These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

Bea and Ciel landed hard, skidding across the ground before coming to a stop. Even wrapped in her mother's arms, it hurt—like her entire body had been rattled straight through to her bones. But Bea wasn't worried about herself.

She wasn't the one who'd taken the full force of the fall.

"Mama!" Bea called out. Ciel's arms were still wrapped around her in a tight embrace.

Bea tried to gently shake her awake, but Ciel didn't respond. Bea's throat tightened. She pressed herself closer, resting her head against her mother's chest—and felt it rise and fall.

Her mother was alive. But she was seriously hurt.

"I'm sorry, mama…" Bea whispered. "I always… hurt you…"

Every cut. Every scrape and bruise. The scary swelling on her mother's head from when she hit the ground. Bea felt like her little hands had caused every one of them. Her tears slipped down her cheeks, pattering onto her mother's, right where the big cut was.

"I can't cry…" Bea said. "I'm not the one who got hurt… I'm the one who was wrong…"

But she couldn't stop herself. All her best efforts had so badly hurt the one person she loved most in the world. Suddenly, the questions of right and wrong that had always guided her felt like they meant nothing at all.

So when the whisper in her head tried to tell her she's been doing her best…

"I don't wanna listen to you…" Bea said, voice cracking. "...Don't talk to me… anymore…"

And the whisper went silent.

Those who misunderstood Varant's duty believed that the shadow beasts were the Azure Knights' natural enemy.

The opposite was true. The knights were theirs, and the beasts were the scourge of the entire world. Varant was the only bulwark against the darkness—the sword and shield in a battle whose quiet and remote nature belied its import.

Only the Azure Knights could hunt the shadows. And yet the creature which stood in the center of the amphitheater…

Felt like a monster meant to hunt them.

Where had it even originated? The miasma had suddenly swept into the theater, suffocating the mercenaries.

Sigurd leapt into the arena, rushing the creature with his holy aura ignited. But the moment he swung, he was shocked by the answer of a blade.

The creature had a sword of its own—jet-black.

In the light of his aura, Sigurd could finally make out the creature's form. It was the perfect inversion of a holy knight—armor darker than adamantine, a cloak of pure shadow sweeping behind. Only its eyes glowed, pale white against the rest of its silhouette.

It was observing Sigurd. Even as they locked blades.

The knight of darkness opened its mouth, as if to speak—but no words came. All that flowed out was more black and billowing smoke.

Miasma once again threatened to fill the amphitheater, and Sigurd readied his holy aura to clear it. But the knight held its hand to its mouth as if frustrated.

And then it dispersed into mist. Sigurd chased after it, yet it crossed to the amphitheater's upper exit in just a breath.

That exit led to the inner palace—where Sigurd had hoped to find Ciel and Bea…

The knight's glinting eyes met Sigurd's once more, holding his gaze for a few seconds as it raised its sword—a challenge.

Then, slowly, it pointed the blade in the direction of the palace's deepest keep. And that was the moment Sigurd realized who it was.

"It… can't be…" Sigurd muttered.

Ever since Aldous confessed to creating shadow beasts by feeding the obsidian jar's miasmatic substance to the dogs in Varant's kennel, a corner of Sigurd's mind had asked—what would happen if man consumed it?

Now he knew.

Gerhardt vanished from the amphitheater.

The message was clear.

There were only three living souls left now. And dozens of corpses. Less than an hour ago, an audience was jeering for Sigurd's death. Now those spectators littered the stands like garbage left after a terrible performance.

Propped up weakly against the parapet's inner wall, Alera coughed up a fit, to the point there were flecks of blood on her palm. Her gaze drifted sidewards toward her former comrade Voltus—yet another corpse. She felt as if she were about to join him.

"I apologize for not reaching you sooner," Kylian muttered.

"How can one plan for a man suddenly transforming into a wretched abyssal creature?" Alera replied weakly. "Hhrk!"

The former duke they'd expended every effort to save came running up to the parapet.

"Who came?" Sigurd asked urgently, skipping all pleasantries. "Are the knights in Amière?"

Alera supposed the situation called for it. Still, she felt pretty awful not getting so much as a nod after all she'd gone through for the man.

"Only Ailn, Camille and I are here," Kylian said. "I arrived with Ciel. They're all attempting to reach the bell tower in search of Bea."

