TSMMT Ch 188

The Murderer

[Fafnir] "Do you wish to revive her?"

Should he have refused to listen to that voice? In his desperate grief, he had vowed to do anything if only he could turn back time.

[Fafnir] "I can revive her."

At those words, hope bloomed within him.

Revive her? She can be brought back? How?

When he asked how, a clear, ringing voice answered him.

[Fafnir] "Spill the blood of a million humans upon this earth."

Was it a demon's whisper? Guiscard stared into space, his mind blank.

[Fafnir] "My pitiable grandson. Do you still not understand? You must turn back time. To achieve that, an overwhelmingly vast power is required."

[Guiscard] "..."

[Fafnir] "Spill blood upon the earth at once! Spill the blood of mortals! Only then can grand magic be realized. You can acquire power vast enough to restore the dead to life."

The giggling voice sounded chillingly sweet.

[Fafnir] "Let us revive her. Let us restore the woman you love to life. To accomplish that, let us slaughter everything."

Guiscard gripped the hilt of his sword as if under a spell.

[Fafnir] "Child of my lovely Herya, dragon slayer, child of dragon blood. Like me, you comprehend how to love."

[Guiscard] "..."

[Fafnir] "Let us love. Let us kill in order to love. Then she shall return."

Would she? Could time actually be turned back? Does that even make sense?

Yet if this was the only way, he had to do whatever it took to save her.

He stared at Dianna's corpse, a ruthless resolve settling in his eyes.

[Guiscard] "Let us kill. Let us kill in order to love."

Kill. Slaying was the only path. Scatter the blood of a million souls. Find the way to undo his sins.

Then he could revive Dianna.

He could see Ann smile.

He could beg Ann for forgiveness.

He could watch Ann find happiness.

Ah, how blessed he was to have such a clear, simple solution. It could all be undone.

Guiscard laughed.

When sanity briefly returned to his mind, he had already slain the two knights who pledged loyalty to him. Bill had been the kindest companion during his mercenary days. Inez was a knight who had defied the nobility to enter his service, swearing fealty to him.

For an instant, guilt clouded his face, but he shook his head. No, they had to die anyway.

And so, he became a murderer.

An immortal being dies like a mortal only when genuinely desiring death. But because Guiscard no longer wished to die, he achieved true immortality.

This was the path to saving Dianna. At that realization, hope welled within his chest. The first people he slew were the members of the royal court.

They tormented Ann anyway, did they not?

Guilt grew dull. Indeed, if it failed to dull, he couldn't survive, nor could he revive Dianna.

He slaughtered his comrades, his friends, and those who admired him. Cutting down everyone in his path, he single-handedly butchered the rebel forces marching toward him.

He faced them head-on or, for maximum efficiency, ambushed them in their sleep. Even when a blade pierced his heart or gored his abdomen, he survived.

Though his body throbbed with agony, what did pain matter? What a sweet blessing immortality proved to be.

He killed. He killed, and killed, and killed again. Blood splattered and flesh flew.

There were times when a blow pierced his skull, and he lost consciousness for days, yet he recovered in short order.

As he slaughtered mortals, his skill at killing refined further, reducing how often his own body suffered death.

Whenever his body restored itself, Guiscard obsessively drew his blade and slaughtered people over and over.

Elderly folk and women, the disabled and the infirm, children who smiled upon seeing him—he slaughtered those helpless, fragile creatures without hesitation.

This was no warfare; it was butchery. Slaying a beast for meat or slaying mortals to restore a loved one: there was no difference between the two.

All he longed to see was Dianna's living face, her smile, and her gentle voice.

Just as he had during his mercenary days after escaping House Brienne, he recalled her smile while emotionlessly butchering people.

[Crowd] "P-Please, spare me!"

[Crowd] "Please, spare my life!"

[Crowd] "Aaaah! Spare me!"

Language became useless to Guiscard. Comprehending words brought only torment. At some point, he stopped speaking altogether, communicating solely through his sword like a prowling beast.

Whenever he killed an infant or a woman resembling Dianna, his mind collapsed.

