Flakes of snow fell all around him, drifting gently to the ground in the still evening air.
Winter had only just begun, but the snow had already begun to pile up in the gaps between the trees. This far north, when the cold came, it came quickly.
He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself with one hand as a harsh wind suddenly ran across the clearing, his bones feeling almost brittle as even the heat his enchanted cloak produced couldn’t keep up with the chill.
The problem wasn’t the cloak, he knew. It was still working exactly as he had designed it. It was his own body that was failing, his own internal body heat growing weaker in his extreme old age.
He even had to use a cane these days in order to move around any significant distance.
Ferris was always telling him to take better care of himself, but alas, he couldn’t afford to listen to all of his apprentice's advice.
It made him a bit morbid at times, to see how one of the closest friends from this life outgrow his youth and step into old age. Roswaal felt a bit guilty to think it, but he was glad he’d be departing first. He and his mission would endure, but his mind would be coloured by his new vessel.
Roswaal felt a smile rise on his lips as he recalled the day he had introduced his son to Ferris.
He had been shocked, both that Roswaal had a son in the first place, and that he had managed to conceive one at sixty years of age.
Roswaal L. Mathers, his son and the current acting Margrave, had grown into an uptight and serious individual. He had a work ethic that could put Rem to shame, and intelligent enough to spar words with Ram as an equal. Those were traits that would serve him well as the next head of the Mathers family.
It was selfish, but Roswaal knew that the two maids would help take care of him, and that combined with his closest friend’s help, that he would live a fulfilling life.
He paused, his footsteps slowing, then he shook his head with a smile.
Serve me well, I should say. Old age is making me senile.
Perhaps it was inevitable that he would begin to think sentimentally on such matters, after all, soon it would be up to the next generation. He had been growing tired more easily, and much of his days were spent resting.
But even so, he had no intention of actually doing such a thing. He had already prepared the ritual to move his soul, and his death would trigger it.
But some part of him—the part that was mostly Karl—would be left behind as he merged with his son. Perhaps it was that part thinking such things.
Despite the fading daylight, Roswaal’s each step was sure, long experience allowing him to easily prowl through the darkened clearing.
He was by himself, an occurrence that had been happening more regularly as of late. It wasn’t the first time he’d needed to distance himself from people and yet…
He pulled a slim, nondescript book out of his robes, his eyes tracing the design on the cover, all in black and dark grey. The weight and appearance was a perfect match to the book his teacher had created all those centuries ago, he’d even spent considerable time matching its smell. It should have been flawless.
His mind couldn’t tell any differences, even his magical senses honed to perfection detected nothing. But the real Tome of Wisdom felt heavy, as if he was carrying the weight of the world every time he gazed upon it.
It hadn’t even been more than a few hours since he’d stashed the real copy away, and yet he felt uprooted, as if a pillar in his life had disappeared and left him behind to crumble.
His caution was likely unnecessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Better for any curious individuals who had learned of his habit of checking a book to have their questions answered by a personal journal, rather than his real tome.
Pressing the fake book against his heart, he continued his stroll, knowing just how important these moments were, with what was to soon come.
He’d known the day was coming for years, and after a lifetime working to support the kingdom, he now had one final role to play.
A small smile crept onto his face, far smaller than his customary grin as he thought of the future his student would help create.
Teacher, is this how you felt when I…
He stumbled, his foot shifting as he placed it down on a patch of loose snow. He managed to catch himself with his cane, but it was a close call.
Even with all my experience, I still can’t get used to being old. Not that I really have much practice.
It was rare that his bodies would live all the way into the depths of old age. On average, he spent just under forty years in one body before moving onto the next.
Julia had died early, which meant that Roswaal had spent almost seventy years as Karl.
Now he was older than he had ever been before, a wrinkled seventy-eight year old man. Or was it seventy-nine? He rarely kept track of things like that these days.
All of a sudden, he felt eyes on his back. He was no longer alone in the forest.
