IYTTEPAAK Chapter 14

Every thought, every torment, surged through him all at once—then, like a deep lake, went still. Before long, he wore the look of a man who had reached some kind of decision.

His gaze, clear and steady, unwavering, carried something almost solemn about it.

"Understood. Since it's I who am the regretful, desperate party in this, it seems only right that I should be the one to do it."

"What?"

One of his hands came down against the edge of the stool I was sitting on.

"I'd like it if you closed your eyes."

"No—wait a moment."

His upper body leaned toward me, and I jerked my head back in a hurry.

"My lips will suffice. Sir Regen's are irrelevant."

"...Please say that sort of thing quickly, next time."

Retreated back to his place, Regen covered his face with his hand as though smoothing back his hair. If he didn't do at least this much, the embarrassment was hard to bear.

Just as the heat in his neck had barely begun to settle, and before he had a moment to feel relief, Sasha flustered him again.

"So—I'm the one who has to kiss Sir Regen, then. Where would you like it?"

"......"

Asking where he wanted to be kissed—wasn't that rather a provocative thing to say? And did that mean whatever place he asked for, she'd simply oblige?

Fortunately, by the time he had to answer, Regen had returned to his usual composed state.

Sasha's question had a correct answer. All he had to do was answer in keeping with the role they'd agreed to play between them.

"Wherever a younger sister might do it for an older brother would be more than sufficient, I think."

"The cheek......?"

She'd already decided the answer and was only testing him with it—though why she'd ask back so carefully, having already decided the answer—that, he didn't know.

"Yes."

"All right."

Sasha rose from the stool. She pulled the shawl that had slipped down her arm back up, and, without any particular hurry, moved to sit beside him. The whole sequence of movements was as graceful as a bird folding its wings before settling.

To make up for the difference in their sitting height, she climbed all the way onto the bed.

Sitting with her legs drawn together like a mermaid, the delicate anklebone standing out on her slender ankle came into view. It was lovely.

"Sir Regen."

Her scent hit him all at once, right at the tip of his nose.

Regen found himself filling his lungs with breath without meaning to. The princess. A thin nightgown of a dress. And of all places—a bed.

On top of that, her particular languid, unhurried way of moving—even without any intention behind it—carried more than enough to stir any man.

And here he was, playing at brother and sister with a woman like this, right now.

"Look straight ahead."

"...Yes."

He sat in what he considered the most upright, proper posture he could manage, fixing his gaze straight forward. He waited, as if enduring something.

At some point, when the passage of time felt strangely slow, a soft, pliant sensation touched his right cheek—and then withdrew.

It felt nothing at all like it did with a sister, naturally. But that wasn't the problem right now.

"Why isn't it working."

"......"

"...It shouldn't be like this."

It was strange, how this woman he could never quite read had gotten so flustered.

"Wait a moment."

At last, at last, as if she'd lost all sense of shame, she started pecking at his cheek, over and over, quick as a bird pecking at feed.

One of her hands had even come up to cup his other cheek, holding it steady.

Setting aside for the moment the fact that the treatment wasn't working as it should—it tickled.

Not just his cheek, but somewhere deeper. To an almost unbearable degree.

"Enough—"

He meant to catch her hand and stop her, turning to look at her, but the timing was wrong.

"......"

"......Ah."

Lip met lip.

In the instant the accident happened, Regen saw a mysterious mark surface in Sasha's eyes. At the same time, his left eye burned hot.

His vision burned white, and his consciousness was pulled away, somewhere.

I should have looked at his eyes.

The accident had been unplanned, but thanks to it, the condition had been satisfied, and I'd been able to enter Regen's mental realm.

"Ah."

I realized only then that I'd been fiddling with my lips the whole way here. No one was watching, but I still flinched and lowered my hand as if to hide it.

Wait—no one really did see that, did they?

"Sir Regen. Can you hear my voice, by any chance?"

I called out several times, but only an echo came back. This place was inside Regen, but it seemed he couldn't perceive or reach it himself. Just as the Mad Emperor had told me—which was a relief.

I turned my attention to the surroundings.

The inside of Regen's mind was more devastated than I'd expected. Countless gravestones lined both sides of a narrow, winding path.

