Starting Point
In the previous timeline, Inas had said:
“I didn’t originally return to April 14. The very first time, I went back to November 9 of the year 272 in the royal calendar.”
Then today must be November 9, 272. The day Inas came to the Magnus Duchy and met Nigel for the very first time.
“Probably because that was the day my life first gained meaning.”
That shameless line, seared into Nigel’s memory, struck him in the chest. Back then, it had simply made him happy—but now, it filled him with doubt.
The image of Kay whispering sweet nothings with that gentle expression flickered alongside it. The boy who had never loved Nigel had still spoken of love without a care, rolling the words on his tongue like they meant nothing at all. Love doesn’t mean a damn thing…
And Inas’s actions, stripped of those words—what were they, really?
Inas had always been kind to Nigel. Never laid a finger on him. Always loyal, even though Nigel could have been killed with just a wave of the hand.
But at the same time, Inas stabbed him. Sliced off his head and killed him. The memory of those cruel words, said over and over, still lingered faintly. Not to mention—Inas had killed Nigel’s brother.
In the end, when it truly mattered, he had turned his back on Nigel’s outstretched hand.
No one could do that to someone they truly loved.
“……”
The haze of emotion fueled by love cooled into clarity. He had been the only one in love. Even if Inas truly did love Nigel, it was a love twisted beyond repair—something Nigel could never endure. Who could possibly handle a madman who’d lived for god only knows how long?
Nigel clenched his blanket tightly. There was something he needed to do before dealing with Inas.
Time had reset. In this period, Etna would still be alive—sealed within the coffin in the Temple of Eternity.
The moment that thought hit him, Nigel sprang out of bed.
He had to go to his brother. Or at the very least, help him escape.
Though the newly awakened Etna seemed ominous, he didn’t seem too dangerous from Nigel’s perspective. He still had his sanity. He wouldn’t go on a rampage overnight. And even if he did… time would just reset again anyway.
With that conclusion, Nigel climbed out of bed and changed clothes.
The body staring back at him felt small, fragile, unfamiliar. Nigel hadn’t been in great health even as an adult, but as a child, he had been especially frail. Compared to the little bit of muscle he’d had later in life, this emaciated frame looked downright pitiful.
“Can I even climb the mountain like this?”
There was no path up that mountain. Even as a healthy adult, he’d been completely exhausted after just one trip—vowing never to do it again.
Now, with a smaller body and weaker stamina, the odds weren’t looking great.
As he stood there debating what to do, he opened the door—only to lock eyes with the knight standing guard outside.
“Ah.”
Then he remembered. Twelve-year-old Nigel hadn’t welcomed the news of Inas’s arrival. He’d thrown a tantrum, demanded that they send Inas back—and had ended up locked in his room for it.
The knight, who looked to be in his thirties, frowned sternly when their eyes met.
“Young Master, you need to go back inside.”
“No, I—my stomach hurts…”
“No excuses. Come along now.”
Nigel’s excuse didn’t even register. The knight simply picked him up and plopped him back inside the room, then shut the door behind him.
“……”
Absolutely ridiculous.
Sure, to the knight, he was just a twelve-year-old child—but in his own mind, Nigel was a full-grown adult, the Duke of Magnus, no less. Being ignored and physically carried like a child… he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that to him—
No, wait.
Inas used to do that all the time.
Before Father passed and he inherited the dukedom, Inas had been more or less his guardian. With their father’s explicit permission, Inas had authority over all matters concerning Nigel’s health—even above orders. And he had exercised that authority freely.
Now, remembering it in this context didn’t feel so pleasant.
Nigel reopened the door.
“Young Master.”
“I’m not trying to leave. I just want to ask one thing.”
“I was told to ignore any strange remarks, by order of His Grace.”
“It’s nothing weird. Just… what day is it today?”
“Today is November 9, Young Master. The day His Grace said he’d bring the knight.”
“…The knight.”
“Yes, the knight. He’s probably on his way here as we speak.”
“What?”
Nigel blurted out in shock and slammed the door shut again.
He’s coming already?
He hadn’t expected it to be this soon. He thought he’d have time to prepare himself—at least mentally. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Inas would arrive so quickly.
He wasn’t ready to face him yet.
The feeling of stabbing Inas still lingered on his fingertips. Even if Inas was shameless enough to act like nothing had happened, Nigel wasn’t wired that way.
In the end, he decided to make a run for it. Even if he failed halfway up the mountain, at least he’d tried.
He knew the duke’s mansion inside and out. The location of the secret passage—at this point in time, twelve-year-old Nigel didn’t know about it. No one would suspect that he’d used it to escape.
Nigel flung open the window.
The entrance to the nearest secret passage was in the room two doors down. The gap between balconies was wide, but not impossible to cross.
It looked wider than he remembered—but he used to leap across this balcony almost every day. Inas’s room had been right next door, and Nigel had snuck over constantly. If he’d used the door, his father would’ve scolded him for relying too much on Inas, so he’d always gone via the balcony.
Looking back, he wondered if his father had truly been unaware of it all.
