Chapter 23

Fragment The palace was burning. I’d seen this sight many times before. It meant this attempt was another failure. I saw it through a vision in the underground temple. So many people died. Next time, I’d save them. I’d made that vow more times than I could count, and yet it crumbled so easily. Now the futility of it all drummed through me, drowning out every other emotion. Why am I so powerless? I’d asked myself on so many occasions. If only I was strong, I could have defeated the Demon Lord by myself instead of leaving the task to others. But I knew all too well that my female body was a handicap and that training at my age would never get the results I wanted. I actually did try to wield a sword once, but it was too heavy for me to even perform a proper swing. My physique had always been on the frailer side. But I knew that this was an excuse. If I was as industrious as my daughter, Alexia, who partook in swordplay and horsemanship, perhaps things would have been different. This thought fueled my self-loathing. Sadly, I had no affinity for magic, either. And because I was affiliated with a different god, I was unable to call upon the major god’s blessing and use healing magic. Why did the goddess curse her retainer with such weakness? I gazed up at her icon with baleful eyes. The dirge of war boomed beyond the door. The Demon Lord was on his way. The hour of destruction was nigh. I gulped down the poison I’d prepared for myself and bid farewell to this failed world. When I opened my eyes, a young Alexia was beside me. I hugged her tiny body tight. “I’m already eight! Don’t be embarrassing,” Alexia insisted, but her small hands embraced me gently in return. My love for this child was what sustained me whenever my world reset. Without it, I would have given up on this world long ago. All I could do was latch on to another person like a parasite. The Prophet could only project a phantom of themselves to the person of their choosing and watch how their journey played out. I could make this false version of myself speak words, but I could not actually fight. I could share the knowledge I had accumulated, of course: information about the future, monsters’ weaknesses, which roads were relatively safe to traverse, what items were absolute necessities, and so forth. I was not completely useless, but it was nothing compared to what the Hero’s party did when they put their lives on the line. Also, needless to say, designating a Hero did not mean that the person would take on the role. Some refused the call, quite rightly. “I don’t want to do it. It’s too much of a burden,” they would say. I could not blame them for having the most natural reaction. The Heroes I guided would all die from violent and unnatural causes. They gained no special power from accepting the mantle. By using the name of the “Prophet,” I would bestow the honor of “Hero,” forcing people to take on the duty of “defeating the Demon Lord.” Nothing more, nothing less. This abominable power first manifested when the Demon Lord’s army stormed the palace, and the Demon Lord himself broke the barrier around the temple. He slaughtered Alexia in front of my eyes and killed me next. The shock of my daughter’s death hit me harder than my own impending demise. When I next opened my eyes, it was ten years prior. I hugged young Alexia beside me and bawled. She cocked her head in confusion, ignorant to what had transpired, but she gently hugged me back with her tiny arms nonetheless. I swore in my heart that I would never let this girl die again. I understood what had happened to me. When I inherited the role of priestess from my mother, I received the power and records of the previous priestesses. World Revision. It was a powerful ability to adjust and change the world, bestowed by our god upon the priestess so her clan would live on for eternity. It was also a means to thwart the Demon Lord. The priestess could not die of anything aside from age; any other cause would activate the power, and time would revert to a point at which the impetus could be averted. One could say it granted someone knowledge that only the heavens could know. I used this power not just to contend with the Demon Lord, but in many other situations. Even in peacetime, there were threats such as internal backstabbing and assassination attempts from the king’s retainers. None of those obstacles required multiple uses of World Revision, however. It was only the battle against the Demon Lord that made me experience time over and over again. When I first used World Revision, I formed a united army to combat the Demon Lord. Instead of relying on a lone individual, I thought the power of nations posed a better chance of eliminating the threat. I convinced my husband and our neighboring countries to form alliances so they could prepare for the invasion at an early stage. Because of my knowledge of the Demon Lord’s route and attack patterns, we were able to set up a robust defense. This allowed the united army to fight efficiently and successfully fend off the Demon Lord’s forces. Yet no matter how many times our side repelled theirs, they would