The Reincarnated Princess Reads

“You took less time than I’d anticipated.”

I was in the king’s bedroom and the time was a little after nightfall. I’d come in mentally prepared to be shouted at for disturbing his work, but he’d defied my expectations and spoken dispassionately with his usual expressionless look. Since I’d expected him to ridicule me for taking so long, I had no idea how to respond to being told that I’d, in fact, taken less time than he’d expected.

“Is that so?” I figured that this was a sign of how little hope he had in me, but I only let out an exhausted murmur. I didn’t have the energy to bite back. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“I wasn’t.”

“That so?” I muttered with much more contempt this time. My mental fortitude was nearing rock bottom. I wanna leave. I just wanna turn around and leave so badly.

Paying no mind to the view of my eyes glossing over completely, my father began to shuffle his feet along the floor with a candlestick in his hands. Along the elegant Renaissance-style wall, which was adorned with intricate patterns in white and gold, there was a door that did not match the decor and looked rather out of place. He pulled an antique key from his breast pocket and inserted it into the door’s lock, then shot a single look back at me. He said nothing, but I thought that I could sense his eyes saying, “Come, and be quick.”

I stifled the urge to retreat and followed after him.

The candlelight faintly illuminated a room that featured no ornamentation at all, in stark contrast to the luxurious and gorgeous bedchamber we’d come from. This room occupied an area one quarter the size of the bedroom, and the large bookcases covering every inch of the walls added to the confined feeling. There were no windows, but the air wasn’t stagnant. The only pieces of furniture, besides the bookcases, were a table and a chaise longue.

My father pulled a book from a shelf without hesitation, and then practically shoved it toward me. Without sparing a look at my confusion, he placed the candlestick on the low table and reclined on the chaise longue next to it. He then dragged a bottle of wine toward himself and crudely poured it into a glass. After gulping the wine down like it was water, he fished out the bookmark dividing pages in his own thick book and resumed reading.

I stood frozen in place, astonished, and watched my father acting so casually.

Who is this? I couldn’t help but mutter in my mind. The man before my eyes, Randolf von Velfalt, was my real father, but we had never interacted at all in private. Therefore, his personal life had always been a mystery to me, but I’d imagined that he continued working on his days off.

My father would never spend his rest days lounging about, that’s just not him, I’d thought. I even had trouble picturing him eating or sleeping or anything else that humans had to do at a bare minimum to survive. And yet, when I was shown a firsthand look at my father in his alone time, he was relaxing as leisurely as could be.

He was sunk into the high-quality leather chaise longue and absorbed in reading while drinking his second glass of wine. His sprawled posture was most definitely not what I’d have called well-mannered. I felt like I could see a faint smile on his cheeks where they were illuminated by the candlelight, and the current visage of my father seemed somewhat more human than usual.

“Are you not going to read?” he asked.

“I am,” I answered reflexively.

“Sit then, rather than stand there all day.”

I went quiet.

Yeah, but where though?

Holding the book, I glanced around the inside of the room in silence. As I described earlier, the only furniture pieces were a table and a chaise longue. The punch line to this joke wasn’t that I didn’t know how to count—there was only one place to sit. It was all very well, him telling me to sit, but there was nowhere to sit.

“Come.” He called out to me as I was staring at the floor and its dark-colored carpet, thinking, He doesn’t mean on the floor, does he?

When I lifted my head, I saw my father beckoning me. He patted the chaise he was lying on, telling me to sit there.

“Uuh...”

The chaise longue was indeed large, so there was enough room for me to sit down upon it. Logically, I understood what he was saying. However, my mind was calling out... No.

Just what sin had I committed to deserve having to read while cuddled up with my father?

“I won’t permit you to remove the book from this room. If you want to read it, then do so here.”

“Yes, father.”

Shouldn’t I just bring my own chair? I contemplated, but in the end, I ignored my dissatisfaction and submitted. The last thing I want is to peeve him and get kicked out.

“Pardon me,” I said as I seated myself in the free space alongside my father’s torso.

I’ve come this far, so I’ll show him! I’ve just gotta think of him as a slightly avant-garde backrest.

I placed the book on my lap. Its antique age showed in the discoloration of the paper and the worn-away letters on the cover. My heart thumped with the nerves and excitement of holding such a precious book in my hands, so I took a deep breath to slow my pulse. I finally opened the book, after brushing my fingers across the dulled indigo-blue cover.

