Chapter 11 - Lost Memories Part Two
About fifty years ago, that man suddenly appeared in this “world,” in a rural part of North America.
He was only two or three years old at the time, but possessed enough intelligence to understand both language and the fact that he was utterly alone. Even so, his young body couldn’t handle the psychological burden. Overwhelmed with fear, all he could do was cry and scream. A few hours later, he was found by a young man and woman who introduced themselves as his kin.
The two told him they were the last survivors of the Faysil.
A non-human ancient race,the only one still remaining on this side of the world. It seemed that the people of Faysil had all but vanished from this world.
Thousands of years ago, there had been several intelligent races coexisting with countless actual "deities."
But three thousand years ago, the balance of the world was shattered by a single girl.
Faysil were like half-spirits, often called Elfin by humans, fairy-folk blessed with eternal lifespans.
Their appearance never aged, but more importantly, when a Faysil died, they would be partially reconstructed into this world—retaining half of their memories and physical traits from their past life. Because of this, the Faysil, who were reborn resembling their former selves, were revered by humans and other races alike as the beings closest to the gods.
However, three thousand years ago, the one called the black-haired girl, most beloved by the gods, betrayed them and was cursed.
The gods’ wrath never waned. The broken balance of the world resulted in its division into two realms. The gods withdrew from this side of the world entirely.
The man and woman who had taken the boy in believed the Faysil had fallen into decline because the gods had abandoned them.
They believed that by destroying the book left behind by the black-haired girl and repeatedly killing her as she continued to reincarnate into this world as a Faysil, they could atone and lift the gods’ curse.
The boy had not reincarnated but been born into this world as a result of the man and woman's wish.
Faysil reproduce by sharing part of their own existence, through a wish. Though they could also have children the normal way, in the past thousand years, natural conception had only resulted in ordinary humans—proof that the race was nearing its end.
The pair named the child after the word for Squall, and raised him with great affection, dreaming of a new era of Faysil prosperity.
And twenty years later, that boy—Squall—would meet a girl in Arizona whose name meant Camellia.”
“What is the meaning of this, Muramase-sama? To bring people like them into this sacred place…”
“It is necessary to awaken That One. By offering this sacrifice, That One shall truly awaken.”
The Priestess’ attendant turned pale as she saw the unconscious girl carried by a mercenary behind Muramasa.
Without warning, Muramase had brought outsiders into the sacred underground chamber dedicated to That One.
Only a select few from the political and financial elite were permitted entry here. Even Muramase, who had been entrusted with the site’s management for over twenty years since bringing in the ancient forbidden text, the Book of the Black-Haired Girl, was now committing an overreach of authority.
If any high-ranking official were to arrive now to offer their own sacrifice, even the attendants who allowed this would not escape punishment.
“Yo, Muramase! Is that sacrifice still alive? How rare!”
Tactless, the theologian Nicholas cheerfully greeted them and approached the mercenaries without a shred of hesitation, peering down at the unconscious girl.
“What beautiful black hair… like the legendary black-haired girl herself.”
“…”
Muramase frowned slightly at that remark and stepped in front of Nicholas, shielding the girl from view.
“She is a special offering. Do not pry. The ritual begins now. Nicholas, wait outside until it’s over.”
“What!? You’re telling me, a theologian, that I can’t witness the moment a new god awakens!? Unbelievable!”
As expected, this man was troublesome. Muramase decided not to waste time arguing and revealed part of the truth.
“Something... unfortunate has occurred. There is a chance that the Chaos God will interfere.”
“What… did you say…”
Though the gods had vanished from this side of the world, the Five Great Gods and certain demon gods still retained influence.
One of them, known as the Chaos God, was said to always leave behind an agent whenever great disorder or war erupted in the world.
The Chaos God’s symbols were the White Butterfly and the Black Butterfly. Muramase had made contact with what he believed to be the White Butterfly, and had no choice but to retreat before it took further interest.
“…Those mercenaries are for that, then?”
Nicholas turned his gaze toward the ten mercenaries Muramasa had brought.