immediately spring back. By consolidating the monsters under one umbrella, the Demon Lord could continually replenish his forces and press on the assault without end, wearing down our united army until, at last, the country on the front line fell. The army’s structure crumbled in an instant, and my second death fell upon me. On the second World Revision, I thought of using the united army to launch an attack. I was painfully aware that playing defense would get us nowhere and that we needed to strike at the enemy’s base. But politics proved to be a barrier. Organizing an expedition into the Demon Lord’s distant territory required vast sums of money. Even if we were to secure victory, there would be practically no territorial or financial gain. And because the threat of the Demon Lord’s army was not yet imminent, the expedition plan was caught in a deadlock, allowing the invasion to happen in the meantime. When I saw the Demon Lord’s army invade my kingdom, I swallowed poison. I ended up going down the traditional method of searching for a Hero from the third World Revision onward. If the nations couldn’t be moved, then there was no other choice but to send in a small elite squad to defeat the Demon Lord. Fortunately, there were plenty of promising young individuals, particularly Leon the Sword Saint, Maria the Holy Maiden, and Solon the Sage. With his reputable family name and striking talent, Leon was the first Hero candidate in line. But when I actually sent him into the Demon Lord’s territory, his upper-class upbringing made him ill-suited for traveling as an adventurer, and he couldn’t respond well when the demons struck him where his guard was down—like a betrayal from someone he was trying to protect, for instance. In the end, he perished a mere three months after beginning his journey. My next candidate was Maria. Although I was a bit hesitant to make a priest into the Hero, she had a nasty personality (suitable for my purposes) and a good grasp on people. Her journey proceeded as smoothly as I hoped. She used her companions well, not only fending off the demons’ attacks but even outwitting them. Alas, her party had no camaraderie, and the fissures in their teamwork gradually came to surface. When they faced off against a powerful demon, they broke down entirely. Maria lasted a year before she perished. Solon was third on my list. Although he had personality issues that put his success rate lower than Leon’s and Maria’s in my estimation, he was extraordinarily gifted in his magical power and intelligence. Putting all the information I had accumulated from my experiences to good use, he snuck deep into the Demon Lord’s territory and even managed a showdown with the Demon Lord himself. Unfortunately, the Demon Lord’s strength crushed his, and Solon died in despair. I tried using the same people to better effect on subsequent attempts, and I also tried guiding different people altogether. On some occasions, I put Leon, Maria, and Solon in the same party, but they never saw eye to eye, and the results were less than ideal. After so many attempts of trial and error, my spirit wore down. I stopped thinking much about people’s deaths, and I became blasé about even my own demise. I’m just going to redo it all anyway, I thought. After all my headhunting in the capital ended in failure, I looked outward to the rural areas for talent. My newest candidate was a boy named Ares. In my previous World Revision, I’d heard rumors about a young man in a remote village who was talented at both swordsmanship and magic. The residents had apparently survived against the Demon Lord’s army thanks to his efforts. This was a promising sign. I sent my phantom toward Daris Village. I could manipulate this phantom like a puppet, flitting between the people it came into contact with before eventually reaching the person I deemed the Hero. Annoyingly enough, however, there was nobody headed toward Daris Village because the highway that directly connected to it was infested with monsters. But I had decided to gamble on Ares this time, and so I released the Prophet’s phantom. In the end, it took almost a year to reach Daris Village. My phantom chose quite a circuitous route, eventually arriving in the form of a traveling merchant. I estimated that Ares was in his midteens at this point. He had brown eyes, which matched his chestnut hair, and he had quite a toned physique for a boy his age. Between that and his bright and alert visage, there was clearly something different about him compared with the other villagers. I got to work observing him. Even as he helped around the house, he spent his mornings and evenings diligently studying the blade. On rainy days, he read magic tomes, and he paid regular visits to the church, where the priest taught him divine miracles. He also got along well with others. He was the ideal person, one could say. Although he was not as skilled with the sword as Leon, of course, and his magic skills could not compare with Maria’s or Solon’s, he possessed an intelligent and flexible spirit. I believed that this, more than anything else, was the necessary ingredient for