Then, I turned over the inside cover and froze in wordless terror while staring at the first page. My reaction wasn’t caused by the book’s contents—it was something more basic than that.

I’d stumbled at the first hurdle, so shock and disappointment welled up in my heart. Really, I ought to have considered this possibility first and foremost. But I hadn’t, and that was because I was an idiot. Why hadn’t I found a solution to this before coming to my father’s room?

However, it was too late to regret my own thoughtlessness. In order to break the deadlock, the only plan I could think of was to leave and return more prepared. But would I be afforded a second chance? I pressed down hard with my trembling fingertips.

Oh, how could I be so stupid? What an idiot I am. A complete idiot.

Why did I... Why did I think I’d be able to read it?!

I was crushed with disappointment. The book on my lap was written in the distant past, so naturally, the letters were composed of shapes that were utterly different from their current forms. To put it simply, reading these characters was beyond my abilities.

Why hadn’t I considered something so obvious?

“You can’t read it?” my father called out to me all of a sudden.

I flinched, and a dry hiccup escaped my throat. I slowly glanced over to where he’d been lying with his face turned down, and saw that he’d stopped reading and was now watching me. A cold sweat ran down my spine.

“I ca—” In my anxiety, my voice squeaked.

What now—what do I do? Should I be honest? Should I bluff? I didn’t know which option was correct. But my answer could potentially rob me of any chance to read these books. Cogs whirred fruitlessly in my brain; I knew far too little about my father to conjure up a course of action and proper countermeasure.

What should I do? Come on!

The result of my introspection about what step to take next was—

“I can’t... But I will!”

—an answer as silly as that.

I’m going to play the role of my own critic: Rose, what the hell was that? “I can’t, but I will.” What does that even mean? Where there’s a will, there’s a way? Is plucky determination gonna see me through?

“Right,” he said.

Huh? No comeback?

I hadn’t expected him to flat-out ignore me, so I fell into disarray. I scrutinized his face, but it was, as always, expressionless. No smile, no anger. He might’ve been exasperated, but I couldn’t tell just by looking.

My father sat upright and peered over my shoulders at the book in my hands. “Can you read modern books on history?” he asked.

“I can.”

I could read most of the historical texts in the palace’s libraries. I’d received seven years of education, starting when I was five years old, so I was quite confident in my abilities.

“Then there should be parts that you can read... Look at this section.” My father reached his hand out and traced his finger across some words in the book. “This reads, ‘the Kingdom of Nevel.’”

D-Does it? I can’t read it...

To be honest, they look more like symbols than letters to me.

“The complex characters here underwent several stages of simplification to achieve their present form,” he explained. “Although of course, there are many place names and turns of phrase in these pages that have fallen out of use these days.”

I took another look after he spoke, and indeed, I could vaguely see that...kind of. Replacing the complex figures, which seemed to represent ivy and bird wings and such, with dots and curves left a script that did seem to resemble modern letters.

Like the Latin alphabet, Nevel’s official writing system was composed of twenty-six letters. So do I just have to count these pictographs, simplify them, and match them up with modern letters?

“Father, could I borrow some paper?” Having found the first step toward a solution, my motivation suddenly sprung forth, and I turned around to my father enthusiastically.

“Yes. Use it as you will,” he said, giving me permission. So, I collected a pen and a piece of paper from the neighboring room and began to jot down the characters with gusto. My father behind me resumed his reading, but I wasn’t bothered by him anymore.

While running my fingers over the groups of symbols written in the book, I isolated the characters. Thanks to my deep concentration, I finished the task sooner than I’d expected. After a satisfied nod, I reexamined the book, counting the symbols to ensure that I’d left none out.

“Huh?” I stopped my hand and tilted my head. I double-checked and triple-checked, and still—there were thirty symbols. Why’re there four extra?

“There are four extraneous symbols, aren’t there?” My father’s voice called out with such perfect timing that I thought he’d read my mind.

I was too surprised to speak.

I have a hunch that, in these last few minutes, this man’s been intent on shortening my life span, I thought, suppressing the rapid beating of my heart. When I turned around though, my father wasn’t even looking my way. His gaze was still fixed on the book in his hands.

“Remove the extra ones,” he instructed. “Those four are always used in a single group, so you must be able to understand which ones I mean.”