At least they weren't corpses—small mercy. If they had been, I'd have had to walk this path with my eyes closed.

The ground was dry and cracked, like wasteland on the verge of turning to desert. Given an environment where not even a single blade of grass seemed able to take root, I was already worried about his tree.

According to the Mad Emperor, the shape a mana core took, given form as a tree, differed from person to person.

Someone might have a towering conifer, as if daring to challenge the sky itself; someone else, a broadleaf tree whose girth exceeded a full arm-span.

Where on earth could it be.

After following the single path for a long while, withered branches began stretching over both sides of the road.

Even if they were nothing but dried-out branches, discovering a forest was a good sign. It meant his tree was likely somewhere nearby.

But then, I realized.

This isn't a forest.

I could only see branches—no trunk, no stem to be found. This entire thing was one single, enormous tree.

Right on cue, the trunk from which all these winding branches sprang came into view before my eyes.

It was so vast I couldn't even begin to guess how many people would need to link hands to encircle it.

Perhaps this was what the World Tree of myth had looked like.

I'd known his ability was extraordinary, but coming face to face with it made visible like this, it went beyond admiration—it stirred something closer to awe.

How do I even heal this?

The sight of it, stripped bare of every leaf, was bleak. I tried to pick up a single fallen leaf from the ground, thinking I might at least identify the species.

Just then, through the smell of thoroughly rotted leaves, a fresh scent of green grass rose up. Beneath my feet, greenery was spreading outward.

On a hunch, I turned to look behind me. Everywhere my footsteps had landed, the ground was coming back to life.

So all I have to do is walk around.

I walked on, running my hand along the branches as I went. I felt as though the tree had regained a little of its vitality.

The air, grown noticeably fresher, lifted my spirits. I gathered up the hem of my dress in my hand and took off my shoes.

I started running barefoot. Like a distant childhood I'd almost forgotten.

Rosasia Trinite Magnalorde. Regen's feelings toward her were complicated.

To begin with, she was the Mad Emperor's daughter. She'd grown up drinking down the blood and sweat he'd wrung from his people like honey—so let her answer for every one of his crimes, guilt by blood.

Was that all? No—she'd used the imperial bloodline's dominion power to force a knight's vow out of him. She'd bound him in a relationship of ruler and ruled. That was, unmistakably, oppression, and violence.

Hate her—he could, as much as he wanted.

And yet, the woman he'd watched all this time hadn't behaved like "the Mad Emperor's daughter."

To begin with, there was no ordinary paternal love to be found anywhere in a tyrant so depraved and lawless. Even as a princess, she hadn't lived a peaceful life, and she called her father the Mad Emperor to his face, making no secret of her contempt.

More than that—she'd told Regen she'd give him the chance for a greater cause, or for revenge, whichever he wanted. Even after using her power to command him, rather than exploit him, she saw to his comfort—in every way she could.

Even so—if he wanted to hate her, he'd have to work very hard at it.

He'd have to shrink his own sight through sheer stubbornness. Wrap himself up tight in self-pity. Blame everyone but himself, and force every good intention into the worst possible interpretation.

None of that was anywhere near who Regen was.

The grounds for hatred, laid down in layers at the bottom of him, wouldn't vanish. But they wouldn't catch, either.

Hold the line, as things stood now—that was all. No problem then. If he could manage just that much, he thought they might be able to go on satisfying each other's needs, in a dry, unremarkable sort of relationship.

And yet......

"......"

"......"

When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying face to face with Sasha in the same bed.

A beauty, defenseless up close, eyes closed, breathing softly and steadily. Regen was startled for a moment, but he was quickly able to recall how the situation had come about.

He touched his lips briefly with his fingers. Once he'd convinced himself it had only been an accident, the memory of that soft sensation troubled him a little less.

"Mm......"

Something shifted in Sasha's manner. It seemed she was about to wake, so he hurried to sit up and moved himself over to the stool at the bedside.

He composed himself, neat and proper, as though he'd never once lain beside her in that bed.

"Are you awake?"

"Ah, Regen."

Still half-asleep, she'd dropped the title. Just the name.