Each time, he returned to the royal palace. The palace had long since fallen into ruin. Yet upon a bed placed in the cleanest chamber of those ruins, Dianna lay resting.

Sunlight seeped through the shattered ceiling, illuminating her in a sacred glow. In the filthiest, most wretched state imaginable, he looked upon her resting on the bed.

Upon that white bed, Dianna lay as though merely asleep.

The corners of his lips curled upward. Having forgotten how to smile long ago, the expression contorted his face like a snarling beast, unnatural and awkward.

Guiscard reached out, yet he dared not touch her with a palm caked in dried, rotting blood. So, he sat beside her bed, enduring long, grueling hours.

What if this bed moves and she awakens?

The royal palace has collapsed; would this place not feel far too desolate?

Moving his weary body sluggishly, he planted flowers around her.

The murderer tended those blossoms with painstaking care. And around the time new buds sprouted, he departed once more to slaughter people.

His eroded mind failed to regain sanity. Consequently, Fafnir's presence within him surfaced frequently.

In contrast to Guiscard's shattered psyche, Fafnir's unyielding hatred remained firm.

At times, he took on Fafnir's appearance and personality. It mattered little to him regardless.

What significance did control over his body hold? So long as it offered a faster route to meeting Ann, any means was acceptable.

Guiscard let out a faint chuckle. Adelheit Blake led his mages to oppose him, only to suffer a catastrophic defeat.

From that point forward, people stopped trying to oppose the calamity. The kingdom he once ruled turned into a wasteland. His vow upon taking the throne, that he would never rule like a tyrant, crumbled into irrelevance.

The Kingdom of Lodbrog became a mosaic of corpses. Human ribs lay exposed, unburied, while beasts scavenged upon rotting flesh.

Ah, would Ann not despise such a horrific sight? She hated dead bodies so intensely…

After deep deliberation, he planted flowers once more. Thus, he killed people, returned to the palace to plant flowers, killed more people, and planted more flowers.

When mortals grew scarce, Guiscard crossed the forest toward Panborough.

Because people kept fleeing, creating annoying inconveniences, he methodically slaughtered each person one by one.

Though he had lost everything, he never forgot the number. One million: he had to reach one million quickly.

He let out a sigh and hunted and butchered people. And when he slaughtered nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine souls, he visited Dianna once more.

[Guiscard] "Ah... ah... it... is... so... exhausting... A-Ann..."

Uttering human speech for the first time in an eternity felt awkward. Yet around her bed, vibrant blossoms bloomed, bathed in sacred golden sunlight. Flowers adorned her bed, looking as if someone had placed them with care.

Now, I need only kill one more person.

Only one person remains.

Let us kill just one more.

How should I kill him?

While lost in thought, Guiscard encountered a very young boy.

The boy spoke in surprise.

[Child] "Ah, you startled me!"

The boy cradled flowers in his arms.

[Guiscard] "D-Did... y-you... do... this?"

The boy tilted his head before nodding.

[Child] "These are flowers for the princess. I found her by chance! Mister, did you come to meet the princess too?"

Whether the child possessed overflowing goodwill, speaking warmly to a filth-covered monster drenched in blood and offering flowers to a dead woman, mattered not in the slightest.

Thus, Guiscard slaughtered his final victim, and the blood of a million souls finally spread across the earth.

And...

When Guiscard regained consciousness, he found himself in another world. To be precise, he had returned to the past.

His wish had been granted. Dianna Brienne was restored to life. He offered a bright, radiant smile.

Here, I don't need to kill anyone. Dianna needs only to live happily.

However, upon hearing the news shortly thereafter, Guiscard stared in sheer disbelief.

[Crowd] "Taking a woman from Panborough as Queen?!"

[Crowd] "Our King even slew a dragon, so why?!"

Guiscard stood in dazed shock. He realized with instinctive clarity: the world had repeated itself once more, and the calamity remained alive and well—his own self, his second-life self!

[Guiscard] "I... I... must... save her..."

His second-life self was sinning against Dianna as well, and would sin again.

No. If this continued, she would die again.

She would die again.

He unleashed a scream of agonizing rage.