"Then Ciel and Béatrice are actually here…" Sigurd muttered. "Then so long as we secure the bell tower—"

"I am loath…hhrk… to bring grim tidings," Alera said, voice tight, "but I saw a rather remarkable sight sailing through the air toward the inner palace."

Sigurd's blood ran cold.

The final act to their long night was already unfolding. For at that very moment, just at the edge of the inner palace, the shadow who was once a man materialized from dark mist.

The dark knight slowly stepped forward.

Before him lay a woman who he'd once called kin, wounded and unconscious. And sitting next to her in tears was her daughter, shivering as she held her arms out protectively in front of her mother.

"No!" Bea cried out. "Leave mama alone!"

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Seizing the mother and child, the dark knight bore them toward the Blancs' throne room. The amphitheater was never the proper stage for their final battle. And now Gerhardt had ensured that Sigurd would follow him to where it all began—so that the two of them could finally end it.

Outside the glade, Ailn was checking his own logic.

His name was Robin. But Ciel had called him Puck… Those names couldn't be a coincidence. Surely.

Ailn had to be certain here. He'd already been burned once for misjudging someone as a reincarnator. If he was wrong again, it really was curtains for him and Camille.

"...Alright, Puck," Ailn said. "You win. I know a foregone conclusion when I see one. And I can tell you care about Bea and Ciel in your own strange way. The true course of love never did run smooth, right?"

There was an unguarded and wistful chuckle.

'Swift as a shadow… Short as any dream. We could've been friends, Ailn.'

Well, as long as he wasn't trying to trick him like Ashton—

Then again, he had the name of a trickster spirit. And the echo stone message that had landed the Azure Knights in the dungeons was basically a prank call.

…This wasn't getting anywhere.

'Are you coming?'

"Sorry!" Ailn called back. "Camille just… looked like she was about to cry. Ugh!"

Rubbing the rib she'd jabbed with her gauntlet, Ailn dispelled his emerald eyes as they entered the glade. Puck waited on his hollow log like it was a throne. A discarded lantern lit his face from below, catching him in a harrowing glow that made him look even more uncanny.

His eyes were jet-black. They reminded Ailn of the obsidian jar.

The implications of there being obsidian shards gave Ailn a headache.

"Both of you toss your swords aside," Puck said. "I'm going to take her memories first." He turned to face Camille. "Disperse your blessing."

Ailn gave her a glance, praying she would listen to him. Her expression wrinkled in bafflement and frustration, but she tossed her sword to the side, and her holy aura went dark.

Then, Ailn pulled his sword out of his sheath as if he were going to follow suit… And he rushed at Puck, slashing at the fake child.

His sword simply caught on Puck's miasmatic skin. Vines pulled Ailn's sword aside, and seized both of his hands.

"Lord, what fools these mortals be…" Puck mumbled, sounding disappointed. "...I thought you were smart enough to figure out you can't hurt me, 'Ailn.'"

"Guess I just had to give it one last shot," Ailn said. He tried to shrug, but the vines kept his shoulders stiff. So he gave a last bitter smile. "...Turns out I had a hard time letting Bea go."

"She's a lovely girl," Puck said, a hint of pity in his voice. "But she's ours. Not yours."

His eyes slowly turned jet-black, all the way to the sclera. "Don't worry. You won't miss her. It'll be like the two of you never met."

"Yeah... that's what I'm afraid of," Ailn said, smiling sadly. He met Puck's obsidian gaze.

And he manifested his emerald eyes.

Puck's jet-black eyes widened.

"Emerald eyes…?" Puck mumbled. "What—"

Puck cried out in pain and squeezed his eyes shut—covered them up with his hands like he was playing peekaboo. The vines which were holding Ailn tossed him aside for good measure.

"What did you do to me?!" Puck cried out.

"Normally, it doesn't hurt the other person…" Ailn muttered, perplexed as he pushed himself off the ground. He was sure that he'd retrieved Puck's eyes. But when he looked up again—

One of the boy's eyes was still black.

Ailn had managed half a second of eye contact. Enough for the process to start—but apparently not enough to finish it.

Ailn had landed just a few meters from their swords. He rushed toward them. Vines lunged for the swords—faster than he was. They were going to reach first.

But the vines sagged at the last moment.

