Chapter 186
Let me tell you a hypothetical story.
Suppose that in a certain world, the fate of one person is predetermined—they are destined to die in an accident.
A single phrase—"Please stop!"—could have prevented it.
But in that worldline, those words were never spoken, and the person met their abrupt end.
However, what if a witness could go back thirty minutes before the accident and stop it?
Anyone might think that the person was saved and fate was overturned.
But was the fate of death truly overturned? Even someone who could return to the past wouldn’t know unless they could see the future.
Did they live out their natural lifespan and pass peacefully in their sleep?
Or was death merely postponed, only to claim them again at a different time?
No one can predict the ripple effects of altering fate.
The destiny of one girl, who was originally meant to clash with a crawling dragon and meet her brief end—
"Your Excellency, step back!!"
—now teeters on the brink of another crisis.
"Hmm, as expected of the Duke’s guards. Quite the satisfying resistance."
His hands drenched in blood, gripping a dagger that painted the ground crimson, the man clad in the armor of the Duke’s household—
"You disguised yourself as one of my guards?!"
"Oh? You know of me?"
—wore the face of a soldier who served the Edelgard Ducal House.
But the loyal soldier’s face twisted into a grotesque crescent-moon grin, and the Duke immediately realized the man before him was an imposter.
During their escape from the danger zone, the Duke had brought five guards.
Three of them had already been cut down by this man, who had approached them shouting about a message.
"My, my, it seems I’ll have to make you thoroughly explain how you learned of me."
With leisurely steps, the man closed in on the Duke, his warped smile never fading.
"Esmeralda, go call for reinforcements."
"……If only it were that simple."
Their swift retreat had left them too far from the guards they’d left behind. By the time reinforcements arrived, the Duke and his remaining guards would already be slaughtered.
Both the Duke and Esmeralda understood this—and that their enemy was not the type to let them call for help so easily.
The Duke drew his saber and took a stance.
Esmeralda retrieved a small wand, hidden for self-defense.
"You could always run, you know? I adore cutting people down from behind."
"I would rather die than be cut down while fleeing."
"Oh? Then I’ll have to think of another way to carve up your back."
"You’re as twisted as the rumors say."
"Yes, yes! But even so, someone adores me like this~"
He gave them time to ready their weapons—proof of his overwhelming confidence.
Inwardly, the Duke regretted not asking Liberta for reinforcement, no matter how unreasonable the request. Though he had never neglected his martial training despite his noble duties, he had no confidence in defeating the monster before him.
Had the man wished, he could have slaughtered them all in a single ambush.
Yet he had deliberately stopped after killing three.
"No intention of changing your minds, I see."
His grin widened, and just before stepping into attack range, he paused.
"Ah, right! Let me ask your guards something first."
As if suddenly remembering—or as if struck by inspiration—he turned his attention to the two surviving guards instead of the Duke.
"If you abandon the man you’re supposed to protect and run, I’ll spare your lives. How about it?"
His words were a direct insult to their pride as soldiers.
The jester of madness was offering them a choice: abandon their lord and live, or die with honor.
"Don’t mock us!!"
"We are the Duke’s sword and shield! We would never abandon our lord to scum like you!!"
The two soldiers seethed, their rage palpable, but reason held them back—attacking now would play right into his hands.
"Ahhh, what a shame. Such a shame. I wanted to slice the tendons of your fleeing backs, cripple your legs, sever the muscles in your shoulders, leave you writhing helplessly as I slaughtered your lord right before your eyes—and then ask…"
The jester of madness shrugged theatrically, his disappointment exaggerated.
"So, how does it feel to live after abandoning your lord?"
His laughter was as mocking as his title suggested.
Even knowing it was a provocation, the soldiers’ fury boiled over, their restraint fraying.
"Ahhh, this is bad. So bad. I’ve been cooped up for so long—this freedom is intoxicating! This is the real me! I’ve never been happier!!"
But their anger was no match for his madness.
Stepping into the abyss required courage.
"The passage is sealed! No help is coming at this point—how dull would that be? Now, for the final act! First, the soldiers—"
With a flick of his bloodstained blade, he pressed his foot against a dead soldier’s head, grinding it into the ground as he laughed.
"Once I’ve immobilized the Duke, I’ll take my time carving up the lovely young lady, piece by piece. Oh! Or maybe poison her, let her suffer, dangle an antidote just out of reach~? Ah, don’t worry, Duke—if you answer my questions, I’ll make sure to kill her gently after I’ve shredded her to pieces!"
His excitement was at its peak, a dam finally broken after years of restraint.
His words were a mess of contradictions.
But to him, they made perfect sense.
"Now then—right hand? Left leg? Right eye? Left ear? Ah, why not all at once?"
His dagger swayed playfully, as if deciding where to cut first.
The two remaining guards exchanged a glance.
"Your Excellency, we’ll open a path. Use the opening to—"
"……My apologies."