“Uuuh... Yes, father.”

He’d rather rudely implied my ignorance with his tone, but his words turned out to be appropriate advice. I hurriedly skimmed through the book, and sure enough, those four characters showed themselves. These particular shapes were always used in a four-piece set and were never employed in any other combinations. I removed them and matched the remaining twenty-six letters to their modern counterparts. After I did, the peculiarity of those four characters stood out all the more.

The other letters appeared to be depictions of creatures and nature, but those four alone were different; I couldn’t even imagine what real-world objects they were based on. And yet, as I stared at them, I found myself feeling inexplicably discomforted.

What are they?

“They represent the demon lord,” my father said as if he’d plucked a question from my mind for a second time. “The people of old must have disdained using their existing letters to describe their greatest threat and taboo—the demon lord. So, they’d created four new characters, and forbade their use for any word other than the one meaning the demon lord. I don’t know how they’re read. Some say that they have no pronunciation, or that it’s the name that the demon lord possessed when he was still a person. However, the truth is unknown.”

“The demon lord used to be a person?!” I blurted out, my interest piqued, but he gave me a coolheaded reply.

“I just told you that the truth is unknown, did I not?”

So that’s nothing more than one of many theories, it sounds like.

“Never mind that, hurry up and get reading,” my father said, yawning. “I’ll be going to sleep as soon as you’re done.”

I felt like I’d witnessed a truly rare spectacle, and not for the first time that night.

I had to read every bit that I could before I got chucked out. My father resumed his reading, so I decided to follow his example and concentrate on the book.

***

I spent a little under two hours in a prolonged staring contest with the book. My brows were furrowed and I twisted my head around while stretching to ease the tension in my shoulders. I had a headache from the overuse of my eyes and my mind.

“Have you begun to get the idea?”

While I was massaging my forehead with my fingers, my backrest—or rather, my father—called out to me. He’s kept his mouth shut this whole time, so I forgot he was even there. Look at me, I’m so adaptable.

“I have,” I answered, “but ‘begun’ really is the key word.”

“Tell me, then,” he said. He wasn’t pointing his gaze at me, let alone turning to face me.

While pondering what I’d read, I started to speak. “It’s my understanding that we owe our current peaceful and enjoyable lifestyles to the efforts of our forebears.” I stated this softly, but he mercilessly cut me down.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“That so?” His response annoyed me, but I didn’t object. Even I’d thought that my answer sounded like a grade-schooler giving a report.

Nonetheless, I continued my explanation. “I realized that the demon lord’s power could potentially be influenced by his avatar.”

According to the book, our ancestors had searched for a method to seal away the demon lord after deciding that it would’ve been impossible to destroy him. They’d been successful in sealing him away, at a great cost of human lives. However, the barrier hadn’t been perfect, and so the demon lord had been able to revive multiple times.

Over the course of many repeated, fierce battles, humanity had become able to cast more and more effective seals to prevent the demon lord’s resurrection...but it must’ve been a hellish struggle up until that point; the shortest period of respite had been only five years, and then the demon lord had returned. Though, as a result, it became evident that he hadn’t possessed the same amount of power each time he’d revived.

“It’s written that, during the nightmarish era when half of the continent was reduced to ash, the demon lord had a famed sorcerer as his avatar,” I explained. “Research was conducted regarding the individuals that the demon lord possessed, starting from his most recent appearance, and then the one before that, and so on. This fueled speculation that the demon lord had the ability to amplify his avatar’s inherent magical power.”

“That’s right.” My father closed the book in his hands and turned his eyes to me. “We need magic to resist the demon lord,” he said, “but it’s dangerous to allow humans with powerful magic near him. It’s a risky bet.”

I nodded, my face meek.

The demon lord’s avatars must’ve cursed at their fates, at having their lifeless bodies used to threaten their loved ones and their homelands. Though they’d possessed the magical aptitude to resist the demon lord, it was that very power that had been used to drive the world to the brink of destruction.

“Hmm?” When my thoughts reached that point, something niggled at my mind. I’m not sure why, but...I get the feeling that I’m forgetting something important.

“Right, then,” my father said.

“Hwaa?!” Just as I’d been absorbed in some serious thinking, I felt a sudden onslaught of breathlessness and weightlessness. I let out a muffled scream.

“As I declared earlier, I will be sleeping now.”