vanquishing the Demon Lord. I decided to make Ares the Hero. Although designating someone a Hero had no direct effect, it did change how the person perceived themselves and was perceived by others. With greater expectations on their shoulders and financial support on their side, the individual would strive for greater heights. I manifested my phantom at a village gathering and gave it a physical form. “A Hero will emerge from this village and defeat the Demon Lord,” I declared. The villagers were overjoyed, saying that they always knew that Ares was the Hero. They all looked in his direction. But he…turned pale. Oh, he really is a clever boy. Pain stabbed my heart. Ares understood the fundamental nature of being the Hero, that it was a harsh and difficult mantle to bear. Meanwhile, his cousin, Zack, who was standing right next to him, peered directly at me. As if to declare that he was the Hero. To be perfectly frank, Zack was not a particularly remarkable child. He did everything with Ares, from being his sparring partner to studying magic alongside him, and he was inferior to Ares in all those things. He was not the kind of boy one could imagine becoming the Hero. But his eyes left a strong impression on me. Ares looked at Zack as well. The sight of his cousin seemed to restore his calm, and he quietly accepted the villagers’ jubilations. When he returned home, he consulted with his parents and decided to head to the capital. This was exactly what I’d hoped for. There, he could devote himself to his training, hone his skills, and assemble his party members. It was all necessary for defeating the Demon Lord. But later, when I watched Ares swinging his sword at night instead of sleeping, he made for a rather pitiable sight. As a fellow mother, I understood painfully well why Ares’s mother, Shella, cried for her son. Even though her pain was entirely my own doing. After making his preparations, Ares set off on his journey with Zack. And…he perished en route to the capital. Not even I had anticipated that a demon would be lying in wait for him on the road. It was a frightfully quick death. “Another failed loop,” I said to myself. I decided to end my life quickly. Although Ares had perished all too soon, nobody his age could have fought toe-to-toe with a demon. As long as he avoided that tragedy, he still had promise. But then for some reason, Zack caught my eye. The boy who traveled with Ares and had no talent of his own. I sent my phantom after Zack and watched his journey play out. Zack took on Ares’s name and enrolled in Falm Academy, where he applied his efforts to becoming the Hero. Watching him struggle onward despite getting nowhere, I saw my own futile efforts in him. He kept swinging his sword silently, despite his clear inferiority to Leon. He awakened to divine miracles even after being subjected to Maria’s ludicrous trials. He learned magic from Solon after many hours of training. Although he was far from the top at any of those skills, Zack racked up tiny miracles one after another. And before I knew it, he was the Hero. I’d done nothing to guide him. He was lowlier, weaker, and more pitiful than any other Hero. But he earned the title through his own strength. Zack formed a party with Leon, Maria, and Solon and set off on a quest to defeat the Demon Lord. He got the party to synergize. Instead of using them as tools, he drew out their respective strengths. For my part, I fed what I knew to him at every opportunity, and he used this knowledge to overcome the vast number of trials and tribulations that came his way. Could Zack defeat the Demon Lord? I wondered. My anticipation grew. But ambivalence stirred within me at the same time. I thought about Ares. The reason Zack was fighting was because of Ares, because he was offering himself as Ares’s replacement. I knew that better than anyone. But if he went on to defeat the Demon Lord, then this world would proceed along a timeline in which Ares was dead. I decided to speak with Zack about my worries. I approached him just when he was about to arrive at the Demon Lord’s castle. “Would you return to a world where Ares was alive if you could?” I asked. Zack’s eyes widened. “Return? Not bring him back to life?” “I cannot revive the dead. I can only reset time to before his death.” “What about people’s memories?” “They don’t carry over. Only I will remember. But I can guide you so he doesn’t die next time.” Zack peered at me in silence for a while before he said, “What about the Demon Lord? We only have a little to go before we arrive at his doorstep. Will we be able to come this far again?” I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. The fact that he’d gotten this far was like a miracle to me. I wasn’t confident that it could be repeated. “Then don’t bother.” “What?” “It’s a pain to do it all over again, right? I don’t think I could repeat my life if someone told me to. I don’t want to go through so much trouble again,” he told me with a smile. “But if you keep going, Ares will—” “What happened to Ares was sad. Of course I’d want him to come back, but I don’t think it’s right to invalidate everything that’s