He kept walking. This wasn’t the first time he had sensed the presence of his guest. While he couldn’t be sure, he suspected he had reacted slightly the first time he had sensed her on his evening walks, enough so that she hadn’t wanted to take any actions without further observation.
Would this be the day when she finally acted? Roswaal wasn’t sure. She was a frightfully cautious individual.
The tome never strayed from the style it had been written in, always revealing the future as a set of instructions without explanation. Few of those instructions related to her, but Roswaal had spent centuries pouring over every word of them, and he had inferred the basics of her personality from them.
Her actions all those years ago against the royal family were proof enough of her cowardice.
She had manipulated a curse to wipe them out, and when that had failed, she had relied on minions to try and finish the job.
If she had acted herself, perhaps she would have succeeded. But she hadn’t lived this long by being reckless. Thwarting her plans the first time almost guaranteed that she would back off.
The gaze felt more intense this time. Like a lion, tired of stalking its prey, and deciding to come into the light.
He heard the soft thump of feet hitting snow behind him, and then came the voice.
“Well, well, meatbag!”
He froze as if caught off guard, then slowly turned to look at the speaker.
The sun had set, and the sky was growing dark, so he could only make out the vaguest details about her, her silhouette, the outlines of her clothing, and the vicious smile on her face. She was short, but the large feathered wings stretching up from her back made her appear almost as tall as him, and a black draconic tail waved behind her.
The sight before him should have made him wary, but all he felt was satisfaction. The time had finally come.
“Oh? That’s a new one,” the woman said, tilting her head. “Usually people have more interesting reactions when I do that. Can’t you offer something more than that blank look? At the very least, you should be enamoured by my loveliness.”
“My apologies, but I’m too old to be acting surprised at every little thing that comes up,” Roswaal said, trying to add a touch of fake nerves to his voice. He wanted to give the impression that he hadn’t been expecting her, so he had to show some emotion.
With a flick of his fingers, two fireballs burst into existence beside him, illuminating their surroundings, the trees around them casting dancing shadows.
But as soon as the light illuminated his adversary, he felt his pulse increase, as he tightened his fists.
Now he could clearly see the golden lustre of her hair, and her malevolent eyes, as scarlet as blood.
Those features… That’s the same as… Why is she…?
“Oh?” the woman asked, beginning to preen in the light. “I suppose it can’t be helped if you couldn’t see me. Humans are creatures that need to see to understand what’s loveable, aren’t they?”
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“Hmm?” the woman paused for a moment, then smiled. “Ah, yes, I should introduce myself, so you have a name for the new love of your life. I am a Sin Archbishop of the Witch’s Cult, representing Lust. Capella Emerada Lugunica.”
‘Lugunica’? She claims to be part of the royal family?
Roswaal wasn’t sure what to think. His opponent was a Sin Archbishop, so it wasn’t out of the question that she was lying, but… but what if she wasn’t?
His mind whirled, tracing back the lineage of Lugunica’s royalty. He had been the kingdom’s Court Mage for many generations, so it wasn’t difficult to match the name she had given with one from his memories.
Emerada? That girl?
He focused his attention back on her face, comparing it to what he remembered from his previous incarnations, and recognition dawned on him.
She was the spitting image of Emerada Lugunica, the vain, cruel and pitiful princess that the kingdom would prefer to pretend had never existed.
For a moment, he was truly caught off-guard. From his time spent reading his tome, he had gleaned that his encounter with her would be shocking, but he wasn’t quite prepared for a surprise like this.
Is it really her? And even assuming she's a fake, why would she pretend to be Emerada of all people?
He’d known Emerada briefly, in another life. While he’d barely interacted with her, and much of what he knew came solely from rumours, it did paint a picture.
He had once scolded her for starting a fight with her sisters, had taught her the basics in magic for the few times she had been present for the lessons he gave the royal children, along with a smattering of other minor interactions.