"Camille!" Ailn shouted, grabbing their swords from the ground and tossing hers.

Camille seized her sword from the air and manifested her aura, immediately starting to chop through the willows which had given them so much trouble before. They were sluggish and lethargic—still moving like animals, but easier for Camille to handle.

Puck ran into the woods. Ailn glanced back at Camille.

"I'll keep the willows at bay! Whatever you did with your eyes—finish it, Ailn!" Camille yelled.

"Don't get hit in the head!" Ailn yelled.

Then he chased after Puck, to play one last game of hide-and-seek.

In Ciel's nightmares, time always rewound. The bruises would return upon her ribs, the nicks upon her hands, and she'd cover herself in the shabby poultices she could cobble together…

She'd become a young girl again—one who had forgotten she ever grew up.

Her nightmares often found her in her room kept perpetually dark, so no one would ever know whether or not she was home. And her mother always lurked at the edges, a monster just out of sight, whose dull voice still echoed where her wasting body couldn't reach.

'Your light's as dim as your head you little incompetent... Someone has to take care of you! Come now!'

Ciel held her breath. She could see the monster's shadow in the light spilling underneath the door.

She remained as silent as possible while it drifted past.

There were days when the words hurt worse than the cuts. Mothers mend. So why did hers always try to break her?

…And why did she still let it hurt, when she knew from the start her mother hated her?

The dim-headed child hugged her knees, as the shadow shrank and finally disappeared.

Bea knelt on the ground by the stump which used to be a throne, trembling, as her still-unconscious mother's head lay in her lap. The shadow man had taken them back to the throne room.

Then, as if he couldn't stand the light, he snuffed out every torch in the chamber one by one. The only light that remained came from his pale, glowing eyes.

"Are you going to hurt us…?" Bea asked.

The shadow man said nothing. He only stared.

Despite how strange he looked, Bea didn't think he was nearly as scary as Emily. It hadn't been long since Bea had been chased around the bell tower—dropped from its walkway, left to hang on its edge.

She'd even fallen off and flown through the air.

All of it had been terrifying. But for little Bea, who had never seen the worst of what people could be, almost as terrifying as sheer drops and howling winds was Emily's sheer malice.

The shadow man's eyes weren't mean like Emily's were, and he didn't smile crooked—though Bea wasn't even sure if he had a mouth.

Bea thought he looked very sad. And tired.

Looking at his glowing white eyes for a long time—the only things in the room Bea could even see—she came to a realization.

"...Mister Gerhardt?" Bea asked. "Why do you look like that…?"

His eyes widened. They even seemed to get a little brighter. Bea could tell he was surprised.

"Can you not talk anymore?" Bea asked.

He said nothing.

"That's sad…" Bea whispered.

And before she knew it, her eyes were wet. It was too dark for her to see even the blur of tears. But she felt them dripping down her face.

"You want to hurt us… because papa hurt you once," Bea said. "And papa got hurt once when his mama died. Everyone… hurt each other back-and-forth…"

Her voice wobbled. In the silence and darkness of the throne room, with only Gerhardt to talk to, Bea started to cry.

She'd tried so very hard not to think it. But now she couldn't avoid it—the thought that all the ruin around her might have been brought about by her father's hands. Just like her own best efforts had led to the wounds on her mother's body.

The small child, for the very first time in her life, was reckoning with the idea that there might be unfixable cycles of pain. That grudges could stretch back before memory, and live on beyond a time anyone could see.

The whisper of the past was silent. Her bright visions of the future were dark.

Bea was only in the present, in a hollowed out throne room where her mother still hadn't woken up.

Gerhardt didn't say anything. Bea didn't expect him to. She didn't know what to expect anymore. But the look in his eyes changed ever so slightly.

For a while, they stayed in that quiet dark, saying nothing.

Then Bea heard a faint echo. A shouting voice. She didn't know whose it was.

"Ciel!" the voice shouted. "Béatrice!"

Béatrice? The only one who'd ever called her that was her Uncle Ailn. She knew he was here… but it didn't sound like him. The voice was sharper. More resonant.

Bea gasped.

"Papa…?" She whispered.

Next to her, Gerhardt's eyes turned angry.

The sounds of footsteps got louder, and she squeaked as she heard the throne room door slam open.

Then, in a brilliant flash of divine light, she saw her father's face for the first time.