happened till now. I’m not just talking about myself; everyone’s pain would all go to waste. So I’m fine with sticking on this path.” “…Are you sure?” “Yeah, this is my choice. I’m going to let Ares die. “I killed Ares. “So you don’t have to make such a sad face.” What face was he talking about? The form he was seeing was merely a projection—it was impossible to even tell its age or gender. He could not possibly have known what expression I was making. I was just an onlooker from afar who couldn’t do anything. “You don’t know a thing about me,” I said to Zack. “I just sort of picked up on it, you know? There’s something about you that reminds me of Shella. I found myself thinking that you’re a nice, motherly sort of person.” Shella… Ares’s mother. She did not rejoice when her son became the Hero. That only made sense. I would never want my daughter to become the Hero, either. No parent would want to send their child on such a perilous journey. And yet I’d forced another woman’s child into the role, and he’d paid the price for it with his life. “I…am not nice,” I said. “You think so? I reckon you are. The Prophet’s goal is to beat the Demon Lord, right? But we’re just one step away from potentially getting what you want, and here you are proposing to redo things. If that’s not nice, I don’t know what is.” “……” “But if I die without defeating the Demon Lord and have to redo things, I wish you could nudge me into learning magic before setting out on that journey. I’m a terrible learner, so I reckon it would be hard on you, but that’s my request. That way, I’d be a proper friend to Ares, and I wouldn’t let him die. We could go journeying together.” Zack kept his tone light as he spoke of his regret and his true wish. At that point, the conversation wrapped, and he left. After that, at the end of a grueling and punishing battle, Zack and his friends defeated the Demon Lord, and my thousand-year journey came to a close. Freed from the long cycle, I trembled with joy. At long last, I could reach the end of my life and die as a person. But my glee lasted for only one night. When I arose from my slumber, my happiness disappeared. “The dead will never return.” It wasn’t just Ares. Many people died as a direct result of my choices. When I first used World Revision, I had tried so hard to save as many people as I could, and yet somewhere along the line, I’d become numb to everything. It’s all pointless when this timeline is going to waste anyway, I’d thought. But this time, the Demon Lord was actually defeated. I could have saved more people if I’d tried. I blamed myself eternally after that. All I wished was for the natural span of my life to quickly reach its end. For years, I pined for death, until one day, Alexia appeared before me. After a long argument with the temple attendants, she half forced her way inside the hallowed ground. It would appear that my daughter came to me under Solon’s suggestion to inquire about Zack’s whereabouts. True, my phantom was still attached to Zack. However… Oh, my foolish daughter. …to think that she would intrude upon this sacred ground out of simple curiosity, utterly ignorant of my pain or Zack’s feelings. The blackness in my heart reared its ugly head. When I told Alexia everything, I urged her to take the poison I used to kill myself. “If you are a member of the priestess’s clan, show me your resolve. If you can overcome your fear of death, I will tell you Zack’s location.” I simply wished to cow her. I thought my sheltered daughter would leave when I said that. But Alexia responded: “Yes, Mother.” And she gulped down the poison. Right before my eyes, she perished with a gentle smile, without even showing a hint of her excruciating agony. Witnessing her death, I wondered what the point of it all was. Why had I ever used World Revision? Hadn’t I died over and over again because I wanted to save my daughter? She’d come to me with her own resolve. And I had used it as an outlet for my depression. Brandishing a short sword, I stabbed myself in the throat and collapsed atop Alexia’s body. My final World Revision activated. When I regained consciousness, time did not reset to before the Demon Lord’s defeat. I felt a faint sense of both relief and guilt. It was one day prior to Alexia’s visit. I ordered the temple attendants to allow her to pass through and awaited my daughter’s arrival for a second time. When I heard the door close, I opened my eyes and made sure that Alexia was gone. Silence returned to the sacred ground. “Thank you, Alexia, my beloved daughter.” My journey had been a long and lonely one, for no matter what I did, everyone would forget it all the moment I reset. Not a single effort bore fruit, and because of my guidance and choices, many were led to their deaths. To me, it was a cursed duty, one that I never expected a word of gratitude for. “But I always did want someone to thank me…” Alexia’s words sank deep into my heart. At that point, my limbs gave out, and I slumped over the altar. Tears flowed in an incomprehensible blend of joy and sadness. I will never see my child again. It was the only atonement I allowed for myself.