“Not just for that…”
“Well, no matter! I won’t run. There are at least five hundred sacrificial bodies we’ve resurrected with That One’s power. Use them however you like!”
“Very well. Then begin preparing the ritual.”
Leaving the site in Nicholas and the mercenaries’ care, Muramasa stepped outside quietly—to try once more to persuade her.
***
My bond with Hana-chan tells me where she is.
My parched heart begins to crack, my memories slowly returning.
Not from three years ago. Earlier—memories from countless past lives.
Still in my pitch-black sailor uniform, I dash through the city and find myself in a quiet area surrounded by trees. Even in the city center, not everything was buildings, places like the Imperial Palace and Meiji Shrine still existed.
I stop. …There are unnaturally few people here. I can sense something—but see nothing.
Quietly, I scan the area with my eyes—and there, far off, I spot the enormous sword that only I can see.
I glare at it.
“…I have no business with you right now. Blade God—”
Long ago, the one who gave me the Blade of Strength, the deity called Jinshin Mitsurugi, the Blade God.
The Blade God grants power to those who seek it. What do you desire from me?
“...”
I hear footsteps crunching gravel ahead. Turning toward the sound—I see him. The young man who saved me in the city. His gentle, deep-blue eyes gaze at me.
“Camellia...”
“…Squall?”
His name floats up from the depths of my memory. That’s right… I met him before, in a past life.
“Your memories… they came back?”
“...”
He was kind. He told me not to live alone. He said we should live together…
“You don’t have to fight anymore.”
“…Why—?”
“You know it too, Camellia. It’s all… pointless now.”
—You’re saying that?
“The curse ends here. I’ll end it. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
He steps closer. I take a step back.
“…What did you do to Hana-chan?”
“…It was decided by the gods. Nothing I do can change that. I’m only… speeding it up a little.”
“…Step aside, Squall.”
When I speak with force, pain shadows his expression.
“Camellia… how much do you know about us Faysil?”
“...”
Squall begins to speak. Of the Faysil born suddenly into the world, carrying half their past lives’ memories and form—but two were different.
“You and the black-haired girl. Only you two are born exactly the same, every time. …Because of that cursed curse.”
“…So what?”
“Camellia… you can still be saved. If you just forget the hate and the anger… you can live a normal life. You don’t have to be alone anymore! I—”
“…Don’t be ridiculous.”
Fury shakes my voice. Squall’s words are cut off.
“Forget my hatred? Throw away my anger? Don’t be ridiculous! What do you know!? All she wanted was to live! I wanted to save her—and I couldn’t! I’ve watched her cry, suffer, and die horribly again and again!”
My vision turns silver once more. My ribbon tightens—becoming a "sawblade."
“It’s been fifteen hundred years… I’ve fought alone for fifteen hundred years! If this world, if the gods reject and hurt her—!”
I step forward and lock eyes with Squall.
“Then this entire world… is my enemy.”
Anyone who hurts her, I’ll kill. Even kind Squall.
“...”
“...”
Without another word, I pass by Squall.
As I break into a run, I hear his quiet whisper behind me:
“—Stop her.”
From all sides, the once-hidden, silent people pounce at once.
Children, adults, elderly, men and women, charging with bare hands, knives, whatever they had.
“...”
Swish!
The saw-ribbon slices through several necks at once.
But there were too many. Dodging between up to thirteen sawblades, I grab a young woman’s head and smash it into the man beside her, shattering their skulls.
I kick a charging boy, slash the surrounding necks, and stomp an old man’s head after he was dragged down by the boy.
In seconds, fifty fall, but more than half remain.
“…!”
Just as I sever another neck, someone grabs my long hair, others crash onto me like a tidal wave, burying me in a sea of bodies.
Clink… clink… the sound of hardened steel—
Tinkle… the dry chime of death—
Over a hundred heads fly into the air, severed all at once.
Blood fog and splatter all around me. I rise, soaked in crimson, noticing a severed hand still gripping my hair.
I cut it off, along with my long hair, at the base of my neck.
And I remember everything. I am—
Princess Tsubakiri.