“Th-That doesn’t mean you can grab me by the collar!” I protested.

He left the small library with a candle in one hand and my collar in the other. The moment we entered his bedroom, he plonked me onto the floor.

What a bastard... Father, I’m not keen on the idea of you picking up your little daughter like a kitten, especially while she’s in the middle of thinking about something serious. At least hesitate for a second before you do that.

I shot him a spiteful glare, but he paid it no mind. After locking the door to the book room, my father headed to his bed and waved his hand, as though shooing away a cat or a dog.

“Thank you for making time for me. I’ll be on my way.” He’d irritated me, but losing my temper here would be far too childish. I bowed my head and made my exit.

But don’t think this is over—I’ll get my revenge! I will, and sometime soon. Mark my words, I’ll charge in, however many times it takes to read every book in that room. Don’t you forget this, father!

***

My personal guard greeted me as I left the king’s bedroom. He looked like the perfect knight, standing up straight and wearing an imposing facial expression. I was aware that I’d kept him waiting for a long time, but he showed no hint at all of dropping his guard. The sight of him maintaining vigilance toward his surroundings reminded me of his prowess.

But the very next second, his firm expression gave way to bliss.

“Lady Rosemary,” he called.

I gasped.

His gently narrowed green eyes harbored a fierce glow, and this expression spoke volumes about his current delight. With his faint lips arched into a smile, his handsome, masculine features took on a sweet look.

I recoiled at the readily apparent display of joy from Klaus. What’s the deal with this faithful dog of mine? For a moment, I wondered how best to react, but in the end, I coldly began to walk away, showing no facial reaction.

“I’m going back to my room,” I stated.

“Understood!”

All I did was speak to you, so what’s got you so chirpy?

An illusionary tail waggled behind him with tremendous enthusiasm. I was reminded of Taro, the dog my past-life grandma had owned; Klaus’s current exuberance was so similar, recalling Taro’s reaction to seeing his leash prepped for a walk. But unlike Taro, I didn’t find Klaus cute. Not one bit.

With my overenthusiastic dog—ahem, I mean Klaus—in tow, I headed back to my bedroom. Along the way, I reflected on the accounts I’d read about the demon lord. I didn’t want to drag any of my queries over to the next day—not if I could help it. Rather, by the end of today, I wanted to settle all the bits and pieces that gave me nagging concerns.

“Lady Rosemary,” Klaus called.

Among the information I’d gathered, the most important detail was the realization that the demon lord possessed the ability to amplify his avatar’s magical power. I wasn’t certain about that, but in my mind, the possibility seemed quite likely.

“Is it too cold for you, Lady Rosemary?”

“I’m all right.”

I don’t have a specific figure for how much amplification actually occurs; however, supposing it’s a hundredfold... If the avatar’s magical power is one, it’ll become one hundred under the demon lord’s influence. If it’s one hundred, then it’ll become ten thousand. In that case, there’d be quite a power disparity depending on whether the avatar is a swordsman or a sorcerer.

“When we get back, should I prepare you some warm tea?”

“I’ll just be going to bed, so no.”

Now I can see why it could be a gamble to let a sorcerer get close to the demon lord. The stronger a person’s magic, the more numerous the casualties would be if they became the demon lord’s avatar.

“We don’t want you catching a cold,” interrupted Klaus. “Please, don’t push yourself, and tell me how I can be of assistance.”

But some of the demon lord’s magical beasts had been covered by rock-hard shells, and others by thick skin, so there’d been a lot of cases where a swordsman or an archer just wouldn’t come out on top. Taking the demon lord’s defensive capabilities into account, as well as the might of the beasts under his control, any party formed to slay the demon lord would require a sorcerer.

“Nothing gives me more joy than to prove useful to you, Lady Rosemary. Please, tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

I clenched my fists in silence.

That’s it, I’m done. I can’t ignore him any longer. I’m trying to think things through, but I can’t concentrate with all this damn yapping. How dumb can this dog be?!

“Klaus.”

“Yes?!”

I turned my head and shot him a cold glare over my shoulder. “I’m trying to think. Please shut up.”

“Understood.”

When I said that, Klaus glumly drooped his head. I could almost see a pair of dog ears drooping too.

Uh, huh?

The mysterious drop in Klaus’s mood got me worried. There was nothing new about me acting coldly toward him. So, why would he get so depressed today?