They readied themselves to die.
"No, this is farewell!!"
"Ready!!"
"Fall back!!"
"Yes!!"
The soldiers struck simultaneously.
"Oho! Resistance! The path to despair! Ah, yes! Struggle all you want—I welcome it!!"
"Die!!!"
"Shut your mouth!!"
He effortlessly evaded their strikes, parrying with his dagger.
Frustratingly, despite his mocking demeanor, his swordsmanship was undeniably skilled.
Two against one—normally, the smaller side would be at a disadvantage.
But these were the Duke’s personal guards, elites even among the Ducal House’s forces.
Yet even their coordinated assault failed to land a single scratch on the jester of madness.
Instead, the two guards slowly accumulated wounds.
"Gh—my body…"
Their movements grew sluggish.
Their fingers numbed, their vision blurred, their breathing ragged.
"Feeling numb? This dagger’s coated with a special poison. It’s eating away at you bit by bit. Starts with a little tingling, then spreads—soon, you won’t even be able to move. Just lie there, gasping for air."
"Damn you!!!"
One soldier swung his sword, desperate to buy time—but his strike was clumsy, robbed of its strength.
"Too bad! You’ll never reach me!!"
Effortlessly blocked, the guard’s abdomen was pierced by the dagger.
"Oops. Got carried away~"
The poisoned blade sank deep.
The venom spread instantly, paralyzing his lungs. Gasping, the guard clung to the jester, trying to buy even a second more.
"You’re done."
But with a cold shove, the jester discarded him.
"RAAAAAGH!!"
The other guard, mustering his last strength, lunged—aiming to strike through his fallen comrade.
"Boring. I’ll come back for your lord later."
A casual sidestep, and the guard’s legs were slashed open.
"Stay there and crawl."
"W-wait!"
"No can do~"
The guard’s numb hands reached out, but the jester’s light steps were already beyond his grasp.
The jester of madness strode forward, chasing the fleeing Duke and his daughter.
"Ohhh? Didn’t I say? The path’s sealed. And just in case, I blocked all the other exits too!"
Chasing them was trivial—they were already cornered at the barrier’s edge.
"I prepared special tools just for today! Went through so much trouble to get the funds for these top-grade items. Did you really think you could break them so easily?"
The Duke faced him in silence, saber at the ready.
"So, ready to talk? How did you learn about me?"
"……"
"Ahhh, guess I’ll have to torture the girl in front of you first."
Esmeralda, equally silent, raised her wand.
"Burn!!"
A spell erupted from her with practiced efficiency.
"Oho! A fire mage? In such a tight space, you’ll start a real blaze!"
He dodged effortlessly, stepping forward—
"Hah!!"
—only for the Duke to lunge, his saber thrusting forward.
A flawless parent-child combination.
"Ooooh! So close!"
Their coordination was impeccable—the Duke’s noble training had honed his skills beyond ordinary men.
A thrust, not a slash—reducing the enemy’s reaction time.
"But how predictable."
Yet it never reached the jester of madness.
"Gh—?!"
"Father!?"
A flash—the Duke’s wrist was slit, his grip failing as his saber clattered to the ground.
He tried to retreat, but—
"Too bad~"
Another step, another slash—his thigh split open, his legs buckling.
"Father!!"
"Ah-ah-ah! No running. If you flee, I’ll get so sad I might just kill him~"
"Run, Esmeralda!! Don’t mind me!!"
With his hand crippled and his leg wounded, the Duke had no escape.
Realizing this, he shouted not as a noble, but as a father—Run.
His own life was already forfeit.
If only his daughter could survive—
"Ahhh! Yes! That face! That emotion!! Such delicious despair!!"
"Guh—!?"
"Stop it!!"
"Then don’t run."
The jester found their bond beautiful—and longed to defile it.
So he pinned the Duke’s remaining hand to the ground, driving his dagger through the back of it.
Esmeralda screamed at the brutality—exactly the reaction he wanted.
Had she fled without hesitation, it would have been troublesome.
But her scream, her hesitation—proof that she still cared.
That she prioritized her father over herself.
Her feet had stopped. The outcome was already decided.
"Now then, if you want to save your father, stay right there."
Time was short.
But the jester of madness indulged himself, savoring the moment—the joy of staining that pure canvas with despair.
"Run!! Get out of here!!"
The Duke’s screams only heightened his ecstasy.
He stepped closer, his blade poised.
"Where shall I carve first?"
He wouldn’t make it quick.
The first stroke on this blank canvas had to be perfect.
But then—he noticed.
The young woman who had been suppressing her fear, maintaining her composure—
—was now wide-eyed.
"Ah."
Her face filled not with terror, but relief.
A chill ran down the jester’s spine.
The beckoning of death—something he hadn’t felt in years.
"Headhunt."
And then—the voice of someone who shouldn’t be here.