Just a few minutes prior, Ailn’s mind was working rapidly.

He had time to think this through.

The abbey was preoccupied with one tense confrontation after the other, which meant he could largely cut himself off from it and think.

After Renea’s testimony had largely set the inquisition at an impasse, they’d avoided the worst case scenario. But they hadn’t reached an ending Ailn would settle for either. He wasn’t in the business of letting a guilty man walk free.

So, Ailn strained every fiber of his being, and pushed the limits of his thought to figure out how they could catch him.

He profiled his culprit.

Aldous, unfortunately, was the kind of man that Ailn understood.

He was a smart enough, discerning enough man to understand that Renea was telling the truth. And while Renea’s irresponsible lies had genuinely contributed to her mother’s death, not even Aldous could possibly believe that revenge was justified.

That wouldn’t stop him.

Before Aldous was ever a man determined to have revenge, he was simply a man determined. And the moment he realized he was destined for Hell, he decided to march.

Aldous would seize any chance he had to take his inner turmoil and give it violent expression; he was opportunistic, always on the look-out. Framing Renea for his crime hadn’t even been his original intention—just a happy accident he grasped when it came within reach.

The question was, where would he mess up? Ailn tried to imagine every location relevant to the crime.

The courtyard. Could he have left something they failed to notice?

What about the kennel? Was there anything at all they could link to Aldous, besides the circumstantial evidence of the seal?

Ailn hadn’t managed to catch a whiff at all of the kennel master, or his probable corpse. He was certain that evidence trail was cold, but he forced himself to consider it, anyway.

Still nothing.

Then where?

It wasn’t as if Aldous had been particularly outstanding at covering his tracks. But there was essentially nothing in the way of forensics in this world, which meant getting away with murder was the expected result—not the exception.

Maybe this needed another angle. He put himself in Aldous’s boots.

Before the attack. Planning it: he’s subtly manipulating the movement of the knights. He’s walking through the filthy kennel to check on the shadow beasts. What’s he thinking?

Is he nervous? No. Does he pity the dogs? Hardly.

After the attack. On his way through the bailey and keep, just after committing murder. What was his mental state then? His physical state? Was he hiding any injuries?

It had to be then. That space in-between, that time in-between. From the courtyard to the ceremony.

What did he leave?

What could he possibly have left?

Something, somewhere.

No one exists in this world without leaving a trace.

To live is to exchange: every movement, every breath is a transaction. We take from our environment, and we give it something back. The brunt of things given and taken in this world are too small for the naked eye, but Ailn knew from experience, even if he couldn’t quite remember: people leave big things.

And they take big things too.

They never fail to.

Did Aldous have any gloating tendencies? Would he have left some kind of subtle celebration of his crime? No, even if he did, what use was that now?

Outside his thoughts, Ailn could faintly hear the direction of discussion changing.

“...Lady Renea has shown that she has no divine blessing.”

Kylian was trying to stall for him. Ailn picked up on that by now. All he could do was focus harder.

He could feel time slow down, like it tended to when he was in really desperate situations. He had to dig deeper.

Think. What was at the core of the suspect’s identity?

Resolve.

Whatever he did, he did it singularly. All the bitterness that consumed him after Celine’s death: the only way to move forward whole was to use it. Dealing with grief the same way as the rest of the world meant breaking apart.

Aldous was not the kind of man who would break apart. Even if learning how to rebuild yourself was the right thing to do.

What about guilt? Would Aldous at all have the paradoxical drive that causes unconscious self-incrimination?

It didn’t seem likely.

Ailn kept his frustration at bay. But objectively things weren’t looking good. Even as his mind kept accelerating, the nooks and crannies of this case seemed to be lacking for anything he needed.

No, he needed a big thing. A little ‘gotcha’ wasn’t going to do anything here.

That’s when Ailn heard it.

"It is akin to a priceless blade—so distinct and formidable that I imagine every knight present in this abbey recognized it instinctively.”

The sword. Kylian was trying to bait Aldous into talking about the sword.

It was the one thing the two of them never felt great about. It was a question with an answer that only ever got a C minus. And the way Aldous seemed to chomp onto the bait, Ailn knew right away.

This was it.

This was what they needed to answer. He knew it in his gut: solve this little mystery, and it would take care of their big problem.

The way Aldous was staring down Renea, evidently he thought the same. Protect the lie, and he had a slim chance at persuading the knights Renea should be voted guilty.

Why would Ailn have an orichalcum-dense sword?

It wasn’t the murderer he needed to think about. It was the victim. It was the original owner of the identity he was taking on right now, the real Ailn eum-Creid.

People looked down on him his whole life.

His mother did. His brother did. And to some extent the rest of his family did too, save Renea.

He was close to Renea. They had a close bond. He had to know she didn’t have the divine blessing since they were meeting. What’s he thinking? Why’s he training his sword?

He wants to protect her.

Ailn didn’t have strength, and he wanted it. No clout, no aura, the only thing he could train for was his physical ability. A classic swordsman.