I pondered on whether anything had been different today compared to any other day, but nothing in particular sprang to mind. As a general rule, I wasn’t kind to Klaus. In fact, I couldn’t remember a single instance when I’d been genial.

When my thoughts ran that far, I began to despise myself a little. I’m a pretty horrible person, I thought.

After all the thorough devotion he’d shown me, I was far too unfair to him.

But, if I could be allowed to defend my actions, I did have something I could call a reason—Klaus was a troublesome entity that had raised his own masochism flag without any proactive encouragement from me. If I were to get too deeply involved with him, I’d have to worry about that flag rearing its head again, which heralded a twisted master-servant relationship between us. I’d already avoided that once, and I was determined to prevent it at all costs.

My opinion was that I didn’t want to foster too intimate a relationship with Klaus. The distance we had as a guard and his charge was just fine for me. I wanted to maintain that separation, and then ensure an eventual smooth handover of Klaus to the shrine maiden.

However, that was only my personal intention and my own point of view. It had taken me too long to realize—all of that planning didn’t justify my mistreatment.

“Klaus.” I called his name, and he glanced over at me.

I felt throbbing pangs of guilt upon seeing the despondent look on his face. It was like an abandoned dog’s. Klaus had probably been lonely since Sir Leonhart was the only one I’d been asking to accompany me recently. I’d been ignoring my own guard and relying solely on someone else.

Of course, I had a perfectly valid reason for doing so, and I wasn’t about to apologize. It hadn’t been easy teaching this dog to “stay,” and I absolutely wasn’t going to undo that progress. But I was at fault for what’d just happened. I’d turned my nose up at his kind gesture when he’d gone to the trouble of showing me concern.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Could you make me that tea after all?”

Klaus’s eyes widened and he gasped, then gave a reply like a bartender. “Coming right up!” His full-faced grin made his prior sullen attitude seem like a figment of my imagination.

I strained out a smile and breathed a soft sigh of relief. I’m glad you’ve cheered up.

“I’ll brew the finest tea for you,” he said. “I will!”

When I heard the cheerful reaffirmation of his determination, I froze for a few seconds, and then put on a slight smile. “Yeah. Oh, lucky me.”

If my tone lacked enthusiasm, and my eyes seemed hollow, I’d request for that to be overlooked. Because what I was about to endure was a self-imposed punishment.

I’ve mentioned before that Klaus was disastrously unsuited for any and all kinds of housework. There were a host of reasons for that: He was clumsy. He had an inattentive personality. Chief among them, however, was that he had no flair.

Please don’t try to tell me that flair isn’t essential for housework. It is. You need flair.

For example, flair is needed when you’re cooking—you notice that a dish could do with a bit more flavor, so you choose a spice to add. In his current style, a few drops of Klaus’s secret ingredient would be enough to overpower and mask the taste of the other ingredients. In a bad way, if that wasn’t clear.

I could understand tea turning out bitter or astringent. That result only required putting in too many tea leaves and then boiling them for too long. But how had he gotten it to such a gloppy texture last time? And why had it been so sickly sweet?! Back then, I’d wondered whether he’d added some jam, like how Russian tea is made, but he’d denied it.

“I haven’t added anything particularly unusual,” he’d said, which had only served to scare me.

Then why’s the tea become viscous? Don’t tell me, you’re an alchemist? You can create something from nothing? I’d retorted in my mind.

“Hm?” In the present, a sudden thought scratched at the corner of my brain. I felt myself stop walking.

“Lady Rosemary?”

I ignored Klaus’s surprised call to me and immersed myself in my own thoughts.

Creating something from nothing... That can’t be done. It’s impossible.

This wasn’t a self-directed jab at my prior train of thought. Instead, I felt that I’d found the answer to a question I’d carried away from the king’s bedroom.

That’s it. That’s exactly right. It’s impossible.

One multiplied by ten thousand is ten thousand, but zero times anything is just zero. However immense the demon lord’s power is, he can’t amplify something that doesn’t exist. He could have the capacity to amplify his avatar’s power by a factor of, oh let’s say, ten billion—but all of that is meaningless if the avatar has no magic to begin with.

“Ah.” A dazed voice escaped my lips.

The answer I’d found was exceedingly concise. Therefore, it was cruel too.

Michael von Diebolt—the man who’d become the demon lord’s avatar in Hidden World—was a magic user.