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If Roswaal had personally gotten to know her better, perhaps he would be able to tell whether the person standing before him was a pretender, or if she had somehow figured out a way to cheat death.
Shifting his stance slightly, he felt the weight of his tome silently reassure him. If he had been meant to know for certain, then it would have told him to interact more with Emerada when he’d had the opportunity. Therefore, her true identity was unimportant.
Even so, he couldn’t stop the curiosity blooming inside him. It had been almost a hundred years since her death, and any who had known her in life had since passed on, but there were still avenues of research that could be taken. Perhaps in his next life, he would be able to find out more from the historic documents. There wasn’t too much planned for L’s life anyway. It would make for a good distraction.
Still, it would be helpful if he learned as much as possible while he had the opportunity.
“Lugunica?” he asked, tilting his head. “That’s quite a bold claim. I can’t say I can believe it, even with your appearance. After all, King Fourier has no children that look like you.”
The girl in front of him froze, her mouth twisting into a slight snarl, and her voice taking on a trace of anger.
“Don’t bring them up, meatbag. I’ve already given you the privilege of addressing me by my name,. If you want more, then you’ll have to earn it.”
From her expression, Roswaal surmised that she wasn’t going to speak further on the subject. Pressing the issue would likely just make her retaliate.
“Well then… Capella, was it? For what reason have you sought out an old man on his evening walk?”
Capella sneered. “Are you going senile? You are frightfully old, so I suppose it’s not out of the question. I’m here to ensure the natural order of things, to make sure your love is directed to the right person.”
Then she shook her head. “But one would think that my position as a Sin Archbishop of the Witch’s Cult would be reason enough to cause mischief, no? Ah, how lonely it must be to have begun to lose your train of thought. I’m sure no one else understands.”
“But don’t worry!” she exclaimed, spreading her arms wide. “Now that I’m here, you can expend all your love on me! You don’t have to worry about anything else, because as the Archbishop of Lust, there was never anything you could have done.”
Roswaal smirked, forcing his face to show amusement. Against an opponent like this, if he wanted to accomplish his goals, then he needed her angry in order to satisfy her with just his death. Anything that could keep her anger off the kingdom for even a little longer would be useful.
“That’s quite the declaration. However, I can’t say I’m impressed,” he said, lifting his hands and shaking his head. “I’ve killed a Sin Archbishop before. For him to lose to an old man such as myself, it makes one wonder whether the rumours of the Sin Archbishops are overstated.”
He closed one eye, allowing yellow to stare her down. “Will you be joining him, I wonder?”
Capella had shown signs of frustration before, but that was nothing compared to the rage that rose on her face at his words.
“How dare you.” she whispered, eyes draining of colour. “First your kingdom killed some of my children, then your half baked student stole another away, and then worst of all, you killed that weakling! Do you realise that his meatbag brother decided to blame me!”
Flesh twisted as she screamed, her face shifting into a snarling dragon, the only thing remaining unchanged was the unabated hatred in her eyes focusing solely on Roswaal.
“He took so many of my children, and it’s all because of you!”
For a moment it appeared as if all control would fail her, as her tail and wings twitched and writhed as if she were going to leap out and tear him apart. Roswaal’s hand tightened on his cane, ready to activate the magical defences it contained at a moment’s notice.
But then she closed her eyes, and the dragon vanished as quickly as it had appeared, flesh changing once more into human.
“But! I am the lovely and lovable Capella. I can find it myself to forgive you, if you give your love to me!”
Again with the ‘love’. She had said the same thing several times already. Roswaal had initially thought it was simply a peculiarity of this Sin Archbishop, but the more she talked, the more he examined how she behaved, the more he began to think that she was being entirely genuine.
Unable to stop himself, Roswaal laughed. The thought of a Sin Archbishop desiring love from him was so ridiculous that he just couldn’t help it.
“I’m afraid you're much too late for such a thing,” he said, a trace of wistfulness entering his tone. “I swore a long time ago that my heart would be dedicated only to one, and that promise is something far more important than my life.”
