had never thought that Edgar — Edgar, who loved his family — would turn on him. But he'd braced himself for anger, and this reaction—

Better than anger, but so far off from what he'd expected that it left him uneasy instead. Anger might even have been better. At least then he'd know what Edgar was thinking.

Unable to hold out any longer, Edwin asked,

"Edgar. You okay?"

"With what."

Even though he knew it was better to leave it alone when the other person was doing the same.

"...That I lied?"

If he could have called it that simply — a lie — how nice that would have been.

Edwin had no intention of telling Edgar what method he'd used to come back to the past. He'd just say he'd worked a miracle with magic.

Edgar was a bright kid, however young he acted — he'd have picked up that there was something Edwin wanted to hide. But this wasn't a burden Edgar needed to carry.

All those feelings, pressed down and packed together, came out as one word: lie. Because Edgar was all that mattered to Edwin.

"..."

The irritation went out of Edgar's eyes. What filled the space was exasperation and affection.

"You just always have to check for yourself."

"Huh?"

"When someone's letting you off the hook, you could just leave it alone. Didn't Dad tell you off for that all the time when we were little?"

"..."

"You'd rush to check if a prank had landed and give yourself away — that much I do remember."

Edgar straightened the book. A page had gotten creased — Edwin watched him smooth it out carefully.

"Aside from that, there isn't much I remember. Honestly, I don't even really remember what Dad looked like. The household guard was carrying a portrait at the funeral, remember? Even then, I could barely recognize him."

A calm voice. Considering how anxious Edgar had been ever since coming back to the past, over the last few days he'd grown surprisingly steady.

While Edgar was laid up with the cold, Edwin had deliberately kept his distance. He'd only have made the poor kid's head hurt more.

In the meantime, apparently, Edgar had sorted his own thinking out.

"But that isn't what you're talking about now, is it?"

Edgar bit his lip. His hands seemed to need something to hold, and he gripped the blanket tight. That habit hadn't changed.

"So you're Edwin, right?"

"..."

"Whether you're eight or not, you're Edwin."

"..."

"...What. Don't tell me you're not Edwin?"

The way he got anxious so quickly, misreading Edwin's silence — the childlike side of him was still there after all.

Edwin quickly shook his head.

"No. I told you, I've always been Edwin. From the day I was born. There's never been a moment I wasn't Edwin."

"The weird way you talk sure makes it look that way, though."

"What's wrong with how I talk?"

"Anyway, we're good."

Edgar snorted.

"It would have been nice if you'd told me right away, but I get why you didn't."

Edwin slowly tilted his head.

"You get it?"

"Listen, Edwin. You know it too. I remember getting stabbed — here — like this?"

Edgar tapped near his own heart with his palm.

"But I still don't remember exactly what happened at the end. Even if you'd told me that day, I wouldn't have understood."

"Edgar."

"Actually, aside from that, I don't think I remember everything either."

"..."

Edgar hesitated a little, but he asked without holding back. Before he got the first word out, Edwin knew what the question was going to be.

Knowing didn't mean it didn't hit him.

"So... did I die?"

Edwin's throat closed.

Somehow, he managed to shake his head.

"No. No. You didn't die."

"But that's the last thing I remember. Even if I didn't die..."

Edgar glanced at Edwin.

"It must have been hard on you, on your own. So it's okay. None of it's your fault. We got the chance to start over, didn't we."

"..."

"We're family. I can't just do what suits me. We're family, so we get through it together."

They said other people's kids grew up fast — his was no different, apparently. When had Edgar grown up like this?

His eyes stung. Edwin blinked rapidly. Crying in front of a child was embarrassing. Even if the one crying called himself eight too.

"You said you'd help me. So I'm going to help you."

"...Because we're family?"

"No."

Edgar snorted.

"Because you're Edwin."

"..."

"Are you crying?"

"I'm not."

"Right, right. Eight years old, sure."

"I'm not. You cry too."

"I don't."

"An eight-year-old's allowed to cry."

"I said I'm not..."

Edwin sniffled and asked,

"But you don't even know what I'm going to do — how can you say you'll help?"

"Did you know what I was going to do when you said you'd help me?"

"You said you were going to save Uncle..."

"Yeah, that's true."

Edgar opened his mouth, then closed it. He seemed to be thinking something over, so Edwin waited without pushing.

Edgar rubbed his chest.

"To stop me from dying?"

"I said you didn't die!"

"Either way."

"..."

His kid had grown up. Way too fast.

Edwin let out a long sigh. He knew leaving Edgar in the dark wasn't good, and he was glad Edgar wasn't taking the memories from the past too heavily — but even that, in its own way, was hard on his heart.

"I want Uncle to live too."

Too many familiar faces. Lives he'd been asked to save. If he could save them, of course he wanted to.

He'd ended the world once — at the least, he wanted to avoid that happening again.

"Good."

Edgar nodded, his face set.

"So what should we do now?"

"You're going to listen to me?"

"You've lived longer than me, haven't you?"

"You didn't die!"

Edgar waved him off.

Edwin sighed. Where they had to end up was clear enough, either way.

"Mr. Grisha has to become king."

Edgar blinked.

"Wait. Wait a minute."

"Hm?"

"That skipped way too much. What happened after I died?"

"You didn't die, I said..."

Not that Edwin's protest was getting through to Edgar at all.