Nigel’s hand trembled faintly. He gasped for breath without realizing it, chest rising and falling sharply as he lifted his head.
He needed an answer. A clear, definitive answer. This wasn’t something he could just brood over alone and end with mere speculation.
“…Glarus.”
He called the name of the one who was surely watching this entire mess unfold. But unlike how that annoying presence usually barged in uninvited, this time—nothing appeared. Nigel clenched his teeth.
“Glarus!”
He shouted with desperation. And then, Rimera suddenly appeared before him. His mother, who resembled him in features, wore a look completely unlike his. She stared at him as if the current situation made no sense at all.
Did she have something she wanted to say? But Nigel didn’t have the mental capacity to spare her any attention.
“Answer me, Glarus. I said answer me!”
As the silence dragged on, Nigel swore loudly. Anyone else might call it blasphemy, but he didn’t give a damn. Rimera, who had been watching him with a vaguely puzzled expression, eventually faded away like smoke.
Just then, a new screen slowly rose before Nigel’s eyes as he panted with excitement.
[To the temple’s prayer room.]
The message was brief, and vanished as soon as he read it—like it was being coy.
Nigel grit his teeth. Last time he went to the temple, he got caught up in Glarus’s nonsense, and he had no desire to relive that. But right now, he had no choice. If the assumption he’d just made was correct, then this situation was the worst-case scenario.
He needed to uncover the truth. And Inas, who claimed he couldn’t even remember how many times he had regressed, probably wouldn’t know anything about the specific traits of this loop.
Glarus was the god who upheld the world. Even he couldn’t stray too far from his assigned role.
For now, Nigel had to trust that much—and whether it was provocation or bait, he had no choice but to accept it and go.
He changed clothes in a hurry. Pulling the hood of his cloak down low over his head, Nigel didn’t hesitate and slipped into the secret passage.
If he announced that he was heading to the temple, Roshan would probably contact his father first. Nigel didn’t have the luxury of waiting hours for a magical message to go through. Besides, his father would likely just treat him like a child and forbid him from going. In the end, sneaking out alone was the only option.
He didn’t feel entirely safe heading out in his current childlike form. Thankfully, the temple wasn’t far from here. Nigel moved quickly, exiting through the secret tunnel.
The shabby warehouse connected to the tunnel felt eerie. After a quick scan of his surroundings, Nigel stepped forward carefully. The royal capital was a bustling city—but that also meant it had its fair share of shadowy alleys. The temple’s location ensured the area wasn’t too dangerous, but caution never hurt.
Luckily, he made it to the main road without incident. Reaching a well-lit street with people still roaming around even at night, he finally let out a breath he’d been holding.
“Hey, kid.”
Just as he was about to keep walking, someone stepped in his path. The voice sounded familiar enough that Nigel instinctively turned his head.
“…Oh.”
The face in front of him—he recognized it immediately.
Mikhail Schumacher.
The man who, months ago, had parted ways with Nigel and ended up dead by Inas’s hand. Yet now, as if none of that had ever happened, Schumacher stood alive, revived by the reversal of time.
Nigel knew Schumacher was in the capital, but he hadn’t expected to bump into him like this—right on the main street. Blinking in surprise, he stared.
Schumacher looked younger than Nigel remembered. Wasn’t he twenty-eight this year? Unlike Inas or Nigel, who had physically regressed in age, Schumacher remained an adult in both timelines, so his appearance hadn’t changed drastically. But his expression—completely different.
His gray hair, still the same shade, now gleamed with healthy luster instead of looking dry and brittle. Maybe because he hadn’t suffered through loss and despair yet, his black eyes looked brighter, filled with hope. His face still had that upright, slightly stiff impression—but he looked kind. Harmless. As he was now, it was hard to imagine he’d be the one to plunge the world into chaos a decade from now.
As Nigel stared blankly, Schumacher bent down to match his eye level.
“You look like you’re from a noble family. Did you get lost or something?”
“No. I’m on my way to the temple.”
His blunt tone made Schumacher frown for a moment, but he quickly smiled again.
“Hmm. Well, in that case, you should go home and return with a guardian. It’s dangerous to be wandering around alone after dark.”
“…”
“If you’re lost, I can take you.”
It was a kind, warm suggestion. But one Nigel didn’t need. When he didn’t respond, Schumacher sighed softly. His eyes fixed intently on Nigel, sharp enough to pierce through.
“…Don’t tell me you ran away from home?”
Nigel scoffed. What kind of impression did this man have of him? Before Schumacher could act on that suspicion, Nigel shook his head.
“No. I’ll head straight home after I finish my business at the temple.”
“Then let me go with you. I’ll escort you.”
“Why? What for?”