Capella scoffed. “Really? I never expected such naivety from you. Do you think that it’s possible to control your heart?”
She clasped both hands in front of her and her voice took on a sing-song, mocking tone.
“‘There’s only one person I love, there’s only one person for me, there’s no way I could love someone else. After all, the reason I love her is because she saved me, without her I’m nothing. Before I met her, my life was colourless, but after I met her, the world changed!’”
She snarled and threw her hands out.
“It’s all lies! Pretty platitudes to hide the truth!”
Her form twisted, and began to change rapidly. Her golden hair turned blue, then red, then green, her eyes brown, then grey, then amber, her body growing and shrinking freely. One moment she was a slender young woman, the next a burly man, then a child.
Not one detail about her appearance remained the same between one moment and the next as she shifted though a thousand forms.
“All people are the same, just bags of meat who go after other meatsacks that suit their tastes. Since I’m the infinitely lovable Capella, I can be anything to anyone. I’ll work hard to raise my charm, and make sure all others have no charm at all, all to ensure that everyone’s love is directed to where it belongs!”
Shaking his head slowly, Roswaal's smile deepened as he locked eyes with the shifting figure.
“That is certainly a lofty goal. I can’t deny that if you were successful, you would be the most envied person in this world. But to claim that you can completely control all love? I’d thought Gluttony was arrogant in his attempt to consume and subjugate memories, but if this is the sort of goal Sin Archbishops set for themselves, perhaps I was wrong.”
Capella tilted her head, then her ever-shifting form stilled, and she shrunk back into her previous form, golden-haired with scarlet eyes.
“Perhaps I should just show you, then. I already have a good idea of what kind of meatbags you like.”
Then she transformed into the most horrific form possible.
Roswaal felt his eyes widen in shock, his breath picked up and for a moment he froze completely.
She was standing in front of him.
It was an utter mockery of her. There was no kindness in the quirk of her smile, no great wisdom in her eyes. But it looked so much like her, the person he had longed to see for over four hundred years.
A smile rose on the woman’s face, and she darted forward, her white hair streaming behind her, her black eyes fixed on his, arms widening as if to embrace him, and he instantly knew that if he didn’t move that very instant, it’d be the last thing he ever saw.
Mana surged, straining his gate as he tapped into his Od for the first time in this lifetime.
His every sense screamed at him to erase the perversion in front of him. His very lifeforce drained away to fuel his magic. In that moment of frozen power he could have erased this field dozens of times over.
Yet it wasn’t his Od that betrayed him in the end. It was the memories he’d long since internalised as his own, the knowledge that if he didn’t burn this sight into him then Karl would never get the chance to see her as himself.
His hesitation lasted less than a second, but it was a moment too long. As her arms embraced him, the power he’d summoned withered as his own gate turned against him.
His bones twisted and his nerves screamed as his form twisted, the pain blossomed in his mind as the shape he'd worn for decades was stripped from him, his cane falling out of grasp as his hands seemed to melt away.
What hurt most of all was the feeling of his gate shifting with him, while never the strongest his gate was his, something only Karl possessed, and now it had gone beyond his reach, stolen along with his metia by this horrific transformation.
Blinking, all he saw was the dirt before him, but even as he pushed against the dirt all he managed was to rise a few inches before he crashed back down.
“There, down on the dirt where you belong,” her voice said, and the flash of rage had him in the air buzzing angrily, before the realisation struck.
That wasn’t a sound a human could make.
He felt like he had many more limbs than he was used to, and he had a strange sensation on his back, like he had an extra set of shoulders.
He couldn’t turn his head to look at himself, but he could roughly feel what shape he was.
Had he been turned into some kind of giant insect? A beetle, or perhaps a fly?
He felt raw, as if the control he’d so carefully crafted had been stripped away. Could he even assume his mind was his own, or that he’d retain all of these memories when he reincarnated?