And Inas, too, had never seemed surprised to see Nigel appearing from the balcony. Maybe the Inas he remembered from the previous timeline still retained memories of all those leaps across the ledge. To Nigel, it had always been a thrill. To Inas, perhaps, it had been nothing more than routine.
Nigel squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.
Nostalgia threatened to drown him, so he shook his head to dispel it and focused on the balcony.
At fifteen, the jump had been easy. At twelve, it was a stretch. Still doable, though.
He bent his knees, ready to leap—
“Nigel!”
A panicked voice called out from below.
It had been so long since he last heard it—his father’s voice.
Startled, Nigel turned to look down—but his mediocre coordination failed him. Mid-motion, caught between jumping and hesitating, he slipped.
“Nigel!”
His father’s voice rang out, filled with alarm.
Nigel squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. If he was lucky, maybe he’d land in a tree and survive.
But then, as if nature itself intervened, a sharp gust of wind blew sideways—sending him veering off course. Away from the tree. Toward the ground.
And instead of crashing—he landed in someone’s arms.
The arms of his father—Ruder Montstein, the current Duke of Magnus.
Nigel stared up at him, dazed.
His father smelled of sword oil and steel—scents from a man who spent his life sharpening blades and armor. The arms that held him fast were thick and unyielding—yet warm.
“Nigel.”
“Father…”
“What kind of foolishness was that, Nigel?! What if you’d been hurt?!”
Ruder shouted in anger—but his voice, despite his fearsome reputation as the Duke who could kill monsters barehanded, trembled helplessly with fear.
In Nigel’s memories, Ruder had always been a respectable duke—and a rather strict father. But his strictness hadn’t come from dislike. It had been worry. The sudden burden of succession had weighed heavily on Nigel, and Ruder had been trying to prepare him.
As a child, Nigel had known that. As an adult, he understood it even more deeply.
Even though he’d resented him at times, as grown-ups often do.
Ruder had died when Nigel was nineteen, at the age of sixty. It had been a peaceful death—like falling asleep. A blessing, perhaps. But far too sudden.
The memory of burying his father’s coffin still felt fresh. To Nigel, his father had been dead for years—just like Etna.
But unlike Etna, Ruder was still very much alive in this moment.
Alive—and warm.
A sudden wave of emotion surged up inside him.
He’d been trained not to cry over nothing. But his small, young body didn’t obey the grown man’s discipline inside it. His tears welled up and fell anyway.
“F-Father…”
“Nigel?”
“Hhic… ugh…”
“N-Nigel? What’s wrong?”
Nigel hadn’t even been the crying type as a child. Ruder, flustered, tried to comfort him gently—like a small child.
And the moment he did, the dam burst.
Nigel wailed. Loudly.
It felt cathartic, but soon his breathing turned ragged. As he struggled to catch his breath, Ruder panicked even more.
“Let’s get you inside, Nigel. We’ll go inside and—”
“Father…”
Nigel clung to him and looked over his father’s shoulder.
His eyes locked with Inas’s.
Inas stood there, expression blank, impossible to read. Calm. Unshaken. He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t lifted a finger. Even as Nigel fell from the sky, he just stood there, watching.
Like nothing had happened.
The image of Etna’s corpse—his chest blown open—flashed in Nigel’s mind. Nausea swelled.
He clenched his teeth and pointed at Inas.
“Father… that man’s going to kill my brother.”
“…Nigel?”
Ruder turned toward Inas, startled by the sudden accusation.
Nigel nodded, gripping his father with everything he had.
“He’s going to kill him. My brother’s still alive right now, but he’s going to do it…”
“Nigel!”
Alarmed, Ruder scooped him up and, without another glance at Inas, rushed back toward the bedroom.
Nigel, still in his father’s arms, heard him calling for a healer.
Servants bustled around the room in seconds, adjusting the lighting, burning calming incense, tidying the space.
The on-call healer quickly examined Nigel.
Exhausted from crying, Nigel lay there panting, eyes closed, letting the healer work.
“The boy seems seriously unwell. He claims Etna will be murdered.”
“…His older brother, you mean.”
“The knight outside said he asked today’s date, then slammed the door shut. Is there a connection?”
“Hard to say… maybe it was just a nightmare. He’s still a child. A shock like this would be hard on him.”
There was no medicine for the mind, so they decided it would be best to keep Nigel calm and let him rest.
Whatever had been in that medicine—it was working. Drowsiness began to overtake him.
“My poor Nigel…”
He felt his father gently brush the hair from his forehead.
The calloused hand of a lifelong swordsman—rough, but tender.
“Get some rest. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. No matter what.”
Nigel stayed quiet, unable to respond.
He felt guilty for scaring his father, but now at least—Ruder wouldn’t rush to assign Inas as his bodyguard. Maybe Inas would act out, but based on past experience, the chance of him doing something reckless right away was low.
He wouldn’t dare touch a living, breathing Ruder—surely.
And if he did… then Nigel didn’t care what the future held. He’d abandon Inas completely.
Of course, just delaying Inas’s appointment as a bodyguard wouldn’t stop him from showing up.
As expected, that night—Inas came to him in secret.