“No specific reason. I just can’t ignore it. If you wander around alone, a slaver might snatch you up.”
“I’ll be fine. Who’d bother grabbing a useless little kid?”
“You don’t know anything. A kid as pretty as you could set a record at the auction house. I raided an illegal slave auction recently—I know what I’m talking about. Be smart and don’t get yourself kidnapped.”
Schumacher’s voice was firm, slightly scolding but still gentle. Though, honestly, he was the one sounding like a kidnapper. Nigel didn’t bother pointing that out. Instead, he quietly reached for Schumacher’s outstretched hand.
Truthfully, the only reason Nigel felt confident wandering around was because he believed Inas would rescue him if he got caught. If a safer option presented itself, there was no reason to refuse it.
Seeing the small hand land obediently in his, Schumacher clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“I offered, but still—you shouldn’t grab a stranger’s hand so easily.”
Nigel smirked instead of mocking the contradictory advice.
“I know who you are. You’re Mikhail Schumacher.”
“…Was I that famous?”
Schumacher murmured with a sheepish look. Nigel couldn’t help but chuckle. In ten years, the man would be cocky and overflowing with self-assurance—this awkward, modest version of him was almost endearing.
Still, now wasn’t the time to indulge in nostalgia. Holding Schumacher’s hand, Nigel tugged him forward. Schumacher followed without resistance, then took the lead and guided him.
Since he had him now, Nigel decided to strike up a conversation. They’d have to talk eventually anyway.
“What were you doing out here?”
“Day off. I dropped off my sword at the blacksmith’s.”
“The knight order doesn’t handle that for you?”
Typically, for maintenance and upkeep, a knight’s weapons are taken care of by the order. Schumacher raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Nigel.
“You know a lot. This isn’t my official blade. Just a personal one.”
“Even personal weapons should be covered, though.”
“They’d probably let it slide because I’m a commoner. But the smith I normally go to knows me well, so they do a better job.”
“Hmm, I see.”
Nigel pulled up Schumacher’s Character Info Window. His level was higher than the average knight’s, but he hadn’t yet learned Aura Blade. He was a fine swordsman, but nothing extraordinary at first glance. It wasn’t until he gained the ability to wield Aura Blade that people started paying attention to him at such a young age.
Though honestly, even gaining Aura Blade didn’t dramatically improve Schumacher’s life. The king’s favor lasted only a few years. When the king died, Schumacher was dismissed, ignored—and eventually, even lost his family in a tragic accident. A cursed life. But that misfortune made it easier for Nigel to recruit him.
As Nigel observed him through the info window, Schumacher caught his gaze. When their eyes met, Schumacher smiled instinctively—still so unchanged by time that it stirred a strange sympathy in Nigel.
“So, why are you going to the temple?”
“To pray.”
“For what? Hoping for a little sibling?”
“There won’t be one. My mother died not long after I was born.”
“…I’m sorry.”
Embarrassed by the slip, Schumacher immediately shut his mouth. The tips of his ears turned red as he looked away. Nigel considered offering comfort, but changed his mind. If Schumacher felt guilty, it’d make it easier to lure him in later when the time came.
They reached the temple soon after. Inside, unless there was a special reason, it was against the rules to hide one’s face—so Nigel pulled his hood down.
He didn’t expect anyone to recognize him, but the priest who spotted him seemed startled. Still unsure, the man gave Nigel a confused, uncertain look.
“I need to pray.”
Using Schumacher as cover, Nigel made his way toward the prayer room. Thanks to the late hour, the area was quieter than usual.
“…Why is everyone staring at you? Did you do something at the temple?”
“No.”
“Alright then. I’ll wait out here. Go pray.”
“Okay.”
Nigel let go of Schumacher’s hand and stepped alone into a private prayer room.
With the door closed, he sucked in a shaky breath. He hadn’t been running—but it felt like he’d been pushed to his limit. Once he got his breathing under control, Nigel lifted his head and glared at Glarus’s symbol at the center of the room.
“I came like you said. Now show yourself.”
Light filled the space around him.
Contrary to his assumption that Glarus might abduct him again into some strange dimension, a single sentence appeared before his eyes.
[You’ve arrived.]
A dialogue box flickered in front of Nigel. The letters were faint, the text glitching and noisy—only legible with focused attention. Fearing someone might hear, Nigel whispered under his breath.
“What the hell are you scheming?”
[You can speak up. I’ve blocked out sound.]
“Then you speak clearly. Or write clearly—whatever. It’s a pain to read.”
There was no need to make the letters so faint when it was just the two of them here. In response to his complaint, the box flickered sluggishly.
[I don’t have the strength.]
Nigel’s expression twisted. The being who used to appear without warning now claimed it could barely manage text?