“Disgusting aren’t you? After all, your outer form matches that of your inner self now. You may now thank my magnificent self. Ah, but I did make sure you could still see me normally. After all, you should still have the blessing of falling in love with my merciful self. And I’ve left enough of your voice box that you can still beg me for mercy.”
Every word she spoke with her voice caused his anger to burn even hotter, but he forced the anger down before he spoke.
“You said that all love belongs to you, then why is it that even after being affected by your authority, my heart remains my own?”
Watching her frown repelled and attracted him, and he realised that while part of him wanted to close his new eyes, and hide from her as much as possible, the other half was desperately carving every expression the form he saw into his heart.
“How boring. You're supposed to be buzzing angrily and helplessly right now, not calmly sitting still,” she said, swinging her arm at him. An arm that shifted and transformed into a set of dragon talons.
Foreign instincts rose telling him just how to avoid the blow, but he ignored them and did his best to simply hover in place, and while she didn’t stop her blow, the claws vanished, leaving only a dragon’s paw to slam into him instead.
The force was enough to instantly launch him forward, frantic wing flaps allowing him to control his flight path, even as the pain rampaging through his body told him it was unlikely he would survive another such strike.
“To think that you would, blunt your strike for me, Capella. I’m flattered.”
Brow furrowing, Capella’s black eyes narrowed as disgust filled them, the expression twisting his teacher’s face into one filled with hate.
“Giving up already? How disappointing, I’d always known that weakling barely qualified as a Sin Archbishop, but to think someone as pathetic as you killed him makes me even more ashamed that I was connected to him. Although I suppose that trick you pulled with your mana might have been impressive… if you’d had the spine to actually use it.”
She held her gaze on him, her flesh writhing as the dragon’s paw melted back into the form of a human hand.
“I wonder if you think refusing to run away will allow you to die easier… Well, I promise that you’ll regret even attempting to spoil the fun of the great Capella.”
Eyes blazing with anger, her hand should have been rough, but instead she grabbed one of his forelegs gently, caressing it with a smile that caused his stomach to twist.
“Let’s see, let’s see. How should I begin?”
Her hands gently ran down his twisted form, but he couldn’t quite disguise the shiver of horror and self hatred he felt as his muscles tensed, and his wings emitted a low buzz.
What a pathetic end. Hopefully, this will be enough to calm some of her anger.
Still seemingly not focusing too much on him, Capella squeezed his forelimb one final time, smiling even as it started to dissolve.
Pain shot through him, beyond anything he had ever experienced in his entire life as Karl. But this wasn’t the first time he'd seen his flesh dissolve before his eyes, nor did he expect it to be the last.
Watching Capella’s smile tighten as her eyes bore into him, he tried to feel satisfaction but even that felt hollow, even as the sensation magnified as his entire body started to dissolve.
Part of him wanted to fake screaming, would it bring an honest smile to her face if he did? But even the thought made him try to turn his head away from her.
“How pathetic, are you so desperate to stay near this form, that you won’t try to escape even when you're being melted alive?” Capella asked, black eyes dancing with twisted amusement.
“I am not so foolish as to expect that running would help me stay alive,” he shot back, feeling his own anger and disgust fade away.
Yet he still took satisfaction as he watched the amusement slowly drain out of her, as the minutes passed by.
Already she’d needed to reform the body she’d created several times, and despite his lack of care for the pain he felt, Roswaal could still feel how much strain the transformations were on his body. At this rate he suspected that she’d only be able to reform him two or three more times if she pushed. Beyond that, his body would simply fall apart.
In a way part of him wanted to thank her. Even if it was a lie, dying in his teacher’s arms was one of his dearest wishes. One day, maybe he’d experience it for real. But that Roswaal wouldn’t be Karl. If he remembered this moment in his next lives, he’d undoubtably feel disgusted and horrified by her form.
But for now, he simply relaxed, and let himself dream of a time long past.