He worked in the fields. That had to be tough on the body. Ailn could feel that his body was in good shape.

A hard agricultural lifestyle, and he still puts in the time on the wooden pell. He doesn’t say a word about it. He’s modest enough to better himself in secret, and live in a hovel contentedly.

So why? Why does he have that sword?

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

There was no way he was vain enough. Did he make a breakthrough? Did some kind of physical development lead to the reinvigoration of his divine blessing? A fine-tuned mastery of his miniscule aura that justified the higher quality sword?

No. It didn’t make sense.

Nothing Ailn had seen suggested that could happen. If effort could really be a game changer with holy aura, his family wouldn’t have shunned him in the first place.

Then why? Ailn just didn’t get it.

The world slowed to a crawl in front of him. He imagined himself in the courtyard. He felt the sword in his hands, and the pride in his chest. Ailn imagined Aldous slashing down at him, and knew the way he would parry.

What sword was in his hands? Was it dense with orichalcum? Or…

Was it… normal steel?

It had to be. Ailn could feel it right down to his soul: the cheaper, well-made, reliable steel sword that the real Ailn would’ve taken care of. It was almost like he could remember maintaining it himself, sharpening it against the whetstone.

Ailn used a steel sword in the courtyard that day.

Then… what happened to it?

No. There was an easier question. In fact, this one had a stupidly obvious answer.

Aldous was basically asking it right now. Why would he use holy aura to murder the original Ailn—when he could have just used his sword?

Everything fell into place.

The world that had been slowing down continuously from the furious pace of his brain stopped. Completely stopped. It almost seemed to blur around him.

Ailn knew right away: this wasn’t some kind of psychophysical phenomenon. It was almost exactly the same feeling as back then.

That time he woke up in the void.

Honestly? It ticked him off. Ailn was ready to raise hell with the teen god who came and went as he pleased. If he could pop in for a victory lap the moment Ailn got the case, then why they hell couldn’t he have provided any support?

“Hey kid, I don’t want you joining the celebration when you didn’t help,” Ailn said, turning around. “And you’re too young to drink cham— oh.”

The figure standing behind him wasn’t the young god at all.

Right in front of Ailn was himself.

No. That wasn’t quite right.

‘Ailn’ was staring at the real Ailn.

----------------------------------------

The detective couldn’t shake the absolutely uncanny feeling of seeing the real Ailn, when he’d been in his body these last few days.

He’d had the body just long enough to get used to it and think ‘that’s me’ while looking at the bonafide original.

Or at least the detective assumed this was the original Ailn. The young man in front of him was dressed in the same shabby tunic the detective had on when he first awoke in his body. And yet he had an altogether different countenance.

Same silver hair, same blue eyes. And a real warmth to his smile that the detective had just spent three days trying to fake.

“Seems as if you’ve figured it out,” Ailn said. “That’s certainly a relief.”

“...Yeah,” the detective replied. “It was… real touch and go for a moment there.”

“You’ve done something for me I won’t ever get a chance to repay,” Ailn said, his eyes looking a little sad as his smile turned wistful. “But I can at least show my gratitude. You did something like this, right?”

Ailn held out his hand for a handshake. And the detective, still in a daze, shook the young noble’s hand back.

That’s when the detective noticed it. On his own hand.

It was his watch.

He was his original self right now. Most of his memories were locked away, but he knew that much.

So, he was his old self shaking hands with his new self. Kind of. He noticed another thing: the original Ailn had a pretty good handshake.

“Web of the palm and everything…” the detective muttered. “Looks like you were paying attention.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ailn asked, puzzled.

“Guess I just didn’t think you were still hanging around,” the detective said. He paused, his tone honest and curious. “Is that really you, Ailn?”

“The very same,” Ailn said. “You should know better than anyone else, shouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah I guess so,” the detective said. It was a strange feeling. And as he was trying to process it all, he couldn’t help but inspect the watch he missed all this time.

Frozen on 3:06PM. Stainless steel with a brushed finish. And it never told him the real time because he was always fiddling with it.

Then Ailn frowned at the detective. “But I don’t have much longer.”

“...And that means?” the detective asked.

“I needed to see things through,” Ailn said. “Or rather, I was given the chance to see things through. A sort of courtesy extended to me, by… well, you met him.”

“The teen god, huh?” the detective said. “He must have felt guilty taking your body.”

“I’d wager I’m the one who owes him,” Ailn said. His smile took on a note of self-deprecation. “The reality of the situation is, you’re Ailn now. It’s your body from now on.”

“Are you merging into my subconscious or something?” the detective asked.

“...Unfortunately, this is where we say our goodbyes,” Ailn said.

The detective’s brows furrowed, and he didn’t say anything in response.

“And that’s why I have one last favor I’d like to ask of you,” Ailn said. He gave the detective an imploring look. “Could you look after Renea for me?”

“...Sure, I can do that,” the detective said, fiddling with his watch. He kept his face neutral.

“No, actually…” Ailn sighed. Now he was giving something more like a sheepish grin. “I’ll ask for a lot more, sorry. Could you be a brother to her? A real one?”

“I—” the detective winced. “That’s something I can’t… promise…”

“Please,” Ailn said. “I would be able to rest easier, knowing she had you.”

Honestly, the detective was really starting to hate the way Ailn smiled. There was always that twist of remorse in it, like he was apologizing for just existing.

But that didn’t make it any easier to say no.

“I know the weight of this request,” Ailn said, his voice softening. “But… Renea—”

“I’ll do it, damn it. I’ll do it,” the detective said, rubbing the back of his head in frustration. “I don’t think I could live with myself knowing I denied the last wish of a guy headed to the afterlife.”

“Thanks,” Ailn smiled. “I trust you.”

“You really shouldn’t,” the detective said.

“…Guess I’m off, then.” Ailn looked sadly off to the side, as if he wanted to stall for something to say. Then, after a few moments, he threw in, “Take care of my family too, will you?”

“You can’t just add stuff,” the detective sighed. Then, with an arched eyebrow he asked, “Including Sigurd?”

“Including… Sigurd,” Ailn said. Then he chuckled, sounding more irritated than amused as he gave the detective a pat on the shoulder. He shot the detective a small grin like he pulled something over on him. “I appreciate it. You’re a good man, you know.”

“Sometimes I pretend to be, at least.”

“That’s enough for me,” Ailn said. “I’m really off now.”

“See you, then,” the detective said.

But as Ailn was walking away, seemingly fully ready to head on out, he began to slow down before coming to a complete stop. At first the detective was gonna groan in exasperation.

Then he felt something a bit different in Ailn’s demeanor.

It was regret.

That was the emotion the detective understood best.

“Do you think… if I had been more like you, I would have been able to protect my family?” Ailn asked. His hands were clenched lightly, and his shoulders tensed up.

The detective frowned, not sure of how to respond. The answer was ‘probably not.’ The detective was pretty sure he hadn’t been able to protect what was dear to him in his own life. He was the last guy anyone needed to imitate.

But that was beside the point.

“...You did protect them, Ailn,” the detective said. “That’s the truth.”

“...Is that so?” Ailn asked.

“Your determination made the difference. Almost all those knights were given their strength. You built yours,” the detective said.

“And yet…” Ailn started.

“That’s the only reason I ever caught Aldous,” the detective said. “This was your victory. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Ailn said nothing in response. But the detective could see his hands shaking, even as they lightly unclenched.

And his eyes were looking straight forward.

“We got him, Ailn,” the detective said, with a grin. “I’ll make sure they know it.”

Ailn laughed a bit, as he gave a small nod.

“Alright then. I’ll take your word for it,” Ailn said. And with a backward wave, he really was off. “Take care of my sword for me. It’s… yours now.”

The detective couldn’t see it from where he was standing, but Ailn’s last smile as he walked off into the darkness was a cheerful one.

----------------------------------------

The new Ailn was back in reality. And he jumped right into action, snapping his fingers.

“I’ve got it. The smoking… no, what’s a phrase that would fit Varant. How about: I’ve got the bloody sword?” Ailn asked.

Aldous didn’t looked particularly distressed by Ailn’s confidence.

“More stories, Your Grace?” Aldous asked. “By all means.”

Ailn just chuckled. This one really went down to the wire. He hated close calls. And he hated almost losing. But he sure did enjoy grasping victory from the jaws of defeat.

“You know, Aldous, it’s been a rough day for me,” Ailn said. “It’s been a whole lot of bull, frankly. But I guess I was just reaping what I sowed.”

Ailn frowned.

“See, a moment ago I started going through my ‘memories,’ and thinking of a time I wasn’t always pissing people off.” Ailn glanced at all the knights who he set off, though he didn’t feel particularly sorry. “I was a gentler person back then. Before the attack.”

“...This time, I truly fail to see a point to your rambling, Your Grace,” Aldous said scowling.

“Just remembering who I was, Aldous. I needed to know what I was feeling when you came lunging at me with your sword,” Ailn shrugged. “Sad? Afraid? Angry? I just couldn’t call it to mind. I played it over and over in my head.”

Despite the condescending tone of his speech, Ailn’s face was completely serious.

“I thought of all the people who saw me as dirt, all these years,” Ailn said, his tone softening. “And I thought about how I trained my sword skills like a man determined.”

Ailn looked up wistfully. His gaze was trailing to the ceiling like he was watching something float away.

“What would I do in my own shoes?” Ailn muttered. “The admired, beloved high marshal is charging at me like a bull. The strongest man in the duchy. And the single knight most emblematic of everything I’d always been told that I wasn’t. That’s who was trying to kill me.”

Slowly, Ailn’s gaze left the ceiling, and he looked the knight right in the eye, unable to stop himself from laughing.

“You know what I’d do, Aldous?” Ailn grinned. “I’d win.”